MADAGASCAR

‘Notes from the 4^th Largest Island’

(With apologies to Bill Bryson)

he idea of going to Madagascar came about whilst in Borneo some ten months earlier. I was fascinated with the different types of flora and read that Madagascar had a similar climate and how there were theories that much of the indigenous flora of the island actually originated in the islands of Sumatra, Java and Borneo. It was thought that there were migrants who crossed the Indian Ocean many thousands of years ago who were the forebears of several of the current Malagasy tribes. I made up my mind then that I would have to visit this place, reputed to be one of the world’s oldest islands.

My wife had decided that she did not want to go as it would probably be too much like Borneo, and she wanted a different type of holiday. So, for the first time in nearly 20 years we agreed to go our separate ways. I was encouraged to fulfil my yearning by my good friend Gerry, whom Nina and I met in Venezuela in 1999. He had wanted to go to Madagascar for some time and we shook hands on it.

Ergo, here we were about to set off from Gerry’s house at midday on a Friday for Heathrow and what we hoped would be not so much a holiday, but an interesting adventure and voyage of discovery. Not necessarily of the island alone, but as to whether we two could live together for nearly two weeks!

Day One – London – Paris - En Route to Antananarivo

knew that the trip was going to be eventful from the moment we stood in the queue at the check-in desk for the flight to Paris. The rather attractive blonde in front of Gerry in the line (I must add at this point that if there is an attractive woman within 50 feet, Gerry will finish up next to her) was complaining that we were all crowding her and she needed at least a metre space. After she had left, the check-in girl commented how rude she had been to her, but had not noticed her complaining to us. After telling her what had happened, she started to send a message to the gate to warn them. We expressed the hope that she would not be on our flight and were greeted by a beautiful smile with the declaration that ‘Oh no, she’s going to Brussels – but her luggage is going to Tokyo!’ So you see we learned a lesson this early; be nice to check-in girls, as you never know where you and your luggage may finish up.

The flight to Paris was relatively calm and without incident until we landed and disembarked at Terminal 1. Our instructions then said – ‘Proceed to Terminal 2 on the transfer bus’. This is where I learnt not to blindly follow wherever Gerry leads. He has this remarkable power, bearing in mind that he has short legs, to shoot off at an incredible rate of knots creating a vacuum into which you are inexorably drawn. We rushed along the only travelator I have ever seen with varying gradients to finish up at a point, some 150 metres away, where a sign helpfully informed us, with a directional arrow “Correspondence” – “Transfer” to you and I. The surprise was however, that the arrow pointed back to the terminal point from which we had just arrived! Off shot Gerry again, this time up a staircase without even noticing that it was parallel to the return Travelator. Yes, I was out of breath by the time we arrived back where we had started. The transfer bus stop was no more than ten metres from the point we had arrived at on French soil. Perhaps it was this fact that made me feel like Jaques Tati rushing to and fro at the station in M Hulot’s Holiday. Waiting for the transfer bus gave us time to assess who our travelling companions were going to be for the next 13 days, but being typically British, none of us tried to establish any conversation beyond a mere –‘Are you going to Madagascar? – Jolly good.’ By the time the bus arrived we had only got about 30 minutes before having to check in for the Air Madagascar flight to Antananarivo. I had been practising for about three months to pronounce that name – ANTANANARIVO. With such a musical sound to it, it is such a shame that the locals refer to it simply as TANA. On arrival at Terminal 2 we found that it was undergoing refurbishment and the check-in had been squeezed into a small corner and we were told to hurry through to the departure lounge. On balance this was not such a bad idea as it alleviated at least one more period of airport boredom. I did not realise until we were on the aircraft, that one of our group had not been allocated a seat and had to take pot luck just before take-off. At least the doors were closed and they couldn’t throw her off! Gerry and I had requested aisle seats and as a 767 has a 2-4-2 configuration, he had the inner seat of the 2, and I had the end seat of a 4 across the gangway. Would you believe it, he got the attractive French lady as his 11-hour companion, and was so besotted with her and his luck, that he tried to drink through a swizzle stick thinking it was a straw! I got the neurotic 19 year old English girl who spent the entire journey jumping up and down alternately visiting the toilet and leaping on to her seat to talk to a friend in the row behind. This must have been the first overnight flight I have been on where I found it impossible to sleep, even for an hour or two. My memories of the rest of this flight are such that I feel it is best left to the reader’s own imagination.

Day Two – Antananarivo.

e had left Paris one hour late, arriving in Antananarivo, at 0900hrs. Immigration was relatively painless, and our luggage was spinning on a carousel in reasonable time. Exiting the arrival hall we found a young man of tender years accompanied by a brilliant smile holding up the inevitable sign advertising our tour company. It transpired that he was older than he looked and was to be our Malagasy guide for the duration of the trip. Our British reserve was such that we had still not formally introduced ourselves to each other in the group and it was only at this point that we found out that we numbered ten souls. The guide who told us his name was ‘Rija’ gathered us together, and this at last encouraged us to introduce ourselves. It was at this point that we discovered that two were sisters, Jane & Diantha – what a delightful name. Diantha it was who had not been allocated a seat on the flight. How could they have done this to such a sweet lady? Add to this the news that was now imparted that Jane’s luggage was nowhere to be found, and I began to suspect that they had been very rude to a check-in girl. No, I remonstrated with myself, this could not be the reason; two such friendly and smiling ladies of mature years could not possibly act in such a way.

