From the Rain Forest to Ambalavao or, A Day To Remember

We woke up bright and shiny as usual in order to make all stops in a timely fashion. When I went outside, the praying mantis, or Tanya II as I had named it, was still there, as was a giant stick insect. When I approached Tanya II, it stared at me in the way only praying mantises can (and if you’ve ever been up close to a praying mantis you know exactly what I’m talking about) before taking flight and landing yards away on a fruit tree. Bummed out that Tanya II had dismissed my attention, I went back inside to get my luggage and make the hideous trek down the steps to breakfast.

After dumping my bag on the pile by the bus, I ate the regular baguette with jam and guzzled some extra-strong coffee – we were about to be off. As we all dragged ourselves onto the bus, Fano told us we were going to be stopping by a sacred waterfall.

We drove up the the long and winding road past the park and then pulled over. The waterfall was gorgeous, as was the surrounding area. It was amazing to me the things you could see by just looking at the rock out of which the road had been carved. Ferns, lichens, mosses, insects, spiders, frogs – they all resided there in their own micro-ecosystems. Beautiful.

We all got back on the bus and Fano told us we’d be stopping in Fianarantsoa to do various businesses such as getting / exchanging cash, going to the post office, logging onto the internet, getting water, or whatever.

Allison and Mary in Ranomafana.

Chute Andriamamovoka of Riviere Namorona, Ranomafana Rain Forest.

Painting of an Aye-aye at the Chute Andriamamovoka overlook.

Riviere Namorona.

Random rain forest crap growing at the side of the road.

More roadside shenanigans.

Fianarantsoa means “Place of Good Learning.” It is, according to Fano, the “intellectual hub” of Madagascar, and at one point, there was talk of turning it into the capital of Madagascar. That has yet to happen.

When we arrived, Jill, Flavia, Christine, and I decided we were going to perambulate the town in order to find the post office. “Oh, that’s easy, just go up this road,” we were told. We walked, and we walked, and we WALKED, but be never came across a post office.

What we did come across was children, all of whom were selling “cards we made in school,” as they told Flavia, who spoke pretty much any language in the known universe. These children were all rushing around with cards that had lemurs on them. They claimed to have made them themselves. They traveled in groups of two or three, and each child had cards with different illustrations on them. However, as we moved from one pack of beggars to another, I noticed that the cards were all the same, so either these kids were all working off a template, or they were all lying. Either way, they were harmless, and at least they were polite. None of us purchased any cards.

After our abortive attempt at finding a post office, we stopped at a hotely where I found some of the fabled Malagasy chocolate I had read about. From the Bradt Guide: “If you’re a chocoholic, you’ll be happy to learn about Madagascar’s award-winning chocolate. The very best chocolate is for export only, so if you’ve bought this book in the fond hope that one day you’ll get to Madagascar you can get a taste of the country by buying the Mora Mora or Sambirano chocolate bars online from www.malagasy.co.uk. When in the country, look out for Chocolate Robert. It’s excellent!”

I bought a bar of 47% cacao de Madagascar Robert dark chocolate (vegan) and let me tell you what – that was the BEST chocolate I have had, EVER. I passed it around to people on the bus and they all agreed – this business was good.

We drove up the hill to an overlook and more children tried to dump those cards off on us – it seemed no matter where we stopped – even in the most desolate of places – there were children there, lying in wait to beg or try to sell us something. After this scenic overlook of the city, we drove back down into Fianarantsoa and stopped at the post office – which turned out to be a man at a folding table with a wooden box that had stamps and filthy money in it. We purchased the postage needed to send postcards (about $2, those stamps cost) and then got back on the bus – we were heading for Ambalavao, which promised tours of a winery and a paper factory and a zebu horn factory – all of which sounded revolting and / or boring to me, especially the zebu horn factory.

Fianarantsoa lady balancing business on her head.

Fianarantsoa church.

Jesus visits Madagascar.

Fianarantsoa from above.

Fianarantsoa - someone's yard.

Roof issues in Fianarantsoa.

Another view from above.

And another.

And one more.

We got to Ambalavao around mid-afternoon and arrived at our gorgeous hotel where we lazed about for a bit before we were supposed to go on the winery tour. Allison and Mary and I decided against the wine tour, and we headed into town for a little tour of our own. We hadn’t gotten very far when a small dog that looked sort of like Benji came up to us. It was super friendly and actually guided us through the town, past the school, around the bend and back toward all of the shops. The dog would lead, turn around to see that we were still there, and then go on forward.

