Written 16/7/18
Jono has mentioned several times that it feels like we have stepped out of a painting of 19th century Europe. He mentioned this as we sat at our lunchtime cafe near Antsirabe looking out over the fields at so many people working. The feeling of being the rich aristocrat really hits me sitting at camp Mantella in Marojejy National Park. But as Jono points out – we have spent the average yearly income for someone here on a 4 day walk, so maybe we should expect some pampering.
Like a lot of things in Madagascar I don’t really understand how this worked out. There were a couple of email exchanges which resulted in a suggested shopping list (you have to provide food for yourselves, your guide and cook), and potentially the booking of the guide. However the booking was never confirmed, and no-one here seems to answer their phone. So we arrived in Sambava and settled into a bungalo on the beach – absolutely beautiful. Unfortunately though the owners of the hotel only spoke Malagasy, and any time we approached they screamed for a teenage girl who spoke a little French. We decided against asking her to try and book the national park for us, and instead asked where the supermarket was. Worryingly it seemed she had no idea what a supermarket was, so we headed into the centre of town to explore. We did find a shop where we could purchase most of the things on our list which included 20 cups of rice – we panicked at 13 cups though and it was already about 5kg of rice! 6 tins of sardines, tins of tomato sauce, and snacks. All of our items were counted three times by two different people before we were allowed to pack them into our bags. On the street we bought 1kg of potatoes, 1kg of carrots, 1kg of onions, some garlic and some ginger. We were not quite sure how taking chicken/meat was supposed to work, so we didn’t pursue that item on the list. Then it got dark, so presuming we would survive on what we had purchased so far we gave up for the day and went to get dinner at Mimi hotel.
In the morning after a leisurely breakfast we headed for the taxi-brousse station armed with all our belongings and food. We were met immediately we arrived in our tuk-tuk by a driver going exactly where we needed to go – maybe it’s the only place that Vazahas go. Then while we waited to leave we set about buying the remaining things we needed which included 16 baguettes and 1kg of oranges. It turns out taxi-brousse stations are quite reliable for purchasing these two items. In the north they are also a reliable place for the purchase of Khat – leaves which contain a stimulant similar to methamphetamine, the leaves are chewed and held in the cheek. Interestingly the young people here see this as a normal thing – like having coffee or tea, but they see coffee as far too strong for them, and only for older men!
Finally we were loaded into the taxi-brousse, and then after a bit more waiting we finally left. The countryside was beautifully green, and lush, and it reminded me a lot of Golden Bay with smaller then larger forested peaks behind the farmland. Our driver dropped us as we had requested at Manantenina. We started walking back down the road to where I had seen a sign for the National Park. Within a few minutes we were greeted by a Malagasy man who spoke perfect english and who directed us to the National Park office. After another couple of hundred meters another man appeared – who turned out to be the park secretary. We were welcomed inside, given a seat, and our itinerary briefly discussed. Then we were asked to sort out what we were taking and what would be left in storage there. Another man appeared ‘this man is your cook, Im very very sorry, I’m so sorry, he only speaks Malagasy, – oh his name is Mene’, after a few minutes another man appeared – our guide Richelin(Rich), and we showed them the food we had bought… there was a bit of agitated discussion in Malagasy, and after a while we realised that our shopping attempt had been pitiful and we had no-where near enough rice to feed everyone, apparently we needed at least 3 cups per person per day – and they are large cups! Luckily although it was Sunday we were able to purchase the extra rice in the village along with the other overlooked essential items – 1L cooking oil, soap and candles. It was also determined that we would need two porters, and we decided also to hire a tracker.
So that is how it was that 20minutes after we had arrived(presumably unexpectedly) in this village at midday on a Sunday we were off on a hike with a team of 5 men to look after our every need.
The walk on day 1 to camp Mantella was a flat 10km. The first 5km through villages(‘salut vazahas’) and beautiful green farmland. In the villages rice, coffee and vanilla were laid out on sheets drying in peoples yards. Farmers walked past with baskets of freshly harvested vanilla pods – a fortune over one shoulder, literally, as 1kg of fresh vanilla is worth 200,000Ar. Rich explained that 5-6kg of fresh vanilla would yield 1kg of dried vanilla. It is first boiled for 4 minutes, then placed in plastic for several days, then dried in the sun which may take up to two months. The pods are brought in each night, and are of course guarded at all times.
We also walked past some small vanilla plantations. It takes 4 years from planting until the first harvest, and as vanilla is not endemic this orchid has no native pollinator, so pollination must be done by hand.
The second half of the day 1 walk is within the National Park, the landscape changes abruptly to cool rainforest and we were lucky enough to see a family of bamboo lemurs just before camp.
Our cook and porter had arrived in camp well ahead of us, the porter carrying the food we would need for two days in two baskets hung on a bamboo pole over one shoulder. Our cook Mene had laid out a tablecloth and set us a spread of snacks, hot tea, and hot water for coffee. Our porter had also prepared a cabin for us, and both he and the cook were sat peeling vegetables.
So we sat in comfort after our short hike through the jungle, and drank tea, followed by hot chocolate which we made with nutella and condensed milk. And I felt a bit uncomfortable, and tried to justify it because it was good employing all these men. And felt a lot like a rich woman out of a painting, or maybe a movie like ‘Passage to India’. Such is the life of a Vazaha in Madagascar.
Julia.off.to.see.the.world. . . 