The Mysterious Island World of Nosy Mangabe

Sitting a few miles off the coast and supermerged* with the clouds, lies the small island of Nosy Mangabe. Forgotten by time, though not tourists, the island was once inhabited by Malagasies (hence the tombs), who were supplanted by the Dutch (hence the secondary growth in the forest), who have since yielded (after some deforestation, French colonialization, and Malagasy liberation) to the national parks service (hence the animals). All told, it was a pretty great place to hike around, both for the dense forest and for the lovely beachfront. These pictures capture some of the highlights, including the tombs (some of which were moved, others of which remain, a difficult problem for locals who can no longer afford (because of park fees) to visit their ancestors, which is a very important practice here), the world’s smallest species of chameleon (he plays dead when you pick him up, which is also cute), and the world’s largest gecko, whom my guide described as the Champion of Disguise.

*as opposed to submerged?

Oh It’s a Long, Long Way to Moaransetra

This isn’t entirely true. It is, in fact, only 120 kilometers from Mananara to Moaransetra (pronounced moron-Setr). And yet, how far it is. There is ostensibly a road linking the two, but it is rarely traveled, and I was soon to discover why.

My first attempt at making the trip took the form of a bicycle. I bought it in town and rode it home from the market and was looking forward to the idea of spending a few days on the road, visiting villages and forests along the way. I strapped on my suitcase with some bungee cords and headed off for a brief test-run. Within five minutes, the right pedal had fallen off entirely. Strike one. I returned the bike and got my money back after a difficult argument, difficult mainly because neither of us spoke French all that well and because it was raining. My second attempt was the usual taxi-brusse/bus idea, but there would be no busses that day, nor the next, nor later in the week. Strike two. I decided to check by the port, as I’d seen the captain of the Red Rose, Fabian, at the Lola concert, but the boat was already gone. Strike 3. (I did not go to the “airport” a kilometer north of the city, as there has not been a plane there, public or private, in the last three years.) And then I met Charlie. There was an election in town (one that had already gone down twice, both times with the same results, which, because the opposition party had won (by increasing margins, no less) had been annulled) and Charlie, or so I called him, was the assistant to the vote procurer. He was heading to Moaransetra later that day with the votes in a 4x4, and offered to give me and another stranded person, a Frenchman I was to encounter in various other towns, a lift. (The opposition won again, but the tally has not been certified yet.)

Charlie turned out to be an interesting guy. He was a big soccer fan, liked headcheese, and was very interested in discussing American politics. But he could also be a bit scary when angry. First, he seemed to flip out for no reason. At a bar in Manambolosy (our first, and, it would turn out, longest stop) he boxed a kid’s ears such that his glasses flew off and afterwards sat, arms folded across his chest, fuming in rage. (The problem, it turned out, was that he’d gone into the bar to ask for something salty to eat, and the kid had replied “How about salt?”) The other thing that gave Charlie’s anger an extra edge was the fact that he had a moustache like… Charlie Chaplin. (Hence the nickname.) I honestly didn’t know that was allowed any more.

One of the things that makes the road difficult to drive on is the fact that it’s made of dirt and that there are lots of cyclones in the area that leave the dirt in bad condition. Another thing that makes the driving hard is the fact that the road is intersected by at least a dozen rivers and streams, only a few of which have bridges. Hence the necessity of the barge. In general, crossing streams on barges was a lovely way to break up the drive. At times, though, it proved an added difficulty, especially in Manambolosy where the barge was out of service. (See picture.) Thus, we had to spend the night (the Frenchman and I sharing a bed, the procurer sleeping with a girlfriend who lived there) and, in the morning, some local engineers put together a new barge out of wood planks and empty oil drums. Sketchy, but effective.

In the end, not counting time spent off the road, the driving time was a little over 12 hours. And again, if you don’t want to scroll back to the top, the distance was 120 kilometers. I can’t complain, though. Not only was it a good time, but, once in Moaransetra, the procurer (and his wife) had some good suggestions for things to do, including some killer karaoke at the Baguette D’Or.