Allison points things out in Ambalavao.

This dog rocked the house.

Another shot of our tour guide.

Things you can't escape no matter where you go.

Jacarandas are taking over Madagascar.

Classiko Cola - a division of Tiko, a dairy / beverage giant owned by Madagascar's President. Tastes just like Coke, y'all.

Ambalavao kitten.

Cell Phone Hotely.

We passed several official buildings and then got to a street corner where some people were sitting there with a bunch of chickens, all with their feet tied together. The chickens were just hanging out, unaware of their unsavory fates, and I had to struggle not to leap forward and cut their ropes. Not that it would have done any good; these chickens were not the freshest eggs in the basket. Feet tied or not, they tended to stay around people. Their feet being freed would have stayed their executions only briefly. At that point, the dog turned away, having found some canine companions with whom to romp and frolic.

Allison, Mary and I rounded a corner into what appeared to be the main strip in town. Lots of shops lined the road and carried all sorts of things, from clothes to weird candies to Malagasy arts. We stopped in one Malagasy Artisan shop and a little woman got up from a loom to greet us. I managed to drag some French out of the catacombs of my brain to discuss prices with her while Allison tried on different scarves. We both bought one and then took some pictures of her before going on our way.

Loom in the Artisan Malagasy shop from which Ms. Mina - the caretaker of Nizzles - received a scarf.

The woman who made Ms. Mina's scarf modeling Ms. Mina's scarf.

I had brought some pens with me in a misguided attempt at being nice. A warning – do not ever – EVER – take a bunch of pens out of your backpack in the middle of a small town in Madagascar. I gave a pen to a child and then, it was as if someone had thrown a steak into a den of hyenas. Children SWARMED US. They came from everywhere. I panicked and threw the pens to Allison who apparently had more experience with children. She managed to get them all to act civilized and gave pens away one at a time as I slouched against a building, fanning the impending vapors away. Children and I do not go together well, especially when they’re descending upon me like hawks diving after prey.

Les fleurs d'Ambalavao.

Spiny!

Les enfants sur une pousse-pousse.

Three delightful Ambalavaoan ladies who followed us for a long time on our jaunt.

Burnt-out car.

The gentleman from the burnt-out car gives his address to Christine so she can mail him a picture.

The Ambalavao Market which is overflowing with business on Wednesdays when the entire town and people from all over the area come here.

We headed back to the hotel – we were supposed to regroup at 4:30 to get a tour of a paper factory which just happened to adjoin our hotel. We arrived before the rest of our group and since we had had such a fantastic time walking around town, we decided to get the paper factory tour over with so we could rush back into Ambalavao and mingle some more with the people.

The factory was not really a factory as much as it was an open-air assembly line where women would take soaked dried papyrus, mix it artfully with dried flowers, and then press it against screen where it would dry into beautiful paper. They would then take the paper and make it into all sorts of things from pieces for framing to photo albums. This paper sells all over Madagascar and is frighteningly cheap for how gorgeous it is; stuff like that would sell here in some snobby specialty shop for a small fortune. I purchased an ample supply of this lovely paper, as did Mary and Allison, and then we were set to go back on the town, this time joined by Randall.

As we walked through the streets, we came across Christine. As we drifted through the town, we noticed we were causing quite a stir – the people were following us and watching our every move. They appeared to be as interested in us as we were in them! The children ran alongside us, women in beautiful hats strolled close to us, men pulling pousse-pousses full of children slowed as they noticed us, the children in back turning around and waving.

Three smiling women who had been walking near to us throughout our stroll stopped and posed for us, smiling with mouths full of gold teeth. Mary and Allison stopped at a Hotely to purchase snacks for their nightly card game; Randall got a cassis (black currant) Fanta (he had become addicted to the syrupy concoction) and I got a big, fat Coca-Cola.

Christine was snapping pictures throughout our walk. We came across a man lounging on the hood of a burnt-out car and she asked him if it would be all right to take pictures. He and his friends eagerly accepted, posing appropriately, and then he rushed over excitedly, asking Christine if she would take his address and send him copies of the pictures she had taken. She gladly accepted.

