Welcome to Kenya!
Well, Nairobi is a bit of a culture shock after 8 weeks in Madagascar. English is spoken everywhere, which is mostly a blessing but takes away the 'je ne comprends pas' angle that we had often used when being hassled. Hassles are surprisingly light here although a day down town usually yields a few approaches from touts or 'teachers' fundraising for schools. It is, however, the most dangerous city in Africa and I have never before seen so much security. Almost every business or shop has one or two guards on the door, searching you (ineffectively) on the way in. The thing that really shocks you here though is the traffic. A trip across the centre of town can take 2 hours and it's faster to walk. Most cars have only the driver within, there's almost no one-way systems, traffic cops are hilariously useless, red lights are often ignored (blocking junctions) and the matatus (minibuses) have their stations near the centre, pulling thousands more vehicles into the mess. So why don't people use bikes and scooters? The way they drive here, that would seriously reduce your life span.
First off we have stuff to buy to replenish our pilfered goods and a safari or two to arrange. Three days of shopping til we're dropping diminishes our to-do list sufficiently that I decide I can treat myself to a haircut. I optimistically rock up to the first place I see and stupidly don't check it out or ask prices. As my 'barber' takes me upstairs I pass several ladies having various parts of their bodies cleaned, trimmed, polished or massaged. To my relief I see a traditional barber's chair ahead and the chappie gets on with the task. Now, while my last haircut involved no clippers, this bloke has the full range and seems determined to use as many as possible. Consequently I don't get a 'number 2 all over' as requested but instead a '3-2-1'. 'The sides and edges grow faster' he explains. Newly shorn, I get up to leave but a young lady directs me instead to a sink to have my hair washed. To within an inch of its life! Two shampoos and a conditioner, including a 5 minute head massage. Seeing my discomfort she says 'you're not used to spending this long in a barber's are you?'. Two moisturising treatments, another head massage and a blow dry later, I'm despatched off to find Jo who had by now assumed kidnap the most likely reason for my extended absence. I wasn't kidnapped but the price did resemble a ransom - $15! They cleaned me up AND cleaned me out.
That evening we're about to head out for an Ethiopian meal with some new friends, before departing the next morning for our 6 day safari. Sipping our pre-dinner beers, a vehicle arrives, returning from a safari trip to the Maasai Mara. We watch them disembark - backpacker...backpacker...backpacker...maasai warrior....backp...Wait a minute. I know people like to bring home souvenirs but that's surely going too far! This bloke was in full traditional dress, in which he remained during his stay. Many maasai come to work in the city as security guards, doing 12 hour shifts for a pittance. Their traditional life is under threat which may mean that the next generation move away from the nomadic, cattle herding existence where they live on milk, blood and some meat. There are many tribes in Kenya but perhaps the maasai are the best known and most easily recognised, swathed in their red blankets, adorned in jewellery and piercings, tall and incredibly lean.
The next day we set off on our safari, heading north to Meru and Samburu National Parks. We soon cross the equator (at 6,389 feet, fact fans) where the 'professor' there gives us a rudimentary demonstration of how water goes clockwise down the plughole in the northern hemisphere and...oh, you know the rest. A few hours in to our trip we figure out two things. First, our guide's name is not 'Rowlands' as we thought but 'Lawrence'; our error caused by a not untypical local speech impediment where 'r' and 'l' are interchangeable. This means that we are now looking forward to seeing rions, reopards and erephants. The second discovery is that we are on the wrong side of Mount Kenya (a not insignificant obstacle at 5199m). On querying this with Lawrence we discover that he has not troubled himself to read the itinerary, was headed for another park altogether and has no idea where we're staying tonight. Not a good start for a guide. His communication skills amounted to little more than 'grunt' and 'problem?' throughout our trip.
A two hour detour later we arrive at a lodge where we expect to camp before heading to Meru in the morning for a game drive. Turns out this place is 70km (2.5 hours on these roads) away from the park but the owner is insisting we take a room as his guests while our guide and cook are left to endure chilly nights in their tents. We've been told dinner is included so Jo orders the chicken. The waitress says 'really, the chicken?!'. A little startled, Jo says 'er, yes, the chicken'. 'But, it's local chicken' she continues. with a fairly concerned look on her face. 'Local, not broiler'. She didn't say 'local chicken for local people' but by now I have a scene from The League of Gentlemen in my head. Eventually she relents and shortly after the manager comes over and sits next to us, explaining with a great flourish that breakfast is on him the next day. This confuses us as we thought everything was on him! What time, he asks. 6:30 latest we say. How about 7, he asks. We need to leave by 7 we insist. Oh, yes, breakfast at 7 will be fine he decides. He then looks at us funny and says 'you don't look married. No, too young and casual - maybe boyfriend and girlfriend?'. Then he says to Jo 'I hear you're having the chicken, (furrows his brow) you know its "local" chicken! It's hard.....but tasty!'. I chase away visions of hens with bovver boots, scars and stiletto knives and give thanks for being vegetarian.
So, my first ever safari yields an array of amazing animals including elephant, zebra (thick stripe type and thin stripe type), various antelope/gazelle/impala including the Gerenuk which has an improbably long neck and the Dik Dik which are tiny wee things; majestic giraffes, warthogs (which look like bulldogs but walk like poodles) and lots more besides. Maybe the most memorable sight however was watching a pair of Somalian blue-legged ostriches go through their whole mating dance routine. They swayed and strutted like rhythmic gymnasts while running toward each other like Heathcliff and Cathy. I loved the whole safari experience even though we only saw one of the 'big five' - elephant, buffalo, leopard, lion and rhino.
The next day we headed for Samburu where we would camp for three nights. Basic but not uncomfortable, as long as you don't find a baboon in the shower where they've learned to turn on the tap for a refreshing drink. Our first game drive there yielded little until late on when we receive a tip that two lionesses and two cubs had been spotted. We watched them at close quarters, unconcerned by our presence, sniffing the air for prey as the cubs played around together. The next day we see them again, shaded under a tree, tummies filled by the zebra whose carcas sits a few metres away. We next make our way to Shaba where our guide informs us there are no animals! The risk of poachers means we have an armed guard with us. Luckily there are indeed animals around including a close up sighting of a group of 5 cheetahs. Very, very rare. The next day's drives don't yield a lot more but we do get pretty close up to some jousting elephants. Awesome creatures. At camp that night Jo (or 'mama' as they call her) and I are serenaded by trumpeting elephants and the familiar sounds of Abba's greatest hits from Lawrence's iPod. Sadly, a miscalculation means that our 3L box of wine has but a half glass remaining. Time to go back to Nairobi.
We loved seeing the animals but frankly the tour arrangements let us down so we decide on a DIY safari next that will take us to the shores of Lake Naivasha where we will visit Hell's Gate and Nakuru.
At Lake Naivasha we have a spacious banda (wooden bungalow) and access to a quite splendid bar/restaurant. We hire bikes and set off on a 40k trip to and around Hell's Gate national park. This is quite unusual in that safaris nearly always require a vehicle so cycling past wild African animals is a special experience. Just 2k into the park I get a puncture and have to hobble back to the start where their bike mechanic makes the repair. I set off once more but 6k later, the same tyre gives in again. It's hot, we've cycled over 20k, wasted 2 hours and we're still at the gate (hell's gate indeed). This time I get him to fit a new inner tube as the old one has more patches than a Long John Silver lookalike competition. We see lots of buffalo, zebras, giraffes and find time for an excellent two hour gorge walk in addition. At the end of the walk, as we sip our cold, fizzy drinks, we watch a family of baboons (Dad, Mum and tiny baby) sit themselves down at one of the picnic tables. Dad looks like he wished he'd brought the newspaper, Mum helps baby clamber around the table and they seem to collectively wonder where the waiter's got to! The puncture fiasco, by the way, did yield a meeting with three folk who agreed to let us hitch on their vehicle to Lake Nakuru the next day. Result! We all celebrated a memorable day together over pizza and beer that evening.
Lake Nakuru national park is absolutely stunning. The lake itself is often ablaze with pink flamingoes but even in their virtual absence the views are epic. A highlight for me was observing several white rhino just 25m away. (Only leopards to go now to complete the big 5.) We also saw black rhino but at more of a distance. The bird life is a highlight here and I especially loved the slightly comical yellow-beaked stork. Their beaks look as incongruous on them as a funny red nose does on a human. Julia, who's 7-seater, off-road vehicle this was, wanted a break from driving and I was only too delighted to have a go. In fact I never returned the vehicle to her until we had to part at the end of the day. Driving back toward Naivasha was a bit hairy at times, especially with the antics of the buses and matatus that overtake at will to your right and left - even though there is no lane on the left!
We returned briefly to Nairobi the next day, ahead of catching the 7pm train to Mombasa. As we are about to board Jo bumps into friends from back home (bizarre) then we clamber on to the classic old carriage where our first class double berth cabin awaits. Predictably we leave over an hour late which means dinner (ours is the middle of three sittings) will not be until 10pm or so. The sedate pace of the train served to rock me gently to sleep on the comfy top bunk as we chugged through the night. Further delays mean we don't reach Mombasa until after noon the next day (17 hours in all) but that gives us the chance to admire how this unfeasibly long train snakes it's way through the vast landscape of green bush on red earth, children lined up by the side of the rails, waving and smiling as we pass through. Breakfast was announced in the same manner as each dinner sitting had been; by a bloke walking up and down the narrow corridors clanging a bell. Quaint, but not at 6am, especially if you'd only recently got to sleep after digesting the remains of dinner sitting #3! The toilets on board are functionalish but ours has a broken flush which means that the water rushes up like a fountain instead of down into the bowl. Oh, and I discover that Swahili for loo is choo. Quite appropriate for a train really. Overall a great experience for $65 each.
