Stories of my adventures in Madagascar… for my daughter and son

Posts tagged “hiking


It was pouring rain.  At the height of rainy season, this was expected, but nonetheless, a serious hazard at this moment.  The bus I was riding on, overloaded with nervous people and market goods, slipped and spun down the muddy road built precariously into the hillside.  We were coming from a remote  part a Madagascar, Andringitra National Park, and the twice weekly trips that this bus made comprised the majority of vehicle traffic on this road.  As we rounded a bend the bus started sliding to the downhill edge a little closer that we were all comfortable with, and the passengers began yelling in unison, “Miala, miala!”  We needed to get out of the bus.

We piled out.  The women continued walking down the edge of the road while the men pushed against the back, downhill corner of the bus, in an ill-advised attempt to keep the bus on the road as it made its way through a few treacherous areas.

I had heard of Andringitra National Park through some other ex-pats who lived in country.  At the time I was still really into rock climbing and Andringitra was a mythical place of endless granite rock walls.  It was also supposedly one of the last pure wilderness areas of Madagascar, mainly known for those towering walls of granite and some endemic golden lemurs.  The rock climbing there was said to rival that of Yosemite, which is a pretty bold claim, that I had to see for myself.

I read as much information as I could about the park in Lauralee’s old guide books and at one point even got a hold of the national park director in Ambalavao.  Based on limited information (or, as it would turn out, no information) I booked my bus tickets to Ambalavao and headed on my trip.

I took the night bus from Tana in the hopes that sleeping through the 12 hour trip would make it go faster.  I rode through the night, arriving in Fianarantsoa very early in the morning, around 4 am.  Taxi-brousse stations in M/car are pure insanity, more so being a foreigner.  Upon coming within 100 yards of a taxi-brousse station, you immediately become accosted by a group of men chattering at you loudly and pulling you around (interestingly, my wife and I had a similar experience upon exiting a ferry in the Philippines several years later).  I don’t know a name for these men, but they apparently get paid for directing customers to certain bus companies.  More than anything, though, they are just very annoying.  I knew the names of a few bus companies, so upon nearing a bus station, I would just walk straight to that company, trying my best to ignore the dozen or so men yelling incoherently in my face.

Bus station at Fianarantsoa

Despite arriving in Fianar at 4 in the morning, these men were still there.  I had already booked a ticket through to Ambalavao, and even had a hand-written receipt to prove it, so I was in no need for a personal shopper.  Men crowded around the bus as it pulled in, banging on the windows and trying to open the doors. One man made it inside the bus, and began asking me where I was going and what I needed.  I instead just talked directly to the driver and an actual employee of the bus company and after a few minutes of confusion; and them wanting me to buy an additional ticket to Ambalavao; I was able to get on a station wagon for the rest of my trip.  Despite this, a man still tried to get into the station wagon demanding that he was my guide and I would pay for his trip.  He was still asking for money through the window of the car as we drove away.  A lot to deal with at 4 am.

I made it to Ambalavao a couple hours later as the town was waking up.  I found a small roadside stand open and got some tea and bread to start my day.  I took my time eating then slowly walked up the street to the national park office on the other end of town.  When I got there it was still not open, so I just waited by the gate.  Eventually a guard saw me and let me in and I was able to nap on a bench until the director arrived an hour later.

It was then that I found out that getting into the park was not so easy.  At first, the national park director told me that I would have to drive my own car (which I did not have) or walk into the park, a 15-25 km trip.  That not being an option we looked for another.  Someone else at the office know of a bus that went out to the park on Tuesdays (the next day) and Thursdays that I could probably ride.

The director and I then left the office to inquire about the bus.  First we drove and found Julio, a Peace Corps worker living in town whom I had coincidentally met previously in Isalo.  We talk with him for awhile about the bus and arranged to meet up later.  The director then drove me to a nice local hotel where I was able to get a room for the night.  The room cost $9 a night, the most I ever spent for a hotel room, and at the time, being used to local prices, it seemed like an absurd amount.  Julio met me later and we talked with the bus driver, got some food from the market and walked and talked a bit.  I felt a little bad for Julio.  About one year into his two year assignment he ran out of things to do and spent most of his time just hanging out.  He seemed sad and disappointed with his overall experience and was ready to go.  Thankfully, he had only one month left before leaving.

