Category: Madagascar 2018

He stopped, paused for a moment and doubled back to the table where we were having coffee.

“Will you take photo of me?” he asked.

Rudy hesitated only for a moment and then: “Sure.”

They gave their poses some serious consideration. Rudy did what he usually does and showed them to the photo on his screen.

“Will you send it to me, please?”

Ah, the guide book had mentioned this – locals approach tourists with cameras asking for their photo and then ask them to send it. It’s important to honour any promises you make as it means a lot to them.

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First was breakfast and a walk around the local market:

The fairground was in full swing. Boys were crowded around a stall. A 3×2 grid with numbers 1 – 6 was on a board in the centre.  Three die were rolled (under a can) by the house. Players would bet by placing their money in one or more of the squares. The can was lifted to reveal three numbers. If your number(s) appeared on one of the die, you won your stake. If not, you lost. I wasn’t sure whether you won more if more than one die showed your number(s).

I watched as one lot of children got off the carousel as another ran to the various rides (one of which was called Justin Bieber and another Rihanna) and jumped on board. The supervisor first collected the money from each of the children and then proceed to push the carousel. No electricity, no problem.

These two saw Rudy’s camera and couldn’t resist putting on a little photo shoot:

Basketball was being played on a really rather good court (albeit it concrete) with all the right markings. Eight boys were playing together, with smaller children on another of the four courts. A couple wore sandals, but the others were bare-footed. At exactly ten o’clock, they finished and went to wash their feet by the clubhouse. Training was over for the day.

For lunch, Jimmy had recommended La Manga restaurant, so we started walking out of town. Surburbia appeared very quickly – just 100 metres down the road there was a different feel to the place. Houses were spaced further apart and the opposite bank housed not a small village and football “pitch” but a banana plantation.

Just as we arrived at a La Manga, a shiny new bus pulled up to the entrance and we watched as two dozen elderly westerners walked up the steps. It didn’t bode well for a peaceful, efficient meal. Pants. Very bad timing indeed. But back at our hotel the “kebab de poulet” went down very well. Seven times the price of the street food, but ten times the meat content, it was actually a pretty good deal.

And this bright green gecko with red markings paid us a visit:

Ranomafana means “hot” (mafana) “water” (rano). Early settlers came for the hot springs, not the rainforest.

It was called a “piscine” (swimming pool), but I wasn’t really sure what to expect. But it was, indeed, a swimming pool. Surrounded by palms, grass and benches, dozens of brown bodies splashed in the water. But then I noticed that most of them were, in fact, sitting on the side of the pool with their feet dangling in the water.

I soon found out why. The water was at least 35 degrees (that’s 95F for you oldsters). It was lovely to slide in and be engulfed in a big, warm hug. I pootled up and down – it was too hot to swim properly – played around and sat on the side to enjoy the cooling air.

Princess Vachina engaged me in a brief conversation… and then very directly asked for my email. Malagsy culture is very family-focused and the more well-off are expected to look after their less-fortunate relatives. I’m not saying she was going begging (she was fairly plump and very well dressed), but the speed with which our relationship had progressed was a little disconcerting. So I did what I usually do and get their contact details. (As an aside, I looked her up on Facebook later that day but only came across Dynasty VaChina which I’m pretty sure was not who I was looking for!).

Back via the hot thermal spring, which was bubbling away to itself and looking far hotter than the pool:

And the basketball court where the ladies were playing – and they were considerably better than the boys.

A wonderfully relaxed day in Ranomafana. If I’d have been travelling for longer, I definitely would have hung around her for a few more days to chill and write, but with only three weeks, it was time to move on.

A long, long time ago lemurs roamed (jumped around?) the earth. Then the upgraded version – the “monkey” – came along and wiped them out. Except in Madagascar. It was isolated before the monkey evolved, so no monkeys ever made it here. And so the lemurs thrived.

Golden bamboo lemurs (named after the colour of the male) were discovered in 1986 in Ranomafana National Park. The area was protected in 1991 as it’s the only place in the world that you can see them in the wild. And I saw quite a few in the wild, jumping deftly through the trees between leafy meals:

Sleep (for 5 – 6 hours), eat, repeat. Seems like a good life to me. They’ll mate for life and live about 40 years. Females have one baby a year, after a 4-month gestation and the offspring reach maturity at about 5 years. Once they’re 7 or 8, they’ll leave the family group to start their own.

Red-bellied lemurs (named after the colour of the male – it’s definitely a patriarchy round here) are more rare. But I saw some of those, too.