After long negotiations and arguments with our cab driver we make our way to Diani beach for $20 - half the originally quoted fare. We get lots more practice in bargaining over the ensuing days as every time we travel up and down the beach road the matatu conductor tries to squeeze some extra shillings out of us; but we're getting wiser and tougher. We're staying at a fairly swish, small resort type hotel; half board (including afternoon tea and cake) with balcony, pool and other accoutrements that we are rarely treated to. It's Christmas and we're staying through New Year; we have time, books, beach and internet access so it's pole-pole (slowly, slowly) as the locals would say. We buy a day trip to Wasini island, ostensibly to snorkel in the marine park but despite lots of pretty fish the trip is badly run. We've come to realise that most packaged tours are poor value and often disappointing so we decide to cobble together a DIY visit to Shimba Hills national park having wrestled our $20 deposit back from the tour operator. Later that day, clouds and rain make an unwelcome appearance but I manage to tune one of the two channels on our telly to see the seasonal matinee 'A Muppet Christmas Carol'. Makes me yearn a little for traditional Christmases back home.
The next day we decide to go explore the neighbouring beach at Tiwi. We'd heard the access road could be dangerous so we take a tuk-tuk the whole way. The beach is pretty deserted at that end and a security guard at the hotel under construction advises us to take care walking home along the beach as muggings do occur. We've got so used to not believing anything anyone local tells us that we decide to take a short stroll anyway. This proves disastrous as we are mugged by a gang of 5 guys with metal bars and sticks and our bags are taken. This is in the middle of the day, on a wide open beach with people walking up and down and security guards 200m away. Being an idiot, I had my passport and wallet in my bag so these are gone along with our phones, Jo's camera and a lot of money. We are comforted by people who saw what happened and a passing Maasai warrior (honestly) takes us under his wing and safely returns us to our hotel. We do the usual cancelling of cards etc then head to the police station to make our report.
You can imagine that having been robbed twice now in Africa we felt like packing it all in and heading home. However, time heals and the spirit grows strong and by the time we'd visited Shimba the next day we'd decided to indeed continue our adventure albeit with a short interlude while I travel home to get a new passport. Travelling home is a pain but gone are the days when your local Embassy could cobble together a new passport within a week. Passports now have to be manufactured in the UK due to technological advances in their design and it takes up to 12 weeks to get one from Kenya. Progress huh? First though I need emergency travel documents from the British High Commission in Nairobi where we shall travel next.
These, however, ladies and gentlemen, are shadows of adventures yet to come and this blog tells only of adventures past. Today is the last day of 2011 and tonight is Hogmanay. We shall see the old year out and the new one in over a few wines saying goodbye to 2011 with thanks for so many wonderful experiences in the 20 countries we've visited; and we look forward to 2012 which promises lots more shenanigans ahead.
Wishing you all a peaceful, happy, fun 2012!
Robert
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
One way ticket to Hell-Ville
The journey from Diego Suarez to National Parc d'Ankarana involves a 3 hour ride on the infamous taxi brousse. Our regular readers will recall that these vehicles are typically filled beyond capacity but this route is actually renowned for going even further toward the full sardine effect. As usual we were mobbed as we arrived at the station and after prolonged arguments over price were given our customary three seats. Another hour passed as the local guys argued about who got the commission then the driver took us on a pointless, circular tour of town before finally heading off.
The line-up in the bus has by now already moved on from the conventional 4-4-4-4-2 formation to something like 5-3-5-7-3. Hilariously, only a few hundred metres into our journey a rather large lady tries to get on. Now, we're already packed in but nevertheless she clambers into a full row and proceeds to sit on this poor bloke's knee. He yelps and complains loudly but this lady isn't for turning and he is forced to vacate his seat, get his bag and wait for the next bus! The shenanigans continue all around us throughout the journey but miraculously no one even tries to invade our comfy 3-seat space. Faza power!
An aside on the taxis here. Fuel is expensive at about one Euro per litre. To keep costs down and no doubt help save the planet they pretty routinely switch the engine off on every downhill. The restart can be a bump start or often a deft piece of hotwiring. Keys are rarely seen or used. When you hire a cab or get in a taxi brousse they will inevitably stop very soon after at a petrol station and buy just enough for the journey. This certainly has something to do with cash flow but also, we suspect, to avoid someone siphoning any spare off. They do run out of petrol from time to time of course as the instrumentation is usually useless. One guy got out, filled a small plastic petrol can and instead of pouring the stuff in the tank he just used this beaker as the tank. He set it down in the passenger footwell, stuck a tube in the top and off we went. I was just waiting for him to light a fag!
We arrive at our preferred lodgings near the Ankarana park but they're full so the helpful owner takes us to another place. In gratitude, we promise to dine at his place that evening - big mistake. After lunch, it rained heavily, turning the dusty paths into mud and puddles. It's also now so dark you can't see a thing and our torches are pitifully inadequate. Attempting the 1km walk to his restaurant is clearly bonkers but a promise is a promise. Before long we come across a massive puddle/small pond. My Crocs are looking a better footwear choice than Jo's flip-flops so I gallantly offer to give her a piggy back. Seconds later I'm sliding down the mud towards the puddly depths, Jo yelping in horror at the approaching mud bath as I only just barely stop us from both toppling in, now thigh deep in the glaur. Not doing that again. Dinner was lovely though and it turned out his tour group hadn't turned up so we could have stayed there after all. Grrrr.
The next day we have a splendid walk in the Park where we are treated to yet more furry lemurs, cool chameleons and a natural phenomenon where rain erodes limestone rocks to create tsingys. Tsingy means 'sharp' in Malagasy and they make an awesome sight. There's acres of them all lined up like spiky, grey Darth Vaders making an other-wordly landscape. Back at our bungalow we're out of water for our bucket shower and flush so I spend a happy half hour pulling water up from the well and carrying it back to our bathroom. Ah, the simple life. For hours later the scene and song from the Jungle Book where Mowgli's girlfriend carries the water is in my head. "I must go to fetch the water....."
Our guide has helpfully arranged two seats on a taxi brousse for the next day, which leaves Diego at 3:30am, passing our place at 5:30am. We fully expect to have to wait hours by the roadside as usual but, no, as we walk up to the road there it is like some wonderful mirage, bang on time. The driver sees our shock and says 'this bus doesn't run on Madagascar time you know'! The ride to Ankify where we'll get a boat to the island of Nosy Be is rather white knuckle, not least as we have the two front seats, known locally as the 'death seats'. One of the drivers insists on multi-tasking (eating, smoking, talking on the phone) constantly while tearing down the road. The other driver isn't much better and is all fingers and thumbs. Literally, he has three thumbs!
We arrive at the port of Ankify and are mobbed by touts selling tickets for their boats. Once we're settled on our preferred vessel the guy asks me for the fare. "One way ticket to Hell-Ville please. Same for the dame." I should have done that in a John Wayne voice I now realise but yes indeed, our destination is Hell-Ville, capital of Nosy Be. The island is hot and sticky but we have a cool place to stay with great views, an infinity pool and loads of geckos. Our after dinner entertainment is watching these little guys hunt down flies, beetles and all manner of small insects before grabbing them and appearing to suck on them for some time before they disappear into their tummies.
Beaches are the main attraction here and the best is on a tiny island called Nosy Tanikely where we see sea turtle, grouper and loads of ultra-colorful fish while snorkelling around. Ahead of a visit to a small nature reserve to see black lemur we hit the local market for some pique-nique stuff. Here, we are horrified by the prices which seem to be about 5x what we're used to in Madagascar. Jo has an argument with a small group of lychee sellers and I'm agog with the fiscal demands of the tomato lady. The next day I return there reluctantly as we do really need some tomatoes and this time I stand my ground, insisting on a lower price. She wants 3000 Ar (£1) for 3 tomatoes. She points at the price tag which says 1000. Surely per kg I say, no, per tomato she insists. Then I look closer and see that the price is not in Ariary, the local currency since 2003, but in Malagasy Francs which were withdrawn at the same time. The tomato lady's mate is now brandishing a tomato in one hand and a 200 Ar note in the other to leave me in no doubt about the price. Yep, 1 Ar is worth 5 Malagasy Francs and I buy the three tomatoes for 600 Ar. So, we're wondering why everyone in the market is selling produce in a currency that is long defunct, makes the goods appear 5x as expensive and confuses the hell (ville) out of tourists. Answers on a postcard.
After several on-time flights Air Mad inevitably let us down with a 7 hour delay for our trip back to Tana. They do however bus us back to Hell-Ville for dinner at their expense. Back at the airport a full throttle electrical storm is raging and the in-bound, ultra-late airplane is circling, the pilot unsure if it's safe to land. We're all watching this drama unfold and the ground staff (of whom there are legions despite there being two flights a day) are held in rapt attention. When it does safely land at the last attempt the ground staff actually cheer and applaud - as much from relief as joy it seems. Maybe they don't get paid if it's diverted. So, eventually, very tired, we arrive in Tana about 1am.
