40ºC in the shade

We continued onwards with the onset of the setting sun, south to Morondava. We arrived as the light was dimming. Unlike the typically large cityscapes that are surrounded by tall cement forests of buildings, the light in Morondava seemed to linger on the low horizon. Upon arrival at our temporary dwelling at Le Trecigogne, my immediate impulse was to take a real shower. I wanted desperately to soothe the burning of my skin and remove the remnants of the dusty red earth and sweat from my pores.

Shortly after enjoying a large Langoustine feast, I was presented with a chocolate cake. It was a no bake frozen chocolate cake: lady fingers, a touch of rum, and cacao powder, that was pureed and frozen. There was a running joke between my Canuck friends and our pirate. Since arriving I had been searching for the elusive Madagascar chocolate, but sadly my quest was not a fruitful one. As I found out later Madagascar cacao is a highly valued exported commodity, but not very accessible within Madagascar as one might think. I took the simple pleasure; my cake sent me giddy into the night. We walked back parallel to Nosy Kely beach towards the hotel. It was a beautiful night, with a canopy of stars unlike what I am used to. With the Milky Way stretching far and wide across the sky, I felt as though I could reach out and actually grasp for the shooting stars.

We had not intended to stay the entire day in Morondava, but the extreme overload to our senses was enough to take a day and night of rest. I awoke late and departed even later, slowly sauntering through the ridiculous heat. I walked along Nosy Kely in search of a working internet connection and then further past into town. It was at this moment that my sunburn went from a minor aliment to a major turbulence. By the time I was midway through the market, my shoulders, despite the repeated applications of sunscreen, were lobster red and painful to the touch. I walked the narrowing streets trying to find a mobile phone and some film. Like most tropical countries though, by the time I reached the Orange boutique, it was closed for siesta. I hunted for shade or anything that would cover my searing skin a bit. I proceeded rapidly trying to find my way back from where I came. My lucky strike was finding 10 rolls of colour film on route. I worried, with so much road ahead, the diminished film count was going to become a problem. Back at the hotel, I slummed like worn ocean driftwood under the roof of the hotel’s café, trying to moderate my disposition. It was several hours and a shower later, before I was able to pick myself up and muster the motivation for a swim in the ocean.

Rambling

We literally rambled at a rate similar to that of a turtle, using small movements to ensure we did not miss anything mystical in our surroundings. The light was intense and for me it felt like all my senses were in a heightened state. The excitement of the entire day still issued a constant stream of endorphins from my head to my toes. I felt like I was jumping out of my skin, skipping through the avenue with my camera in hand. Of course my feet stayed on the ground and I was not skipping, but I swear at one moment, my heart leapt out of my chest. It was majestic and overpowering being surrounded by mother nature’s glory. Baobab trees on the avenue are, on the average, 1000 years old and 28 feet around the base. They also, astoundingly, hold about 1500 liters of water. How can one imagine being around for 1000 years or, even more fascinatingly, being filled with 1500 liters of water? Amazed, bewildered, and dwarfed in the vastness of the Malgache landscape, I felt emotional. I had several silent moments, alone in my head.

Our pirate explained that these baobabs are the legacy of the dense tropical forests, which once stood in the Morondava region. However, like may areas, due to population expansion, the forests were burned and decimated, leaving only the baobab trees, which currently exist because they are still being used in religious rituals. Although from his accounts, as traditions have changed over the time, religious rites have become secondary to the sustainability of one’s family. Our pirate also explained that Baobabs were once thought to contain medicinal properties, although he could not explain what ailments the bark was used to heal. Over the course of our days in remote areas on the Tsiribihina, we saw forest fires, which seem to be the fastest and easiest way to clear the land for crops. Between the thick jungle grew the season’s harvest of sugarcane, corn and cassava (manioc), which are all staple foods for Malgache families in this region.

In that moment though, the trees, the light and the company were enough to over stimulate the senses. In that brief instance of time, I had no conscious thoughts of anything other than how breathtakingly beautiful it was loitering among the trees, as the light danced in the sky, creating silhouettes with the landscape. As we reached the end of our passage, the sunset marked the end of a glorious and fateful day.

Majestic Happenings

It was again another hot day, on the onset of our zebu carting, but we had some semblance of comfort as we were travelling mainly under large trees, tamarind, bamboo and palms. By the time we arrived at the 4x4 jeep, the humidity had increased ten fold and sweat was literally dripping from my face. I was overwhelmed with the heat, but the feeling of excitement overshadowed those of the blazing temperature. We drove through narrow passages carved out of the landscape caused by constant flooding. Monster sized butterflies and a multitude of birds, took to flight as the jeep raced through a land barely touched by humanity. We twisted and turned, bumped and knocked heads as the jeep struggled to keep a swift pace. We stopped the first time in small open-air market. Upon getting out of the jeep, my immediate concern was not what to eat, but rather desperation to tinkle. I was directed down the road to a pile of sticks and leaves, where I did my due diligence in a relaxing enough position to make minimal progress. A female squatting on leaves hidden behind a small leafless tree is not my idea of paradise, although I should be thankful given that it trumped some of the outhouses we had frequented over the previous few days.

