Ranomafana, Part II

Rain forest deee-lites.

Yes, at one time this was all rain forest.

Sad.

When we had gotten to the end of the protected land, we knew it. Desolation was all we saw; chopped, brown, and dead. Our guide told us that this was a banana plantation, and that banana trees can only yield one batch of bananas. After their allotted banana crop, the trees are chopped down, and new trees grow from their roots. So, it wasn’t really as bad as it looked – they were just in between growing spurts. Still, knowing this had all once been as gorgeous, dense, lush, and perfect as what we had just hiked through gave us pause. We were just glad that some of it had been preserved while there was still some to save.

Traveler palm detail.

Respite from the clear-cutting.

Rain forest wonders.

Verdant.

Bananas!

We entered another densely forested patch of land and proceeded to hike down a VERY steep path. Down and down and down it went, and my knees felt as if they were going to fall off my body.

We finally reached a clearing, where more banana trees were growing. What looked like pea plants had also been planted among the banana trees, making the most of the land.

We came to the river, and on the other side was a huge rock formation speckled with trees. There were several small waterfalls cascading down the rocks into a beautiful pool at the bottom. We were told that the rainy season, which was fast approaching, would turn this into a major waterfall. I asked the guide if we could go to the pool, and he said, “No – why would you want to?” I really didn’t know what to say to that. I guess stuff like this must seem kind of normal to him, but dang…

Mostly dry waterfall, but the rainy season's just around the bend.

Ferns 'n Flowers.

Waterfall.

Pool.

After the entire group had managed to descend to our location, we rested for a spell, posing for pictures in front of the waterfalls trying to avoid direct contact with sunlight. Then, we were off again.

We stampeded through medium-sized forest, and then I looked over and there was a hut where some children were playing. A woman poked her head out. We were hiking through these people’s yard! I felt a little tacky about it, but they didn’t really seem too concerned, so on we went, through their rice paddies. Lots of rivulets were trickling water through a system that fed water to the various paddies, and we stepped carefully in order to keep from toppling over onto the weak-looking plants.

We passed through several types of plantations – coffee, pineapple, casaba – until we finally reached the edge of town. “This is the President’s house when he visits the pools,” the guide said, pointing. It was nothing spectacular – it looked like a regular ranch-style house you’d find anywhere. The only thing that made it stick out was the bizarre air conditioning units that were attached. I had never seen anything like them – they were window units, but looked as if they were from 1960. They were enormous.

We walked by the President’s home and an untended garden and then saw the hot pool. It was just a plain swimming pool by appearance, but the water came from a hot spring. Two tourists bobbed lazily.

Rice paddy in the making.

Rain forest and river.

Some lady's backyard that we totally walked through.

Ranomafana glamour.

Coffee beans.

A rickety bridge on the other side of the hot pool.

The rain forest in the misty twilight.

After our intense hike that had taken us through the park and beyond, we were given the opportunity to dip into the hot pool, which sounded like an absolute nightmare to me. Nothing spells certain doom more intensely than bobbing in an 80 degree pool with a gaggle of tourists after rooting through a muggy, swampy rain forest. Am I right?

A few stayed, but the rest of us went back to the hotel and sipped Coca-cola on the front porch while talking about how amazing the rain forest had been. Most of us were excited about the ‘night hike,’ but a few people had decided that they had seen enough of that rain forest – it would be the same at night, only darker.

Me, I was going to get the most for my money, so I got my flashlight, my umbrella and my emergency poncho and met the rest of the group down by the bus, raring to go see some mouse lemurs, fossas and Aye-ayes.

Well, it WAS the same only darker. And wetter. And very, very crowded. They led us up to Belle Vue, where it turns out they had basically partially tamed one mouse lemur and one fossa to turn up at certain times and in specific alcoves of the forest. Making their guest appearances, the creatures would get tossed some pellets of cat food. They’d pose and prance and act fancy for the cameras and then slink back into the wild.

We were all crammed into a very thin path where these animals were peeking out of the trees, and a group of French tourists, all wearing matching white rain slickers with a hideous ‘Adventure Tours’ logo on the back, entered our zone. I was horrified by the tackiness. Jill, a woman in the group, exclaimed that she didn’t care what happened, she would never, EVER wear a matching poncho with a travel group – and I agree with her. They all looked like – what’s the polite word? – assholes.

And they acted like it, too. There were probably twelve of them, and they would stampede from one viewing station to the next, shoving anyone who wasn’t wearing one of their identifying ponchos out of the way – they and only they were entitled to see these nocturnal creatures, damn it!

I got sick of the whole thing. Yes, I saw one – ONE – mouse lemur and some grubby little grey thing that was supposed to be a fossa, but I would much rather have waited back at the hotel with the ladies who, when we returned from our Trek Into Damnation, were playing a very spirited game of cards on the porch.

We all had a delicious dinner – I had spaghetti and tomato sauce – and then retired. We were going to be off the next morning – early, of course – so we could get to Ambalvao – hub of Malagasy paper making – in time to see its wonders.