Rija suggested that whilst enquiries about the missing cases were being made, we should go to the bank and change some money. My non-rested and addled brain snapped into life. Everyone was going to be personally introduced to Gerry at this point. I must explain, another foible of Gerry’s is that he collects foreign Bank Notes: so do many people, but his have to be in mint condition. He will run around the group grabbing mint notes of every denomination in the middle of the owner counting them and replace them with slightly soiled ones. This does not worry me; this is the third time I have been away with him and it now seems to be part of a very normal holiday ritual. It can be somewhat disconcerting to persons meeting him for the first time, but is also a wonderfully novel way of being introduced to him. Thus we met our eight travelling companions.

Eventually, we went out of the terminal building, having assured Jane that the local agent would continue the search for her case, and located ‘The Bus’. I refer to it in this way, as we were to become very attached to it; albeit in the manner that one feels attached to a wart or painful corn! We were not to be aware for a few days as to how uncomfortable it can be travelling in a 20-seater with seats upholstered with cast off plastic tablecloths, and an air-conditioning unit that has an incredible ability to produce dust.

We were more than happy, at this point in time, to be transported away from the airport to Tana, stopping on the way at a supermarket to buy supplies of water and maps.

Lunch was to be provided at the Hotel de France on arrival. Gerry had informed me on the way to Heathrow that Zebu steaks were a delicacy, and I was delighted to see this item on the menu. It became very obvious early on that we were not going to be disappointed with the food. Could we assume that if the French left any legacy here, it was the desire to have the catering classified as Haute Cuisine?

After lunch a trip to Antananarivo Zoo to be introduced to the lemurs. Here we saw about eight different varieties but somehow the cages and enclosures gave a feeling of unreality; we had after all come here to see them in their natural state.

On arrival back at the hotel, I decided that I would like to send an email back home confirming that I was alive and well and living for the next ten days with a wonderful group of lively and friendly companions – and Ida. The hotel had no facility to email, but directed me along the wonderful boulevard outside which had three traffic lanes either side, a wide central reservation and a service road on both sides; dominated at the end by the French Colonial style Railway Station. It was immediately obvious that the service road had been provided solely for the convenience of the hundreds of souvenir vendors and beggars to ply their trade. Walking along, I felt like the Pied Piper with a motley group of traders trying to sell me musical instruments, tablecloths and vanilla pods. This hazardous trip up and down the road found no Internet Café or other establishment, but provided me with my first opportunity to barter with a Malagasy Super Salesman. Having been in the town for no more than six hours, I was now the proud owner of a ‘Valeha’. This is a musical instrument that consists of a two-foot length of exquisitely carved bamboo, about three inches in diameter, strung with vertical wires all around the length of it. These wires are stopped with wooden inserts thus providing a well-tuned instrument that sounds very much like a harp when played by an expert. Expert I am not, so it will go home as a souvenir, which only cost five pounds.

Dinner in the hotel offered a surprisingly good choice of dishes, including the ubiquitous Zebu, spoilt only by the poor quality of the wines available. At least beer at one pound per litre was an acceptable alternative. After such a rich meal there was nothing more to do except retire to our rooms – after all we had not slept in a real bed since Thursday night. Both Gerry and I decided to read before going to sleep, but I can’t remember which of us fell asleep first. Certainly neither of us read more than a page!

Day Three – Antananarivo to Antsirabe

fter a morning visit to the Queen’s Palace in Tana we set off on a long day’s drive to Antsirabe. We soon learnt that there was no such thing as a comfort stop; only bush stops. As there was very little traffic it was a case of ‘Gents on the left, Ladies on the right’, unless their were thicker bushes on the left! We also found out that the air conditioning unit on the bus was an excellent dust producer. Poor Alec chose the rear seat and was wearing a light coloured suit, which was not going to be one of his better ideas on this trip.

On the way out of Tana, we ran alongside the Ikopa River and as it was Sunday, it was wash day for the Merina women. Wash day is quite a social event and the riverbank is almost obliterated by the human mass and their clothing spread out to dry.

The thought did occur to me how wonderful it would be to promote a similar spirit of community in Britain. This could be achieved by inviting all the neighbours round on a Monday morning offering them the opportunity to sit in front of a washing machine full of all yours and their smalls whilst downing a cup of tea.

Further along the road, and well out of town we stopped at a very interesting little Merina village. We learned that the cry we received from a party of about ten kids of ”WAHAZA” meant WHITE MAN, but not in any derogatory way, it was merely a pleasant greeting. Our repeating it to them brought peals of laughter and it soon became obvious that we were in a country where there were always plenty of smiles.