The next day we head for our last national park (Andasibe-Mantadia) via two taxi-brousses. It's madness where we're trying to pick up our connection but a kind local fellow (who ends up being our guide, Maurice, for the next two days) helps us get our customary three tickets. A bus arrives and hordes of locals battle to get a seat on it. As the melee dies down Maurice says that this is indeed our bus. Gulp. There appears to be nowhere to sit but Jo somehow squeezes in a seat and they attach a wooden block across two aisle seats where I am jammed between about 7 locals, much to their hilarity. Spotting that we barely have 2 seats, never mind three, Maurice jumps out of the bus and gets us a refund for one of our tickets - 2,000Ar. He turns out to be a very good guide too.
We get to our destination and book into a very decent bungalow in a big hotel near the village. Apparently the Duke of Edinburgh, the Emperor of Japan and David Attenborough all stayed here once; luckily there are three beds, but I don't know which of them nabbed the double that night. There's a cavernous dining room on two levels where we rock up for a much-needed dinner and beers. We then realise that we are the only people staying here in this vast place. It makes for a 'closed for Winter' atmosphere and I half expect a crazed Jack Nicholson to break the door down with an axe any minute. We are woken the next day to the eerie sound of the Indri, Madagascar's biggest lemur and the main chaps we're here to see. If you remember the Clangers, they sound a bit like that.
It's early morning and we're walking down to the first park we wish to visit - Reserve Speciale d'Analamazaotra. A Boa Constrictor lies sunning itself by the roadside and Maurice casually picks it up to move it out of sight. At the park we are quickly rewarded with a close-up sighting of the Eastern Grey Bamboo lemur, munching away on its favourite food. Later that day we see a troupe of Common Brown lemur, including an adult male carrying two babies on his back as he leaps through the trees. Then we see the main attraction here - Indri. These are the biggest of the lemur family and are actually one of the Sifaka group. Lovely creatures, cute faces and beautiful markings. Interestingly, and sadly, they are so specialised in their environmental needs that any attempt to keep them in captivity results in their death.
That evening we do a night walk. On the upside we see Goodman's mouse lemur (these really are no bigger than a rat but do look entirely like lemurs) and a furry-eared dwarf lemur. Also some tiny but gloriously colourful frogs and more incredible examples of the ultra-varied chameleon family. On the downside it rained hard and the 'path' quickly became water-logged. I was again fine in my Crocs but Jo's Converse will never be the same. She wasn't going to risk the piggy-back again though.
Up even earlier the next day for a bumpy car ride to Parc National de Mantadia; less visited but containing other rare species of lemur. It's raining from the off this time (it is rainforest after all) and for most of the walk we see nothing. Then we do get a good, if distant, sighting of the black and white ruffed lemur - a family group high in the trees. The babies are just 7 months old and resemble little pandas. Then, just before the end of our walk, after fighting off the mosquitoes and leeches, we stand transfixed as a group of Diademed Sifakas pass right next to us, only metres away. These are beautiful animals - quite large with brown, yellow and white markings - and they move like dancing kangaroos, leaping but also twisting and swinging. You can feel their power and grace as they pass by. Then, kindly, they stop for a while so that we can properly observe them. These will be the last lemurs we see in Madagascar and a real crescendo finale.
We return to our bungalow to dry out and chill out, sharing our omelette sandwiches with the skinny chickens around us (cannibalism?). I ask Jo what she's having for dinner that evening just in case this apparent act of kindness has an ulterior motive! Tomorrow we head back to Tana for our last night in Madagascar after eight wonderful weeks living here. We have seen probably 30+ species of lemur but that's only 1/3 of the total. These are all endemic to Madagascar and indeed, 80% of all plant and animal species here cannot be found anywhere else on earth. So, would I recommend Madagascar to you? Absolutely. The lemurs alone make the trip worthwhile. We are deeply in love with them all. The chameleons are astounding, the birds are colourful and diverse. You'll see some amazing landscapes, fabulous beaches and experience the culture of the Malagasy people. Traveling around has been hard work and maintaining adequate cashflow without a spare attache case of Ariary is a logistical challenge but overall....magnifique!
So, as we plan for Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda and Uganda, 'a bientot' from me and 'au revoir' to Madagascar.
Robert
The line-up in the bus has by now already moved on from the conventional 4-4-4-4-2 formation to something like 5-3-5-7-3. Hilariously, only a few hundred metres into our journey a rather large lady tries to get on. Now, we're already packed in but nevertheless she clambers into a full row and proceeds to sit on this poor bloke's knee. He yelps and complains loudly but this lady isn't for turning and he is forced to vacate his seat, get his bag and wait for the next bus! The shenanigans continue all around us throughout the journey but miraculously no one even tries to invade our comfy 3-seat space. Faza power!
An aside on the taxis here. Fuel is expensive at about one Euro per litre. To keep costs down and no doubt help save the planet they pretty routinely switch the engine off on every downhill. The restart can be a bump start or often a deft piece of hotwiring. Keys are rarely seen or used. When you hire a cab or get in a taxi brousse they will inevitably stop very soon after at a petrol station and buy just enough for the journey. This certainly has something to do with cash flow but also, we suspect, to avoid someone siphoning any spare off. They do run out of petrol from time to time of course as the instrumentation is usually useless. One guy got out, filled a small plastic petrol can and instead of pouring the stuff in the tank he just used this beaker as the tank. He set it down in the passenger footwell, stuck a tube in the top and off we went. I was just waiting for him to light a fag!
We arrive at our preferred lodgings near the Ankarana park but they're full so the helpful owner takes us to another place. In gratitude, we promise to dine at his place that evening - big mistake. After lunch, it rained heavily, turning the dusty paths into mud and puddles. It's also now so dark you can't see a thing and our torches are pitifully inadequate. Attempting the 1km walk to his restaurant is clearly bonkers but a promise is a promise. Before long we come across a massive puddle/small pond. My Crocs are looking a better footwear choice than Jo's flip-flops so I gallantly offer to give her a piggy back. Seconds later I'm sliding down the mud towards the puddly depths, Jo yelping in horror at the approaching mud bath as I only just barely stop us from both toppling in, now thigh deep in the glaur. Not doing that again. Dinner was lovely though and it turned out his tour group hadn't turned up so we could have stayed there after all. Grrrr.
The next day we have a splendid walk in the Park where we are treated to yet more furry lemurs, cool chameleons and a natural phenomenon where rain erodes limestone rocks to create tsingys. Tsingy means 'sharp' in Malagasy and they make an awesome sight. There's acres of them all lined up like spiky, grey Darth Vaders making an other-wordly landscape. Back at our bungalow we're out of water for our bucket shower and flush so I spend a happy half hour pulling water up from the well and carrying it back to our bathroom. Ah, the simple life. For hours later the scene and song from the Jungle Book where Mowgli's girlfriend carries the water is in my head. "I must go to fetch the water....."
Our guide has helpfully arranged two seats on a taxi brousse for the next day, which leaves Diego at 3:30am, passing our place at 5:30am. We fully expect to have to wait hours by the roadside as usual but, no, as we walk up to the road there it is like some wonderful mirage, bang on time. The driver sees our shock and says 'this bus doesn't run on Madagascar time you know'! The ride to Ankify where we'll get a boat to the island of Nosy Be is rather white knuckle, not least as we have the two front seats, known locally as the 'death seats'. One of the drivers insists on multi-tasking (eating, smoking, talking on the phone) constantly while tearing down the road. The other driver isn't much better and is all fingers and thumbs. Literally, he has three thumbs!
We arrive at the port of Ankify and are mobbed by touts selling tickets for their boats. Once we're settled on our preferred vessel the guy asks me for the fare. "One way ticket to Hell-Ville please. Same for the dame." I should have done that in a John Wayne voice I now realise but yes indeed, our destination is Hell-Ville, capital of Nosy Be. The island is hot and sticky but we have a cool place to stay with great views, an infinity pool and loads of geckos. Our after dinner entertainment is watching these little guys hunt down flies, beetles and all manner of small insects before grabbing them and appearing to suck on them for some time before they disappear into their tummies.
Beaches are the main attraction here and the best is on a tiny island called Nosy Tanikely where we see sea turtle, grouper and loads of ultra-colorful fish while snorkelling around. Ahead of a visit to a small nature reserve to see black lemur we hit the local market for some pique-nique stuff. Here, we are horrified by the prices which seem to be about 5x what we're used to in Madagascar. Jo has an argument with a small group of lychee sellers and I'm agog with the fiscal demands of the tomato lady. The next day I return there reluctantly as we do really need some tomatoes and this time I stand my ground, insisting on a lower price. She wants 3000 Ar (£1) for 3 tomatoes. She points at the price tag which says 1000. Surely per kg I say, no, per tomato she insists. Then I look closer and see that the price is not in Ariary, the local currency since 2003, but in Malagasy Francs which were withdrawn at the same time. The tomato lady's mate is now brandishing a tomato in one hand and a 200 Ar note in the other to leave me in no doubt about the price. Yep, 1 Ar is worth 5 Malagasy Francs and I buy the three tomatoes for 600 Ar. So, we're wondering why everyone in the market is selling produce in a currency that is long defunct, makes the goods appear 5x as expensive and confuses the hell (ville) out of tourists. Answers on a postcard.
