14th June 2020

Our room had a damp, musty smell and, upon investigation by Sue, we discovered that the bungalows had been flooded to a depth of half a metre during the last cyclone. Nonetheless, we slept well, although Sue was still experiencing stomach troubles despite now being on antibiotics.

It was raining when, after breakfast at 8 a.m., we boarded the coach for a short drive up the valley to the entrance of Ranomafana National Park, one of the largest montane rainforests in the world, home to many endemic species, including birds, chameleons, frogs, and a dozen species of lemurs. Among them is the rare golden bamboo lemur, one of the most elusive.

It was a rainforest, after all, so we had expected to get wet, and most of us were dressed accordingly. Sue and I had also brought small umbrellas as a backup, and at times they were certainly needed. Steady rain filtered through the canopy above, sluicing down onto our winding crocodile of walkers as we carefully negotiated the narrow, muddy forest trails. It was a minor miracle that no one came a cropper on the treacherous underfoot conditions, but “slowly, slowly” (morei, morei) was a constant and necessary reminder.

 

 

 

 

 

We came across plenty of chameleons and frogs, mostly small, some so tiny they were difficult to spot, even when our guides pointed them out just a few centimetres away. But the real stars of the day were the lemurs. Unperturbed by the rain, they went about their daily business of foraging for food, swinging and leaping from tree to tree above our heads, shaking the canopy as they moved, sometimes dislodging leeches, which rained down onto the hapless adventurers below. Though Sue and I escaped this unwelcome parasitic shower, many others were not so lucky, and were grateful when someone spotted a small, creeping black blob on their clothing and deftly flicked it into the undergrowth.

On one of our regular forays off the main path into the dense vegetation, we encountered a couple of natural scientists accompanied by rangers. They were studying the rarely seen Golden Bamboo Lemur, and we joined them to observe and photograph a small family group. In that moment, being soaked to the skin, underwear and all, suddenly felt worthwhile. Such beautiful, placid creatures; they appeared completely unbothered by our presence and seemed to accept our group as just another harmless band of forest dwellers.

Eventually, we left the lemurs to their foraging and, with the guidance of our rangers, it wasn’t long before we tracked down more species. Some were more skittish than others. Red-fronted brown lemurs, and a strikingly variegated species, which, to my eye, seemed more akin to China’s pandas than to any Malagasy genus, were among the least concerned by our presence. Others, however, simply climbed, swung, and leapt their way deeper into the forest and well out of camera range.

Our meandering route eventually brought us to a viewpoint at the top of the mountain. On a dry day, the scene before us would no doubt have been spectacular. But dry days are not the norm here, and although photographs were taken, they were never likely to earn a place in anyone’s album. After a brief rest, we began the long trek back to the entrance and our waiting coach. The rain, needless to say, continued without pause.

Back at the coach, we learned that not everyone in our group had completed the full route. A few had found the steep, slippery conditions and persistent rain too much and had sensibly turned back under the guidance of a ranger. Other than a thorough soaking, no one had come to harm or suffered anything to spoil their enjoyment of this extraordinary encounter with Madagascar’s wild heart.

During lunch at the hotel, the rain finally stopped, and the sun came out.

Changed into dry clothes, several of us joined a late-afternoon expedition to see chameleons. A short drive took us to a hillside that had been planted with examples of all the native tree species found in the surrounding forest, as well as many from other parts of the island. Under the guidance of a knowledgeable escort, we wandered through the manicured gardens, taking in the botanical information on offer and photographing the cleverly camouflaged chameleons whenever they were spotted. After the exertions of the morning, it was a lovely way to spend a warm afternoon.

Pausing to rest at a wooden gazebo, we looked down onto the river far below and watched locals crossing in busy dugout canoes. They had walked kilometres from the town where our hotel was located to visit the market and were now heading home, some unknown distance further, on the other side of the river.

That evening, I joined a small group heading to a somewhat smarter hotel across town for dinner. Sue, exhausted from the day’s activities, had sensibly chosen to stay behind and relax quietly in our chalet, ordering chips for sustenance. In hindsight, I wish I had done the same.

The evening began well enough, with drinks and the usual ordering of courses. My starter arrived on time, as did everyone else’s. But as the main courses began to appear, it quickly became clear that my fish selection wasn’t going to be among them. Rather more promptly than during the seaside resort episode a few days earlier, I left the table and ventured into the kitchen to investigate. I found it empty, the staff had gone, and everything shut down for the night.

When the head waiter appeared, he received the sharp end of my tongue. A chef was summoned and emerged holding a piece of fish, so I returned to my seat to wait. Within five minutes, a plate arrived: fish served with cold sliced potatoes and no sign of any accompanying vegetables. I opened up the fish, it was raw.

Back to the kitchen I went, returning the plate to the chef and waiter, who could only agree it was uncooked. I told them, quite plainly, that they were attempting to poison me and informed them I would not be paying for the meal. I then returned to my seat.

A little later, the waiter reappeared with the group’s bills, mine included! He claimed that, since I hadn’t given them enough time to cook the meal, I should still pay. At that, I saw red. I invited him to follow me to the reception till, which he did. There, within earshot of the hotel’s guests, I made it abundantly clear that not only had they failed to deliver the meal I had ordered, they had also eventually presented me with raw fish that could easily have made me ill. I added that if anyone thought this level of service acceptable in an establishment of such pretension, they were quite mad. The waiter relented and tore up the bill.

