As our time wound down in Ethiopia, we were faced with a decision on where to head next. While travelling at off-peak times provides a more relaxed experience, with fewer crowds and less competition for lodging, it sometimes means facing inclement weather that preempts the best of travel plans. So, as we reconciled the calendar with the time of the rainy season in Madagascar, which brought with it torrential downpours and cyclones, it was now or never.
We went with now.
On arrival into the capital city of Antananarivo (good luck pronouncing that), we enjoyed a pleasant ride in past many a rice field, rolling hills and cityscape in the distance. As we arrived into the maze of windy city streets ala Montmartre district in Paris, the sky turned dark. Within 5 minutes, we were caught in a deluge. At what seemed like the peak of the storm, our taxi came to a stop on a steep street turned flowing river. We saw the sign for our guesthouse above a roaring waterfall pouring into the street. Under that waterfall were the stairs that perhaps lead to our guesthouse, we weren’t sure, and neither was our taxi driver. After an unsuccessful attempt at waiting out the water inside the taxi, we got the hint the driver was ready to move on. Stepping out into the ankle-deep road turned rushing river, we were immediately soaked, and ran for cover underneath an overhang, still unsure as to whether we’d need to brave the waterfall stairs to find our bed for the night. 20 minutes later, the rain let up, though the flowing water did not, and we watched another traveler race up the stairs and out of sight. Knowing our fate, the shoes came off, the pants rolled up, and we slogged our way up the stairs, around a corner, into a narrow alley that thankfully led to our gate. Completely drenched, shoes waterlogged, we settled in to begin planning our next couple weeks.
So much for avoiding the rainy season.
The capital city (Tana for short) is a hilly maze of small and winding streets, the French influence apparent in the language and cuisine. We enjoyed a proper French meal our first night, as we sat in the upstairs of a dimly lit restaurant wondering if we’d accidently flown to Europe. Croissants and coffee for breakfast and some pleasant meandering through the streets was just the relief we needed after the rigors of Ethiopia. Alas, the relief did not last long, as our first major stomach bug of the trip hit hard (perhaps it was the rare/raw steak from the night before), leaving us down for the count for the better part of 2 days.
Antibiotics in full effect, it was time to brave the infamous roads in Madagascar.
While Tana lies in the middle of the country, most all sights require long drives in every direction, with no network of real roads connecting them. Hub and spoke models are great with airlines, but can be quite inconvenient with road networks! We chose to go west first, in search of the giant Baobab trees that serve as the de-facto icon of the country. Following a 6am departure, 14 hours later we arrived after dark to the coastal town of Morondava. We did not see all that much during the drive, as the Madagascar I envisioned, endless rainforests with all sorts of strange flora and fauna, was instead comprised of endless rice fields and rolling, red hills. While there are pockets of forests that remain, it was quite sad to see how over-cultivated the land was, and how much wealth and beauty had been forfeited for rice. As is typically the case when travelling through rural areas, the amount of poverty was significant. Many small villages, out in the middle of nowhere, with little access to anything, provided a stark reminder of the unfortunate conditions in which many Malagasy people live.
It’s quite unfortunate that the world (that is, the world contained in the screens we live in) tends to romanticize poverty to some degree. Photos from far off places, with kids sporting dirty shirts and boogers hanging from their noses, or women carrying their livelihood in a bucket on top of their heads, or weathered farmers riding atop a water buffalo, grab our attention, almost giving us a sense of some sort of ironic wanderlust. I’m not sure if it’s the desire to see “another world,” or compassion for the perceived suffering, or appreciation for the comforts of home, but something draws us towards these images. I often find myself see-sawing between indifference and compassion. I think the indifference stems from the fact that, over the course of my travels, I’ve seen many a sight that would leave a first time traveler feeling sorry for the people and conditions they see, as if the people behind their lens could in no way be living anything less than a miserable life, based on their possessions and living quarters. I’ve found, however, that those living the simplest of lives, with nothing to their name, are often times significantly happier than those that seem to have everything, which of course is just shy of enough for them. Turns out, a nice house, fancy dinners, Instagram-able “Sunday Fundays,” and sharing your entire life (the superficial good parts only, of course) is not the recipe for a happy life. Who knew? The smiles and laughs of kids and adults sitting in the dirt outside a mud hut constitute true joy moreso than any number of likes on a clip that is going to disappear from existence tomorrow.
I found myself caught in a sort of mental limbo between indifference and compassion on the long ride to Morondava, as with each river-crossing I saw an increasing number of people handling their daily duties below in the mud-brown water. Midday was laundry time, with garments strewn all about each shoreline, drying in the hot sun. Come late afternoon, each village saw more and more people headed towards the bridge for their evening bath. Young and old, male and female, all seemed to have their set times and bathing locations. They walked down the main road, sarong wrapped, with bathing supplies atop their head, in the golden sun. Privacy was out the window, and with it the shame we count as one of our most prized possessions back home. Many of us cannot imagine in our worst nightmares bathing naked in front of any and all passerbys along the road, but when faced with no other option, perhaps you’d get over this unnecessary shame quite quickly.
Upon reflection, the romanticism of the moment began to fade to some degree. While there were no jarring sights experienced, as by this time in my travels the sight of poverty has become normalized, I found myself wondering what happens when an injury or illness occurs, or complications during childbirth. With limited access to facilities, it’s no wonder I saw very few elderly, or even middle aged, people, during our time in Madagascar. When the closest water source is a 15-minute walk away, how long does it take to get to a hospital? Poverty may not equate to misery, but improvement is imperative.
Arriving in Morondava, we traded the rain in Tana for unrelenting heat, and midnight bathroom visits were traded for midnight cold showers to provide some relief, no walk down to the river required.
Finally making our way out to the Avenue of the Baobabs for sunset, it didn’t take long to make the assessment that the never-ending drive and sweltering heat was worth the effort. Smooth, massive trunks rise high into the sky, where a bulbous canopy of branches fans out in twists and tangles. The trees were unlike any I’d seen, fascinating to look at from every angle, strong, stoic, and old…some 800 years! The avenue itself is an adventurous dirt road leading elsewhere into the depths of the country, but the road is best walked, as the trees not only line the walkway, but dot the horizon in all directions. After enjoying a beer and chatting with some new friends, we watched the sun set behind the behemoths, their distinct silhouettes almost cartoon-like against the orange sky. We strolled the avenue some more, as local children ran about and mothers sat against the tree trunks, probably wondering what all the fuss was about. As we left, passing small villages beginning to burn the fires for supper, I reflected on both the time and money spent to simply reach these peoples’ backyard.
We had also hoped to visit Tsingy National Park while we were in the west, a spiky limestone forest with rock climbing and swimming holes. Unfortunately, nobody was certain whether or not the road would be passable to visit the highlights of the park. The trip would require a 3-day investment just to get there and back, and the risk of 3 days of travel with a so-so stomach didn’t seem worth the reward at the time. So, the trees would have to suffice, which I’m happy to say, they did.
Major sight checked off the list, it was back in the van to make the same 14-hour journey we’d just completed, and head south for mountains and rainforests and lemurs…