After several on-time flights Air Mad inevitably let us down with a 7 hour delay for our trip back to Tana. They do however bus us back to Hell-Ville for dinner at their expense. Back at the airport a full throttle electrical storm is raging and the in-bound, ultra-late airplane is circling, the pilot unsure if it's safe to land. We're all watching this drama unfold and the ground staff (of whom there are legions despite there being two flights a day) are held in rapt attention. When it does safely land at the last attempt the ground staff actually cheer and applaud - as much from relief as joy it seems. Maybe they don't get paid if it's diverted. So, eventually, very tired, we arrive in Tana about 1am.
The next day we head for our last national park (Andasibe-Mantadia) via two taxi-brousses. It's madness where we're trying to pick up our connection but a kind local fellow (who ends up being our guide, Maurice, for the next two days) helps us get our customary three tickets. A bus arrives and hordes of locals battle to get a seat on it. As the melee dies down Maurice says that this is indeed our bus. Gulp. There appears to be nowhere to sit but Jo somehow squeezes in a seat and they attach a wooden block across two aisle seats where I am jammed between about 7 locals, much to their hilarity. Spotting that we barely have 2 seats, never mind three, Maurice jumps out of the bus and gets us a refund for one of our tickets - 2,000Ar. He turns out to be a very good guide too.
We get to our destination and book into a very decent bungalow in a big hotel near the village. Apparently the Duke of Edinburgh, the Emperor of Japan and David Attenborough all stayed here once; luckily there are three beds, but I don't know which of them nabbed the double that night. There's a cavernous dining room on two levels where we rock up for a much-needed dinner and beers. We then realise that we are the only people staying here in this vast place. It makes for a 'closed for Winter' atmosphere and I half expect a crazed Jack Nicholson to break the door down with an axe any minute. We are woken the next day to the eerie sound of the Indri, Madagascar's biggest lemur and the main chaps we're here to see. If you remember the Clangers, they sound a bit like that.
It's early morning and we're walking down to the first park we wish to visit - Reserve Speciale d'Analamazaotra. A Boa Constrictor lies sunning itself by the roadside and Maurice casually picks it up to move it out of sight. At the park we are quickly rewarded with a close-up sighting of the Eastern Grey Bamboo lemur, munching away on its favourite food. Later that day we see a troupe of Common Brown lemur, including an adult male carrying two babies on his back as he leaps through the trees. Then we see the main attraction here - Indri. These are the biggest of the lemur family and are actually one of the Sifaka group. Lovely creatures, cute faces and beautiful markings. Interestingly, and sadly, they are so specialised in their environmental needs that any attempt to keep them in captivity results in their death.
That evening we do a night walk. On the upside we see Goodman's mouse lemur (these really are no bigger than a rat but do look entirely like lemurs) and a furry-eared dwarf lemur. Also some tiny but gloriously colourful frogs and more incredible examples of the ultra-varied chameleon family. On the downside it rained hard and the 'path' quickly became water-logged. I was again fine in my Crocs but Jo's Converse will never be the same. She wasn't going to risk the piggy-back again though.
Up even earlier the next day for a bumpy car ride to Parc National de Mantadia; less visited but containing other rare species of lemur. It's raining from the off this time (it is rainforest after all) and for most of the walk we see nothing. Then we do get a good, if distant, sighting of the black and white ruffed lemur - a family group high in the trees. The babies are just 7 months old and resemble little pandas. Then, just before the end of our walk, after fighting off the mosquitoes and leeches, we stand transfixed as a group of Diademed Sifakas pass right next to us, only metres away. These are beautiful animals - quite large with brown, yellow and white markings - and they move like dancing kangaroos, leaping but also twisting and swinging. You can feel their power and grace as they pass by. Then, kindly, they stop for a while so that we can properly observe them. These will be the last lemurs we see in Madagascar and a real crescendo finale.
We return to our bungalow to dry out and chill out, sharing our omelette sandwiches with the skinny chickens around us (cannibalism?). I ask Jo what she's having for dinner that evening just in case this apparent act of kindness has an ulterior motive! Tomorrow we head back to Tana for our last night in Madagascar after eight wonderful weeks living here. We have seen probably 30+ species of lemur but that's only 1/3 of the total. These are all endemic to Madagascar and indeed, 80% of all plant and animal species here cannot be found anywhere else on earth. So, would I recommend Madagascar to you? Absolutely. The lemurs alone make the trip worthwhile. We are deeply in love with them all. The chameleons are astounding, the birds are colourful and diverse. You'll see some amazing landscapes, fabulous beaches and experience the culture of the Malagasy people. Traveling around has been hard work and maintaining adequate cashflow without a spare attache case of Ariary is a logistical challenge but overall....magnifique!
So, as we plan for Kenya, Tanzania, Rwanda and Uganda, 'a bientot' from me and 'au revoir' to Madagascar.
Robert
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Beaver Fever
Yep, beaver fever.
So, I'd not been feeling too well for a while and despite fasting, shunning alcohol (well, for one day anyway) and lying in bed for a whole day, we arrive in Mahajanga with your humble correspondent still somewhat sickly. Grateful as I was for having now shed the pounds gained back in London, it was time to seek medical advice. The title above is the less common, but much more entertaining name of the particular illness afflicting me. I'll leave it to you to imagine why it got that name - I really don't know - but it's more familiar name is Giardiasis.
Just seeing the man in the white coat made me feel more positive and I went in search of a pharmacy that could serve me up the three wonderful medicines prescribed by the Madadoc. Eighteen hours (okay I slept 8 of those), five pharmacies and two pousse-pousse rides later I had them in my paw. Double strength anti-biotics to kill the little blighter off, a powder you add to water that tasted exactly as I imagine dilute cement mix would (and was designed for a similar purpose) and a lovely strawberry tasting concoction to revitalise my poor wasted body. This last medicine, I later discover on reading the instructions, is however designed purely for children under 2. One consequence of this is that the zinc tablets that handily came with it are recommended to be crushed up and mixed with breast milk. I didn't imagine the chemist would stock any of that so swallowing whole with water had to do.
Happily today I feel that I'm well on the road to a full recovery and my body can return to dealing only with the psychosis inducing malaria pills and the 100% deet mosquito repellent. Goodness knows what this stuff does to your skin as it leaked in Jo's sturdy, Paperchase plastic bag and burned almost right through it. The locals here mostly can't afford western medicine so rely on medicinal plants - maybe I should take a leaf from their book. The ladies here also use plants cosmetically. They have something called Masonjoany which is a paste made from rubbing a particular stick on a stone with some water. This is then applied to the face, not at night, but left on all during the day and usually removed at night (I'm told). So, one often sees these ladies walking around, bucket of water or fruit or whatever on their head with a yellowy/white face smiling at you. Very becoming in a strange sort of way.
Mahajanga, where we flew after Ile Sainte-Marie, wasn't our favourite place but airline schedules and a curtailed national park visit (more later) meant that we spent five nights there. These included my 49th birthday, celebrated with a pretty decent pizza after which the waiter chased our taxi down the street with such gusto we thought we'd not left enough money. Actually, he said, 'you've left too much'. Er, that's your tip dude. He was actually quite shocked and we've realised since that tipping is somewhat of a rarity here but much appreciated. We also spent two days doing absolutely nada at the Piscine Hotel. For £3 each you get to laze around (and use) their 50m swimming pool. It's very hot in Mahajanga in November so this was absolute bliss, despite the diluted sea-water contents and the dozens of screaming kids clearly on swimming lesson #1.
So, we did spend one night at the Ankarafantsika national parc, 120km from Mahajanga. On the upside we saw a tiny nocturnal mouse lemur on our night walk and and a new (for us) species of sifaka lemur by day which was beyond gorgeous. I really never expected to love lemurs this much but they are beautiful, inquisitive, entertaining, athletic, cute and cuddly with amazing piercing eyes, pointy snouts and at this time of year, often seen with babies hanging on to mum. What's not to like?!
Sadly, our visit to this park will be best remembered for another reason. While on our night walk, our bungalow was broken into and they stole a bunch of cash as well as a bunch of stuff. Most annoyingly they took my prescription sunglasses (police are looking for a local with cool shades who keeps bumping into stuff), both our binoculars, Jo's iPod and speakers, my sleeping bag, Jo's hiking boots, her snorkel and mask and possibly worst of all.....our East Africa Lonely Planet. I mean, the cash I can understand and that doesn't hurt too much. But most of the rest of it....!!!!? So, having moved bungalow for the night, we go to meet the (ultra contrite) parc director the next day. I've never heard anyone grovel in Malagasy before but he did it well enough that we suspected this might not have been the first robbery at the parc. A small bribe (to not go public, but we will anyway, in a nice way) and a written apology later, we get to spend a happy half hour in the presence of two of Madagascar's fine young police officers. They were thorough and detailed in their questioning but we doubt very much if the thieves will ever be caught. Probably snorkeling off the Mombasa coast by now.
A few days later we board another plane (on time yet again Air Mad!) up to Diego Suarez near the very North of Madagascar. We're staying in a really lovely place with great views, friendly staff, excellent wi-fi, linen changed every day, air-conditioned en-suite room and BELIEVE IT OR NOT a mini-bar in our room. We were blown away. All this for a mere £22 a night. One thing I do love about rooms like this is how having a mozzie net erected around the bed gives it a real 4-poster, fairy-tale kind of feel. Oh, and even better, the bed here is so comfortable. Most of the beds here in Madagascar, for some reason, are severely bowed in the middle like Babar the elephant has been hibernating there all Winter. I have to keep some basic mountaineering equipment near at hand in case I have to scale the mattress to visit the loo in the middle of the night!