As I walked back to meet my group, a young man approached me holding a small golden brown lemur. Lemurs have what can be described as the face of a fox with monkey-like hands and feet. The name "lemur" comes from the Latin word "lemures", which means "spirits of the night". However, Roman mythology suggests its meaning is more like “spirits of the dead", due to their nocturnal habits and ghostly reflective stares. Lemurs have huge eyes and understandably intense stares, although curious and gregarious in nature. The young man motioned for me to come over. To my surprise the lemur was tentative but placid. I let him smell my hand the way you would with any unknown animal. As a result of my disposition the young gentleman very tenderly handed me his lemur. The creature vaulted on my shoulder, as I continued to caress it’s back and the top of its head. It was so soft; its fur much like a wooly rabbit, with the soft humid pads on its limbs. He was adorable. As I braced the lemur on my shoulder, the trainer and I walked back to the middle of the market, where I bought a few green perfectly plump bananas, one to feed my new lemur friend. I was amazed at the rate of demolition, as the critter inhaled his banana with lightning rapidity. His table manners were clearly missing. At the end of his meal not only was my hungry friend covered in banana; so was I; with pieces of gooey fruit in my hair, my cheek, chin and neck. The lemur clearly still hankering for more nourishment, started to lick my face, using his opposable thumbed hands to hold my chin and cheek as he groomed me.

We continued driving through mud flats and eventually through beautifully lush landscapes. As the day progressed we ventured along long stretches of unpaved roads, the red earth peaking out from under the plants and guiding us along the way towards the enchanting land of baobab. We traversed, passing huge sisal plants, thickets of palms and marshland filled with blue water hyacinths, in search of Les Baobabs Amoureuse. We stopped a few times before reaching the mystical site, where two trees have grown intertwined with each other. It is said that women can cuddle the two trees to improve fertility. Akin to most countries, folklore plays an important part in the rich history. It is a sacred site and as a result of it’s remote locale, it rests on a long a dusty dirt, albeit very romantic, road. From there we continued cruising towards Les Avenue des Baobab, our first view of the avenue of trees was majestic. A sense of excitement and bewilderment flushed through me, as this was one of the primary rendezvous points that I had been looking forward to seeing since landing. It all culminated in a moment where reality exceeded expectation.

Fearless and Rattled

We continued on the boat journey, elated and giggling as our barge was swept seawards. We stopped several times, the first for lunch. We ate at a little open air structure; essentially a wooden canopy with a small counter for food preparation and storage and a table with several benches running across, large enough for three people to sit. We sampled fried minnows and drank as much water as we could consume in the extreme heat. Yvette; our chef continued to supply us with food, as we took in the rural atmosphere. Sitting between the chickens, hens, cats and dogs, the brave ones of our troupe sampled wild fruit bats. It was served as is, thereby eliminating any doubt about what we were about to taste. I avoided the wings and literally closed my eyes until I had a small sampling in my mouth. Fruit bat was not quite what I had expected; it tastes much like chicken or rabbit. It is a lean white meat and truthfully not as meaty, nor nearly as gamy as one would expect. It was better than some of the zebu dishes I had, and in retrospect, better than the chicken I had a week later.

We walked briefly through the town, trying desperately to escape the heat. It was one of those days where the heat is so intense, the body literally bakes and steams in the sun. This was also the day I caught my first real sunburn, which clearly is not meant to happen given my natural pigmentation. The sun is unlike any I have encountered before, despite having traveled numerous times in conditions of 40ºC+. Never have I been as beet red, despite bathing frequently in my SPF 50. As we collected ourselves and hopped back on the boat, a pirogue slid in beside the barge. Aboard was a French couple; who both appeared to have been through an inferno of sun. We offered them passage until Morondava, as it was apparent that they could go no further aboard their uncovered pirogue. This was something the trio of Canuks understood immediately, having our own concerns with the extreme conditions. That afternoon the five tourists, the pirate and his crew drifted another 40 kms.

We stopped to watch a cluster of lemurs bouncing from the treetops, half-hidden by the shade on the shore. We wandered under the canopy of tamarind trees trying to get close enough to see the expressions on the faces on the two species of lemur we encountered. After several hours sailing on the Tsiribihina, we landed on the banks of yet another small town where our tents were raised for the night. This was the place where our boat odyssey concluded. We ended our day eating by candlelight trying to avoid the infestation of moths and went to bed early enough, as we knew the following day would be an arduous one.