Like the golden bamboo lemurs, they mate for life and have one baby a year. Gestation is a slightly shorter 3 months, and they’ll only live about 25 years.

Lemurs have good hearing, so they knew the tourist hordes were below. Shy creatures, they stayed in the treetops, hiding between the branches.

The ring-tailed mongoose came towards us, completely unfazed by our presence:

Native to Madagascar, the ring-tailed mongoose lives in the humid forests, mostly on the eastern side of the island. They eat small mammals, invertebrates, reptiles and occasionally insects and fruit. Unfortunately, numbers are declining due to habitat destruction *sob*.

Other amazing finds today included a leaf-tailed gecko:

A horn-nosed chameleon:

And a praying mantis:

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An afternoon stroll to see the sights from our hotel, starting with the fairground which is apparently a daily occurrence and attracts gamblers and thrill-seekers alike:

Then through the market and across the bridge, stopping for crayfish and samosas at the half-way island:

Through a local village where the children were more pleased to see us than the adults. Kids wanted their pictures taken and would squeal with delight when they saw the image on Rudy’s camera:

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I was expecting the night walk to be, well, a walk at night.

But as we approached, I knew it would be awful – dozens of tourist cars and a couple of tour buses signalled that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience.

The mouse lemur kept returning to the same branch, despite obviously not liking the bright camera flashes and torches that would suddenly flood his nocturnal world with light.

“Why does he keep coming back to the same branch?” asked Jo.

“Banana,” replied Lantu.

They were baiting the animals. This is a massive no-no – the animals learn that food is available so stop their usual behaviour and, over time, come to rely on the new, easy food source. Jeopardising wildlife is never justified, no matter how good the potential photo.

And that was why there was no entry fee to pay – this was very unofficial. And very lucrative for the guides who, I estimate, earned about 5,000 Ar for the day walk but 45,000 Ar for this “night walk”.

In the case of the mouse lemur, it dawned on me afterwards, with not a little horror, that the bright lights would almost certainly damage its night-sensitive eyes.

Gutted to be a part of the tourist problem, I resolved to write to the Bradt and Lonely Planet guides and request they include a warning – nowhere in my research was I warned about this bad practice, else I would never have gone. Hopefully by warning others, I can not only protect the wildlife in the future, but somewhat mitigate the damaging effect my visit had.

Less intrusive were the encounters with frogs:

A blue-legged chameleon (the colour was very subtle and hasn’t come out in the pictures, so you’ll have to trust me on this one):

A striped chameleon:

And a bird who’d found a comfy bed under the protection of a leaf… until Rudy spotted it (although the guide he pointed it out to then pretended it was her find!):

To bed with mixed feelings after an animal-filled day.

 

 

 

“So, when you were a taxi-brousse driver, how long did it take to get from Toliara to Tana?”

“About 24 hours – we’d drive overnight with breaks just for lunch and dinner.”

Wow.

“We’ve heard that it’s unsafe to travel at night. Did anything ever happen to you?”

“Oh, yeah”, he nodded in a matter-of-fact way.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and there was one time that the bandit held a gun to my head. He wanted the passengers to give him money.”

“Oh my God, that’s horrible.”

“Yes, but now taxi-brousse travel with four or five in a group. And sometimes they have an army vehicle behind.”

“And so the attacks don’t happen anymore?”

There was a rather unnerving pause, and then “Not so much.”

“But they still do?”

“Well, if there are, say, 40 bandits, then one army vehicle is not much of a help.”

The man’s got a point.

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Very suddenly, the well-used road became smooth and there were the first road markings we’d seen since leaving Tana. Jimmy explained that the road had been paid for by the Chinese.

“But why? Why would they pay?”

“Environment.”

“Err…..?”

“They won the contract.  In exchange for mining rights.”

“Ah right, so they built a road in exchange for plundering your natural resources.”

“Yes.”

“How kind.”

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Rice is the staple food of the Malagsy – they consume 140 kg each every year. Paddies could be seen left and right for miles and miles and miles and this used to supply all the rice they needed. Population increases mean this is no longer the case, and rice is imported to plug the gap between production and demand.

Regional specialities being sold at the roadside today included:

• Fire wood
• Tapioca (which we tried, but the fleshy inside was minimal compared to the tough skin and three pips)
• Geranium (used for medicinal purposes)
• Fowl (ducks, geese and turkeys)

In addition to these passing phases, charcoal and clay bricks could be found along pretty much the whole route. To prevent logging of the endangered native hardwood species, other trees such as pine and eucalyptus have been imported to give the natives an alternative. Charcoal is packed in long, round strong bags and the top is stuffed with twigs and branches to protect it from moisture and prevent it falling out.