Today we visited National Parc Montagne d'Ambre. We had a lovely walk in the relatively cool forest, spotting lemurs, chameleons and birds as per usual. (We really never tire of this.) Today though, we met a record-breaking beast. The smallest chameleon in the world which is a tiny 3cm long. Despite it's microscopic size it exhibits all the usual fab features of these crazy creatures (poetry!) ie 360 degree independent eye sockets, funny grabby hand thingies, colour changing trickery and the elastic super-long tongue. Obviously this one's not that long though. Tomorrow we head for a day sprawled on the beach by the turquoise waters of emerald bay (was that a non-sequetor or an oxymoron or just crap writing?), then we head by taxi-brousse to our next parc.
Before leaving you though, I must share our excitement at having to choose our relevant sizes, online, for our London Ambassador (Olympics) uniforms. In anticipation of your question, we don't yet know what these will look like (those cunning organisers are keeping us salivating for now) but I can reveal of what they consist (including my sizes):
2 x polo shirt L (42-44")
1 x jacket L (42-44")
1 x fleece L (42-44")
1 x pair black trousers length:Tall (33') Waist :34"
1 x trilby hat L
Apparently, we’ll also be sent a London Ambassadors baseball cap, water bottle and backpack - and you get to keep the lot. You may see me patrolling the railway stations of London in early August on my late shift one evening. Do come and say hello. Until then (or the next blog) a bientot!
Robert
So, I'd not been feeling too well for a while and despite fasting, shunning alcohol (well, for one day anyway) and lying in bed for a whole day, we arrive in Mahajanga with your humble correspondent still somewhat sickly. Grateful as I was for having now shed the pounds gained back in London, it was time to seek medical advice. The title above is the less common, but much more entertaining name of the particular illness afflicting me. I'll leave it to you to imagine why it got that name - I really don't know - but it's more familiar name is Giardiasis.
Just seeing the man in the white coat made me feel more positive and I went in search of a pharmacy that could serve me up the three wonderful medicines prescribed by the Madadoc. Eighteen hours (okay I slept 8 of those), five pharmacies and two pousse-pousse rides later I had them in my paw. Double strength anti-biotics to kill the little blighter off, a powder you add to water that tasted exactly as I imagine dilute cement mix would (and was designed for a similar purpose) and a lovely strawberry tasting concoction to revitalise my poor wasted body. This last medicine, I later discover on reading the instructions, is however designed purely for children under 2. One consequence of this is that the zinc tablets that handily came with it are recommended to be crushed up and mixed with breast milk. I didn't imagine the chemist would stock any of that so swallowing whole with water had to do.
Happily today I feel that I'm well on the road to a full recovery and my body can return to dealing only with the psychosis inducing malaria pills and the 100% deet mosquito repellent. Goodness knows what this stuff does to your skin as it leaked in Jo's sturdy, Paperchase plastic bag and burned almost right through it. The locals here mostly can't afford western medicine so rely on medicinal plants - maybe I should take a leaf from their book. The ladies here also use plants cosmetically. They have something called Masonjoany which is a paste made from rubbing a particular stick on a stone with some water. This is then applied to the face, not at night, but left on all during the day and usually removed at night (I'm told). So, one often sees these ladies walking around, bucket of water or fruit or whatever on their head with a yellowy/white face smiling at you. Very becoming in a strange sort of way.
Mahajanga, where we flew after Ile Sainte-Marie, wasn't our favourite place but airline schedules and a curtailed national park visit (more later) meant that we spent five nights there. These included my 49th birthday, celebrated with a pretty decent pizza after which the waiter chased our taxi down the street with such gusto we thought we'd not left enough money. Actually, he said, 'you've left too much'. Er, that's your tip dude. He was actually quite shocked and we've realised since that tipping is somewhat of a rarity here but much appreciated. We also spent two days doing absolutely nada at the Piscine Hotel. For £3 each you get to laze around (and use) their 50m swimming pool. It's very hot in Mahajanga in November so this was absolute bliss, despite the diluted sea-water contents and the dozens of screaming kids clearly on swimming lesson #1.
So, we did spend one night at the Ankarafantsika national parc, 120km from Mahajanga. On the upside we saw a tiny nocturnal mouse lemur on our night walk and and a new (for us) species of sifaka lemur by day which was beyond gorgeous. I really never expected to love lemurs this much but they are beautiful, inquisitive, entertaining, athletic, cute and cuddly with amazing piercing eyes, pointy snouts and at this time of year, often seen with babies hanging on to mum. What's not to like?!
Sadly, our visit to this park will be best remembered for another reason. While on our night walk, our bungalow was broken into and they stole a bunch of cash as well as a bunch of stuff. Most annoyingly they took my prescription sunglasses (police are looking for a local with cool shades who keeps bumping into stuff), both our binoculars, Jo's iPod and speakers, my sleeping bag, Jo's hiking boots, her snorkel and mask and possibly worst of all.....our East Africa Lonely Planet. I mean, the cash I can understand and that doesn't hurt too much. But most of the rest of it....!!!!? So, having moved bungalow for the night, we go to meet the (ultra contrite) parc director the next day. I've never heard anyone grovel in Malagasy before but he did it well enough that we suspected this might not have been the first robbery at the parc. A small bribe (to not go public, but we will anyway, in a nice way) and a written apology later, we get to spend a happy half hour in the presence of two of Madagascar's fine young police officers. They were thorough and detailed in their questioning but we doubt very much if the thieves will ever be caught. Probably snorkeling off the Mombasa coast by now.
A few days later we board another plane (on time yet again Air Mad!) up to Diego Suarez near the very North of Madagascar. We're staying in a really lovely place with great views, friendly staff, excellent wi-fi, linen changed every day, air-conditioned en-suite room and BELIEVE IT OR NOT a mini-bar in our room. We were blown away. All this for a mere £22 a night. One thing I do love about rooms like this is how having a mozzie net erected around the bed gives it a real 4-poster, fairy-tale kind of feel. Oh, and even better, the bed here is so comfortable. Most of the beds here in Madagascar, for some reason, are severely bowed in the middle like Babar the elephant has been hibernating there all Winter. I have to keep some basic mountaineering equipment near at hand in case I have to scale the mattress to visit the loo in the middle of the night!
Today we visited National Parc Montagne d'Ambre. We had a lovely walk in the relatively cool forest, spotting lemurs, chameleons and birds as per usual. (We really never tire of this.) Today though, we met a record-breaking beast. The smallest chameleon in the world which is a tiny 3cm long. Despite it's microscopic size it exhibits all the usual fab features of these crazy creatures (poetry!) ie 360 degree independent eye sockets, funny grabby hand thingies, colour changing trickery and the elastic super-long tongue. Obviously this one's not that long though. Tomorrow we head for a day sprawled on the beach by the turquoise waters of emerald bay (was that a non-sequetor or an oxymoron or just crap writing?), then we head by taxi-brousse to our next parc.
Before leaving you though, I must share our excitement at having to choose our relevant sizes, online, for our London Ambassador (Olympics) uniforms. In anticipation of your question, we don't yet know what these will look like (those cunning organisers are keeping us salivating for now) but I can reveal of what they consist (including my sizes):
2 x polo shirt L (42-44")
1 x jacket L (42-44")
1 x fleece L (42-44")
1 x pair black trousers length:Tall (33') Waist :34"
1 x trilby hat L
Apparently, we’ll also be sent a London Ambassadors baseball cap, water bottle and backpack - and you get to keep the lot. You may see me patrolling the railway stations of London in early August on my late shift one evening. Do come and say hello. Until then (or the next blog) a bientot!
Robert
Sunday, 13 November 2011
A tiny island off a little island off Madagascar
Love that title. It describes where we are now. Iles aux Nattes, just off Ile Sainte-Marie, 8km from the east coast of Madagascar. Ile Sainte-Marie is said to look like a mildly pregnant woman lying down but when combined with Ile aux Nattes, punctuating its south coast, I think they together resemble a roughly drawn exclamation mark. That exclamation mark could itself be punctuating the beauty and diversity of Madagascar or perhaps drawing selfish attention to these lovely islands themselves. More about these shores to follow.
The previous blog left you, dear reader, languishing at the bottom of the RN7 and maybe sensing the author's trepidation about the long journey back- at best two full days in the back of a car. Fate intervened however and our London agent miraculously conjoured us up two seats on a flight to the capital Tana. Released from both finding and suffering the ride home, we treated ourselves to three days of doing pretty much nothing on a remote beach in Anakao, 22km down the coast by speedboat.
Our bungalow was lovely but with no running water and limited leccy, sea-water bucket showers were the norm. They were at least luke warm though thanks to a simple but ingenious system where old Le Crueset casseroles full of sea water were stored in a mini metal and glass 'greenhouse' under the hot glare of the sun. Solar heating without the panels! The French owners also somehow kept the beer cold and the wine wasn't too bad either. Being French, they'd also imported some decent cheese, their supplies of which dwindled significantly during our stay. Flight to Tana was on time and fairly pleasant. We stayed one night in the Embassy district with its bijou boutique shops and fab restaurants where we dined out fairly royally including a litre of decent SA rouge for only £20 all in. Feature of my day however was finding someplace to get my hair cut.
