Madagascar - The Lost Island

Having ample amounts of time seems to impede my writing process.  For those unaware, I have returned home safely (about two months now) and have quickly repacked or unpacked for my next excursion:  the job hunt.  At least these past two months have prepared me for the two most common interview questions:

1.  What is your worst quality?
-  Procrastination

2.  What is your best quality?
-  Working well under pressure with deadlines quickly approaching.

So let's get to the business end of things since I still have a few more blogs to produce to complete my journey on the internet highway portion of this trip.

Madagascar
The name 'Madagascar' brings to life the lore of strange jungles filled with exotic creatures that can only fully be appreciated in person or by watching the animated movie of the same title.  (I wanted to get any movie related jokes out of the way early so now that is taken care of.)

After my long over land sojourn through Africa, I was happy to finally be departing the mainland via airplane from Johannesburg, South Africa to Madagascar's capital city, Antananarivo.  Even though the west coast of Madagascar is just a few hundred miles off the eastern seaboard of Mozambique, the short flight felt like I was taking a huge step forward; one foot leaving the African mainland behind while the other foot coming down on the world's fourth largest island situated in the Indian Ocean.  (You can play the home version of the 'What are the three largest islands in the world?' at your leisure.)

Bird's eye view of the Madagascar coast.

Upon arrival, I was surprised to find that the locals appeared more of Polynesian ethnicity than African.  At this point it occurred to me the lack of knowledge, that being zero, I had about the country I had just stepped foot in and would be galavanting around over the next few weeks.  With no land borders granting ease of exit in case of emergency, I figured now was a good time to brush up on the island's history and culture if I expected any chance of fitting in....at least as well as a porcupine attending a balloon animal convention.  The history of this land mass and its inhabitants is one of a kind so I have included the brief tutorial below:

Following the breakup of supercontinent Gondwana, Madagascar left India around 88 million years ago.  Rumor has it the break up was mutual but feelings are always hurt especially as they drifted further apart until Madagascar snuggled in close alongside the southeastern tip of Africa.  Due to its isolation while traveling the seas, its plants and wildlife evolved in relative isolation over the millennia making it a biodiversity hotspot; over 90% of its species are found nowhere else on the planet.  The first humans arrived around 350 BC on outrigger canoes after what one would presume to be an extremely arduous journey across the Indian Ocean from present day Indonesia carefully trying to woo the island back to its Asiatic roots.  However, the Bantu peoples of Africa wanted their side of the story heard as well and lazily started migrating to the island around 1000 AD.  The years that followed saw migrants from other lands all having their say in Malagasy culture which now consists of 18 major sub-groups. 

In the late 19th century during the peak of colonization, the French absorbed the island nation as part of its empire.  As with most colonies under foreign rule, the locals were treated poorly, subjugated to lower class status, and exploited for their large, cheap labor pool.  It wasn't until the 1960's that the French 'returned' independence to the Malagasy people while retaining high positions of authority within the newly formed government for themselves.

The cycle of politics from that point on appears to be this:  There are free and fair elections for a period of years until the French deem that the Malagasy are regaining too much control of their island where upon the French stage a coup d'etat.  This is done for two reasons.  One being to install a new local leader whose ideas are more in tune with French policy.  The other reason being to remind everyone that 'coup d'etat' is a French word.  Don't pronounce half the consonants and you may come close to saying it correctly.  

This cycle occurs about once every ten years causing periods of civil unrest along with economic instability due to the loss of much needed tourism which most of the country relies on in one form or another.  The latest coup took place in 2009 when the French installed a 35 year old former DJ as the interim prime minister.  This doesn't sound like an ideal choice but compared to other leaders installed by the US government around the globe, at least this one can work a disco ball when things get ugly. A democratic presidential election has been rescheduled multiple times over the last few years and elections were set to take place this past August while I was there, giving the capital a slightly more tense feeling but to no avail as they have now been postponed indefinitely.  Aside from the tension in the countries largest city, the only signs of any insecurities outside the capital were multiple checkpoints along the roadways usually outfitted with men in military fatigues, flip flops, rusty AK-47's, and ridiculous questions like "Are you a spy?"  Answering "Yes" is only funny the first time.

Ever since the appearance of homo sapiens, the island has had a losing battle with 90% of its natural forest gone and with 100%  predicted to be lost outside of the small pockets of national parks by the year 2025.  With an income of $2 per day and intense outside pressure from powerful countries for its natural resources, it seems an uphill battle to balance human's needs versus preserving nature's majesty.  

