Lemurs and Lychees

Three quarters of the way through the 14-hour ride back to Tana, we decided to hop off the van in Antisirabe (the most pronounceable of the Malagasy cities), where rickshaws reign over motorbikes, where, depending on your budget, transport consists of a bicycle rickshaw or the good old-fashioned human powered. I felt bad for some of the guys running up the hills with not the lightest of passengers, some barefoot, but the dollar (or ariary) must be chased. From Antisirabe, our plan was to head south, in hopes of finding the Madagascar we imagined, one filled with rainforests, lemurs, chameleons, and other strange creatures. After a day of souvenir shopping that, refreshingly, did not include beads and animal carvings like pretty much every other souvenir shop in all of Africa, we arranged for transport to a few of the national parks that dot the RN7, the main north-south artery through the country.

First stop: Rainforest

Ranomafana National Park sits in the southeast-ish center of Madagascar, a protected area of rainforest that gives a glimpse of just how much forest has been cleared from the country. Tree-less, terrace-filled hills went on seemingly forever throughout the drive, save for a few small forests here and there. Ranomafana, however, was a pocket of dense rainforest, teeming with life from the second the park begins. We arrived in the twilight hours, the sound of creatures almost deafening as we stepped out of the vehicle. Making our way to our lodging, it was clear that a village still existed inside the park, with the protection of the forest no doubt a challenge in terms of resource management. Our lodging for the evening was thankfully protected from the slew of creatures outside: geckos, spiders big and small, cackling who-knows-what, and a variety of creepy crawlers. The next morning, we made our way out into the forest in search of the creature unique to Madagascar, the lemur. Ranomafana was created in order to protect the golden bamboo lemur, a rare species found only there. We set off into the forest with our guide, while his spotter disappeared ahead. 15 minutes later, we found ourselves underneath a few of the funny creatures, golden in color, tiny heads and human-like hands/feet. Another species was nearby, and we watched a family with child swing through the branches and jump from tree to tree, noticing us, but not paying too much mind. While there was some semblance of a main trail, tracking the lemurs required some roundabout meandering through the jungle, and it didn’t take long for me to become completely turned around.

Much different than the norm in the United States, most all trekking of any sort in a National Park in Africa requires a guide. Whether for protection from the elements, the people you may encounter, or simply because the trails are not well marked (or perhaps a combination of all 3), you really cannot get complete solitude in nature. At first, this tended to frustrate me, however, walking around a place like Ranomafana, as well as other parks we’ve made our way through on this trip, would be nearly impossible without the help of a guide. Though the accessibility and solitude is something I value in the US, perhaps our number of National Park deaths would be reduced if guides were required!

Further through the jungle, we encountered yet another species of lemur, this one black and white, and quite larger than the others. The size of lemurs ranges from the tiny Mouse lemur at just one ounce, to the Indri at up to 20 pounds. In my attempts to photograph the new lemur, I happened to crouch down next to, thankfully unbeknownst to me, a coiled Boa having a mid-morning nap. Of course, everyone laughed it off like the snake would never hurt me, but I knew better. More walking, more creatures, from tiny chameleons to bright green geckos hanging off banana trees. It doesn’t get more rainforest than that!

Following our morning walk, we were southbound again, away from the rainforest and into the mountainous regions, stopping first in a small, protected area that housed the King (Julien) of all lemurs, the ring-tail. If the Baobab is the iconic tree, the ring-tail must be the iconic animal. Long tails, black and white spirals throughout, stick straight up and arch like a shepherd’s staff, elegantly floating in the air while the white faces look like they’ve applied a bit too much black eyeshadow and lipstick. Fascinating creatures, that seemed to enjoy their human company, even with babies in tow. There are certain animals I’ve encountered that elicit elation when in their presence. Dolphins, elephants, penguins, and now, lemurs. They seem to hop around and play with no worry in the world, and I couldn’t help but want to join them. By the end, we were able to recognize the various calls they use with each other, ranging from Help, to Stranger-Danger, to Love. The hike through the area brought us to some stunning views across the countryside, filled with peaks, rolling hills, and rice paddies.

Further south, the mountains turned to endless open roads, dotted with Zebu (Malagasy cows) and the occasional cloud. Arriving at Isalo National Park, we arranged for an overnight trek through the park, where we found ourselves in landscapes unlike any we’d seen thus far. Rocky outcroppings, funky trees and plants, canyons, and oasis-like swimming holes and waterfalls, a perfect respite from the desert heat. The scenery was altogether different than we’d expected, but still managed to be uniquely Malagasy. We encountered 6-inch bugs that were indecipherable from the maze of twigs in which they were hiding (stick bugs), bulbous plants that seemingly floated on the sides of rocks (Elephant’s foot), technicolor grasshoppers, slow motion chameleons, and a new lemur…the dancing kind. Our new friend hung out around camp, swinging through the trees and jumping across the ground on two feet.

After a slightly too warm night of sleep, we headed out of the park and back on the road for the long journey north. With the sights checked off, it was time to enjoy the more immediate sights and sounds of the roadside. Loaded up in our Isuzu Trooper-ish, gold-rimmed, tinted-windowed ride, driver and guide in front, us in the back, the stereo blasted a mix of classic rock, old rap, and some local flavor, as we navigated the two-lane, unmarked road that was the equivalent of Interstate 80 of I-5 back home. We stopped at a slew of official and unofficial roadside stands for chicken drumsticks, Tapia fruit, mini plums, peanuts, and lychee honey. Lychees seemed to be everywhere in the country, the spiky balls served in bunches as finger foods, ready to crack open for the juicy fruit inside. I always enjoy finding situations in which foods or sights originally thought as exotic or specialties become common fare or normal, every day occurrences. It’s not often you find yourself hanging out with lemurs and on the same day buying handfuls of fresh lychees with the change in your pocket, but it’s a life many have grown accustomed to on the island.

Our last stop on the road trip happened to be an unanticipated one, as the reputation of Madagascar’s roads caught up with us. In an attempt to pass, an oncoming car swerved into our lane, side-swiping our vehicle in the process. Aside from some shattered glass and the shock of it all, we walked away unscathed, thankfully. A slight blip in an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable trip, the incident has seemed to pass away from my memories, replaced by the sights and sounds of the seemingly never-ending, twisting roads: rice farmers and red dirt hills, chameleons and cows, rainforests and rickshaws, and, of course, lemurs and lychees.

Madagascar

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…