Madagascar (weeks 18 & 19)
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” – we have excellent recall when it comes to extremes, but everything else seems to blend into the churn. Africa, especially the parts that exist outside its most commercial routes, is rarely an easy place to travel; things take time, travel is often uncomfortable, and everything moves in some strange sort of organized chaos. Being thrown back into the thick of it in crowded Antananarivo reminded me of the challenging day-to-day experiences I’d had in West Africa.
It's a good thing neither of us likes being in cities. Antananarivo, or Tana, was like every other big west African city: too many people, too little work, too much junk, and too much pollution. Women carried their goods, wrapped in brightly printed fabrics, piled high on their heads; children sat on street edges selling trinkets; dogs scrounged for scraps behind stalls.
Our plan: head to the west coast to see the famous limestone cliffs of Tsingy de Bemeraha National Park. Everything I had read about travel through the country confirmed that it would be slow and difficult, and as Luis was still sick from the water in Spain, we searched for an alternate route to avoid a packed overnight minibus. We reluctantly spoke with the hotel's in-house travel agent instead of shopping around town for information. "The only safe way to travel", he assured us, telling us stories of crime and bandits stopping the local transports, “is taxi-brousse, which all travel at night”. We still managed to book a private car to take us in daylight.
The driver never showed. We found a replacement, but were a few hours too late arriving in Miandravosa to make the trip in one day. We entered the town and the guards lowered the gates to close off the roads. No more driving; too dangerous come sunset. We would have to wait for the military convoy coming through at 3am. We bought our driver a meal, and to his great surprise, insisted on sleeping in the minivan with him. We knew we’d miss our convoy if we booked a hotel room. Our driver quickly fell asleep (no surprise there since I had to keep him from falling asleep on the highway earlier in the day), but we didn’t get much rest. Parked on the side of the road in the middle of town, we attracted some attention. The van was overrun with cockroaches of varying sizes and mosquitos drifted in and out of the window, left ajar so we wouldn’t suffocate in the heat, lazily feasting on my exposed arm.
Our plan: head to the west coast to see the famous limestone cliffs of Tsingy de Bemeraha National Park. Everything I had read about travel through the country confirmed that it would be slow and difficult, and as Luis was still sick from the water in Spain, we searched for an alternate route to avoid a packed overnight minibus. We reluctantly spoke with the hotel's in-house travel agent instead of shopping around town for information. "The only safe way to travel", he assured us, telling us stories of crime and bandits stopping the local transports, “is taxi-brousse, which all travel at night”. We still managed to book a private car to take us in daylight.
The driver never showed. We found a replacement, but were a few hours too late arriving in Miandravosa to make the trip in one day. We entered the town and the guards lowered the gates to close off the roads. No more driving; too dangerous come sunset. We would have to wait for the military convoy coming through at 3am. We bought our driver a meal, and to his great surprise, insisted on sleeping in the minivan with him. We knew we’d miss our convoy if we booked a hotel room. Our driver quickly fell asleep (no surprise there since I had to keep him from falling asleep on the highway earlier in the day), but we didn’t get much rest. Parked on the side of the road in the middle of town, we attracted some attention. The van was overrun with cockroaches of varying sizes and mosquitos drifted in and out of the window, left ajar so we wouldn’t suffocate in the heat, lazily feasting on my exposed arm.
A brisk knock on the window around 3am startled us awake.
The convoy doesn't wait; thankfully our driver knew this. He ushered the van to life as two passengers jumped in and we took off at high speed, swerving around potholes, our driver frantically trying to catch up to the other vehicles. After a short time, we nudged into a spot within the convoy. Farther up the road, the first taxi-brousse had broken down; we all halted to help fix it. I was happy to see that no one gets left behind. I was even happier when one of the military guards hopped into our taxi-brousse for extra protection. Typically, I would have been suspicious of the attention, expecting to pay special fees for the service, but in this case, it would have been worth it. I let myself drift in and out of sleep for the remainder of the journey, waking just long enough to catch the orange moon setting and the pastel sunrise. All told, the journey took us longer than it should have – almost 24hrs – 13 of which were spent driving.
The convoy doesn't wait; thankfully our driver knew this. He ushered the van to life as two passengers jumped in and we took off at high speed, swerving around potholes, our driver frantically trying to catch up to the other vehicles. After a short time, we nudged into a spot within the convoy. Farther up the road, the first taxi-brousse had broken down; we all halted to help fix it. I was happy to see that no one gets left behind. I was even happier when one of the military guards hopped into our taxi-brousse for extra protection. Typically, I would have been suspicious of the attention, expecting to pay special fees for the service, but in this case, it would have been worth it. I let myself drift in and out of sleep for the remainder of the journey, waking just long enough to catch the orange moon setting and the pastel sunrise. All told, the journey took us longer than it should have – almost 24hrs – 13 of which were spent driving.
We took a day in Morondava to relax and recover, then another day to organize a trip to Tsingy de Bemeraha National Park. What none of the online reviews or any of the hotel staff or travel agents told us about Madagascar is that it is, in fact, packed with tourist, so you do have to book everything in advance. A week in advance, if possible. Which totally clashes with how things function in Madagascar: with much chaos, and always very "mora mora" (slowly, slowly). Given that the 10hr drive took 13hrs, I thought it safe to guess that the 5hr drive to Tsingy would take 8 (look at that: I was right).