As the theme of traveling through Africa continues, Madagascar is the creme de la creme of not being able to find any solid information on transport about the country.  Making it even more obscure are the names of the towns:  Manjakandriana, Vangaindrano, Fianarantsoa, Belotsiribihina, Tsiroanomandidy, Ambatofinandrahana.  A headache is induced immediately after trying to read them much less remember them.  The locals had the sense to at least nickname their capital city Tana, which is officially Antananarivo, giving me a slight sense of relief on being able to pronounce the city I was to eventually fly out of.

Tana holds the only true metropolitan area in the country.  It is situated in middle of the country on top of the hillside where the arid western plateaus transform into the humid eastern forest.  The metropolitan downtown fades into colonial era structures and cobble stone streets before turning into the endless water logged rice fields that surround the city like an expansive protective moat on all sides.  It's also the only place in the entire country where you can receive any type of medical treatment.  This may be foreshadowing but you'll have to keep reading to find out.

Two girls look across Tana from the highest point in town.

A woman carried here baby alongside the rice patties that surround the capital.  

I will admit I have never been at such a loss as how to tackle the sights of a country.  After arriving at the airport, the only thing I had planned was the taxi to my hotel.  Once checked in, I quickly learned that most of the sights tourists want to see are only accessible by 4WD vehicles with a rented driver and by myself that would get quite expensive.  As I played my cards with Lady Luck for the umpteenth time, I got dealt a fair hand and found a group of four Hong Kong med-students at my hotel I was able to team up with on a route that covered the highlights of the land.  They made sure to point out that they were distinctly from Hong Kong and not from China.  From then on I referred to them only as 'The Chinese'.  I am pretty sure they despised me even though we became Facebook friends.

The next morning, The Chinese and myself loaded into our mini-van to depart Tana for the one-and-a-half day drive south to our first destination.  The houses we passed along the roadside villages were simple square two story dwellings sometimes painted in a faded pastel with intricately carved shutters or banisters hanging gingerly on the outside with farm tools and local produce decorating the premises with children and adults alike lazing about in the sultry heat.  As we stopped in a few small towns for breaks, it was obvious tourists didn't come through too often.  Each time we stopped people stared at us like we were aliens getting out of a spaceship.  Continuing south the roads deteriorated more and more, being overtaken by potholes, grass, and large herds of cattle until we reached the small riverside town that was to be the beginning of a three day dug-out canoe trip.  Waking up the next morning we were greeted by what appeared to be the entire town eager to help us pack the boats with hopes of getting any extra change that fell from our pockets before we began our journey down stream.

1 - broken wheel barrow; 10 - drivers

Everything made it on board including an extra sandal.

The dug-out canoes were actually quite comfortable once settled in and fairly stable.  We had two local river men at the paddles with three passengers in the five man boat.  We teamed up with another group heading down river as this would give us safety in numbers when camping on the sandy river banks against the threat of zebu thieves.

If you learn one word in Malagasy, it should be zebu which means cow.  Zebus are the true currency of the country outside the capital and determine a man's wealth and status.  When zebu thieves have a slow day and come up empty handed, a vulnerable group of tourists makes an easy target.

As we gently floated down river, the locals always were amused to see our presence.  Passing by high river banks, you could hear their movement in the tall grass on the other side.  I was half expecting to suddenly see arrows or spears appear flying in our direction but it would usually be a half dressed boy leading his cow to water.  My favorite was when we rounded a bend in the river and two men were bathing at its shore.  We somewhat surprised each other and one man slightly covered his genitalia.  I thought this would be a good time to wave.  He looked at me confused and gave me a discerned look and wave of his hand but more in the mood of get out of here.  I just waved harder as we floated by which appeared to cause him even more consternation.  He then picked up a spear and hurled it towards our boat I am assuming to hit me but misjudged the wind and current.  The spear landed square in the thigh of one of The Chinese.  Since this impalement would impede our progress, we pushed him overboard and figured he could take care of himself since he was a med student.  The last I heard he was doing reconstructive phrenology in a neighboring village and had married a local girl.  Everything since the 'spear' sentence is a lie.

Stares bounce back and forth as our dug-out canoe glides just above the water.

Along the way, we stopped at tiny riverside villages only accessible by boat that consisted of nothing more than a few thatch huts.  Since our stops usually occurred during midday, the parents were out working the fields or tending cattle and we were left to mingle with the children.  It's hard to imagine but most of the kids would know nothing more than the few adjacent villages that surrounded their huts their entire life.  At some point they may make the long journey up river to the town we started from but to them that even seemed like a distant planet.  They were extremely friendly especially after giving them a few pieces of candy and anything else we could do without.  They even fought over our empty water bottles and finished tins of tuna.  We talked to them via our guide/translator.  I asked if they enjoyed swimming in the river.  They said, "The river is nice to swim in if there are no crocs.  If there are crocs it is not fun."  I concurred with their logic.  Both sides wanted to stay and chat longer but we had a lot of river to cover and needed to press on to set up camp on the river bed farther downstream. 