After leaving Julio, I spent more time just walking about town.  Ambalavao is known primarily for two things: paper and architecture.  Amabalavao is the home of the art of “Antaimoro” paper which they make at several places in town.  Its a papyrus based paper, very rough, and usually with decorative flowers embedded within.  It’s very popular with tourists.  The house construction in Ambalavao is also very unique compared to other parts of the country.  First, the houses have wooded porches with decorative carved railing.  Second the roofs of the houses, rather than being thatch or tin as is common in all other parts of M/car, are made of clay tile, the only place in M/car where they build roofs this way.

Typical house in Ambalavao

The next morning I got up, stopped by Julio’s, and we went to catch the bus together.  Julio was going to ride out also, but it turned out the bus was not staying long enough that day for him to do what he needed to get done.  So I took the bus out alone, a 2 1/2 hour ride to the entrance of the park.  The drive out was amazing.  This was February and the heart of rainy season.  The fields and rice patties were all lush and green.  The drive was through rolling hills and valleys and next to tall rice terraces.  The houses along the drive were all made of white mud/clay, another unique feature that I saw no where else and a striking visual effect among the green backdrop.

Namohly Valley

The entrance of the park had a nice welcome center, with some pictures of Madagascar and some examples of endemic plants of M/car.  After awhile a guide arrived to take me into the park.  With only about 2 1/2 days, I had to get started hiking if I wanted to see the park.  I left my bags at a “safe” spot at the welcome center then we started out to two nearby waterfalls.

The area we walked through is called the Namohly Valley and is one of the prettiest places I have ever visited.  Everything growing was bright green, the streams all full and rushing, high rice terraces everywhere and even taller granite rock walls, and red and white mud villages.  We walked through the farms and villages, into the rainforest, and up the hillside to about the mid point of the two waterfalls.

My guide, Martin

My guide, Martin, was great, with endless energy.  On our walk he told me the legend of the waterfalls.  There were once a king and queen who try as they might were unable to have children.  They consulted the local witch doctor who told them they must journey to the waterfalls far away and when there, bathe separately in the two waterfalls and sacrifice a bull.  The made the journey, taking an all black bull with a white stripe on its forehead with them.  They bathed and sacrificed the bull and returned to the village.  They went on to have 8 children.  The waterfall is said to have taken on the shape of the white stripe on the bull’s forehead.  (By the way: the perfect family in M/car is said to be 14 children, 7 boys and 7 girls, a daunting task).

The waterfalls

After spending some time at the waterfalls, we hiked back through the guide’s village, Antanafotsy, picked up my stuff at the welcome center, then went to guest house where I there was a room I could stay in.  We agreed to meet in the morning at 7 to hike to the highest accessible point in M/car, Pic Boby.  (There is one other mountain in Madagascar higher, however, it is extremely difficult to get to, is taboo to climb, and the only story I’ve read of someone climbing it ended with him being carried out by local villagers).

My guide knocked on my door at 6:15 the next morning, and told me he had been there since 5:30 and was apparently anxious to get get going.  Though I was hoping to sleep in a bit, I reluctantly got up, hastily ate some fruit I had brought for breakfast and we got on our way at 6:30.  The rising sun enhanced the beautiful colors of the villages and rice fields, making the whole valley look even more beautiful than before.

Granite walls

We hiked back towards the waterfalls of the day before and up a ridge to the side to a high plateau.  At 7,000 ft, this was the highest plateau in M/car and also the only place in the country where blueberries grew.  All across the valley and in the rest of the park, wildflowers and aromatic plants grew everywhere.  Most prevalent were orchids, which grew like weeds.  This is where most people spent the night, but having only one day and no camping gear, we pressed on.

All along our right side as we hiked were these huge granite cliffs, about 1,000 feet high.  They towered over the whole valley and stood guard along our hike.  This, apparently, was the mecca of Madagascar climbing.  With no climbing gear and having, unforunately, met no climbers so far on my trip, I continued walking, left to stare in amazement.  We hiked up through a small break in the cliffs where steps had been carved into the rock.  We scrambled up this and most of the rest of the way to the top.  We finally reached the peak after 10 miles and a 4,200 foot elevation gain.  Pic Boby is 8,720 feet high.  We paused a moment to rest and try to take in the view.  We were surrounded by clouds so there was not much view to see.

