Travelling for me usually involves having a rough idea of what I’d like to see and then winging it once I arrive at the destination. This technique has several advantages, giving flexibility to respond and adapt to local advice, unforeseen opportunities and the reality of life which no amount of research can truly prepare you for.
My approach just doesn’t work in Madagascar. Public transport is unreliable, unsafe and extremely uncomfortable (on the bus back from the Queen’s Palace, I couldn’t physically fit my legs in the gap between my seat and the one in front). One option is to hire a car, but this has the drawback of requiring you to drive extremely long distances and reports of police taking advantage of unaccompanied foreigners made this even less attractive. The only other viable option is to hire a car and driver. And quite understandably, they want to know your itinerary. If you don’t have one, you’re forced to create one. Even the flexibility of additional days we’d agreed with Jimmy for our RN7 tour had limitations – the car was booked out on the day we were due to arrive back in Tana, so in reality there was no option to extend.
And so it was that we planned the final parts of my Madagascan adventure in detail: a trip to Morondava in the west to take in Kirindy NP and some R&R; followed by a journey to the east to snatch some time at another National Park before my flight home. As I’d only expected to be able to do one or other of these, it was great to be able to squeeze in both.
Ironically, despite being expensive, Madagascar makes it a little hard to pay – few places take credit cards (and if they do, a whopping 5% fee is charged) and three cashpoints we tried in Fianar weren’t stocked. Eventually I could access some money – again once again, lots and lots of bank notes for £400.
Jo was keen to try shell-shaped sugar snacks we’d seen in many markets, and Rudy wanted a taste of the local honey so we stopped at a layby. Within moments, we were surrounded by vendors crowding round the car and desperately pushing their baskets of wares through the top of the semi-open windows:
The eucalyptus honey was especially good (€1 a bottle) and the sugar snacks as sweet and inedible (for me, anyway) as expected.
During the journey we passed a taxi-brousse that was so well-laden its backside was almost touching the ground:
Burning bricks:
A gathering that looked like a funeral:
And this local who, once they’d clocked Rudy’s camera, couldn’t resist a “contemporary dance performance”:
Fianar is the capital of the pousse-pousse, steadily being replaced by bicycle rickshaws. Lining the streets were wooden contraptions powered by wiry, bare-footed locals – what a hard life:
Like many hot countries, the Malagsy live much of their lives outside – the roads were bustling. Even out in the country it was common to see people walking along the road (which is probably more a sign of their wealth, but made possible by the climate):
More rum and chocolate mousse for dinner. I could get used to this 🙂