Now, I keep my hair fairly short which therefore requires lots of trimming with the buzzing clipper thingies. I own three sets of these, one for each of the european, US and brit type plugs as even with adaptors, they don't seem to work outside their electronic comfort zones. I brought the brit ones with me as these would work in East Africa at least and did kick into life here in Madagascar. However, I hadn't realised that this set works only for trimming the trimmings and not the central thatch itself. So, off to find a barber's with a few helpful French phrases commited to memory, which, combined with a mime and a buzzing sound conveyed my wishes adequately to the lady who ran the unisex establishment into which I'd bravely stepped.
I was ready to describe that a number two guard would be ideal when the chap allocated to the task started in with an unguarded set of clippers. Now, having once shaved off an eyebrow having made the same mistake myself, I was about to warn him that he'd forgotten the critical accessory when he produced a comb and proceeded to give me a freestyle regulation number two cut with a fine eye for uniformity of hair length. As he finished I heard him say something in Malagasy to the boss lady which I roughly translated as 'so what do we charge the 'faza' for his haircut'? It was 5000 Ariary or £1.50. A snip!
A very early start the next day was rewarded with a second on-time flight from Air Mad. The hour waiting in departures was spent lazily observing some of the strange creatures that come to Madagascar. The tour groups, with their hollow-eyed, brain's gone to sleep expressions, shaped by days and weeks of operating solely on the well-rehearsed instructions of their guide, unable any longer to think clearly about where they are, where they're going or why. Those decisions have been made for them, they are but pawns in the tour company's chess game.
The intrepid sorts, who are constantly resplendant in their full safari suit gear, whether at the beach, restaurant, airport or rainforest. Any colour works as long as it's a thoroughly washed out shade of khaki. Quite what they intend to stash in the dozens of pockets adorning their perfectly matched outfits I don't know. Beards are de rigour, and not always just for the blokes. I love the mad scientist look of being just about to spot a new bird species that they seem to carry on their faces, even when doing something as mundane as waiting for a plane.
Sadly, there are also quite a few sex tourists here. We see them in many hotels, easily identified by their all too obvious differences from their prey. Old ugly fat French men. Young, very young, Malagasy girls. It's truly disgusting but amazingly they walk about without an effort to cover their shame and hotel owners seem to let them carry on. This has got to be stamped out. It's ugly in so many ways.
So, back to our exclamation mark islands. A circumnavigation of Ile aux Nattes today revealed the beauty of the island - ringed by soft white sand, surrounded by shallow water in so many hues of blue and with terrific views of the main island. Some lovely restaurants too. We settled on one with stunning views where I had probably the best mozzarella and tomato salad I've ever tasted. The frites were pretty good too and even better the waiter said that they were a 'cadeau' from the restaurant. Surely munching an entire bar of Robert chocolate later that afternoon would be too much pleasure for one person to bear? Er.... no.
So, to the main island for a few days. Day 1 was spent cycling to the main town on dodgy bikes, hired for £3 a day each. Our sole reward was a cracking French restaurant for lunch. Day 2 was spent in bed (alone) as a result of celebrating 11/11/11 a little to much. Why? Ten years ago I chose this date as being the latest time by which I'd be doing what I'm doing now. Achieved! Day 3 we hired a scooter (£9 including a tank of gas) and ventured north in search of a beach. Now, Jo had a scooter in London that she took to work every day. She'd passed her test and is a very competent scooterist. Now, while I'm Scotterish, I'm not a scooterist, having borrowed Jo's steed on only one occasion. Somehow though, I was landed with the driving responsibilities as apparently "I'm too heavy to have on the back of the scooter". The main advantage was that I got a helmet and she didn't. And tell you what - it was brilliant fun! The driving, not the helmet.
Today, Jo has dined on fois gras and fine steak (Zebu), coiffed decent plonk and enjoyed lychee rum on the house. This traveling lark isn't as tough as we make it out to be at times. Tomorrow we fly via Tana to Mahajanga, where I shall spend my 49th birthday. I imagine another day in bed recovering may be in order. Hopefully! Until then, a bientot!
The previous blog left you, dear reader, languishing at the bottom of the RN7 and maybe sensing the author's trepidation about the long journey back- at best two full days in the back of a car. Fate intervened however and our London agent miraculously conjoured us up two seats on a flight to the capital Tana. Released from both finding and suffering the ride home, we treated ourselves to three days of doing pretty much nothing on a remote beach in Anakao, 22km down the coast by speedboat.
Our bungalow was lovely but with no running water and limited leccy, sea-water bucket showers were the norm. They were at least luke warm though thanks to a simple but ingenious system where old Le Crueset casseroles full of sea water were stored in a mini metal and glass 'greenhouse' under the hot glare of the sun. Solar heating without the panels! The French owners also somehow kept the beer cold and the wine wasn't too bad either. Being French, they'd also imported some decent cheese, their supplies of which dwindled significantly during our stay. Flight to Tana was on time and fairly pleasant. We stayed one night in the Embassy district with its bijou boutique shops and fab restaurants where we dined out fairly royally including a litre of decent SA rouge for only £20 all in. Feature of my day however was finding someplace to get my hair cut.
Now, I keep my hair fairly short which therefore requires lots of trimming with the buzzing clipper thingies. I own three sets of these, one for each of the european, US and brit type plugs as even with adaptors, they don't seem to work outside their electronic comfort zones. I brought the brit ones with me as these would work in East Africa at least and did kick into life here in Madagascar. However, I hadn't realised that this set works only for trimming the trimmings and not the central thatch itself. So, off to find a barber's with a few helpful French phrases commited to memory, which, combined with a mime and a buzzing sound conveyed my wishes adequately to the lady who ran the unisex establishment into which I'd bravely stepped.
I was ready to describe that a number two guard would be ideal when the chap allocated to the task started in with an unguarded set of clippers. Now, having once shaved off an eyebrow having made the same mistake myself, I was about to warn him that he'd forgotten the critical accessory when he produced a comb and proceeded to give me a freestyle regulation number two cut with a fine eye for uniformity of hair length. As he finished I heard him say something in Malagasy to the boss lady which I roughly translated as 'so what do we charge the 'faza' for his haircut'? It was 5000 Ariary or £1.50. A snip!
A very early start the next day was rewarded with a second on-time flight from Air Mad. The hour waiting in departures was spent lazily observing some of the strange creatures that come to Madagascar. The tour groups, with their hollow-eyed, brain's gone to sleep expressions, shaped by days and weeks of operating solely on the well-rehearsed instructions of their guide, unable any longer to think clearly about where they are, where they're going or why. Those decisions have been made for them, they are but pawns in the tour company's chess game.
The intrepid sorts, who are constantly resplendant in their full safari suit gear, whether at the beach, restaurant, airport or rainforest. Any colour works as long as it's a thoroughly washed out shade of khaki. Quite what they intend to stash in the dozens of pockets adorning their perfectly matched outfits I don't know. Beards are de rigour, and not always just for the blokes. I love the mad scientist look of being just about to spot a new bird species that they seem to carry on their faces, even when doing something as mundane as waiting for a plane.
Sadly, there are also quite a few sex tourists here. We see them in many hotels, easily identified by their all too obvious differences from their prey. Old ugly fat French men. Young, very young, Malagasy girls. It's truly disgusting but amazingly they walk about without an effort to cover their shame and hotel owners seem to let them carry on. This has got to be stamped out. It's ugly in so many ways.
So, back to our exclamation mark islands. A circumnavigation of Ile aux Nattes today revealed the beauty of the island - ringed by soft white sand, surrounded by shallow water in so many hues of blue and with terrific views of the main island. Some lovely restaurants too. We settled on one with stunning views where I had probably the best mozzarella and tomato salad I've ever tasted. The frites were pretty good too and even better the waiter said that they were a 'cadeau' from the restaurant. Surely munching an entire bar of Robert chocolate later that afternoon would be too much pleasure for one person to bear? Er.... no.
So, to the main island for a few days. Day 1 was spent cycling to the main town on dodgy bikes, hired for £3 a day each. Our sole reward was a cracking French restaurant for lunch. Day 2 was spent in bed (alone) as a result of celebrating 11/11/11 a little to much. Why? Ten years ago I chose this date as being the latest time by which I'd be doing what I'm doing now. Achieved! Day 3 we hired a scooter (£9 including a tank of gas) and ventured north in search of a beach. Now, Jo had a scooter in London that she took to work every day. She'd passed her test and is a very competent scooterist. Now, while I'm Scotterish, I'm not a scooterist, having borrowed Jo's steed on only one occasion. Somehow though, I was landed with the driving responsibilities as apparently "I'm too heavy to have on the back of the scooter". The main advantage was that I got a helmet and she didn't. And tell you what - it was brilliant fun! The driving, not the helmet.
Today, Jo has dined on fois gras and fine steak (Zebu), coiffed decent plonk and enjoyed lychee rum on the house. This traveling lark isn't as tough as we make it out to be at times. Tomorrow we fly via Tana to Mahajanga, where I shall spend my 49th birthday. I imagine another day in bed recovering may be in order. Hopefully! Until then, a bientot!
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
RN7
I'm writing this from our hotel in Toliara at the southern end of the RN7 - a road that stretches about 1000km from here to the capital, Tana. We made our way down here over a week or so using the local 'taxi-brousse', essentially a minibus that leaves when full...then usually gets fuller. The 'national' version of these carry 14 people and are relatively comfortable. The 'regional' version carry 18 (same vehicle) and are rather more chaotic.
