Breakfast was carrot noodle soup at the market… with a massive lump of zebu fat. I realised that this was an honour – the fat is the best part for the Malagsy. But there was no way I could physically eat the fat (I’m very unpicky with my food – a major advantage when travelling – but there are only two things I cannot physically eat and meat fat is one of them. It’s the texture. For info, the other is peanut butter – ugh!).
On the way out of Ranomafana we stopped at a natural spring that was gushing out of a pipe by the roadside. Filled up all our empty water bottles. Evian on tap.
Fianarantsoa is the second largest city in Madagascar. The name means “good” (tsoa) “education” (finanaran) education” and is well-deserved: the city supports numerous educational establishments. And a bank, which is why we stopped there. Extracted 1.6 million Ariary (about £350) from an ATM. Felt immensely rich again.
Standing out of the sun at a coffee stop, I peered backwards and saw the basic accommodation, with a bunk bed, that was the owner’s home. Got talking to the young woman when I noticed a big open sore on the side of her foot. She’d been bitten by a rat. A big rat. She said she’d been to the doctor and had an injection, but it clearly needed medical attention judging by the pus seeping out of the wound. Not for the first time I found myself grateful for the NHS.
And whenever we stopped, we attracted attention:
The landscape changed from rice paddies to plains:
Field fires burned unattended, clearing the scrub to encourage new shoots for the zebu to munch:
Through the Twyford Pass:
Isalo is the region of the Bara, one of the tribes with some of the more “unique” customs. For instance, each winter between Jul and Sep they “turn the bones” of their ancestors. Skeletons are dug up, the bones cleaned and then re-wrapped and re-buried. Another of their more bizarre rituals (from a western point of view, anyway) is that boys are circumcised between the age of 1 and 3 and the subsequent ceremony involves not only the obligatory zebu sacrifice, but also (warning: please brace your stomach) the consumption of the boys’ removed skin by the tribal chief. To my western mind, this borders on child abuse (because I assume the tribal chief is eating this skin for his own benefit, not the boys’). Some would defend it as “traditional”. Slavery is also “traditional”…
Zebu for dinner was the best yet – very much like beef, it was grilled to perfection. And it was followed by flavoured rum. Rum is a Malagsy speciality and is mixed with a variety of flavours such as mango, ginger (today’s samples), baobab, lemon, pear, banana, coffee and vanilla.
A long but interesting journey, and looking forward to another National Park tomorrow.
PS And this was definitely “bug of the day” (BOTD):
