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
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
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.
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