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
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