Back at our accommodation, I resisted the temptation to order food and instead joined a peacefully sleeping Sue in our chalet.

15th June 2022

For the second time during this foray to Madagascar, I ate heartily at breakfast. Today we were to travel north, in preparation for our flight home in a couple of days. After collecting some spare food from the breakfast table for the village dogs, I took a short walk down the road and fed a couple of grateful animals before boarding the coach.

It was another long journey, retracing our route through the countryside we had passed the previous week. Everywhere we have been over these past two weeks, the soil has been a vivid red; only the dryness of the south muted its impact on the eye. Layered fields of crops were everywhere, stacked one above the other, tracing the course of rivers and climbing the valley sides. Narrow paths wound between them, serving both as access routes and as banks to retain the brackish water essential for the rice paddies.

The further north we travelled, the crimson rivers flowed faster and deeper, the only variation in colour coming from the froth churned up by frequent cascades. As we climbed into the mountains, the gullies grew deeper and our road, clinging precariously to the slopes, became increasingly potholed, clear signs of past mudslides evident all around.

At one point, we passed an unfortunate lorry lying on its side, its cargo strewn across the verge and down the embankment. The poor driver was scrambling to retrieve thousands of drink bottles before too many disappeared into the undergrowth. We didn’t stop, we had a timetable to keep.

Several bush toilet stops later, we reached the small town famed for its aluminium pot makers, where we stopped once again for lunch at the same restaurant. This time, we were welcomed by a group of colourful dancers, brought to life by a small band playing to one side of the entrance courtyard. Their attire was simple, and the rhythms they moved to were equally unpretentious, but it was undeniably African in character. Another excellent meal followed.

After lunch, and with a few more trinkets bought from hawkers stationed hopefully by the gate, we were back on the coach, pausing only for a few more much-needed bush stops as we continued our journey northwards.

It was still light when we arrived at the Colouer Café. We were assigned the same room as before and promptly asked one of the staff to light the fire. This time, we didn’t meddle with the blaze ourselves, instead letting it warm the room at its own pace while we joined the rest of the group in the restaurant for dinner and a briefing about the following day’s drive, it was to be our earliest start yet!

We returned to a room that, thankfully, was far less smoky than on our previous stay. A quick shower, then it was straight to bed for a comfortable, albeit shortened, night’s sleep.

16th June 2022

We were up and dressed by 4:30 a.m. Breakfast was served at 5, and by 6 a.m., we were all bleary-eyed but aboard the coach. We were going home.

It was to be a six-hour journey back to Antananarivo, and for the most part, it went smoothly. For a time, we even enjoyed a rare stretch of freshly resurfaced road, courtesy of a Malagasy road crew operating surprisingly modern machinery. But just as we were settling into the novelty of a comfortable ride, their efforts abruptly ended, and we were back to the familiar bouncing and swerving as the coach weaved around yawning potholes.

About three hours into the journey, a fracas erupted at the front of the coach. One of the two brothers in our party had taken it upon himself to loudly chastise an elderly gentleman in the front seat, resulting in a most unpleasant confrontation. Things flared again after a later bush toilet stop, this time at the back of the coach, with the same gentleman attempting to justify his actions.

His suitcase had gone missing during one of the flights to Antananarivo. He claimed it contained important medication. Our guide had arranged for the case to be returned to him within a couple of days, but the gentleman demanded faster delivery. The guide explained that it could be sent by special taxi, but at the man’s own expense. The gentleman agreed, and I, along with others seated nearby, clearly heard him do so. The suitcase duly arrived, and the guide paid the €135 cost on the man’s behalf. Since then, however, he had refused to reimburse him. To ensure our guide wasn’t left out of pocket, the rest of us held a whip-round to cover the cost. From that point on, the old gentleman found himself largely ostracised by the group.

Those of our party flying via Mauritius stopped for a visit to the Queen’s Palace and enjoyed a panoramic view over the capital before heading to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

Check-in at the airport did not go smoothly for Sue and me. We were dealt with by a trainee, nervously supervised by a superior. He took his time and asked every possible question. Eventually, our boarding cards were printed, but then panic broke out. More supervisors and technicians appeared, and it emerged that the system had crashed and couldn’t print luggage tags. We were moved to another desk, where, after handing over all our paperwork and boarding cards, our suitcases were tagged and disappeared into the ether.

Before heading to security, I thought it wise to double-check our documents and discovered that while we should have had six boarding cards, we only had five. My Mauritius, Dubai segment was missing. The operator insisted he had given them all to us; I insisted he hadn’t. A supervisor reviewed everything and finally printed me a replacement. Just as well I checked!

Our flight from Madagascar to Mauritius left and arrived on time. Likewise, our onward flight from Mauritius to Dubai departed punctually. However, the final leg from Dubai to Birmingham was delayed by half an hour after two passengers changed their minds and decided not to travel. Their bags had to be located and removed from the hold. Some people are just plain crazy!

17th June 2022

We landed on time. As if to welcome us home, the weather witches had conjured up a sweltering 31 degrees Celsius, the hottest day of the year so far in the UK.

Out in the airport car park, our taxi was waiting, and within forty minutes we were home. It wasn’t long before Sue had the first load of washing on, and I was out mowing the lawn.

We were back. But only for three days, then we’d be off again, this time to the world’s largest island: Greenland.