It’s transported by truck, if you’re rich and on the back of your bike if you’re not:

Clay bricks are shaped by hand and baked in batches constructed with distinctive holes at the bottom to take the firewood:

Each structure takes about 3 days to bake and requires the fire to be kept constantly burning.

Hundreds and hundreds of men, with only the odd female – but it wasn’t clear from where they were walking, nor why.

A local lunch of rice with zebu. I should point out that the zebu is good – and judging by everyone else’s choices, it’s by far the best and most consistent quality (whereas the chicken is mostly fat, grizzle and bone). Note the ratio between meat and rice, and the copious amounts of the latter:

After seeing a taxi-brousse come swerving round the corner, I asked Jimmy if there was a limit to was could be carried on the roof. Thirty or fifty centimetres, he replied… unless you bribe the police (in which case, anything seems to go).

The earth changed from red to white and the clay houses followed, from red near Antsirabe to beige after Ambositra (am-boos-tra):

And there was occasionally the odd show-off:

Landscape changed to forest when we got near Ranomafana, but there was a rather worrying line of fire burning across the valley.

Apparently the forest is partly owned by the village and partly NP.

A long, but interesting travel day, topped off by a local dinner of soup (delicious) with zebu kebab (also delicious) and about three tonnes of rice (this is only a slight exaggeration).

And we’re starting to turn native:

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Random stuff from today:

Bucket coffee is the way to go. He’d made a big batch of coffee, put it in a bucket with a spout and was serving it on the street for the princely sum of 5p a cup. There’s no fresh milk, but an option of condensed milk (you can see the cans stuck to the top of the bucket!):

Like the Asians, Malagsy aren’t camera shy – when he realised Rudy was taking photos, this performer couldn’t resist becoming star of the show:

Rudy often walks round a place taking photos. People spot him and play to the camera. This morning he changed tactic: he stood in one place and photographed life going on around him. He captured some incredible images of people going about their daily lives:

And these pictures give a sense of the place much more than words ever could:

Jo works on her parents’ farm in Nebraska for half the year, and travels the world for the other six months. Sound like a good deal? There’s probably not as much stopping you as you think…

She emerged from her room as we were having breakfast, heading off into Tana to find out what Madagascar has to offer. We’d spoken briefly last night – she’d done little research before arriving (because when you’re travelling around Africa for 6 months, it’s difficult to thoroughly research each place you might visit). On a whim, I suggested to Rudy we ask her along. Whilst we’d previously decided that sharing with just one other person wouldn’t reduce the price sufficiently to sacrifice our flexibility, she seem easy-going and interesting and it’d be nice to make a foursome. We had approximately 30 seconds to decide before she disappeared into Tana.

Happily, she accepted. Now to deal with the inevitable negotiation with Jimmy. Technically, the additional person would be minimal cost to Jimmy – only maybe a slight increase in fuel, but nothing significant.

He was understandably surprised at the change of plan, and it took a while for us to convince him that we spoke the truth when we told him it was unplanned until 30 mins ago. We tried to reason that there was little additional cost, but he wanted something in return (fair enough), but didn’t know what! At first he said it would cost more and then it wouldn’t.

“Maybe you buy something for me,” he suggested.

“Sure. What would you like?”

A smile.

“A t-shirt?”

A little laugh.

It only occurred to us afterwards that he was suggesting we bribe him. But none of our western minds cottoned on until it was too late.

Eventually we settled on a small increase in the fee, and off we set.

Stacks of bricks lined the road coming out of Tana, beyond which were the rice paddies that fed some of the population (including, unfortunately, the mosquitoes):

And throughout the journey it was obvious they were being used. After the shacks of Asia and Sri Lanka, seeing brick buildings (most quite new) was a little surprising:

Jimmy is the youngest of 8 children. Six years ago his sister died from a cyst that developed after a heart operation. He was brought up in Toliara (southwest Madagascar) and worked as an interpreter at the sapphire mines, but the associated violence made his mother beg him to change jobs. After a stint as a taxi driver, he became a taxi-brousse driver as it offered a more steady income.

Taxi-brousse are the Malagsy’s long distance buses. Minibuses for 15 people are crammed to the brim with people, luggage, furniture, livestock and anything else people wish to transport.

