My dad went back to Madagascar and I went with him. We got in contact with Jean La Rasta and he volunteered himself to be our guide for the entire trip. We were doing as much of the trip on foot as possible. While marching a stretch of coast we came across what looked like a big silver Tylenol. Jean explained that it was an old fall-out shelter that someone had converted into a roadside liquor store but that at some point during that local town’s history, “that sort of thing” fell out of favor and they chased away the owners. The structure was never again regularly occupied or owned but the locals used it for all manner of things. Kids would break in to drink or have sex. Adults would break in for secret meetings of romantic or political natures. Jean also pointed out that behind it was a nice cliff that gave a great view of the Indian Ocean. So we broke in and snuck through to the back so that we could sit on the cliff face and watch the sun set. (In the east?) Jean La Rasta lit up a spliff and passed it first to my dad. He took a puff, passed it to me and I took one as well. (My dad made a smart ass remark about how he didn’t think I smoked ever since “that one time.”) Right around then we noticed a man and a woman down on a cluster of rocks in the water. My dad asked who they were (as if Jean was supposed to know) and sure enough Jean nodded that he did know. He said the man’s name and indicated that he was the “Maréchal National Commandant” and that this was a military rank above general. He was a national hero, apparently. We noticed he was wearing a bathing suit and t-shirt that held the design of the Texas state flag.