Our lunch stop was a nice surprise, as it was to be in a very pleasant restaurant in a really hick one-horse town – sorry, one-zebu town. It was from here on that we were to learn that the ubiquitous zebu was to feature on nearly every menu, following the vegetable soup! What was it that Gerry had said about this being a delicacy? He also at this point elicited the information that the owner of this particular establishment was Armenian. Is there no end to the inquisitive talents of this man?

After various stops, bush and sights, we arrived early evening in Antsirabe and having been deposited at the hotel, G & I, I shall henceforth refer to the two of us in this way, went walkabout. This was when we discovered that there is a second type of human attachment in this country as well as the itinerant salesman – the Pousse-Pousse Man!

This is the owner of a single seat rickshaw, propelled by an incredibly fit and very persistent man.

Two of them immediately attached themselves to us and followed wherever we went insisting that we get on board and savour the delights of this mode of transport. One of them informed us that his name was Gilbert (soft ‘G’ – French pronunciation); Gerry’s surname happens to be Gilbert (hard ‘G’ – English pronunciation). I should never have imparted this small piece of information to him, as this appeared to have the effect of making the two Gs appear to be Siamese Twins. We only managed to terminate the relationship by disappearing into the hotel, telling the two of them that we would see them in the morning.

Dinner in the restaurant next to the hotel, and yes, you have guessed it, vegetable soup followed by Zebu steak. The saving grace is however that it is always well prepared. Gerry is vegetarian, and always has difficulty getting a varied diet and on holiday invariably lives on omelettes and pasta. So far he has been very surprised at the variation in dishes and the future looks very bright.

And so to bed – we have been deprived of CNN on the television; there are only French and Malagasy stations available on this TV. Time to read. I do not know who was in the room next to us, but they must have wondered just what was going on in ours. G had one case on one side of the room and the other across by the window. He spent the next half-hour striding, as only he can, between the two, grumbling and muttering about something he had lost. To me sitting in bed trying to read it was rather like watching a fast game of tennis at Wimbledon. It was bad enough not being able to get the Wimbledon results, other than a snatch of the women’s semi-final in the foyer of another hotel during our earlier tour of the town. Eventually he ran out of steam and succumbed to the persuasions of Morpheus.

Day Four – Antsirabe to Fianarantsoa

arly morning rise as we had a long day ahead of us. After breakfast we were delayed for a short while, waiting for the Post Office to open for several of the party to buy stamps for the inevitable postcards. It soon became obvious that the staff of this establishment had been trained in the UK. As soon as you reach the front of the queue, the position is closed. Can it really be like this the world over?

Finally we left Antsirabe and were on the road. About an hour out of the town, in the early morning sunshine we reached the Andraikiba Lake, on the shores of which there were several stalls selling the famous gemstones of the area. As far as I could tell, it was too early in the day for any of us to spend money and I did feel some sympathy for the sad looking local tradesmen. The lake however was very beautiful.

Several miles further along the road we left the province of Tana and entered Fianarantsoa Province. We had now left the Merina people and were in the domain of the Betsilao tribe. These people are very industrious and are mainly Farmers and Builders. Every time we stopped we were, as usual, greeted by a large band of kids with broad beamed smiles. It was a pleasure not to be pestered for money, as all they seemed to require were sweets and pens! Their houses were generally two storied, the lower one for animals and storage and the upper as living quarters. The small ones in the village we visited appeared to be extremely well built bearing in mind the lack of modern tools available to the men.

We stopped for lunch at ‘The Grand Hotel’ in Ambositra, by which time several of the party were feeling somewhat travel sick due to the heat and the smell of diesel in the bus. Couple this with the effects of the very efficient dust producing air-conditioner unit and you will appreciate how we felt. This nausea was compounded as we entered the Grand Hotel to find that the staff had obviously been told that a very eminent party was arriving. Thus it seemed to us as they had been over generous with the floor and furniture polish and when I tell you that the walls of the restaurant were wood panelled as well; you will realise how this smell affected us. At least we were saved the zebu steaks!

Ambositra is famous for its woodcarvings and this extends to the balconies of many of the buildings as can be seen from the picture of the hotel.

After lunch we continued the journey on towards Fianarantsoa. On route we stopped to visit one of the kilns that the builders fire their bricks in. This is an unusual type of kiln, but very economical, as the kiln is constructed with unfired bricks and filled with more. When the firing is complete the entire structure is dismantled and all components used to construct a building or house: the best quality bricks being reserved for the outer walls.