We strolled through the Ambalavao market which was pretty empty. We passed through the open-air section and had gotten to stalls in which people were selling all sorts of foods from dried vegetables to revolting fly-caked meats when I noticed that Christine had been ambushed by a huge group of leaping children after taking pictures of a few of them. She seemed distressed by the jocular imps, but finally broke free and caught up with us.

We made it back to our hotel and settled in for a weird hybrid game of solitaire that is played with more than one person (I never understood it). As Jill, Mary, Allison, and Christine slapped cards down in a frenzy, I made sure the stacks remained organized, all the while guzzling Cristal sparkling water.

After the card game, we had a lovely dinner and then went to bed. The next morning, we would be up and at ’em to go to Aranja, where we would finally meet up with those ring-tailed lemurs made so famous by that dumb cartoon.

My First Rain Forest

Although we had been denied access to Andasibe-Mantadia National Park the afternoon before, we were not disheartened – coming back in the morning meant we’d get to witness something very special.

We got up especially early in order to be there for the Indris’ daily calls – a ritual that lasts only four to ten minutes, and only happens once a day. We were greeted by our guides from the night walk the evening before, who were going to take us through the rain forest. Before we started, one of the guides told us the depressing saga of the Andasibe-Mantadia Rain Forest – it had at one time stretched in one massive forest, but slash and burn agriculture had killed huge patches of the forest, leaving it intact only in small, unconnected clumps.

He went on to say that the major reason the forest reserve had been established was to protect what little population of the Indri-indri was left. The forest’s current state makes it difficult for the Indri population to grow, as their groups have been cut off from one another.

A peaceful rivulet.

I'm crossing you in style someday.

This rain forest was relatively flat and not as “rain foresty” as I would have imagined a rain forest being after watching and being entranced by films such as Raiders of the Lost Ark and Romancing the Stone. We were told, however, that Madagascar’s rainy season would be starting within about two weeks of the time I was there, so I am sure that it gets much more lush and green as time goes by.

Le maison des termites.

Fantsy-pants fungi.

After visiting with some of those adorable brown lemurs, we finally happened upon an Indri-Indri family. The Indri I focused most of my attention on was a mother who had a baby wrapped around her.

My friend the Indri.

The Indri is a vertical clinger and leaper and thus holds its body upright when traveling through trees or resting in branches. It has long, muscular legs which it uses to propel itself from trunk to trunk. Its large greenish eyes and black face are framed by round, fuzzy ears that some say give it the appearance of a teddy bear. The silky fur is mostly black with white patches along the limbs, neck, crown, and lower back. Different populations of the species show wide variations in color, with some northern populations consisting of mostly or entirely black individuals. The face is bare with pale black skin, and it is sometimes fringed with white fur.[3] Unlike any other lemur, the Indri has only a rudimentary tail.

Punim.

Up close with an Indri just before they all started their daily call, which they only do once a day - early in the morning - for four to ten minutes. They lay claim to their territory and look for potential dates this way.

We were standing there admiring these beautiful lemurs when something that sounded like an airhorn went off. First it was just one, then two, then the entire forest was being blasted by these noises – almost piercingly loud – coming from every direction at once.

This video shows what the Indri’s call sounds like – but imagine being in the forest and hearing these calls, one after another, stretching across who knows how much land – all at once. These calls can be heard up to five kilometers away. Being under the canopy while the Indri were calling to one another was one of the major highlights of this trip.

After the Indri-indri finished their calls, the forest went back to stillness. We moved on, finding more brown lemurs and a little coven of nocturnal lemurs that had snuggled in together for their morning nap before being disturbed by our tour guide for our benefit. They were gracious about the interruption, yawned for a few minutes while everyone took snapshots, and then went back to Slumbertown where they belonged.

One of them brown lemurs.

Random rain forest glamour.

Some nocturnal lemurs unhappily awakened by our passing through.

We grew a bit suspicious of things when our tour guide announced that he would “now go to the chameleon.” People in the group wondered aloud, “How does he know where the chameleon is? I bet he keeps those in a sack and just throws them in the trees when people aren’t looking.” It was a bit mysterious as he led us through the dense overgrowth to a chameleon that was NEON green and just hanging out in the middle of the forest in plain sight.

It turns out, however, that the park has “scouts” that roam the forest and then call the guides on cell phones (nothing like cellular technology in use in the middle of a rain forest) to tell them where the animals are. I suppose it’s good business – it keeps the tourists from whining that they didn’t see anything, and probably ensures that they’ll burble to their friends how wonderful Madagascar is, prompting more tourism. I was sold; I’d go back there in a minute.

