On the Road to Moaransetra, Part II

Hello Again.

Before I get into things, let me apologize for the long delay between posts. I was on a lovely sojourn in South Africa for the holiday season, and have only just returned to Madagascar. But fear not! This only means a higher backlog of pictures for you to enjoy.

Thanks for reading,

Abe

As though I didn’t remember how hard it was to arrive at Moaransetra the first time around, I decided to make the trip again, this time from a different angle. Lying to the East of town is a large peninsula called Cap Masoala, containing within it the largest forest preserve in the country as well as some of the best examples of primary (ie very old) rainforest in the world. (It should be noted that Madagascar’s environmental layout derives from its departure from the mainland in that the Eastern coastline (as well as the coral reefs lying in wait offshore) is the oldest area geologically, while the east is, relatively, younger, as well as dryer and more mountainous.) Obviously this is something I wanted to see, and so I boated down to the end of the peninsula, and, after some incredible snorkeling in a stretch called Tampolo (I mean, wow), I hiked through the rain forest (and the rain) back to Moaransetra.


The trip was long and tricky, in equal parts because of the terrain, the weather, my heavy backpack, and my general lack of hiking preparation. Still, it was beautiful, and we made it in only a couple days, with about 10 hours of hiking each day, punctuated by a couple hours in pirogue/dug-out canoe (see picture). Thus, the pictures, which I took without as much care as (and with a lot more perspiration than) usual, are perhaps not as sharp as before, but bare in their lack of precision the overwhelming exhaustion of the moment.


Some highlights include the free-flowing and thirst-quenching waterfalls, the odd insect life, sitting in the rain in a canoe with my guide, Nico, singing to me James Blount’s “You’re Beautiful,” climbing a tree to pick fresh litchis (just coming into season... everywhere!), and, at night, after finding ourselves in a local village, being invited to sleep at the mayor’s house.




We made it back in less than honorable fashion – a pirogue ride down a little gray stream with an incredibly drunk guy talking, so I was told, about needing to get his hair cut, and then a 2k sprint through the rain back to the hotel, the flashlight I was holding showing signs of its electrical nature in my palm as it got steadily wetter.

On another note, the day following my return was Thanksgiving. (Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!) Though there was no turkey to be had, I did get some good pork and rice as well as a small flair of the American, coming in the form of some pick-up basketball. Although I’m a head taller than your average Malagasy, my joints were a bit sore and so I don’t think I represented the country as well as I (and you) might have liked. Still, perhaps my performance will manage to quell the locally-held suspicion that all Americans can dunk.