Day One: The Bus
On Sunday, after our “free day” in Antananarivo, our tour of Madagascar officially began. Our first bus ride of the tour wouldn’t be as long as some, but getting out of Tana would be a repeat of the traffic snarls we’d enjoyed on the previous day. The bus itself was fine as buses go: There were 20-ish seats for the 15 of us, and cracking the windows open provided plenty of air.
The main problem was the seatbelts, which I’m convinced were engineered by someone who’d never actually seen a seatbelt before, but had only had them described second-hand. For one thing, they were way too short, which didn’t seem to be a problem for most of our tour group, but was a challenge for my big, fat American ass. The belts didn’t actually go across the waist—instead, they straddled your crotch as tightly as they could. However, the main problem was the buckle itself: Unlike in Western vehicles, where the clamp for the seatbelt is right beside your hip, these were much lower—about halfway down the side of the seat cushion and buried so deep the strap almost wouldn’t reach. Every time I got in or out of a seat, I had to fight with one of these bastards for two minutes just to get the damn thing to click shut.
But I have to say, seatbelts were a necessity—not because we might get into a wreck, but because once you’re out of the city, the roads in Madagascar are barely roads at all. I’m sure they were wonderful back when they were paved (however many centuries ago that was), but today, they’re mostly collections of giant potholes with little slivers of road in between. Over the next two weeks, there would be times when our average speed maxed at 15mph, with the kind of violent back and forth rocking I’d normally expect on the open ocean in bad weather.
Our first destination was Andasibe, home to the Analamazaotra Nature Reserve east of Tana. We arrived at the little resort village nearby in plenty of time to settle into our cabins and stretch our legs for the first of two hikes: one from 2-4 p.m. (in daylight) in the Andasibe Mitsinjo forest, and the other a 6 p.m. night walk in the nature reserve. It was a bright, sunny day, and perfect for a walk in the woods, so we put on our bug repellent and sunscreen, got our cameras ready, and bused down the road to the Andasibe Mitsinjo Forest.
A word on our cameras: Ever since Iceland, we’ve traveled with a Canon Rebel T3 for zoom shots, wide shots, low-light shots, high-speed shots, and panoramics, while Lea also packs her lightweight, waterproof Olympus Tough TG-6 for easy point-and-shoot shots, anything with lots of color (which the Olympus handles better than the Canon), and, of course, underwater photography.
For this trip, the Olympus was still in fine shape, but our Canon bit the dust on Lea’s trip to Namibia, where its light sensor gave up the ghost. However, we came to Madagascar for wildlife shots, most of which would not be close at hand and would require a really fast shutter. Therefore, shortly before leaving for Madagascar, we bought a refurbished Canon EOS R7. This is the mirrorless equivalent of our old Rebel, but with years of upgraded camera design and software. Most importantly, with the help of an adapter, all our old lenses fit the new camera, including the all-important telephoto lens.
That lens was the only way to catch a goddamn lemur in the forest. Unlike at the Lemurs’ Park, where they’re all conveniently on or near the ground, the lemurs in the forest do what lemurs do—they hide in the topmost layer of the canopy. On this walk, I was able to photograph one brown lemur from what felt like two or three football fields away, while the rest of the two-hour hike introduced us to various plants, spiders, and chameleons. It also opened my eyes to exactly how much up-and-down marching we’d be doing for the next two weeks. On this day, I still had the energy to keep up, but (spoiler alert) that would change sooner than I’d hoped.
It was even worse at night, but that was my fault, nobody else’s. When we’d bought that Rebel T3 waaay back in 2014, we made sure to take it out a night for practice so we’d know how to adjust its settings and use it in the dark. This time, I’d had no time to play with it before our trip. The R7’s controls are far more intuitive than on our old Rebel, but that does no good if you can’t see what you’re doing. While the rest of the party hiked ahead to spy on what wildlife came out in the dark, I spent most of my time fiddling with buttons, F-stops, ISOs, and exposure times while hoping not to trip on a root and break my neck (or worse, the camera). For what it’s worth, I did manage to capture several frogs and an entirely-too-cute mouse lemur for my troubles.
Day Two: Analamazaotra, Continued
We woke up bright and early Monday for an all-morning hike in the Analamazaotra Nature Reserve, which we’d only seen in the dark the night before. This walk was much more productive than the previous day hike in terms of spotting lemurs. We also saw several varieties of birds, but frankly, I wasn’t interested in those. Even when you know where they are, they’re practically impossible to see or photograph through the canopy, and to me, birds are basically cat food.