Three years’ later, fed up with the long hours, a relative invited him to work as a tour guide in Tana. And here we are.

During the journey we passed through different areas, each with its own speciality. Today this included:

• Strawberries
• Wooden painted toys
• Vegetables (farmed on the land along with literally tons of rice)
• Stones (workers are paid to break it into consistently-sized pieces and it’s sold as garden decoration)

There are 18 tribes in Madagascar, each with their own traditions, fady (beliefs) and houses.

Tribal houses on this stretch of Route National 7 (RN7) are built out of clay (as the only suitable and available material in rural Madagascar), have very few windows (to keep them cool in summer and warm in winter) and usually have three storeys – the top is for the kitchen, the middle floor is for living and the bottom for livestock.

Nearby are the distinctive white tombs where, after the initial ceremony, the deceased is buried and the tombs never entered again. Colourful decorations often adorn the walls of the richer deceased depicting images of items and scenes they hope will follow their loved one into the next life (a powerful reminder that you can’t take anything with you from this one).

And, of course, the richer the deceased, the bigger the tomb:

Stopping for a break at a local cafe, we spotted a coffin on top of a taxi-brousse. Later we saw the funeral party at the river – after the funeral everyone washes their clothes, the men cut their hair and the women wear braids for a week to wash out the ghosts of the departed. Seems quite harsh to be forgotten so quickly, but maybe it’s a healthy way to move on.

Wednesday is Zebu market day in Tana and we saw plenty of farmers and their charges en route:

Arriving in Antsirabe, we had an hour to kill before the restaurant Jimmy had recommended opened. First stop was the church:

As we strolled down the main street, we started collecting locals who approached us to sell or beg, and were engaged by the inimitable Rudy:

By the time we arrived at the statue depicting the 18 Malagsy tribes, we were a party of eight.

Dinner was notable on two accounts: the puddings were incredible – the chocolate mousse a smooth, creamy and intense chocolate hit – and the wall behind us was an eye-catching display of large bottles filled with flavoured rum – a Malagsy speciality:

And yes, I’m having two puddings. Life’s too short.

Other random stuff from today:

Transport the old-fashioned (and sustainable!) way:

And some heart-breaking scenes (although we later learnt that pine and eucalyptus are grown to give the locals an alternative):

Nicholas travels the world selling French charcuterie to hotels and restaurants. He arrived with us at the hotel at midnight and was out of the door by 7am this morning for a sales meeting. He returned at 11am to checkout and catch a taxi back to the airport for his flight to La Reunion. Another example of how travelling for work is rarely as glamorous as it sounds.

Antananarivo (or “Tana” as it’s usually known) is the capital of Madagascar. “Antananarivo” means “City of the Thousand” after the 1,000 troops that were used by the Merina king Andrianjaka to capture and guard the village of Analamanga from its native inhabitants.

Glad we didn’t attempt the taxi ride into Tana last night as we’d have missed:

• The vast swathes of rice paddies that contribute some of the 140 kg of rice eaten by each Malagsy per year (data from 2000)
• Life going on all around (and on!) the road, with people out on the street
• Laundry drying on the banks beside the main road (imagine that on the A303)
• Bricks being made by hand
• Wooden go-carts (which I found out later are called “Callesse”)
• Lots and lots of dirty traffic

We also saw lots of zebu, which deserve their own special mention. Originally from SE Asia, zebu are a type of cattle characterised by a fatty lump on their shoulders:

Zebu occupy a special place in Malagsy culture:

• Malagsy wealth is not measured by money but by zebu
• Each zebu is worth between €150 and €250 depending on gender (males are worth more) and condition
• For the Bara tribes found in the southwest, zebu are sacred
• When a couple are married, the father of the bribe will give the groom a zebu as dowry
• Zebu are sacrificed on ceremonial occasions; which one goes depends on its colour: dark-coloured animals are used at funerals, colourful ones when boys are circumcised (age 1 – 3 years) and girls’ ears are pierced (8 months)

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Tourists have to carry their passports at all times in Tana. An alternative is to get a copy validated by the police, so you can leave the original in your hotel (where you’re much less likely to have it stolen). So we set off to find the police station.

The Parc d’Independence led to a long street of steps with vendors lining the sides. I never knew rubber stamps were so popular as to justify quite so many traders.

At the Avenue d’Indepence we asked for directions again to the police station. Armed with intel about turning left and a red cross we set off. About 45 minutes later, after multiple doubling-back and several further directions, we finally found the police station.