Back on the dusty road, and how that dust pervaded the bus, we continued whilst snatching short naps between bush stops until we were jerked into alertness by the bus screeching to a stop. We could not imagine why our driver had stopped so suddenly in the middle of nowhere. We watched him get out and walk back along the road – and then we saw it – a suitcase had worked free from the ropes on the roof and had sailed through the air without any of us, except the astute driver realising it. Can you imagine whose case it was? Yes – one of the sisters. It was Diantha’s, and I now began to think that perhaps they really had been rude to a check in girl! With a case now the shape of a lozenge re-secured on the roof, we rode into Fianarantsoa certainly as dust covered as I had ever been. Having been shown to our room, I had to shower before anything else and was shocked to see just how black the water was as I shampooed my hair. As little as there is of my hair, it must have harboured a kilo of road dust! It was amusing to be told by two UK students, working their way around the island, that our bus was the largest they had seen since they arrived some three weeks earlier. Once again we had a good meal, and it was not veggie soup and zebu, and off to bed. It is amazing how exhausted one gets just sitting on a bus for nearly twelve hours doing very little but jump on and off for meals, bush stops and photographs. The result of which is that sleep comes to you after reading little more than one or two pages of a very good book. Coincidentally, I happen to have chosen Bill Bryson’s ‘Down Under’, which has inspired me to pen this epistle. Bryson wrote most of his books whilst travelling alone, but I would like to break at this point to thank my companions for the added inspiration and subject matter.

For the humour of my ‘Python’ and ‘Goon’ compatriots: - Michael, an ex ICI subsidiary executive and John, retired professor of English and Drama at a Northern University. Maybe the rest of the bus did not always appreciate our laughter but at least they tolerated it. To Alec a retired Doctor of Palaeontology, who kept us informed as to the various rock formations we were travelling through and for the interesting observations on the butterflies we saw, as this was his latest interest. To the lovely sisters whom I know were not rude to a check in girl. To Jay, Otology Consultant and his wife Kala, at least there was ‘A Doctor in the House’ – fortunately never required – and there was Ida! What of Ida, well, she would not tell us much about herself other than that she had appeared twice on University Challenge and had been a member of a ‘Much underrated profession’. The fact that she was also fairly deaf and cantankerous made her the only one of the party who was difficult to get on with, but we all managed to tolerate her.

Day Five – Fianarantsoa to Ranohira

fter a tour of Fianarantsoa the following morning we were off on what was to be the longest day’s drive of the tour. We stopped at a native village to be greeted once again by a smiling, dancing group of kids, who after some encouragement sang to us. Lunch was to be taken in Ambalavao after visiting a vineyard and sampling the products. Our luck, the vineyard was closed for lunch, and we were unable to afford the time to return later. After lunch a visit to the paper factory near the restaurant. The paper is made from the bark of a tree, which is crushed, pressed and rolled in a very primitive manner, somewhat as papyrus was made in Egypt. Gluing fresh flowers on to the paper and sealing them produced very attractive pictures.

We knew we had to face a long afternoon of travel if we were to arrive at Ranohira before dark, although Rija said he did not think we would. The light was beginning to fade when we stopped at Ihosi to refuel. Ihosi is the capital of the Bara tribe, and as usual several kids dressed in motley items of Oxfam vintage clothes surrounded the bus. John was most distressed to see one boy walking around in just one flip-flop and insisted on photographing him and paying him a fee of sweets. I could not help but point out to John that this lad was the lucky one as none of the others had any footwear whatsoever.

Soon after Ihosi it happened. The light began to fade rapidly and the tarmac surface ran out. We now had about two hours to travel on this unmade road in a vehicle that could in no way be described as having any form of functional suspension. With the light on in the bus we now realised that the local dust was far more intrusive than it had been the day before, or maybe it was the fact that it was red. This was the sort of journey that one prayed would not finish up with a flat tyre and I for one was grateful that we had fuelled up in Ihosi. The dust appeared to go on forever, and one of the relieving sights was of John sleeping during this time with an eyeshade mask on. Could he no longer bear the sight of his dishevelled travelling companions? In marked contrast to his light suit, Alec must have had the blackest hands by now. This was probably caused by the way he placed them on the seat to steady himself. At last we drove into the lodge – Relais de la Reine. This was truly an incredible oasis after such a tortuous drive. A fire burning in a cavernous dining room set in the centre of a Swiss style log hotel. All the rooms were of chalet style set around in groups of four. The whole area revealed the following day to have a serene beauty that amply rewarded us for the tortuous journey we had endured.

The same shampoo procedure as the previous night led to a shock revelation. I seriously thought that I was bleeding, as the water cascading off my head was bright red! That dust had pervaded everything as even the clothes in our cases were covered in it. At this point G discovered an even faster way to move than usual; he had sat on the chair at the desk in our room, and leant forward to write when the chair shot away on the polished floor. I was sitting on the end of my bed when he passed me at a speed that would have won him an Olympic sprint medal! Thank goodness the door was shut or he would have arrived in the dining room, about 100 yards away, in around 9.5 seconds!! Fortunately no injuries were sustained. We must learn to be aware of the obsession these people have for polish. Tiredness prevented us from really appreciating the luxury of this place, but luckily we are here for two nights.