Kool and the Gang.

Sunset at camp on the sandy river bank.

One of the other interesting stops we made was at a waterfall.  The waterfall was quite amazing actually, dropping from four stories up filling a crystal blue lagoon where we all were happy to freshen up a bit.  I took soap.  But the really interesting thing was found while eating our mediocre spaghetti lunch on some picnic tables under the shade of a tree.  There were ants wondering around at the base of one of the trees all either coming from or going to a quarter sized hole in the ground.  I tossed down a piece of pasta and watched them struggle to finally get the food into their lair.  One of the guides saw me feeding the ants and asked if I knew what they did with the food.  Thinking that my obvious answer of "Eat it." was not what she was looking for I played chase and asked for an answer.

Her answer:  The ants create a hole large enough for a small snake to enter.  They make the chamber inside very welcoming for the snake to take shelter from the elements.  Then they massage the snake and coax it to stay all the while bringing it food to eat.  The snake quickly grows too large and cannot exit.  The ants continue to feed the snake and as it grows it sheds its skin which is what the ants are really after.  I am sure each person has a differently distinct mental image of this process.  I prefer to see the snake in a spa setting with a towel on its head and cucumber slices on its eyes while receiving a relaxing hot stone treatment but I am still not sure why the ants prefer dead snake skin over cooked pasta bolognese.  This country keeps getting stranger.

Late in our third afternoon on the river we reached the conclusion of our relaxing river cruise.  Another tiny village on a high bank consisting of three huts and plenty of people whose sole purpose appeared to be to deliver tourists via ox cart to the nearby town where they could load up into a 4WD vehicle and continue on.  Our ride was up next.  While the locals got the ox carts ready and loaded up, we mingled and ate with the other bystanders.  The kids were keen to play games on a fellow traveler's smart phone but soon lost interest and went back to playing a game involving sticks and rocks in which we joined in as well.  We said goodbye to our oarsmen who would spend the night here before making the two week long journey back up river.  We loaded into the back of an ox cart to get as comfortable as possible for the relatively short trip.  One quickly learns that 'ox cart' and 'comfort' do not go together.

Hanging with the boys in the shade.

Readying the cavalry.  A thorough 12-point inspection is included for your safety.

You're not riding an ox cart unless you are racing one.

Once the 1.5 hours of bone rattling on steal wagon wheels was over, I picked up any teeth that had fallen out in hopes that the tooth fairy was operating in Madagascar.  We arrived at a proper town by Malagasy standards where our 4WD was waiting for us.  While our equipment was removed from the back of the ox cart to the top of the 4WD, we took refuge in the shade of a bar and enjoyed some local beer from the only place in town that had a refrigerator.  Whether it was working or not was another guess.  Most bars also make their own rum which we decided to try as well however I am unsure if I will be able to have children or fully regain sight in my left eye.

Once our gear was loaded, we were introduced to our new driver who also happened to be the local guy I had been buying rum shots for unaware that he was to be our driver.  I only bought him shots because I felt sorry for him for having a patch over his left eye.  We got in and began our six hour drive north to one of the world's most unique geological formations in Tsingy National Park.  Made of porous limestone eroded away after millennia by rain and runoff leaving spires of sharply pointed rock pointing upward like some surreal landscape while down below caverns and canyons created pathways barely big enough to squeeze through while other openings were large enough to fit a bus.  Tsingy roughly translates to "where one cannot walk barefoot".  So I was glad to only have my flip flops with me to navigate the needle like expanse.  Our guide said without the use of the trails the park has built, it would take a full day to cover just a half mile.  This makes Tsingy a great sanctuary for wild life and fauna where lemurs can bound across the spiky pinnacles will in the depths below frogs, snakes, and other large insects remain fairly safe from outside influence.

Carefully traversing the Tsingy.

Our guide patiently waiting as we ascend the spires.

One of The Chinese basking in glorious success upon his suspension bridge crossing.

Once our visit to the park was complete we took the only road out which was the same one we came in on meaning another 6 hours to the south plus a few more hours to get to our most southwest destination of the trip, Marandavo.  Calling it a road is like calling a hungry tiger a baby sitter.  Sometime the ruts were large enough to swallow our vehicle.  Sometimes there was no path and our driver had to plow through miles of elephant grass before finding another navigable dirt path.  Other interesting points were three river crossings on pretty shoddy looking ferries, losing our brakes and clutch, and being swarmed by kids while driving through the tiny villages.

