CHAPTER 24 - MADAGASCAR

Exchange rate 6500 Malagasy Francs to US$1

Exchange rate 1050 Malagasy Francs to 1 French Franc

Fr 8/6/99 - Crater Be, Nosy Be (Big Island), Madagascar - 13 23.86 S, 48 13.03 E

I slept restlessly. At 715am, Chris performed his normal early morning ritual that sometimes awakens me - peeing off the port stern, and I was annoyed.

I was annoyed and restless anyway for the uncertainty of my immediate future. I shared in Hi Velocity's excitement of reaching Madagascar and the island of Nosy Be, but now what? Chris had talked about diving and going inland a week ago, but now I hear Chris and Patricia talking of renting a small plane and flying about the country. Parts have to be ordered for the boat, a new lower roller furling most importantly, and while waiting they plan on accessing the interior. I hardly wish to baby sit the boat, well, unless I can use it but that won't happen, and Chris discussed security with Hans last night and the possibility of hiring a local to watch the boat. Maybe I have come to the terminus of my usefulness here. So, I could jump on a plane to the Seychelles or Nairobi, but it would be a pity to miss an exploration of Madagascar even in the slightest, and I'm guessing a flight will cost $500, a pretty franc. To explore I need a French speaking companion. An alternative for making the African mainland (Mozambique, Tanzania, or Kenya) may be another yacht trip. Another alternative for the interim could be to stay on Kingston Rover with Scotty and Sheila, which is an invitation they have extended more than once. Damn, what to do? It's all in line with the continuing yachtie cruising game of following the leader. I hate being dependent.

We all went ashore about 10am and walked to the small nearby village of Ambatoloaka. Ambatoloaka, is similar to Ko Phi Phi or Raileh in Thailand but with an African flair. Small dirt roads run near the sea and lead between restaurants, hotels, and shops.

Chris found a couple named Rudy and Genevieve at Madavoile in the main street who work the tourist industry here, they were recommended by Hans from Alf. They spoke at length about seeing Madagascar and in particular a tour to the northwest mainland.

On the cruise into Crater Bay we passed an obvious crater that has half collapsed into the sea. I noted the hill as a potential good short hike and vantage point to view the surrounding land. The name of the crater point is Ambatotomboka. After a drawn out lunch, I set off alone. The half crater sits at the northern end of the long beach at Ambatoloaka, but instead of waking the beach I tried a backdoor approach by walking the road leaving the village and through tall fields of sugarcane and past smaller villages, simple ramshackle buildings made of weathered branches and tender old palm frowns. I met an intersection and turned left toward the coast. Two boys stood guarding zebu (local cattle) and chewed sugarcane stock. I reached the limits of my French, "Bon jour", and as I walked past they asked a question in French and my heart sank for I couldn't turn and smile and talk lightly with them as I wished.

At the end of this long straight road, an hour into my jaunt, I came across a discarded and broken resort abutting a beach with many crumbling white concrete buildings without roofs. I guessed this was a remnant of the lost French colonial past when one of the many recent the governments turned on their European residents.

My quest stood at this beach's southern end, there it was, the crater hill, now how to scale it. There was a small mining operation. Boys banged large rocks into smaller and large heavy bags of chips stood in a pile to the side. What an occupation. I pushed up through thorn, and slid and slipped on my reef shoes. I wished for something more sturdy. After pulling tiny sharp thorns from my hands I found a trail that approached from Ambatoloaka beach and easily walked on a wide incline that wound around the crater to the flat top.

The sky was overcast but the panoramic view was very nice - open sea to the west, the long Ambatoloaka beach south, and inland were interesting patterns of freshly plowed fields, large sweeping sugarcane fields, and other neat patches of produce. A village straddled a road through the cane fields. Below to the north was a small establishment of homes bordering the vacant resort on the beach and a lone catamaran sat bobbing close in.

Rudy and Genevieve, Austrian and French, came aboard for dinner. Rudy talked in no specific terms about sailing around the world and missing the action. He has established a number of tourist companies during his travels and Nosy Be is the latest adventure.

Sa 8/7/99 - Russian Bay, Madagascar - 13 32.13 S, 47 59.84 E

In the early morning the four of us went to see Rudy and Genevieve to finalise arrangements for trips to the interior.