Day Six – Ranohira and Isalo

he best breakfast so far on the holiday was a great precursor to a wonderful day. We left soon after to go to the Isalo National Park, described in the guide books as ‘81,540 hectares of wildly eroded Jurassic sandstone massif’. Time only permitted us to see a very small corner of the park, walking some 3 km to the natural swimming pool below a stunning waterfall. We were introduced to our guide Tina, a tall enigmatic Bara whose knowledge of the flora and fauna of the area was truly prodigious. The walk started with a stiff climb; then across the top of the massif followed by the drop down to the pool which is near the bottom of the natural bowl like formation of this part of the park. These were some of the most spectacular views I have ever seen, which in my mind could only be matched by the Tepuys of Venezuela or the Alto Plano of the Andes. Not only was this one of the toughest days, but it was certainly the hottest so far. G shot off as usual and was one of the first to reach the highest point but even he had to slow down – these were views you could just not rush past. At this point the view of the bowl is called Nazareth due to the likeness of a Middle Eastern city formed by the pitting in the rocks. This gives the ‘walls’ the appearance of windows or troglodyte caves.

On reaching the pool I wished that I had brought my swimming trunks as we had been advised to, the water was cool and crystal clear. Bravo for Kala who was the only one to bravely go where no man had gone before.

It was on the return walk from the pool that I think I found my total kindred spirit in John. We found ourselves walking together, curing and solving all the ills of the world; totally engrossed in our conversation we suddenly found ourselves walking down into the canyon instead of up and over the summit back to the entrance of the park. What to do – we just laughed and tried to retrace our steps to find the correct path.

This was not easy and may have become quite a problem when out of the ether, high above us, the tall figure of Tina appeared like a lighthouse guiding us away from the rocks; except that in this case there was nothing but rocks. It was only then that the two of us realised that our circuitous route had added about 20 minutes on to the planned return time. What a great group we were – nobody castigated us when we finally arrived back at the bus nearly 30 minutes late.

The afternoon was spent at the Isola Museum and on to the ‘Fenetre de l’Isalo’ to view the sunset. It was whilst at the Museum that I took the plunge and asked Ida what her profession actually was, and received the curt reply that she was ‘a sex therapist’. ‘Well, I suppose someone has to do it’ I replied! I don’t know what my assumptions were, but I took the plunge and suggested that I thought she was a pharmacist, and for the first time so far she was speechless. I had hit the jackpot.

Day Seven – Isalo – Tulear

s usual we were up at a ridiculous hour to prepare for an early departure after breakfast. For once the journey was relatively short, as we would be visiting the arboretum at Antsoaky where we were to lunch.

The journey away from Ranohira took us through the two townships of Ilakaka and Sakarivia, which produce the majority of the sapphires of Madagascar. On this journey we see our first baobab trees which because of their unique shape, make excellent comfort stops. After leaving the mining area we continued along roads which once again generated a considerable amount of dust, ably distributed via the windows and our air conditioning unit.

At the town of Andranovory there is a junction that leads eventually to Port Dauphin, but Rija informs us that this is a 3 day drive in the dry season and possibly more than a week in the wet season. We decided to stick to our plan to fly direct to Port Dauphin the following morning.

Lunch at the arboretum was notable for the fact that we were invaded by as many flies as we had seen throughout the trip thus far. One gets into the habit of eating with one hand and waving in a manic manner with the other in the general direction of any ten of at least one thousand flies. This is no guarantee that you will not swallow additional protein whilst it is still on the wing. It is quite amazing to note that all through an interesting visit to the arboretum, flies were conspicuous by their absence, the entire population obviously lived in the restaurant. Even the chameleons in the trees looked very forlorn at the lack of nourishment.

It was a pleasant change to arrive at our destination relatively early in the afternoon at Tulear, which allowed us time to visit the shops and harbour area before arriving at our hotel. This one was certainly not up to the wonderful standard we had experienced for the last two nights at the ‘Relais’. Even after an early arrival, it is quite amazing how early we went to bed feeling quite exhausted. We also had to rise early the next day to transfer to the airport for our flight to Fort Dauphin.

Day Eight – Tulear – Fort Dauphin – Berenty

E are joined on the journey by a very attractive young lady who assists our passage through the formalities, and on seeing her, John immediately declared that he was in love again. It’s just as well that she did not travel with us and he was able to resume his normal travel mode complete with sleep-mask.

We also say farewell at this point to Jeanchrist our driver and his mate, as they will be returning to Tana with our bus. I think that there are rather mixed feelings at seeing the back of that bus at last.

On arrival at Fort Dauphin, or Tolignano as it is now called, we transferred to the Hotel Dauphin for lunch. This was also a taste of things to come, as we would be staying here for two nights on our return from Berenty. After lunch we drove to Berenty and arrived just in time to dump our cases and off for dinner in the large communal dining room. This was the first time so far that we had met so many people at one time, and we indulged in some great banter with a group of about fifteen Australians. I think that they were all called Bruce; well anyway they appeared to be happy to answer to that name. The meal over we were then taken on our night walk to see if we could find any of the nocturnal lemurs and other creatures. It was then that John endeared himself to all of us by providing possibly the best laugh of the trip. We saw a mouse lemur, and the guide was telling us about it in his poor English, and said, having been asked about their lifespan; “The male has one year and the female two years”. John misheard this and immediately retorted, “Who’s only got one ear! He must run around in circles.” We all laughed and told him he had got it wrong to which he again replied, “Half past six”! We now had a stock answer whenever anyone misheard a statement. The response was always to be “Half past six”. We decided to put this aberration on John’s part down to the trauma he must have been suffering at finding out that he had to share a bathroom with Ida!