I had a hard time sleeping that night, just too hot and humid, with the constant buzz of mosquitoes and overall excitement. The distractions kept me wide awake, peering out at the huge sky full of stars. I woke early the following morning, smiling and excited to start a new phase in my life. It was as though, all this planning, hoping, and the years of wanderlust had finally paid off. I was in Madagascar on my birthday, in the middle of nowhere, with new people and a new sense of adventure. I was still feeling the natural high from our magical moments in the tobacco factory and even more so from our experience with the children the day before.

We had our last meal of coffee, toasted baguette, jam and zebu butter aboard our barge, prior to our ride in what the locals called ‘zebu 4x4’. This was literally a wooden cart, being pulled by two zebus. We were hauled, tossed and shaken for close to one hour, through marshes and swamps filled with water lilies, under tamarind trees and eventually through rice paddies. After an hour of zebu carting, we made our way to the waiting 4x4 jeep: where the trio, the duo and the pirate climbed-in for a full day’s drive, headed towards the Avenue des Baobab.

Diversity

I was happy to have been given the chance to engage briefly, hoping perhaps in some small way prove in earnest that I did not think myself superior, rather I was just fascinated in my search of understanding. This was something I tried to explain to Nina as we left the safety of the covered tobacco factory into the midday sun. It seemed though that little act on my part allowed adults, those with a more conservative view, to relax more in my presence. It was a way to break the ice. The children in return tried to amuse us, the trio of Canuks, as we continued on our walk. I was circled by a large group of children. I had them hanging on to each hand, my waist and tugging at my capri pants.

What I do find fascinating is, as a result of Madagascan history of export travel (primarily the export sea routes from the 14th century onwards) that most Malgache are métis. Evident despite the darkness of the skin, many have light to medium brown and somewhat straight hair as well as other Asian traits; from slanted eyes, narrow hips and curveless buttocks. The people in Madagascar are as diverse as a rainbow in their genetic make up.

As in most places children are often the bridge to a community. Their natural curiosity and fearlessness tends to remove what prejudices adults may have about foreigners. We ended our walk back towards the port but continued to loiter around as the boat prepared for our continued journey. We watched the children playing with stones and wheels, splashing in the water between the boats and braiding each other’s hair. We finally departed our magical village oasis bound for more adventures ahead. I was in a state of photographic bliss and bewilderment as the boat grew further from the shoreline. I felt a sense of elation at being in Africa and seeing people in their natural unaltered state.

City of Tiny Wonders

As we started our float along the Tsiribihina, we traveled from Miandrivazo westwards towards the sea. We sailed 60 kms on our first day. It was sad to see how much of the countryside has been devastated from deforestation. Regardless of how beautiful and lush it seemed, it was evident that the thick jungle island of the past was no longer. The people you meet, however have a kindness and are very friendly, which is all that is much more apparent in the rural areas. Our first day, was marked with spectacular views, a welcome and wonderful bath under a remote waterfall and a spy mission as we managed to see a rare white lemur family of five from the shoreline.

We ended our 60 kms journey on the banks of a tiny village of 300 people, mainly children. The crowd’s curiosity at seeing the strangers was apparent as they watched us from the shore. As the sun started to set, the crew aboard started playing music, some tapping on oil drums with sticks, one with a mandolin and several with kitchenware; all of who sung in unison in Malgache. As our voyeurs watched, my traveling mates Guy and Michel invited them to join us aboard. It took a half hour before a few children trickled onto the boat, but within the hour, the boat hosted more than 20 children who danced under the suspended lantern, which as the pirate explained to me later was a first in all his years traveling along the Tsiribihina.

As the children danced under the lantern, an army of local bugs swarmed the boat. Eventually in the dark, lit only by candlelight, we had dinner. Due to the heat and excitement, we quickly found ourselves fading from a delightful day full of laugher. We camped out under tents on our barge with the crowd watching us until the last light was out. The advantage of travelling with others is that despite my shyness, I was not alone in my experience and as a result encountered a magical night with the locals. At the end of the day, it would seem a new understanding had been formed, namely, we tourists are harmless.

We all woke early, too hot and sticky. I watched the sunrise over the river and the sleepy village, start its day. All three of us decided to take a solitary walk without guides through the lively and cultural little oasis that we had stumbled upon. The smiles from the night before were magnified in the light of day. As the sun lifted and people woke from their slumber our entourage grew larger. Naina (our cook) escorted us for our second tour around the quiet little village. As the day progressed our quiet little village oasis, grew busier. As we wandered through the little avenues, darting between mud houses and wooden shacks, an appreciation of our surroundings invaded us foreigners.