Ranomafana, Part I

Our glamorous hotel.

The view across the street from the hotel.

We were up and at ’em at 5 in the morning (not a difficult feat – as I said, the sun rises early, not to mention the nagging roosters that are obnoxiously announcing their presence at any given moment, starting around 4). We were all very anxious about visiting Ranomafana, as we had been promised several different varieties of lemur – the Sportive lemur, brown lemur and red bamboo lemur. Aside from that, we would be hiking through some of the most famous and beautiful rain forest in Madagascar.

Ranomafana literally translated means ‘hot water’ – the area is also known for its hot springs. Before the National Park had been established, the town of Ranomafana had been created as a spa. The park had only been established in the relatively recent past, and had been negligibly visited until the ‘ecotourism’ boom brought floods of people eager to see rain forests in action to Madagascar. Now, Ranomafana is one of the most popular destinations on the entire island.

We were told to brace ourselves. The hike through this rain forest was going to be long, arduous, steep, and treacherous. We were ready for it, though, and we clambered into our bus and back up the rickety, winding road to the park entrance.

Due to increased interest, the rain forest was packed with people from all over the world, and one tour after another was lined up at the entrance. They took us in on intervals so overlapping would be minimal, but I was skeptical. I knew from being with my own group that any animal would cause people to stop and take pictures for at least 20 minutes – adjusting tripods, switching lenses, posing behind, above or with the creatures in any number of egregious positions – and I was sure these other groups were no different. Not that I was complaining – having to push past a tourist in a rain forest is preferable to having to squeeze past a hobo in the seventh avenue stop of the B train.

Traveler palm.

ornate sign marking our entrance.

As we entered the trail, we noticed a comet-tail moth just hanging out as if it had been placed there for our benefit – but these wonders of nature are apparently commonplace ’round those parts. We all gawked at it as if it were an alien visitor and made our way, one by one, down the steep path into the dense overgrowth of the secondary forest.

Along the way, our guide showed us something I had hoped I’d be able to see – a giraffe weevil. These weevils have elongated necks – who knows why – but they’re awesome creatures. It was much smaller than I had expected it would be – tiny, as a matter of fact – but still an imposing sight.

The giraffe weevil (Trachelophorus giraffa) is a weevil endemic to Madagascar. It derives its name from an extended neck much like that of the common giraffe. The giraffe weevil is sexually dimorphic, with the neck of the male typically being 2 to 3 times that of the female. Most of the body is black with distinctive red elytra covering the flying wings. The total body length of the males is just under an inch (2.5 cm), among the longest for any Attelabid species. The extended neck is an adaptation that assists in nest building. When it comes time to breed the father-to-be will roll and secure a leaf of the host plant, Dichaetanthera cordifolia (a small tree in the family Melastomataceae), at which point the female will lay a single egg within the tube.

Giraffe weevil - one of the best insects EVER.

Rain forest magic.

Babbling brook.

Some things you expect to see in a rain forest in Madagascar. This is not one of them. I don't know who it belonged to, but I had to take a picture.

Babbling brook II. The bridge across it only held four people at a time. I felt a bit like I was in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Bamboo lemurs eat this crap.

Gecko.

Sportive lemur high up in the trees, looking at us all as if we're retarded.

Now, the tour guides in this rain forest ran us ragged – up hills, down them, through dense growth – it all got a little crazy. They took us off the path if there was even a HINT of a lemur, gecko, frog, anything that would cause us to salivate appropriately. I have to say, the guides’ cavalier attitudes toward the plant life in the forest was a little unsettling. They dragged us through dangerous terrain, crashing baby trees over, stomping plants, making a mess of things – and it wasn’t just my group – all groups were being scuttled through the forest in random patches in order to see creatures. (Yes, I voiced my displeasure and concern and hope that it will be taken seriously. This rain forest reserve was originally established by a VERY STAUNCH environmentalist, so I’m sure things will be handled accordingly.)

Hiding in plain sight.

Rain forest glamour.

A view from the pinnacle, or Belle Vue as it has been appropriately named.

We reached a resting point on a platform that overlooked a lush, deeply forested valley. It was named Belle Vue – apparently, when this park was established, scientists camped out at this site in order to study the nocturnal creatures of the park, such as the mouse lemur. We were told that we would be coming back to this area later this evening for our “night walk,” where we would be able to see these creatures in action. Most of us quivered with excitement – some were already pooped. After a brief rest, we started our hike back down and into exciting and glamorous rain forest.

Rain forest glamour.

A tangle o' vines.

We were told that all of the rain forest we had been visiting was secondary forest – the original trees had long ago been cut down, and this was all newer growth. There was, indeed, still primary forest in this park – but in order to get to it one would have to camp for a few days. I would have loved to take a peek at the primary forest, but that wasn’t in the plan. Perhaps next time.

On and on we hiked – up and down and up – until we came to something very depressing – the end of the protected land. We could tell it was the end before our tour guide even said, “The park ends here.”

The end of protection. I'm sure the difference is evident.