Day Nine - Berenty

e were going to have to be up at about 5.30 the following morning to be on the trail at 6 to see as much as possible of the wildlife during their waking period, so it was off to bed. It was also advisable to do so as the electricity was turned off at night. G and I were woken at around 4 am by the most incredible noise hammering on the corrugated iron roof of our room. It appeared to be a combination of rain and someone or something running across the roof and jumping down on to the veranda. We will never know if it was human or primate! Our alarm went off at 5.15 am, and we realised that the power was not yet back on, so it was a case of dressing by candlelight and just having a cursory wash before trekking off to meet the rest of the intrepid early morning walkers. We were not surprised to find that apart from the two of us, only Kala, Jay and Michael had decided they were mad enough to get up that early.

Watching the sunrise in these beautiful surroundings, and seeing the different species either waking or flying by was a very uplifting experience. Unfortunately it only happens for the moment and cannot be recaptured. We met the rest of the party for breakfast and then off again on the next trek to see the different types of lemurs. By the time we started the sun was quite hot and we were surprised to see how the Ring Tailed Lemurs soak up the energy from the sun by sitting in a lotus position to expose their chests and the palms of their hands.

The feeling that I had on this walk was one of complete contentment and of being a sort of Dr Doolittle – talking to the animals. Later on during this walk, we came across a family of Sifakas, which are the second largest of the Lemurs and have this most luxurious cream fur with black face markings. Unlike the ringtails, they do not move as quadrupeds, but dance along on their hind legs, reversing the lead leg every two or three steps. It is quite balletic, and as John commented they obviously went to dancing school at a very young age!

After lunch we visited a sisal factory which was extremely noisy, but about which the locals were very proud as it was the main industry and money earner of the area.

Up to this point the holiday had been very exhausting and energetic, but we were now on our way back to Toliagno for a two-night stay at the Hotel Dauphin. Great excitement on arrival when G and I are allocated a suite. A room each with a

double-bedded room for G and a choice of beds for me. Only a bathroom separated us.

Day Ten – Toliagno – Lake Lanirano

oday was going to be both energetic and restful; if such a situation can exist. We went on a boat trip across Lake Lanirano, which is a reed filled lake leading across an inlet to the village of Evatraha. As the village is close to the sea on one side and the lake on the other, it can suffer flooding in the wet season and it is interesting to see how all the houses are built on platforms some eighteen inches off the ground. Once again we were followed by a large group of children who were amused by the games we played with them by suddenly turning on them and pulling faces and shouting ‘BOO’. Or were they laughing at how stupid we really were? There was now a choice – the easy walk around the village to the sea; or the long climb over the hill. As usual G, Mike, Kala, Jay and I opted for the long haul. What a fantastic view spread before us from the top - the village with the lake on one side and the beach and sea on the other.

As far as I was concerned this view was one of the best picture opportunities of the trip so far. Another 15 minutes and we were down on the beach; a beautiful little bay with white soft sand and no under tow in the water whatsoever. To swim here was a delight, especially as we had over an hour here to relax before trekking back over the hill to a spot in the woods near the lake for a picnic lunch. On the way back, we passed a group of fisherman who were preparing lunch for their families on a barbecue. Kala tempted me to try a sort of bhaji that they had fried which was very tasty. If only we could have stayed to see how the big Yellowtail they had caught would taste.

Our lunch was excellent and our providers had not even forgotten G’s requirement for a vegetarian meal. After walking off the effects of the meal along another bay, we boarded our boats for the journey back to Toliagno. A shopping trip to the Malagasy version of a supermarket to buy beers and biscuits provided an amusing interlude when we discovered that instead of very small change, for which there are no coins available, we were handed several small sweets. This must be the first time I have actually eaten my change! This was followed by a very relaxed time sitting on the veranda of the hotel eating the biscuits and drinking the beer with Kala & Jay. The evening was spent equally relaxed, as we were to fly back to Tana late the following morning.

Day Eleven – Toliagno – Antananarivo

erry and I had decided that we would still get up early, even though we did not have to leave until mid-morning to travel to the airport. This gave us time to wander into Toliagno and possibly buy the last souvenirs. I became very excited when we came across a small hut masquerading as an Internet Café, but was soon deflated on discovering that it was closed. Oh well; I had existed so far without sending an email home, so I supposed that this modern form of communication would have to be given a miss on this trip. Little did I realise the traumas to be suffered over the next few days. A little further along the road we were accosted by a woman trying to sell baubles, bangles and beads, and I made the mistake of establishing eye contact with her. Had I not learnt anything since that first day in Tana? I think that this time I must have almost indicated that I would be responsible for the poor woman’s future; together with that of the child she had on her back! We walked along the beach to photograph some of the many shipwrecks found in this area, and the dear lady still followed. I could not bring myself to be too rude to her, and wondered if John would consider taking her off my hands when a local man shouted at her in Malagasy, obviously explaining that I had already grown tired of her. How sad for her to have such a relationship terminated by a message delivered by a stranger, but – That’s Life.

