After Dark in Antsirabe: Exploring Madagascar's Highland Nightlife Scene

There's something delightfully surreal about touring Antsirabe's nightlife by pousse-pousse (hand-pulled rickshaw). These colorful carriages are the city's main transport by day, but at night, they transform into your personal nightlife chauffeur. I struck a deal with my driver Rivo – 40,000 Ariary (about £8) for the entire evening, and he'd wait outside each spot.

The beauty of this arrangement is the local knowledge. When I mentioned I was after authentic spots, not tourist traps, Rivo's eyes lit up. 'Monsieur, I show you real Antsirabe!' And true to his word, he did. We zigzagged through neighborhoods I'd never have found on Google Maps, stopping at hole-in-the-wall spots where locals greeted me with curious smiles and cold Three Horses Beer (THB), Madagascar's national brew.

The highland evening chill can catch you off guard, even in spring. I was thankful I'd packed my insulated flask, which I filled with coffee during the day and used for warming rum in the evening – a machinist's hack that served me well as we moved between venues.

The first rule of Antsirabe nightlife: forget TripAdvisor. My most memorable nights were spent at spots you won't find in any guidebook. Take Chez Madame Voahangy, a tiny living room converted into a bar on a residential street near Ambohimena. The entrance is unmarked except for a single lightbulb hanging above a blue door. Inside, locals gather around plastic tables drinking homemade rhum arrangé (fruit-infused rum) while Malagasy pop music plays from an ancient stereo.

For something slightly more upscale, Le Trianon near the old train station surprised me with its decent selection of imported spirits and weekend DJ sets that blend Malagasy rhythms with global beats. The crowd is a mix of expats, wealthier locals, and the occasional traveler who's stumbled upon it.

My favorite discovery was Kintana, a rooftop bar above a family home in the eastern part of town. What it lacks in professional bartending, it makes up for in atmosphere – plastic chairs, string lights, and absolutely stunning views over the city and surrounding highlands. I spent hours here chatting with locals about fishing (surprisingly good in the nearby lakes) while nursing cold THBs.

When the temperature dropped, I was grateful for my packable down jacket. The highlands get properly chilly at night, even during spring, and most local spots don't have heating.

As someone who grew up surrounded by Brazil's coffee culture, I'm always hunting for good cafés. In Antsirabe, I found something unexpected – cafés that transform into vibrant social hubs after dark. Madagascar produces excellent arabica in its highlands, and Antsirabe sits right in prime coffee territory.

Café Tsara, just off Avenue de l'Independence, serves superb locally-grown coffee by day and transforms into a mellow hangout by night, adding Malagasy rum and liqueurs to their coffee menu after 7pm. Their version of Irish coffee, made with local rum instead of whiskey, became my nightly ritual.

For serious coffee enthusiasts, seek out Kafe Maitso near the thermal baths. The owner, Jean, roasts his beans in small batches using equipment he fabricated himself – something that immediately connected us given my machinist background. We spent hours discussing the technical aspects of roasting while I sampled his exceptional coffee liqueur. Jean's passion reminded me of the small-batch roasters back in São Paulo.

I brought my hand grinder to Madagascar, which raised eyebrows but earned respect from local coffee aficionados. Being able to grind beans fresh in my guesthouse each morning maintained a bit of my Brazilian coffee ritual while traveling.

If you're after live music in Antsirabe, you'll need insider knowledge and flexibility. Unlike Antananarivo with its scheduled performances, Antsirabe's music scene operates on Malagasy time – fluid and spontaneous.

Hotel des Thermes, a grand colonial-era building, occasionally hosts weekend performances in its bar. The music ranges from traditional Malagasy folk to more contemporary fusion. While the setting feels a bit formal compared to local spots, the quality of musicians is outstanding.

For something more authentic, follow the sound of live music emanating from small neighborhood bars. One night, I stumbled upon a group playing traditional valiha (bamboo tube zither) and kabosy (small guitar) at a tiny place called Tranompokonolona near the market. The crowd was entirely local, but they welcomed me warmly, especially after I attempted a few dance moves.

Dancing is integral to Malagasy nightlife, and even with my limited skills, joining in was the fastest way to break the ice with locals. The salegy rhythm (fast-paced, from northern Madagascar) is popular even here in the highlands, and after a few THBs, I found myself being taught the hip-swaying basics by patient locals.

Capturing these musical moments became important to me, but I worried about my phone battery in areas with unreliable electricity. My power bank became essential – small enough to slip into a pocket but powerful enough to recharge my phone multiple times throughout these long, music-filled nights.

No proper night out is complete without late-night food, and Antsirabe delivers some unexpected culinary gems after dark. Street food reaches peak deliciousness after midnight, when vendors set up near popular bars to catch hungry revelers.

My go-to spot became a small cart near the central market operated by Mama Soa, a grandmother with the energy of someone half her age. Her mofo gasy (Malagasy bread) and savory koba (a mixture of ground peanuts, rice and meat wrapped in banana leaves) saved me more than once after a night of THB beers.

For something more substantial, the 24-hour soup spot near the taxi-brousse station serves what might be the best remedy for a night of indulgence: lasopy, a hearty vegetable soup with a hint of ginger that reminds me of what my Brazilian grandmother would make when I was feeling under the weather.

While exploring these late-night food options, I learned to carry my compact travel utensils – many street vendors don't provide cutlery, and having my own reusable set was both practical and more environmentally friendly than disposable options.

One night, after particularly enthusiastic dancing at a local spot, I found myself at an unmarked food stall where a young chef was grilling zebu skewers over open coals. The meat, marinated in a mixture of rum, garlic and local spices, was tender and flavorful in a way that transported me straight back to weekend churrasco in São Paulo. When I complimented him in my broken French, he beamed with pride and insisted I try his homemade sakay (chili sauce) – a fiery concoction that nearly blew my head off but was absolutely worth the pain.