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
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