Bar bills and extras settled, we were off to the airport for the flight back to Tana to be reunited with Jeanchrist and THE BUS. I could kick myself for the photograph that I did not take at the airport, for in the departure lounge (a misnomer if ever there was) I noted a dirty green door with a faint stencilled legend that read ‘Salle d’Honneur’ which I can only assume meant ‘VIP Lounge’. If only I could have peeped behind that door and photographed the facilities therein. Before I had a chance to venture towards it, our plane arrived and off across the tarmac raced some 60 to 70 passengers. I am proud to relate that Gerry upheld the reputation of British middle distance runners, in that, before I got though the door, he was already out of sight on the aircraft. I did not even know if he boarded via the front or rear door, so I chose the rear and then saw him through the crush at the front of the cabin. I therefore resigned myself to sitting next to my friend John for the trip. This time we arrived as internal travellers and our baggage came round the carousel promptly, and Jane expressed great relief that she did not have a case to lose.

On arrival at Tana we were to have lunch in the Airport Restaurant which, surprisingly was quite luxurious and we had a first class meal. In the meantime our luggage had been loaded onto our bus and we greeted our long lost crew. Had it really been only three days since we left them in Tulea? G & I were to discover, as all of us were, that we had been allocated the same rooms as on our earlier visit to the Hotel De France. Having deposited our cases we decided to go walkabout once again and savour the hustle and bustle of so many people. We had forgotten what a crowd was really like having spent the last week in sparsely populated areas. On arrival back at the hotel, a smiling Michael informed us that our flight the following day had been cancelled and we were to stay an additional night. A tall languorous young man named Zak had imparted this news. He appeared to be a city version of our Isalo guide Tina. He informed us that he worked for our Madagascar tour company and that Air Madagascar had cancelled the flight as the aircraft was undergoing a service. This appeared to confirm our thoughts that this was a company that only owned one long haul plane. Zak was certain that we would be unable to do anything until the following morning. After a time we finally convinced him that something had to be done that night as there would be people at home who would leave to collect us from the airport prior to us being able to let them know of the delay. Eventually he agreed to contact his boss and ask him to meet us at his office in order to send emails (at last) in order to pass messages to our contacts. Alec, Zak and I sped off in the boss’s car to the office and I then had the dubious pleasure of sending an email from a French keyboard where the characters had been rubbed off. This proved to be quite an exercise, taking some 20 minutes to type one paragraph.

Dinner was quite animated, discussing all the probable options with regard to the delay. We finally decided that the following day would be very interesting when we would confront Air Madagascar with regard to how we would be dealt with and when we would finally be able to leave Tana, not that we did not like the town. To bed, and the realisation that we once more had a television set in the bedroom and could catch up with world events through dear old CNN.

Day Twelve – Antananarivo

y the time we had breakfast, we were ready to go on a trip to Ambohimanga, an ancient citadel some 15 miles outside Tana. This was to be the last excursion in our beloved dusty bus, a prospect that we therefore viewed somewhat ambiguously. Several of the party had decided not to take the trip and to replace it with an extra hour or so in bed. Can they no longer take the pace we ask, or are they circumspect in as much as we do not know what the next 24 hours may bring. The palaces of the old tribal king and queen who lived at Ambohimanga were very different to any of the other sites we had seen anywhere on the island. It was interesting to hear that the walls of the palace of the king were plastered with the whites of over 16,000,000 eggs. Nobody could tell us what happened to the yolks, oh boy, what an omelette! The king apparently had his bath water brought from the well by six virgins – supposedly to ensure it was also pure?

Back to the hotel for lunch where large packets of sandwiches were waiting for John, Kala and Jay who were off to Nosy Be for an additional three days. Our farewells were made and we wondered what travails the rest of us had to suffer being abandoned travellers deserted in a foreign land. Well not quite, but that was almost how it felt.

Lunch over, loins girded, we crossed the boulevard to the offices of Air Madagascar to find out just when we would be leaving. On arrival we found, of course, a fair proportion of the 200 or so passengers that were due to leave on the same flight. Chaos would have reigned, if the Malagasy were not such laid back people. We may have been somewhat uptight, but the staff attitude almost seemed as though they were totally unaware of the seriousness of the situation. We managed to glean information to the effect that the flight would leave at 1100hrs the following day, which would be 14 hours after the original departure time. As we would therefore miss our connection in Paris, and would arrive too late for any flight to London, we required assurance that we would have overnight accommodation provided. No clerk in the office at that time could tell us what would happen however much we pressed. Eventually we had to accept that we would return at 1600hrs when we would be able to see a manager. Alec, Mike and I decided to wait in the hotel until that hour, whilst the remaining four members went off to the market with Rija, who had remained stolidly behind us over the last 24 hours. What a great guy he was.