The main source of income in this rural development is tobacco. We asked to tour the local factory along the way, wanting to see the process after cultivation, in preparation for sale to the regional tobacco companies. As I watched one of the women dropping off an extra large bundle, I asked Naina if I could take her photo. She obliged asking in exchange if I wanted to carry a bundle of leaves. I, in return, laughed stating that, I was not nearly as strong as she was and I did not think it was something I could do. She smiled, took my hand and led me through the maze of tobacco piles. She prepared a bundle for me and helped me lift the large bundle wrapped in burlap on my head. With a big smile I marched back through the maze and across the factory floor. With such a small gesture and a big smile the factory erupted into laughter, whistles, and for a few a slight sense of shock. Interesting what such a small action does for an entire community.

Although traditionally women do not smoke in Madagascar, the factory was filled with female workers. Each worker was carrying the burden of feeding their children and supporting their families. It is not easy work in the aftermath of cultivation. We watched as they carried large bundles of dried leaves to be sorted and de-veined prior to going through the press machines. We watched people sweating in the heat of the morning, struggling to start their long Sunday of work. We walked about with our big smiles, appreciating the luxuries of our lives and being grateful for the chance to be beyond our scope of culture.

Entry into "Paradise"

On first impression landing in Madagascar, is much like India; the first time I stepped foot outside the airplane. The heat is an instant reminder of no longer being at home. It was humid and hot. The flight landed in Antananarivo past midnight. We arrived and walked the tarmac into the airport. The air was filled with humid dew and the runway lights were spattered with varying size bugs. The flood of excitement and unknowingness had me restless and slightly fearful. As a shy person, it is not always easy to let people into my world. However being alone in a foreign country, I had no choice but to brave the experience I had set out before me. My friendly smile opened up a few doors. Before touching down I met two Quebecois who immediately took me under their wings. They kindly offered to have me join them in their taxi, seeing as our hotels were across from one another.

Antananarivo (“Tana”) like most big cities in developing countries has its issues, as a result of political instability the result of corruption and greed, the rate of crime is on the rise and the level of poverty increases. The confliction altered my feelings: my dreamt paradise was becoming more of a nightmare. However having some sense of perspective, I decided that perhaps as a conclusion of a somewhat aristocratic entitlement most travelers (several I met my first days) could not relate to the marginalizing of a country in the middle of great change. Like everywhere else in the world, internet, media and tourism has created an imbalance of the real culture, outward appearance and expectation. What I do know as a result of past travels is that if you are fearful, disturbed, and unhappy in your current placement, experience or environment – you change your locale. This is exactly what I did. The following morning, my Quebecois companions (Guy and Michel) and I set out with our guide Papula (the “pirate”) by mini bus, westwards to Miandavasio, where we spent the night in the pirate’s hotel.

Away from the hectic, scary, rather unwelcoming capital, Madagascar is an amazing place. Travelling through the countryside changes one’s entire understanding and appreciation. We started the day in a full hot, humid sun – but within a couple hours the sky closed down and the torrential rains surrounded us for most of the remaining 8-hour drive. Somehow looking out at the hillsides with cultivated rice paddies, bamboos and of course the spattering of palms reminded me of the typical images of Vietnam; the one I long to see. Yet in Madagascar, added to the splendorous green, is the astonishing red earth, which in its variety seems to offset the greenery in a striking way. The redness (light to dark brick) reminded me of my Cambodian adventure of 2002. As we drove, I felt that this jaunt across oceans and continents was the best thing I could do for myself. As a warm calm washed over me, my fears and insecurities vanished into the hillsides and I remembered why I wanted out of my comfy box at home.

My second night in Tana, I decided on zebu for dinner. I ate grilled zebu in a typical green peppercorn sauce with a side of fries. It was tender and delicious. On my third day I ate zebu twice more, once for lunch and again for dinner. At lunch in a local Malgache truck stop, I had a sort of zebu stew served over rice. Although quite bland with the added chilies, the stew was edible enough. We headed out again on route. We arrived after 8 hours, just as the sun was setting and the rain clouds had lifted, into Miandrivazo. As we drove through the bends in the road, careful not to run over livestock and children meandering on the sides, my mind wandered back to previous travels and a smile streamed out for all to see. We arrived at La Pirogue, in time for dinner. We had a fantastic dinner, out on the veranda under the darkening of the night. My companions enjoyed the taste of Three Horse beer (THB); I indulged in three types of rum. Rum with added spice or fruits is the Malgache specialty. The rum in Madagascar is the type of beverage that quite literally knocks one out of their socks. I started with rum with essence of ginger, then vanilla and finally cinnamon. I waltzed my way back to my room for the night.

That night under the mosquito net I contemplated the voyage ahead. The following morning, we embarked on our boat cruise. Our pirate and his crew drove into the middle of town to pick up some provisions and find our boat. We arrived at the dock, surrounded by locals, some simply curious to see the tourists and others busy with their daily routines. Curiosity is the one word that clearly describes our adventure over the following few days, both from the Malgache standpoint and of ours: the tourists.