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.

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.