Not doing such a good job blending in, this chameleon must have thought it was in an early-80s Madonna video.

After the chameleon shenanigans, our tour of the rain forest wound to a close. We scuttled back to our bus and began the long, plodding journey to Antsirabe, where we had been promised to see things like an “aluminum factory” and an “embroidery factory.”

Along the way, we stopped for lunch at a well-known ‘pizzeria.’ The other vegetarian in the group and I were especially excited about this, because the pizza in Antananarivo had been awesome and we were already sick of ‘legumes sautees et riz nature’ – the only things on any menu anywhere that didn’t have “lipide d’animaux” or “infusion de beouf” in their description. We were all ready to order our pizzas when we were told “we’re out of pizza.”

Now, how does a pizzeria run out of pizza? Dough is basically just glue… it’s not that hard to make. But, these are things we came to terms with in Madagascar – food is rationed, basically, and when they run out, they run out. So I had ‘legumes sautees et riz nature.’ Divine.

I did, however, seeing as it was vacation and all, break a vow I had made AGES ago – I consumed a glass of actual, genuine Coca-cola. Not Diet, or “Coke Light” as it’s called in Africa – but actual Coke. And it was the best shit I think I’ve ever consumed in my life. My fellow travelers were shocked and awed and worried for my safety as I guzzled this elixir down with abandon, slapped my glass down on the table, and demanded more.

Before we got to Antsirabe, we made a stop to look at the rice paddies. It was dusk and farmers were herding cattle and ducks back to their paddocks or wherever these animals are stored at night.

As we were standing there stretching our legs, we noticed a large group of children careening toward us. Malagasy kids LOVE LOVE LOVE tourists. And more than that, they love having their pictures taken. They don’t ever get to see things like digital cameras and it was really awesome to watch these kids burst into excited laughter at seeing their own images on the tiny cameras’ screens. They were delightful and charming until their mothers came around and uttered the word, “cadeau” (gift), basically telling their children to start begging.

Our tour guide had warned us before we departed that children and begging go hand in hand in Madagascar and that it was fine to give them things like pens and pencils, because they actually needed them – but to steer clear of candy (dental hygiene is negligible in Madagascar) and money (as it would teach them to be lazy). I had brought with me a HUGE bag of pens and pencils, but had them in my luggage because I hadn’t anticipated a stop where children would be involved.

The kids were happy enough seeing their pictures, and they loved posing with and for us in goofy positions. They danced and sang and spoke to us in French before we boarded the bus. They all ran after us as if they had known us forever and were going to miss us terribly.

Children at work in the fields.

Herding cattle.

Herding ducks.

Children getting their pictures snapped.

When we reached Antsirabe, we noticed that it was different. The streets were clean and orderly – there were actually street lights – and it had a very European feel to it. There weren’t any mud huts to be seen, no open fires, and the homes all appeared to be middle class (this view of the city would change in the morning, but we were in the town center at the moment).

As soon as we stepped out of the bus we were swarmed by women selling gemstones and embroidered table cloths. Men who drove rickshaws (or pousse-pousses, as they’re called there) pleaded with us to take rides with them.

We were given our room keys and told to meet back in the lobby of the hotel in about an hour.

Our hotel in Antsirabe.

This nonsense is just sort of strewn around Madagascar... new agers would crap their pants.

We went to a very popular restaurant that was a good walk away from the hotel and was clearly populated by foreign tourists. A band was playing, singing beautiful songs in Malagasy, and we listened to them for hours as we got to know each other better.

When we left the restaurant, it was around 10 o’clock at night. Rickshaw drivers were lined up, ready to scamper off with drunk patrons, but we decided to walk. Along the way, I saw what looked like a big red balloon up against a wall.

When I leaned in for a closer look, I realized that it was a child, about 3 years old, huddled under a red shirt and leaning up against the wall, trying to sleep. It is an image that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life, and probably one of the most urgent and desperate signs I’ve ever personally seen as to how unbalanced and unfair the world actually is. I felt like crying when I saw him. I wanted to scoop him up and take him someplace safe. I wanted him to know what happy childhood feels like.

As we walked down the street, children ran after us – from ages five to ten – all begging for money, some so aggressive that we had to pull them off of us. “Professional beggars,” we were told.

Professional beggars or not, they were children, and I wished there were something I could do right there and then to give them what they needed.