But first a detour. Madagascar is a large island. In fact, it's three times the size of Britain and the 4th largest island in the world. Can you guess the top three? A clue, Australia doesn't count as it is a continental land mass. Trust the Aussies to go one better! Given its size, navigating it is a challenge. It does have about 20+ airports but flights are routinely late, often infrequent and usually booked up weeks in advance. Travel by road means taxi-brousse or hired driver and the latter is seriously expensive. There is also just one passenger railway.
The train from Fianarantsoa to Manakara is scheduled to take 7 hours. On the way it has 17 stops and passes through nearly 50 tunnels. The railway and the train were built in the 30's by the French and little investment seems to have occured since. Consequently our journey took 11 hours (nothing to do with leaves on the line) but apparently we were quite lucky! We travelled first class along with several groups of French tourists and there was an excitement on board reminiscent of the halcion days of the railways as we creakily pulled away from Fianarantsoa.
The highlight of the trip were the stops on the way. Every station was packed with locals staring at us staring at them, each of us caught in a bubble of fascination for the strange world in front of them. That this train passes through 6 times a week seemed not to dilute at all the entertainment value for the locals. Trayfuls of food and a variety of craft items were offered at each station - it was one long mobile picnic. Everything from samosas, dried fish, salads, chicken and even beer. The appointed lunch stop had the 'platform' bedecked with tables full of goodies - a spread that would not have been out of place at lunch during an English village cricket game.
I cannot adequately describe the wonderful colour and diversity of the lovely people all the way along our 11 hour trip. Endless amusement that is best illustrated through Jo's photos on Facebook. The stations were a cornucopia of laughter, smiles, waves and open incredulity at these strange white people grinning from the windows of the train. Between stations also, children lined up to wave like scenes from the Railway Children.
So we arrived, knackered, in Manakara where we rested before setting off on the rest of the journey back to and down the RN7.....and the taxi brousses.
First stop was Ranomafana where we visited the national park and saw 6 species of lemur. Then on to Fianarantsoa from where we caught a taxi-brousse. The station there is complete madness. As we rocked up in a taxi, about 6 guys started shouting at us to use their taxi-brousse (without any idea of where we wanted to go) and one even jumped into our moving taxi to get front of the queue. A couple of hours and three changes of vehicle later we set off and reached Ambalavao where we visited another national park. This was special. The groups of ring-tailed lemurs there are semi-tame as the local guide has visited them twice a day for 13 years. Consequently we followed them at very close quarters from their late afternoon feed all the way up onto high rocks where they bedded down together for the night. Many were carrying babies and so Jo's camera was white hot by the time we scrambled back down through the encroaching dusk.
So, fab place but one catch. The village is too small to have a taxi-brousse station. This meant some real shenanigans and a 4 hour wait for our 6 hour journey through a tundra-like landscape. However, we made it to Ranohira about 6pm, where we visited D'Isalo national park the next day. There we hade a beautiful 13 km hike, saw a few animals including an incredible big stick insect and had a couple of welcome dips in natural pools. Ranohira is also too small to have its own station but somehow our guide got his mate to find us and sort us out. Or so we thought.
Next day we're up and ready for our 7am departure. Half an hour later our vehicle arrives. Not a taxi-brousse but an estate car, designed for about 8 passengers. We were directed to the front seat which we had to share between us. The others were stuffed in the back. A few kilometres later we stop and there are about 6 people and several large sacks waiting to join us. Surely not?! Oh yes. We are now c16 people stuffed into this vehicle with 4 in front. The driver has to reach over a passenger to change gear. The car has no starter so has to be jump-started. Luckily we're on a downhill as we set off with our increased cargo.
About 25k along we're shoved out to await the actual taxi-brousse. We have booked three seats behind the driver having learned that these are the most comfortable and that two ain't enough. Of course these seats are all occupied but after some argy-bargy we get sat down. This is a regional vehicle so can carry 18. However, a good few more get stuffed on until I end up with the conductor virtually sitting on my knee! Every 30k or so there is a checkpoint with armed gendarmerie. Any overloading of the vehicle leads to a severe talking to and mandatory bribe. So whatever extra Ariary these folk earn seems to be entirely used up in bribes! Weird.
So, with the RN7 behind us we have a few days on the beach to recover before returning the 1000km to Tana over Monday and Tuesday next week, hopefully hitching a ride with a returning driver having dropped off his tourists. We have also booked ahead several domestic Air Madagascar flights for the next few weeks so we'll see how these go. Before leaving you however I should share another of our challenges. Money.
The largest note here is 10,000 Ariary, about £3. Many towns don't have ATMs so we need to hoard cash in advance. This means occasionally taking out upwards of a million Ariary. The cash machines will only dispense 200,000 Ar a time. Not because of any financial limit but rather the physical challenge of how many notes fit through the withdrawal drawer at one time! Forty is the max. So yesterday I stood for some time at an ATM using different cards, three times each (another limit) to withdraw 1.2 million Ar which we carefully stashed away in various pockets, wallets and sunglass cases. Madness.
Right, breakfast time now before heading up the coast to Ifaty along a rough track for 2-3 hours. Easy-peasy. A bientot!
Oh, by the way, Greenland, New Guinea and Borneo.
But first a detour. Madagascar is a large island. In fact, it's three times the size of Britain and the 4th largest island in the world. Can you guess the top three? A clue, Australia doesn't count as it is a continental land mass. Trust the Aussies to go one better! Given its size, navigating it is a challenge. It does have about 20+ airports but flights are routinely late, often infrequent and usually booked up weeks in advance. Travel by road means taxi-brousse or hired driver and the latter is seriously expensive. There is also just one passenger railway.
The train from Fianarantsoa to Manakara is scheduled to take 7 hours. On the way it has 17 stops and passes through nearly 50 tunnels. The railway and the train were built in the 30's by the French and little investment seems to have occured since. Consequently our journey took 11 hours (nothing to do with leaves on the line) but apparently we were quite lucky! We travelled first class along with several groups of French tourists and there was an excitement on board reminiscent of the halcion days of the railways as we creakily pulled away from Fianarantsoa.
The highlight of the trip were the stops on the way. Every station was packed with locals staring at us staring at them, each of us caught in a bubble of fascination for the strange world in front of them. That this train passes through 6 times a week seemed not to dilute at all the entertainment value for the locals. Trayfuls of food and a variety of craft items were offered at each station - it was one long mobile picnic. Everything from samosas, dried fish, salads, chicken and even beer. The appointed lunch stop had the 'platform' bedecked with tables full of goodies - a spread that would not have been out of place at lunch during an English village cricket game.
I cannot adequately describe the wonderful colour and diversity of the lovely people all the way along our 11 hour trip. Endless amusement that is best illustrated through Jo's photos on Facebook. The stations were a cornucopia of laughter, smiles, waves and open incredulity at these strange white people grinning from the windows of the train. Between stations also, children lined up to wave like scenes from the Railway Children.
So we arrived, knackered, in Manakara where we rested before setting off on the rest of the journey back to and down the RN7.....and the taxi brousses.
First stop was Ranomafana where we visited the national park and saw 6 species of lemur. Then on to Fianarantsoa from where we caught a taxi-brousse. The station there is complete madness. As we rocked up in a taxi, about 6 guys started shouting at us to use their taxi-brousse (without any idea of where we wanted to go) and one even jumped into our moving taxi to get front of the queue. A couple of hours and three changes of vehicle later we set off and reached Ambalavao where we visited another national park. This was special. The groups of ring-tailed lemurs there are semi-tame as the local guide has visited them twice a day for 13 years. Consequently we followed them at very close quarters from their late afternoon feed all the way up onto high rocks where they bedded down together for the night. Many were carrying babies and so Jo's camera was white hot by the time we scrambled back down through the encroaching dusk.
So, fab place but one catch. The village is too small to have a taxi-brousse station. This meant some real shenanigans and a 4 hour wait for our 6 hour journey through a tundra-like landscape. However, we made it to Ranohira about 6pm, where we visited D'Isalo national park the next day. There we hade a beautiful 13 km hike, saw a few animals including an incredible big stick insect and had a couple of welcome dips in natural pools. Ranohira is also too small to have its own station but somehow our guide got his mate to find us and sort us out. Or so we thought.
Next day we're up and ready for our 7am departure. Half an hour later our vehicle arrives. Not a taxi-brousse but an estate car, designed for about 8 passengers. We were directed to the front seat which we had to share between us. The others were stuffed in the back. A few kilometres later we stop and there are about 6 people and several large sacks waiting to join us. Surely not?! Oh yes. We are now c16 people stuffed into this vehicle with 4 in front. The driver has to reach over a passenger to change gear. The car has no starter so has to be jump-started. Luckily we're on a downhill as we set off with our increased cargo.
About 25k along we're shoved out to await the actual taxi-brousse. We have booked three seats behind the driver having learned that these are the most comfortable and that two ain't enough. Of course these seats are all occupied but after some argy-bargy we get sat down. This is a regional vehicle so can carry 18. However, a good few more get stuffed on until I end up with the conductor virtually sitting on my knee! Every 30k or so there is a checkpoint with armed gendarmerie. Any overloading of the vehicle leads to a severe talking to and mandatory bribe. So whatever extra Ariary these folk earn seems to be entirely used up in bribes! Weird.