On top of Pic Boby

We then quickly made our way back down, just in case the clouds were a sign that a storm was coming in.  On the entire hike we made very little stops.  On the 10 miles hike back, we made only one stop, at about 2/3 of the way.

Back at the guest house I noticed a funeral taking a place.  A body had been laid, covered by a white sheet in a small grove of trees.  Many were gathered around dressed in very colorful clothing.  The women surrounding the body were singing.  My guide told me that they would mourn for several days before taking the body on a long journey to the tombs.

The next day the bus was coming for market day and would be my ride home.  I slept in, took my time packing up my things and cleaned up my room.  I went over to where the market was being held and looked around at what they had.  It was a pretty pitiful market with very little fruits or vegetables combined with the addition of manufactured goods brought by the bus in town.  I found out when the bus was leaving, then went walking for a bit.  I found  a quiet bend in the river a swam in the cool water for awhile, soothing my aching muscles and joints.

Market day… and my ride

I have to say again, that Andringitra was absolutely beautiful.  Certainly one of the most beautiful places in the world.  The area around the guest house was a lush valley of grasslands.  A few small rivers ran through the valley.  The granite cliffs bordered one end of the valley and foothills and rainforests edged the other sides.  The valley had been farmed for centuries so most of the hills had been carved with rice terraces.  Being the middle of growing season, the rice was high, think and green.  Everything in the valley was so green.  It was quiet, peaceful, relaxing.


I went backed to the guest house after swimming where I spent the rest of the day napping and reading.  I went out later in the afternoon and waited for the bus to leave.  It finally left around 6:45 when it began to rain.  This brings me back to the start of the story.

As the bus was driving along some sections of the road it would start to slide down sideways across the road the steep dropoff on the downhill side.  All vehicles in M/car have bald tires.  As we started to slide, everyone on the bus would begin yelling, “Miala! Miala!”  We need to get off!  The bus would stop and we would all pile out (except the poor driver).  As the bus would begin driving again, we would all push on the sides of the bus as it drove through some of the more treacherous parts to keep it going straight and on the road without sliding over the edge.  In M/car, life is just different than in the U.S.  After a while of getting used to this, you fail to notice at the time, just how strange your actions can get.  Pushing on the side of a bus down a muddy road during a thunderstorm just didn’t seem that odd a the time.  But in hindsight, I feel lucky to be alive.

After the harrowing one hour bus ride, we made it back to town in now, a complete downpour.  I had intended to try to take a bus back to Fianar that night, but being late I had to stay.  I went to a restaurant for dinner and found Julio there, so I had dinner with him and he led me to a cheap hotel where I could stay for the night.  It was by far the worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in.  It had a bed, a sink, and a urinal and smelled like a room that had only a bed, a sink, and a urinal.

The next morning I caught a passing bus back to Fianar.  I really didn’t know much to see in Fianar, but since my week had been cut short in Andringitra, I decided to spend a day checking it out.  What really drew me there were two things:

First, Fianar is the home town of Pierrot Men, the most famous Madagascan photographer.  He brilliantly captures Madagascan life in beautiful photographs that are found nearly everywhere, but especially in his home town.  Secondly, the only running train at the time in all of M/car was a train from Fianar to Manankara.  It was supposed to be one of the most beautiful trips in the country.  Unfortunately, due to timing and the unreliability of the only train in M/car, I was unable to make the trip.

I took a day bus back to Tana the next morning.  While, typically I liked riding the bus at night, as sleeping made it go a little quicker, riding during the day had the bonus of the opportunity to see the passing country side (of course, on the 15+ hour trips you got to see day and night).  On this day I took the chance to see the country and rode a day bus.

Shortly after leaving town, and at the top of the first hill, our bus broke down.  Perhaps it would be a night trip after all.  After napping on the side of the road for a couple hours (again, another thing that didn’t seem odd at the time, but in hindsight…), a replacement bus arrived and we made the rest of the trip back to Tana without incident.