One down.  Five more to go.

In one of the larger villages The Chinese were enamored by a few large turkeys and wanted to stop to take pictures.  As soon as we stopped, kids were running to greet us thinking we had gifts for them but The Chinese were just interested in the turkeys.  The video below shows the incident.  You can see the older woman in the video yelling at the kids to get out of the way so The Chinese can take a photo of the turkeys.  It was confusing for everyone involved.

After leaving the village unscathed we pressed on south getting closer to Marandavo.  After being on the road for so long in fairly remote areas, The Chinese were happy to be getting somewhere where they could wash clothes.  I was about to chime in and agree with them since I hadn't stayed long enough anywhere in the past few weeks to wash clothes either and was on my third day of wearing my underwear inside out.   One of them said, "I almost had to wear the same underwear two days in a row."  I held my tongue and cracked the window a bit more.

Just a half hour out of Marandavo lies another famed stretch of Madagascar, The Avenue of the Boabab.  A 300 meter stretch of road lined by the magnificent Boabab trees that can reach 30 meters tall and live for 800 years.  Translated to 'mother of the forest' this is one of the most densely populated sections of boabab in Madagascar.  Our trip was timed to be here just at sunset which was ideal for capturing the already enchanting scene.

Avenue of the Boabab

Waiting patiently, covered with a traditional mud mask to protect her from the sun,
with high hopes of selling her wares.

The lofty Boababs make grand silhouettes during sunset.

In Marandavo we had a final meal before departing our separate ways in the morning.  The Chinese flew back to Tana while I opted for the more economically viable bus route.  My trip was set to depart around 9 am the next morning and hopefully get into Tana sometime that evening.

A few hours into the ride, I noticed a couple of men walking down the highway carrying what looked like good size portion of raw meat which I thought seemed odd to be carrying down a desolate stretch of highway in the scalding heat.  As we rounded the next bend the reason became more apparent.  A cattle truck had missed the turn and rolled, what appeared to be multiple times, before lying to rest in the dirt not far from the side of the road.  It was quite the scene of carnage as you could imagine.  Like shark-nado going through a rodeo parade.  Another cattle truck had arrived to pick up the cattle that had somehow survived while the cattle that didn't make it were being hacked up where they lay by the locals to salvage what meat they could.  

It was a slightly odd scene because although it looked like it had just recently happened, there were quite a few people gathered and little makeshift tents set up around the sight.  Our driver stopped to see what the situation was.  He came back and told us that the wreck had occurred almost two days ago and the men in the trucks where still there badly injured lying under the tents with no way to get to a hospital.  There were no ambulances to call and the only hospital that could service them was 12 hours away in Tana.  This completes the foreshadowing.

Since we were heading that way, our driver kindly asked us to make room so we could take them with us.  I looked at the truck's cab and it was crushed all the way down to the steering wheel so I was expecting half dead men to come out from the tents but to my surprise one walked around the tent with a large bandage on his chin and a slight limp and the other two appeared to have the same leg injury.  Both of their right legs were heavily wrapped just above the knee where it was obvious that things weren't lining up correctly.  Other than that they seemed fine.

After the long bumpy drive, we arrived in Tana close to midnight.  At the best hospital, because it is the only hospital, in the country, a comedy routine ensued while the orderlies got the injured out of our vehicle and onto stretchers bumping them into everything within a 20 ft radius.  After searching for at least ten minutes a groggy doctor appeared who began pointing more than talking.  The inured men were wheeled out of sight and I sighed hoping the hospital would treat them better than the wreck.  I was just glad it wasn't me.

With this slight detour, we ended up at the Tana bus station just after midnight.  Information that would have been appreciated at the beginning of our bust trip should have read as follows:  If your bus arrives at the Tana bus station after sunset, you will not be allowed off your bus to gather your belongings that are packed on top due to the very real threat of being robbed immediately by street gangs.  Hence you will have to spend the night on the bus fighting off mosquitos and hypothermia until sunrise.  This is for your safety.

I don't think I need to describe how the night went, but was happy to see the first glint of sun in the morning.

And a trip to Madagascar wouldn't be considered complete without seeing a lemur.  So for the last few days I had in country I made a short trip east to one of the country's best national parks known for its lemur population before saying 'bon voyage' to Madagascar and 'herro' to Asia.

It's good to be home,
Jb