So, with the RN7 behind us we have a few days on the beach to recover before returning the 1000km to Tana over Monday and Tuesday next week, hopefully hitching a ride with a returning driver having dropped off his tourists. We have also booked ahead several domestic Air Madagascar flights for the next few weeks so we'll see how these go. Before leaving you however I should share another of our challenges. Money.
The largest note here is 10,000 Ariary, about £3. Many towns don't have ATMs so we need to hoard cash in advance. This means occasionally taking out upwards of a million Ariary. The cash machines will only dispense 200,000 Ar a time. Not because of any financial limit but rather the physical challenge of how many notes fit through the withdrawal drawer at one time! Forty is the max. So yesterday I stood for some time at an ATM using different cards, three times each (another limit) to withdraw 1.2 million Ar which we carefully stashed away in various pockets, wallets and sunglass cases. Madness.
Right, breakfast time now before heading up the coast to Ifaty along a rough track for 2-3 hours. Easy-peasy. A bientot!
Oh, by the way, Greenland, New Guinea and Borneo.
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
Tsiribihina River
We met our guide in a car with the driver by his side. After brief introductions he asked me for the money. I reached into my daybag and pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with 240 10,000 Ariary notes and gingerly handed it over. He counted carefully but nervously as people rushed by in the crowded street. It felt more like a drugs deal than paying for a tourist trip!
The first part of our journey took us past the clay soil of the highlands, littered with piles of newly made bricks. The soil here is poor for growing rice and after a couple of harvests is good only for making bricks. Lots of them. We stayed overnight in Antsirabe, famous for its pushy pousse-pousse drivers but we'll remember it for the delicious Gastro Pizza delivery we scoffed in our room over a game of scrabble and a bottle of SA Merlot.
As we headed away from civilisation we passed through bustling villages and our car squeezed by people and zebu. Zebu are the local cattle and essentially the only meaningful asset and sign of wealth. Each one costs upwards of one million Ariary - about £300. A chicken, we learn later, costs less than £3. The local children must see plenty white people but that has not apparently reduced their fascination for us. They call us 'faza', wave, smile and sometimes ask for 'bon-bons' or 'stilos'.
A grand lightning storm kept us entertained over dinner and I was still excited by the enormous butterfly with a pink and white striped body that I'd seen earlier. In the morning we travelled to the village where we met our two boatmen and were introduced to our dugout canoe where we'd be spending the next 140 km over two and a half days. So, three locals, two faza, one chicken, camping equipment, food, water and luggage all made their way in this lovely wee boat. We saw chameleons, crocodiles, several bird species and our first lemurs! A Sifaka (Verreaux's lemur) to be exact. Quite a few of them actually. So gorgeous as they leap through the trees and bounce along like kangaroos.
The first night we made camp early to shelter from the biblical rain storm that howled around us. This hadn't been mentioned in the itinerary! The next night was spent near a small village under a perfect star-filled sky with lightning in the distance and our crew singing us local songs while they cooked our dinner. The children were there to wave us off soon after dawn and we completed our river journey later that day. Our tour continued however at the Kirindi national park where we saw more lemurs, really close up. As well as the brown lemurs huddled cutely together we also saw a nocturnal lemur asleep in a tree, before completing our trip at Baobab avenue where we gaped in awe at these amazing old hollow trees.
Time for a breather in Morondava before setting off on the next leg of our trip which will take us down the RN7 (road number 7) by taxi broussé. Meantime the poor boatmen will take 6 days to return to their village, pushing their boat upstream punt-style. Hard life but they seem to love it.
The first part of our journey took us past the clay soil of the highlands, littered with piles of newly made bricks. The soil here is poor for growing rice and after a couple of harvests is good only for making bricks. Lots of them. We stayed overnight in Antsirabe, famous for its pushy pousse-pousse drivers but we'll remember it for the delicious Gastro Pizza delivery we scoffed in our room over a game of scrabble and a bottle of SA Merlot.
As we headed away from civilisation we passed through bustling villages and our car squeezed by people and zebu. Zebu are the local cattle and essentially the only meaningful asset and sign of wealth. Each one costs upwards of one million Ariary - about £300. A chicken, we learn later, costs less than £3. The local children must see plenty white people but that has not apparently reduced their fascination for us. They call us 'faza', wave, smile and sometimes ask for 'bon-bons' or 'stilos'.
A grand lightning storm kept us entertained over dinner and I was still excited by the enormous butterfly with a pink and white striped body that I'd seen earlier. In the morning we travelled to the village where we met our two boatmen and were introduced to our dugout canoe where we'd be spending the next 140 km over two and a half days. So, three locals, two faza, one chicken, camping equipment, food, water and luggage all made their way in this lovely wee boat. We saw chameleons, crocodiles, several bird species and our first lemurs! A Sifaka (Verreaux's lemur) to be exact. Quite a few of them actually. So gorgeous as they leap through the trees and bounce along like kangaroos.
The first night we made camp early to shelter from the biblical rain storm that howled around us. This hadn't been mentioned in the itinerary! The next night was spent near a small village under a perfect star-filled sky with lightning in the distance and our crew singing us local songs while they cooked our dinner. The children were there to wave us off soon after dawn and we completed our river journey later that day. Our tour continued however at the Kirindi national park where we saw more lemurs, really close up. As well as the brown lemurs huddled cutely together we also saw a nocturnal lemur asleep in a tree, before completing our trip at Baobab avenue where we gaped in awe at these amazing old hollow trees.
Time for a breather in Morondava before setting off on the next leg of our trip which will take us down the RN7 (road number 7) by taxi broussé. Meantime the poor boatmen will take 6 days to return to their village, pushing their boat upstream punt-style. Hard life but they seem to love it.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Nous sommes arrivé!
Arrived safely in Nairobi where I spent a disturbed night. Pourquoi? Stupidly failed to nab some free wine from BA so remained sober (strolling to a bar at 11pm in Nairobi is not recommended). Learned of Scotland's inevitable fate and so retired unhappily to a fitful sleep on a dodgy bed. Tired.
Next day we flew to Madagascar to spend 3 nights in the capital Antananarivo (Tana). Not a pretty place at all but for the exquisite purple blossoms on the trees. It's other saving grace is the plentiful supply of good restaurants at cheap prices. Our main purpose here was to book a tour down the Tsiribihina river and onward travel to Ifaty. Failed on the latter but we depart tomorrow on our trip canoeing and camping our way along. To pay we needed 780 Euros of local currency. This meant withdrawing 2.4Million Ariary, made up of 240 notes, each worth 10,000 Ariary. Every pocket was stuffed as I weaved between the beggars and pick-pockets back to our B&B!
Job done and with new matching sleeping bags acquired, we're off out for a nice Italian ahead of our adventure tomorrow. A bientot!
Next day we flew to Madagascar to spend 3 nights in the capital Antananarivo (Tana). Not a pretty place at all but for the exquisite purple blossoms on the trees. It's other saving grace is the plentiful supply of good restaurants at cheap prices. Our main purpose here was to book a tour down the Tsiribihina river and onward travel to Ifaty. Failed on the latter but we depart tomorrow on our trip canoeing and camping our way along. To pay we needed 780 Euros of local currency. This meant withdrawing 2.4Million Ariary, made up of 240 notes, each worth 10,000 Ariary. Every pocket was stuffed as I weaved between the beggars and pick-pockets back to our B&B!
Job done and with new matching sleeping bags acquired, we're off out for a nice Italian ahead of our adventure tomorrow. A bientot!
Last day in London
A frenetic social diary has been successfully negotiated with no signs of terminal liver damage, hours of research have resulted in a freshly updated and sync'd iPod and all the necessary medical precautions are in place. Tomorrow we fly to Nairobi where we will spend one night before heading to Madagascar the next afternoon.
This one night in Nairobi will be a nervous and possibly frustrating one for me. Nothing to do with being in the most dangerous city in Africa but entirely down to Scotland's fate being decided in Alicante and Kaunas that evening. What idiot decided to fly to Kenya on this date?!
The next 6 months stretch out in front of us with promises of exotic animals, stunning scenery and unknown adventures. They also offer the opportunity to learn some French (un petit peu), lose some weight (inevitable) whilst trying to avoid shark attacks, pirates and tropical diseases.
If you want to pass a few spare moments checking our progress then sign up as a follower of this blog and I'll do my best to keep it fresh and funny. I'll even figure out how to doll it up with a few images and would love to get some feedback from y'all.
I'm off to do some chores before we leave these shores. Forever, yours.....BobbyOrbit
This one night in Nairobi will be a nervous and possibly frustrating one for me. Nothing to do with being in the most dangerous city in Africa but entirely down to Scotland's fate being decided in Alicante and Kaunas that evening. What idiot decided to fly to Kenya on this date?!
The next 6 months stretch out in front of us with promises of exotic animals, stunning scenery and unknown adventures. They also offer the opportunity to learn some French (un petit peu), lose some weight (inevitable) whilst trying to avoid shark attacks, pirates and tropical diseases.
If you want to pass a few spare moments checking our progress then sign up as a follower of this blog and I'll do my best to keep it fresh and funny. I'll even figure out how to doll it up with a few images and would love to get some feedback from y'all.
I'm off to do some chores before we leave these shores. Forever, yours.....BobbyOrbit
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