Sticking with the theme of the trip, I arrived late at night in Tana, in a complete downpour (perhaps there was a cyclone passing through and these last few days were the ancillary rain).  I managed to find a taxi despite the time and rain.  The location of where we lived made it impossible for the taxis to make it to the compound in the rain, so I got off in Amboditsiry and ran the last mile home, completely soaked and exhausted.


Isalo National Park

After checking into a hotel for the night in Toliara, we made our way to the bus station to try to arrange our trip to Isalo and back to Tana.  The bus station was insane, as are all bus stations in M/car.  We needed to (1) get a bus from Toliara to Ranohira, the city closest to Isalo; and (2) get a bus to pick us up on New Years Day a few days later.  This is difficult for a couple reasons.  First of all, we weren’t entirely sure that we could actually get someone to pick us up 4 days later.  We were taking a chance on them just stealing our money.  Secondly, on New Years Day, all the drivers will be sleeping off a night of drinking, so we would have to find the only bus driver in M/car not getting wasted on New Years Eve.

We proceeded down the row of buses and began talking with the bus companies.  We explained our situation (in my broken French/Malagasy mix) and quickly booked a bus to Ranohira for the next day.  Then we started looking for a bus to pick us up New Year’s Day.  It was then that we found out that there would be no bus drivers that day.  With no bus, we had to quickly change our plans.  There had been a man following us around this whole time saying that he had a car to take us to Ranohira.  We had been ignoring him because it sounded fishy, and it would cost 450,000, ~$45.  Realizing that we would now need to leave Ranohira a day earlier than planned, we decided leaving right away would be better than waiting until tomorrow.  We found the car, negotiated them down to ~$20, then ran back and cancelled our bus trip to Ranohira.  We also quickly found a bus that would pick us up on New Years Eve and booked three seats on that.

The car was leaving immediately, so we went back to the hotel, got our stuff, cancelled the room, quickly said goodbye to Tomasina, stopped at a store for some supplies, and got back to the car before they left.  We hopped in the car, picked up the front seat passenger and left town.  It turns out the driver and passenger were cousins heading back to Tana, just looking for some extra money for their trip.  Worked out for us.

The trip was quick and smooth, partly because our driver seemed to be friends with all the police.  We had an interesting event along the way.  We pulled over on the side of the highway near a small village not near any major town.  After a few moments a woman came out from the jungle.  The driver gave her three glass bottles and 25,000 franc (~$2.50) and the woman handed him a baby lemur!  Lemur trafficking is highly illegal, and it was amazing that the woman would do it for so little.  The rest of the trip, the lemur was kept at the legs of the passenger, a gift for his niece.

The trip was a nice few hours, we were all grateful to be riding in a car.  The driver knew of a decent hotel in Ranohira and dropped us off there.  We booked a bungalow, then went to the visitor center to arrange a guide.  The tourist services at Isalo were pretty nice.  There were many certified guides and camping gear was also available for rent.  We arranged a guide, porters to cook and set up camp, and camping equipment.  We would take a three day trip at a total cost of about $25 each.

We went back to our hotel just before thunderstorms hit.  We sat in our room looking out as one thunderstorm after another rolled past.  Being out in the grasslands, I imagined that this was what the settlers in the west must have seen as they came across the Oregon trail.  We could watch the storms come and go and the driving rain in between.  As the sun set, the whole sky glowed red in the mist and low clouds of the storms.  It was one of the most amazing sights I have seen, and sadly one my camera could not capture.

The next morning we started out on our three day trip.  We packed our clothes and went into town to get some bread and tea for breakfast from a roadside stand.  Our guide met us there and we started hiking through the grasslands along the face of the hills.

The park consisted of a massive area of sandstone formations that rose out from an otherwise barren landscape.  The eastern edge of the park formed a wall of stone, like the massive ruins of an ancient fortress.  Small canyons broke up the wall, gates through which we could cross into the wilderness of the interior.

We walked north, parallel to this wall across rolling hills and small rivers.  We came across small villages along they way, and watched as farmers prepared their rice fields for planting by running cattle around in the mud.  We also saw the makeshift distilleries where toaka-gasy is made, an alcohol so primitive and strong it kills hundreds each year.  We stopped at a grove of mango trees where we would camp for the night.  We set down our stuff and once the porters arrived, we set out to explore a couple canyons.