Mananara Nights

Ah Mananara! How can a town with no roads, no phones, and only a few thousand people, throw down so hard? I arrived in Mananara less than admirably, on a cargo boat (rice) named The Red Rose that left Isle Ste. Marie at 8 PM (I had just sat down to dinner when someone came by and told me it was indeed going to set sail) and arrived at Mananara at 7 AM the next morning. The ride was choppy (it’s a route that’s only traveled a couple months of the year due to nasty currents) and I was seated on the floor of the ship, in a corner, wedged between the side of the boat and a drum of gasoline. I’m not sure what was toughest to endure – the water splashing on top of me every few minutes, the smell of the gasoline, or the rumbling of the engine just beneath me – but suffice it to say, it was an adventure. And Mananara was lovely. It’s one of the few places where you can see Aye-ayes, a nocturnal lemur that uses its bizarrely long middle finger to scrape the meat out of coconuts and ants out of trees. (Being nocturnal, it was hard to capture on film, but hopefully this image give you some idea. It was really very strange looking, in the grotesque way that only a nocturnal animal can be.) Mananara was also a stop on Lola’s country-wide tour. This was certainly the event of the season in Mananara, and everyone whom I’d met in the town was there. That night, perhaps in Lola’s honor, was the opening of a new discoteque, Snack Bar Jim, and, being a good Mananarian, I decided to go. Although there are no pictures, thankfully, of the dancing, I bring up the event because it involved something quite curious. After an hour or so of dancing to strictly Malagasy music, I heard a familiar opening come over the speakers. Everyone in the bar recognized it too, and some dancers threw up their hands and, citing the dance’s difficulty, left the floor while others rushed to up to the front. The song, of course, was Boy George’s Karma Chameleon, to which there is, apparently, a very specific, swing-style dance. For the rest of my time there, my appearance at the club was mentioned by everyone I met, including my future fellow-traveler, “Charlie.”

Ste. Marie Bonus Materials!

Does every post need an exclamation mark? Perhaps. Ste. Marie was not only pirates (nor was it, incidentally, only beautiful beaches), but there were also some lovely plants and animals. I spent a day with a farmer who grew red pineapple, for instance, and vanilla. But the true bonus is the short video clip below of a chicken with her… goslings?

Shiver me timbers!

After Toamasina, I headed up the coast, by bus, to Fenoarive, the capital of clove production for the country. I wish my camera could pick up the smell that pervaded the dirt paths around the town, as it was everywhere intense. Fenoarive was also the first town to be established by pirates, who have a strong legacy in the country. I biked to the original outpost, but, as you can see, it’s mostly forest at this point, and the bridge is out (I took some logs across), though still quite lovely. Across the water, though, on Isle Sainte Marie, there are still the remains of an old pirate cemetery. It was from this wee island that pirates, including, at one point, the famous Captain Kidd, raided the holdings of the Dutch East Indian Company.

And another video

Let's go to the video tape!

Pump this in your system.

Phylial Piety

It’s true. I’m a mammal. And, as such, I recognize that I’ve heretofore been guilty of a somewhat heavy mammalian bias on the site. I don’t know if it’s the fur, the babies, or the binocular vision, but whatever the case, I want here to apologize to all those other phyla (we’re a phylum, right?) that are also deserving of recognition. In Andisibe, for instance, there were many interesting insects and reptiles. Here pictured are some massive green pill-bugs, a bright red millipede, and the world’s largest chameleon. (Stay tuned for the Nosy Mangabe post to see the world’s smallest chameleon!)

(PS - The videos are still going to come some day. But please don't hold your breath. Also, I've dropped the quality (computerwise) of the images a bit. Let me know if the sacrifice in favor of quantity over quality is too much for you.)

Lemuriens!

So now that I’m back in civilization (ie, there are roads and phones, though not steady electricity), it’s high time for some recapping, especially as I’ve yet to post on Madagascar’s most prized inhabitants, the lemurs. My first encounter with these non-monkeys was several weeks ago, in a town half-way between Antananarivo and Toamasina. Just outside the village of Andisibe (pronounced like a dyslexic French child screwing up the start of the alphabet), is a massive national reserve that houses 4 lemur varieties. The main attraction is the Indri (which means “Look up!” in Malagasy), not technically a lemur, in that it’s not in the lemur genus, but still considered such by most. It’s the largest extant “lemur” (there’s evidence of 10-foot lemurs existing 100 years ago, but they seem to have been killed off) and is exceedingly cute. But shockingest of all is its noise, an eerie shriek that can be heard from all corners of the park (and in the video clip). In fact, all lemurs are quite talkative, and some of the noises they make seem utterly alien. They’re also good leapers and eaters, as evidenced here. The other lemurs in the park are the bamboo (not pictured here), the maki (grunting and eating and with baby on back), and the highly endangered golden sikha (with fashionable necklace).

