You have written the description of a memorable moment lived on a trip. This is one of the compositions you wrote.
It is impossible for me to erase from my brain and my heart the view of Antananarivo. It was at dawn when we arrived there after a twelve-hour-long flight across the African continent. A rusty red Peugeot took us through the overcrowded city centre. Nobody seemed to suffer from road rage despite the lack of traffic signs and the chaos that seemed to emerge from the very pavement. Trucks and buses from another era, motorbikes carrying a whole family of three or four members, ‘pousse pousse’ painted in gaudy colours and skinny black pedestrians going to and fro.
And the smell… If I close my eye, I am still able to feel how an awful odour invades my nostrils. A mixture of fumes coming from the varied kinds of transport, and the image of dry fish and little appetising red meat hanging down the stalls along the market street crammed with locals.
It was obviously the worst of the beginnings to the best of my journeys!