The two canyons we hiked to were the Canyon des Makis, and the Canyon des Rats.  Makis was heavily forested and we walked under the canopy and through the jungle.  While in Canyon des Makis we were fortunate to see some ring-tailed lemurs lounging in the trees, grooming each other.

Canyon des Rats was much less forested and filled with giant boulders.  We crawled up, over and around these boulders, as far as we could go when we came to a bright, open pool.  We swam in the cool water and climbed up the canyon walls to jump in.  We ate a snack of egg and tomato sandwiches, and pineapple so sweet it burned our mouths.  Nowhere have I found pineapple that tasted so good.  After our ‘lunch’ we all napped on the sand and relaxed the rest of the afternoon.

Late that afternoon we hiked back to camp where we found a fantastic meal being prepared for us by the porters.  We had a tea and ramen appetizer, followed by the standard rice and chicken loaka.  As far as cuisine goes in M/car, you have two food groups: rice and loaka (loosely translated as: stuff you put on rice).  Rice is most important; you have not eaten until you have had rice.  Our meal was finished off with some bananas flambee.  Needless to say, we slept full and happy that night.

Breakfast the following morning was again bread and tea, before we began our hike back up the Canyon des Makis.  Once through the jungle and into the canyon we hiked for about a mile and a half over, around, and under every rock and boulder.  Deep into the canyon, we finally got over the last of the boulders and began walking along the small stream that flowed through the canyon.

This part of the canyon was very narrow, with sheer cliffs going up hundreds of feet on both sides.  More often than not, there was no room to walk along the creek, so we just took off our shoes and walked through the water and mud up the canyon.

Remember, Scott had only brought sandals on this trip, and badly sunburned his feet on our long walk to Ifaty.  While in Toliara, before driving to Isalo, he had bought some wool socks to wear with his sandals.  Scott, now dressed in his socks and sandals, walked ahead of me tromping through the creek, not even bothering to take off his socks.  The image is burned into my mind, and is so funny, that I could barely write about it in my journal later, without choking in laughter.

We eventually were able to hike out the side of the canyon, and onto the high prairie of the interior.  It was then that our guide informed us that he had never taken this route before, but thought it would be a good time to try it since we looked like a strong group.  We hiked across a few more small canyons before eventually coming to a trail.  We hiked until we came to our second campsite.

This campsite was very well built.  It had a flushing toilet, running water, flat tent sites and stone picnic tables.  We chatted with some other campers then headed for a swim.  The first pool we came to was called “Namaza.”  It was a deep, dark pool, surrounded by high, dark rock walls, with a beautiful waterfall flowing into it from above.  We swam, and jumped from the rocks, the cold water soothing our sore muscles and joints from the last two days.  Each day we hiked about 9 miles.  We then swam in Piscine Noire; a slightly muddy pool, with a warm waterfall; and Piscine Bleu; a small, crystal clear pool.

We finished off the day with large plates of spaghetti and again, bananas flambee for desert.  We woke up the final morning of our hike and immediately started off with a long staircase, back up to another long prairie.  On this day, we stopped at one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, the “Piscine Naturelle.”

The landscape we were hiking through seemed so barren, just grass and rock.  It appeared in hospitable.  Yet out of the wilderness, hidden in small canyons, were these amazing oases.  This pool had a small water fall on one side, a rock wall on another, a small beach, and the exit creek with beautiful tropical plants on the other.  It was such a surreal place.  The seclusion of a place like this preserved their natural beauty and made it a cool place to visit.

After spending a good time swimming and jumping off the rocks, we hiked the rest of the way back to Ranohira and our hotel, stopping at a high overlook along the way.  The experience was great; we found a good guide and porters that made amazing meals.  Each oasis that we came to was more amazing than the next.  Exploring the entire park would have taken months, but I was glad we could explore even a small section.

The next day we pulled ourselves out of bed and waited along the side of the highway for our prearranged bus that we hoped was coming.  After a two hour wait, we found our bus and hopped on.  Our bus was so loaded down, that it couldn’t make it through the largest pot holes on its own, so every once in a while we would all pile out of the van and push the bus through the mud.  After a couple hours we were all dying of laughter.  We laughed so much on that trip.

This may have been my best trip in Madagascar, though I loved everywhere I went.  Being with Nate and Scott was a lot of fun and the places we visited were just amazing.