Did we spend two weeks exploring Madagascar? Or two weeks participating in performance art that highlights the difference between Instagram and reality? The scenery and wildlife left us cooing with joy. The logistics left us muttering curses under our breath. I've never been to Africa and perhaps going to one of the poorest countries on Earth as an introduction was a mistake. Or maybe booking an expensive trip via Instagram DM was the fatal decision. Or maybe its somewhere in the middle. Either way, we had quite the Adventure off Africa's eastern coast. I've uploaded all the pictures to the Google Photos album and the romanticized Madagascar recap is live on my YouTube channel!
Madagascar, at the bare minimum, is drop dead gorgeous. We traversed the western flatlands for the first half of the trip. Noble baobabs by the dozen towered over the expansive plains. I always pictured them standing tall, proud and alone. The literal groves of baobabs dragged a smile onto even my grumpy face. Each sunset over the bush casting a vivid ruby glow across the sky. Teenagers played soccer on a solid dirt field in the gathering twilight. Thick dust swirling around them as they ran. Ghosts battling for control of the midfield.
We spent the second half of the trip in the eastern highlands. The landscape sheds its rusty coloring and dons a robe of decadent greens. Massive traveler's palms blanket the hill sides. The lush vegetation brims with chameleons and lemurs of all varieties. Each valley floor carpeted by emerald rice paddies. A forest of palm trees signaled you're approaching the coast. Wooden dhows with improvised sails glide up and down the bright blue coastal waters. It takes immense restraint to stop yourself from taking photos of every scrap of landscape.
Its a good thing the scenery was pristine because it helped fill the LONG hours we spent driving. At first read, the provided itinerary teases a good amount of driving. But, it does NOT tell you that you'll spend 40% of our waking hours in a car or bus. These were not hours spent driving down smooth paved roads. Our journey to Tsingy National Park (of Obama Netflix fame) entailed four long days on bedraggled dirt roads. It could take us over 2 hours to travel 25 miles. The cars kicked up clouds of dust that crawled its way into every open eye, mouth, ear and pore. The windows were always down because you can't afford to run the A/C when the nearest gas station is an 8 hour drive away. We were deep in the bush.
I'll never forget our wild race against time to reach the Avenue of the Baobabs in time for sunset. Our 4x4 careening like a roller coaster over the knobby road. Dodging herds of zebu (hump backed cows), scattering stray chickens and winding between groups of villagers returning home. The full moon rising in perfect balance to the setting sun. Thanks to the heroic efforts of our drivers, we made it just in time.
We drove over paved roads en route to Ranomafana National Park. Well...mostly paved. Navigating the gaping pot holes was the easiest part of driving on those roads. Following in Albania's footsteps, the road was BARELY two cars wide. This didn't stop everyone from passing each other at every minuscule opportunity. People grabbed onto passing vehicles to hitch a ride to the next village or until the driver chased them off. Our beloved bus driver, a deeply weathered, toothless man in a even more weathered and perpetually askew Yankees cap, weaved through traffic, pocked asphalt and opportunistic hitchhikers without batting an eye. This guy was averaging 6 hours driving a day on what seemed like nothing but a cup of coffee and buttered bread. We stan.
We met many Malagasy (NOT Madagascarian) during our trip. All our hosts, guides and locals were very friendly. When we passed through the many villages, children waved and shouted at us. In the west, they'd always ask for three things: biscuits, butter and our empty plastic water bottles. The adults would simply stare. I've grown accustomed to people looking me, the awkward tourist wandering about. But usually its, at most, a lingering glance. Whole villages would stop what they were doing and watch you. It was unnerving. Especially in contrast to the laughing and waving children. All the cliche tourist thoughts screaming in my brain, "Do they hate us?", "Am I committing an immense cultural faux pas?", "Is there something on my face?"
The long drives along hazardous roads captured most of the logistical nightmare. Our guide's English was...passable...at best. This made telling timelines and stories difficult (to say the least). Some highlights:
After four long days of driving through the rough bush, he wanted us to scrap our one free morning at the beach to go to the airport 4 (!!!) hours early. To be fair, the flight left 45 minutes ahead of schedule (which I didn't know they're allowed to do).
One day on the itinerary said, "This day is dedicated to a late afternoon 'till early evening walk to see the wildlife as they wake up and become active". It was actually dedicated to a 9 hour bus ride to the park and a one hour nature walk alongside the pitch black highway.
We needed food for that day's long journey because there wasn't going to be a lunch stop. The guide took us to a shop that sold yogurt and croissants. Thank god the yogurts were Yoplait.
Several times we'd ask our guide a "yes" or "no" question. To one person, he'd say "yes". To the next person asking verbatim the same question, he'd say "no".
After a night camping in a wetland, the guide loaded us all onto a canoe and set off. We all assumed it was going to be a 30 minute ride because that's what the itinerary said. It ended up being 3 hours to go see a crocodile.
For multiple mornings, breakfast was bread and butter. Unlike our iconic bus driver, this was insufficient to get me through the morning, let alone the several hour bus ride to come.
To our guide's credit, he was very on top of everything when everyone began getting ill during the first half of the trip. Every day a new group member was either vomiting or suffering intense diarrhea. Our guide quickly got everyone the help and medicine they needed. It did take me a while to explain to him that Molly usually only puked in the bushes after eating my fried chicken. Thankfully my own stomach and and bowels have been hardened by the many months on the road...or tied themselves in knots to avoid reliving the trauma of the Ho Chi Minh bus station...
Its difficult to separate Madagascar's natural beauty from the continual logistical struggles. Is this canoe ride beautiful and peaceful? ABSOLUTELY! But I can’t enjoy it when I’m starving, have no idea when it’s going to end and dreading the umpteenth 5+ hour bus ride to come later that afternoon. The influencer who planned the trip replied to someone's complaints with, "this is an adventure. Not a vacation". Well the provided itinerary sure sounded like there would be more of a balance between the two. If I known what this trip would've been like, I wouldn't have signed up.
If you're looking for African adventure travel, I wouldn't recommend Madagascar. Unless you're intent on getting WELL off the beaten path or are really, really, really into lemurs. The pictures are beautiful. The logistics are a nightmare. Reject modernity. Embrace tradition. Enjoy your two weeks in the Outer Banks without fear of missing out. Or don't take Instagram at face value...except mine. Its definitely 1000% accurate to what's going on.
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