Armand identified the lemurs we spotted as common brown lemurs, indri indri lemurs, and golden sifakas. We weren’t the only tour group in the forest, so when we found the largest concentration atop a hill, we had to wind our way around several other clumps of humans while trying to keep track of which ones belonged to us. Later, we came across a pair of young sifakas as they were wrestling on the ground, completely oblivious to the invading tourist horde.
We’d eaten breakfast at our resort’s restaurant, so lunch and dinner were at the other two restaurants in the little village. The electricity was questionable, but the food was okay. The best part was the fresh-cut pineapple straight from the tree that Armand arranged for dessert after lunch. However, one of these three restaurants was going to prove the death of us (by us meaning two thirds of the tour group), but we wouldn’t learn that until the next day.
[CONTENT WARNING: Don’t read this next part on your lunch break.]
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[Okay, you were warned.]
Day Three: Barf-O-Rama!
Nothing was supposed to happen Tuesday. The plan was for an all-day road trip from Andasibe back to Tana, then southwest to the town of Antsirabe. With luck, we were looking at an 8-hour ride with a stop for lunch in Tana on the way.
We weren’t lucky.
It was about an hour into the bumpy drive before we had to pull over for the first time—one of our traveling companions was ill, and needed to be ill outside the bus, if you catch my drift. And of course, this was on the side of the road: In Madagascar, gas stations with restrooms are easily two hours apart from each other, and there wasn’t time to wait.
After our sick passenger collected themselves, we got back on the road. Before stopping again. This time, it wasn’t one sick traveler, but two. And then a third. It wasn’t looking good. Food poisoning never does.
We’d never know which restaurant in Andasibe got us, but Lea’s best guess is that at least one of them was using non-potable river water for cleaning their pots and pans. Whatever the cause, more of us became ill. Lea was queasy early that morning, but luckily for her, it didn’t get any worse. Unluckily for me, I started feeling queasy too, right before we arrived at a restaurant for lunch (90 minutes later than we’d planned, thanks to all our stops).
I’m not someone who gets reflexively ill when I see other people throwing up, but I’ve historically been prone to other countries’ stomach bugs. That morning, I thought I was getting off easy. I might have gotten away with it too, if I’d had the brains to skip lunch.
A word about eating on the road in Madagascar: Half the time, there would be nowhere to stop so Armand would often pack a picnic. (More on those at a later date.) If there was a restaurant on our route (or, more commonly, at the end of it), he’d have us order ahead so that when we got there, we wouldn’t have to wait for our food. For today’s lunch, I’d ordered the spaghetti carbonara, not realizing what was coming.
(This is about to get very personal, so skip ahead if you’re squeamish.)
At the restaurant, I made use of the toilet. And again. And again. And again. You’d think that would have been a clue to go easy on lunch, and maybe not eat the creamy pile of lukewarm pasta they put in front of me, but no. I had faith in my Pepto (I’d taken the legal limit) and the fact that my body had just expelled what I thought was everything inside it.
I made it about a third of the way through my pasta before I realized it wasn’t going down without a fight. I opted to pause, take more Pepto, and not look at food for a while. I made use of the plumbing a couple more times, and by the time we got back on the bus, I felt stable, if a little top-heavy and sweaty.
Whatever internal stability I’d achieved lasted until our next (and final) gas stop for the day. Once I stood up, everything inside me shifted. I got in line with all the others to make use of the gas station’s one meager bathroom. While standing in line, feeling hot and gooey, I told Lea that I almost wished I would throw up just to clear everything out of my system.
Well, guess what. Wishes come true. About two minutes later, I had to cut in line, run straight to the toilet, and vomit my guts out.
I haven’t thrown up since 2005. Barfing, in general, isn’t something I do, but apparently my body had been training for this day. Others in our group had thrown up multiple times—mild and timid hacks, coughs, and retches. When I barfed, it was the barf of a practiced vocalist who knows a thing or two about diaphragm support. I practically made the bathroom stall vibrate from the force of ejecting everything I’d eaten (and maybe a few of my internal organs) all in one go. Lea assures me that people could hear me as far as the gas station’s parking lot.
Everything after that is a blur. Despite the importance of hydrating when you’re sick, I remember being scared to drink anything out of fear that it would come right back out. It wasn’t long before the sun went down and our driver was navigating the maze of potholes in the dark. We passed several other gas stations over the next few hours, but everything closes at night, so none of us had any reprieve—that final stretch to Antsirabe was an interminable hell, with some really pleasant bungalows waiting at the end. As soon as we arrived, I went straight to the bathroom, finally drank some water, and attempted (with little luck) to get some sleep.
Recovery wouldn’t be overnight, so I was going to miss out on a little the next day. Before we headed back into the wild, our trip would take us into civilization and our first real exposure to Malagasy culture. But more on that in the next installment!