The best way to get everything running smoothly in Tsingy, where I heard tales of guides waiting from 4am to get the much coveted climbing harnesses, was simply to leave early (to catch the ferries, called "bac", which consist of wooden planks arranged between two boats and supported by home-welded steel bars), and not take too long for lunch. Incidentally, we ate at the best restaurant in all of Madagascar along the way: Mad Zebu, French/Malagasy gastronomie. The prices were reasonable, and it was quite delicious. (Reservations required; we got lucky on the way there, but it was full on the way back).
The best way to get everything running smoothly in Tsingy, where I heard tales of guides waiting from 4am to get the much coveted climbing harnesses, was simply to leave early (to catch the ferries, called "bac", which consist of wooden planks arranged between two boats and supported by home-welded steel bars), and not take too long for lunch. Incidentally, we ate at the best restaurant in all of Madagascar along the way: Mad Zebu, French/Malagasy gastronomie. The prices were reasonable, and it was quite delicious. (Reservations required; we got lucky on the way there, but it was full on the way back).
Arriving before the park office closes at 3:30pm was crucial (which nobody told us). Like most other couples or smaller groups, we got lumped in with a family of four after having paid for a guide (which meant that we greatly overpaid), but we were lucky to have a guide ahead of time; he got us our harnesses first thing in the morning and we were all acquainted, geared up and ready to go by 7am. People waiting at the park office for gear and guides eyed us enviously. The family we were paired with were very nice, and we quickly made friends. A friendly boy shared his sugar cane with us while we waited for our group.
Tsingy was worth all the effort; a truly unique place, it's protected as a UNESCO world heritage site. Its limestone cliffs are carved into jagged peaks by slightly acidic tropical rains at a rate of about 1mm per year. Unfortunately, poor management and inadequate planning are straining relationships with the EU and UNESCO; given the rate of deforestation in the country, the outlook for the park and its 11 species of lemur is not so great.
Tsingy was worth all the effort; a truly unique place, it's protected as a UNESCO world heritage site. Its limestone cliffs are carved into jagged peaks by slightly acidic tropical rains at a rate of about 1mm per year. Unfortunately, poor management and inadequate planning are straining relationships with the EU and UNESCO; given the rate of deforestation in the country, the outlook for the park and its 11 species of lemur is not so great.
The world feels like it's on fire.
Over 90% of the forests of Madagascar have been decimated by human activity. The conservation efforts begun to protect what's left are, once again, too little too late. The forests and their inhabitants have a few decades left; international efforts to get people educated and organized have not gone very far. Everywhere people are practicing slash and burn on large scales. There are ever-present smoky columns rising into the sky. Fire is useful, and it does regenerate land; but the earth is no good. Nothing is fertilized, nothing is replanted, trees are never replaced. Try to explain that you need trees to have rain, you need roots so the mountains stop sliding apart; it falls on deaf ears.
The baobab alone is sacred. They are left standing alone in burning fields where they used to be hidden in lush forests. Even they don't always survive the fires.
Over 90% of the forests of Madagascar have been decimated by human activity. The conservation efforts begun to protect what's left are, once again, too little too late. The forests and their inhabitants have a few decades left; international efforts to get people educated and organized have not gone very far. Everywhere people are practicing slash and burn on large scales. There are ever-present smoky columns rising into the sky. Fire is useful, and it does regenerate land; but the earth is no good. Nothing is fertilized, nothing is replanted, trees are never replaced. Try to explain that you need trees to have rain, you need roots so the mountains stop sliding apart; it falls on deaf ears.
The baobab alone is sacred. They are left standing alone in burning fields where they used to be hidden in lush forests. Even they don't always survive the fires.
There is an undeniable and unbeatable lack of foresight that, coupled with an extremely rigid hierarchical society, is quickly adding to Madagascar's problems. (Then there are also the multitude of older European men coming here to pray on young Malagasy women - and children. The worst of humans.) We had many conversations with other travelers about the state of the island nation. A European economist working with the ministry of agriculture shed a lot of insight on these issues, confirming they were even worse than they looked.
We are happy we came to Madagascar, but it is not the paradise that pops into our mind when we hear its name. There are beautiful places and unique creatures, but the land is devastated and poverty is rampant. I'll never think of Madagascar without remembering the fishermen bringing in the day's catch, shouting over with a huge smile: "gros poisson!!" - yes, big fish, but a Manta ray, a beautiful, endangered ocean giant (apparently not a rare catch, at least not yet). The people have been friendly, but, with one of the lowest production rates in Africa, that won't be enough to allow them to survive in the long term. In any case, who are we to tell people how to live? The world is ugly; the world is beautiful.
We are happy we came to Madagascar, but it is not the paradise that pops into our mind when we hear its name. There are beautiful places and unique creatures, but the land is devastated and poverty is rampant. I'll never think of Madagascar without remembering the fishermen bringing in the day's catch, shouting over with a huge smile: "gros poisson!!" - yes, big fish, but a Manta ray, a beautiful, endangered ocean giant (apparently not a rare catch, at least not yet). The people have been friendly, but, with one of the lowest production rates in Africa, that won't be enough to allow them to survive in the long term. In any case, who are we to tell people how to live? The world is ugly; the world is beautiful.