NB:
So, on second thought, this internet is a bit too slow for videos. (Note how I've also been forced to sacrifice some image quality on the golden sikha!) Expect another post including these details soon.

The Life and Death of Great Malagasy Cities

Toamasina. It's already a few days removed from my feet, but not from my heart. A great town. The name is either a reference to St. Thomas, or a comment by the king on tasting the water of the Indian Ocean - "Salty..." The city was a resort on the East coast for the colonial French at the turn of the century, and survived for a while like that until the French were kicked out and people realized that the area gets cyclones on a regular basis. Once the last stop on the Madarail train line, the station (which has seen no action since the late 90s) is now filled with sandbags. Still, the city persists, and still people come to stroll the wide but destroyed streets and view the lavish but crumbling architecture. It's a magical place, one of my favorites so far, and, though since my last post I've camped out with lemurs and swam between islands, I wanted to put the pictures of it online, especially in view of the comment complimenting the cityscape of Antananarivo. Someone needs to set a movie here.

Antananarivo!

So I think that's the right number of "nana"s. I'm posting now from Madagascar's beautiful, somehow-Mediterranean capital, where the houses wend up through red-dust hillsides and the meat of choice is zebu. I'm only spending a couple days here before heading East, but I've been very happy so far. The markets are flush with people packing in sausages and eating some of the half-dozen mango varieties; the scenery is full of long vistas, with rice paddies and fish farms in the distance; and the history, which involves a great king (named Andrianampoinimerinandriantsimitoviaminandriampanjaka) and a crazy queen (his daughter in law) who threw Christians off of the cliffside (see picture) next to her palace, provides the place with a nice mix of local customs and French influence (croissants!).

First, some baby monkeys

Even though I'm now in Madagascar, I can't help but think of the poor baby monkeys I've left behind in Tanzania. Sorry for the delay in putting these up, particularly those of you who requested monkeys. This baby is a baboon, as opposed to the previous one. The other shot is of a lounging monkey, getting some sun in a treetop. (A few additional points that I don't have time to put up: baby baboons ride on the backs of their moms, which is very cute; if you see one baboon (or 20) it means that many more are hiding in the bushes; and baby giraffe necks are the perfect length for nursing and their frankenstein-antennae are extra fuzzy.)

Still More Trees

And then there were more trees. I got really into the ones that had been swallowed by smaller vines, creeping up the trunks like the souls of the dead in some Dantean vision of the underworld. In the other post, you can see the little dendrites that hold them together. Sometimes there are branches that grow straight up from other branches like big spears. Unfortunately, blogger seems adamant that I only put up two pictures per post. But, since videos seem to be okay, here's one slightly in keeping with the theme: an elephant eating a baobab. Through the morning, we'd seen lots of scarred up trees and wondered what had been doing it. The guide said that it (along with countless felled trees, and one baobab that had a round hole all the way through to the other side) was elephant-damage, but it was hard to believe. Until we saw this. Meanwhile, the power here is going off a lot lately which limits my posting capability. Who knew passing up an opportunity for a hot shower one night would mean going without for the better part of a week?

Hyper-Arboreality

Hello again. So I've been mostly in office the last few days (with a nice respite at the UN Rwanda Genocide tribunal) which means fewer pictures. Still, there is a healthy reserve from days past. I realize that there has been an animalist bias on the site thus far, so, in response, here are some nice looking trees. These trees are mostly from the Arusha area - a local state park and a neighboring town called Tangiru. I didn't really get any good baobab shots, as I couldn't explain to the initial safari team, particularly the Arushans among it, that I wanted to photograph trees, not just animals. Nonetheless, there's some good growth out there. Enjoy.