When we finally confronted the manager at Air M., we assumed that she had been especially chosen for the job. She was a grey-haired harridan with a totally expressionless face who could only answer ‘Our Paris representative has been told to book rooms for you all’. On being pressed to tell us if she had received confirmation of this; we just received the same response. And yet again however we tried to put the question. When finally asking if we could telephone Cox & Kings in London, she grudgingly agreed as long as we only took 3 minutes! At last we spoke to someone sympathetic who assured us that he would contact Air Madagascar at his end and let us know the result. Thus satisfied the three of us repaired to the bar at the hotel for some liquid sustenance. Just before the others returned from their shopping spree, we received a fax from Cox & Kings to confirm that they had been given assurance that rooms had been booked for us in Paris. A return flight to London at 0700 hours the following morning had been confirmed for six of us, with a later flight for Mike who was flying on to his northern home. Alec was in the unfortunate position of having to rearrange his onward flight on arrival at Heathrow. Happily satisfied we all retired in the restful knowledge that there should be no further problems. Only time will reveal our naivety.

Day Thirteen – Antananarivo – Paris

P early for breakfast and settlement of accounts where the first problem of the day was encountered when the hotel manager informed me that I could not pay the bill for faxes and phone calls by credit card as there was a minimum limit of $50USA. He finally changed his mind when it was suggested that the alternative was to send the bill to Air Madagascar.

Seven weary travellers finally arrived at the airport. Was this going to be for real? We bade our farewells to Rija and the bus crew; wiped the dust from our clothes and entered the incredibly overcrowded departure hall. You would have thought that in such a crowd the customs officials would have been only too pleased to see the back of us, but no. It was their express intent to make all of us, except Jane of course, open at least one case, rifle though the contents and to be as disruptive as possible. Even now we were expected to fill in the inevitable form to satisfy their bureaucracy before we could proceed to the departure lounge. I did not see a Salle d’Honneur’ here. Up to this point on the trip G had expressed the feeling that we were all misjudging Ida as he had experienced no problems with her whatsoever. It was quite amusing therefore to see her give him a shoulder charge to get in front of him that would have been a credit to any football defender.

The coincidences and experiences of the past were to continue when we boarded the plane. G & I decided to opt again for aisle seats, he on the window pair and I in the central block. Travelling companions? – He got the very attractive Malagasy lady who lived in Gevry Chambertain, and I got the 4 year old kid! Is there no justice in this world?

Arrival in Paris was at around 2100hrs that night, and at least I had the pleasure of being able to use my mobile phone to call home to announce the fact that we were now some 5,000 miles nearer home. The next thing was to be informed by the Air France passenger service lady that no rooms had been reserved for us. Why did this statement not surprise us? After some negotiations we decided that as the bill for our rooms would be going to Air Madagascar, we would all ask for single rooms and enjoy a return to some semblance of civilisation. Charles de Gaulle Airport is something else! Within the perimeter there are a large number of hotels and buses that travel a circular route to reach them; eventually. By the time we reached ours and queued to register it was gone 2330hrs. We just had time to bid Michael farewell, as he did not have to get up early. We however had to be back at the terminal by 0615hrs meaning getting up at about 0500.

Day Fourteen – Paris – Home

Perhaps because my brain was only working at a reduced rate, or what in the computer world might be described as ‘Safe Mode’, the early hour of rising showering and breakfasting did not seem to exist. It obviously did as we all arrived safely after the bus tour of the airport perimeter. Checked in without a problem, boarded the plane likewise and thought that this must be too good to be true. I only really woke up on realising that yet again G had done it. I had not seen any young, attractive women board and as the seating was in blocks of 3, I took the window seat and G sat in the middle. I smiled thinking that he would have to talk to me on the trip, but no; who should sit next to him but Diantha. Who could ask for a more attractive travelling companion – how does he do it?

Heathrow at last, some 20 hours later than planned but safe. Waiting for our luggage to come up and on to the carousel, I wondered if Jane would be reunited with her case, but no, that check in girl really had sent it to some far off place.

We bade our last farewells and found our car for the trip home.

Can I exist on holiday with Gerry? Absolutely; as long as I do not try to keep up with his pace and do not get too jealous of his magnetism for the ladies.

With grateful thanks to: -

Cox & Kings for arranging such a fantastic trip

Tropic Tours of Antananarivo and especially Rija Rakotonirina, for that was his full name, whose smile is indelibly imprinted in my brain

& Most of all to Jane & Diantha, Alec, John, Mike, Kala & Jay, Gerry - and even Ida.

Finally for the assistance of Su Li in the ultimate editing.

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A selection of photographs can be viewed at: -

http://jeff.sedley.org/madagascar/