“I’d like to get the copy of my passport verified, “ I explained (in French).

“We don’t do that here.” (In French)

“Where is the other police station, please?” (In French)

It turns out that the police station we need is about 500m from our hotel… in the other direction. I decided that I’d either carry my passport or risk the €1 fine in the very unlikely event that it’s demanded.

Back at the Parc d’Indepedence (after climbing back up those bl**dy steps), we sat on the bench to rest our legs and bask in the Tana evening. Sitting still for even a short period of time will very quickly attract the attention of the local traders. Herman first tried to sell us cheap musical instruments and, when that proved futile, asked Rudy to give him his shoes. No subtlety, just an outright request. Rudy explained that he needed them.  However, they were an old pair he’d brought with the intention of donating them upon his departure. So he told Herman to come back to the park in 4 weeks’ time. Unfortunately, we then worked out that they were at least two sizes too small for Herman, who looked genuinely disappointed.

Back at the hotel, we met with Jimmy, the guide recommended by the hotel. We discussed itinerary options. Research prior to leaving had made it clear that Madagascar was not going to be as cheap as we’d assumed. Most people do a organised tour arranged before arriving. Malagsy operators know that foreigners (“vazaha”) will pay what they would expect to pay at home, so organised tours are ridiculously expensive compared to the cost of living. Unfortunately, the local transport is unsafe, unreliable and extremely uncomfortable so “going local” wasn’t an option. “First class” buses have started to operate but only serve selected destinations with limited stops en route.  Long story short, we were going to have to spend a fair amount to do anything.

But we weren’t entirely sure what we wanted to do – we had some items on our list, but we usually make it up as we go along, staying longer in places we like and making decisions en route.

Turns out that Jimmy could accommodate that, too – so he quoted a price for a 9 day tour on RN7 (to the south), plus extensions to the west and east. I wanted to see as much of Madagascar as possible, but it was getting *really* expensive, so we decided to sleep on it.

Oh, and I also found out that zebu can’t be that sacred here because I ate one (well, part of one – I’m not that greedy) for dinner. Delicious!

A long, long time ago there was a super-continent called Gondwana.

About 88 million years ago, part of it split from what is now India to become the world’s fourth largest island (after Greenland, New Guinea and Borneo). That part was called Madagascar and it has since evolved in relative isolation. This has lead to two particularly mind-boggling facts:

• over 80% of the flora and fauna on Madagascar is endemic (i.e. can’t be found anywhere else on earth), including 8 whole plant species, more than a thousand orchids, hundreds of species of frogs, about 420 kinds of reptile, five families of birds and 220 different mammals.
• Five percent of the world’s animal and plant species are found only on this island, including 110 bird species

It’s the result of “adaptive radiation”: the flora and fauna weren’t all here when the island broke away, but have flown, swum and journeyed here since and then diversified very quickly as they encountered new environments to the extent that new species were formed. It’s resulted in a bewildering array of species, most found nowhere else.

This may or may not have something to do with why I wanted to visit.

My security concerns were alleviated considerably when I found out that it’s the third safest country in Africa (after Mauritius and Botswana) and ranked higher for safety than the UK and the US (although given the current state of play in these countries, I guess that’s not entirely surprising).

Madagascar is also very poor. By GDP, it’s the 10th poorest country in the world (£1,028). In comparison, the UK is the 27th richest country with a GDP of £34,686. For info, the poorest country is Central African Republic (£535) and the richest is Qatar (£105,791).

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And so I arrived in Madagascar.

The only point of note during the journey was Charles De Gaulle (CDG) airport. It is, quite simply, a triumph of style over function. I’ve not done specific user research on this, but I’m fairly sure most travellers passing through an airport will want the following:

• Toilets
• Somewhere to sit
• Water fountain
• Decent selection of on-the-go food
• A cup of coffee at a reasonable price

CDG offers just the first two and, in the place of the others, an extensive selection of top-end boutiques selling clothes, makeup and other things completely useless and irrelevant for the majority of travellers. A medium latte was €5.30 – almost double London prices.

The international airport in Madagascar, on the other hand was very efficient, especially considering the size of the airport (small) and the size of the plane (huge). After navigating the multiple visa and passport controls, I emerged into the arrivals lounge. It was heaving with locals. Many were there to collect specific people, but quite a few just seemed to be hanging around, touting for business. So it was with some trepidation that I exchanged £200 and €200 for a huge pile of Ariary (at the time of writing £1 will buy you 4,100 Ariary).

I went to bed a millionaire 🙂