In the end I only had one option for my next segment. The choices were to leave the country and get on with my original plans, travel solo in Madagascar, or buddy with Helen for a week. Chris and Patricia booked an expensive inclusive trip for four days, FF 5000 total. Travelling with them was never an option . Scotty was at Nosy Sakatia further north on Nosy Be. So, Helen and I asked Rudy for a car and English speaking driver, FF 160 a day, not too bad, $12 each per day. We would also be responsible for gas and food for the driver / interpreter. The only other choice for transport was a taxi-brousse. (bush taxi), cheaper, but very uncomfortable. It's a jam packed small Peugeot with a ranch style covered bed.

We then anchored up on Hi Velocity and set sail for a dive on five meter ledge, then onto Russian Bay in the hope of finding whale-sharks.

Whale-sharks has been a reoccurring conversation theme with John and I while on the trip. They have also been a subject to throw into conversations for humor while on Hi Velocity. Truthfully, we were all enthusiastic about the possibility. Now we were on a definite search mission and the possibility was real. The past two days they were spotted seen close-up in Russian Bay by the boats Alf and First Choice. So, we were on the chase.

Russian Bay is sixteen miles from Crater Bay, on the Madagascar mainland. The whales were seen there but also north of Nosy, so we were keen eyed and on the lookout as we motored along. As we moved west into the open ocean the view of Nosy Be and the slowly revealed mainland was gorgeous, the sky was clear and the sun comfortably warm. Green mountains lined our view of the vast sparsely populated land as the blue sparkling sea widened. This was a beautiful day in big country. We passed a few dhow fishing boats, low dugouts with outrigger and the funky upside down sails.

The water broke ahead of us, a flash of white quickly bouncing the sunlight towards us. Hmmm - what was it?!. We moved closer and a second time the white flash broke the water. We then spotted a mass of commotion on the surface and with a quick turn of the helm were within a group of manta rays. They swooped and darted and chased one another just below the waters surface, many of them churning up the sea and moving amidst the boat at incredible speeds. I was on the bow, running from port to starboard and back again to watch the actions of the strange shaped creatures, dark shadows through the deep blue colored ocean. Manta rays have two protrusions from the head to accommodate the eyes, the backs dark, and bellies white. My last view was perfect, an encore - one glided with moderate speed across the bow just under the surface so I could catch details.

Now with more fervor I scanned the surroundings for whale sharks while standing dead center on the catamaran's wide bow. To port I heard a whoosh and quickly turned to see a large back and dorsal fin arc along the water and through the air one boat length away. I ran to the stern to alert the others, "Whale!". She may have been a humpback or a pilot. She breached across the stern, then once more as a last performance. Had we the chance we would have dove with the marine mammal but she was gone.

1410: heading: zzz wind: zzz sea state: zzz lat: 13 28.13 lon: 47 59.84 sails: zzz miles to waypoint: zzz comment: zzz

This sighting raised the subject of our quest. What was a whale-shark? A whale-shark is the largest fish, the size of a whale but with gills, not a mammal. They can reach over 12 meters in length. They feed by opening there large hinged jaw to scoop plankton. Whale-sharks are colored blue with a spotted pattern, curious and not dangerous.

The remainder of our trip to Russian Bay was a continuation of gorgeous weather, fishing dhows in the distance, and a panorama of coastline backed by mountains. We didn't, however, see whale-sharks or any other exciting ocean life.

Russian Bay is a large, beautiful, scarcely inhabited bay. A chart shows the shape as irregular, a meandering line between land and bay. Entering the bay I saw a large tranquil haven surrounded by trees and small hills leading to mountains. It would be an excellent quiet hideaway for a few days.

As we entered Russian Bay we kept west to avoid a coral reef at the mouth and saw tucked near a beach around the corner a handful of yachts. Alk with Hans and Merika, and First Choice with Bill and Maggy were there. My eyes wandered across the bay and back to the mouth in search of whale-sharks, where would they come from, what would they look like from a boat?

There was a big-smiles reunion with First Choice, my first time meeting Bill and Maggy and their sailing feline Marina. They're another duration boat, ten years sailing and not yet around the world.

We all sat and talked in the cockpit on Hi Velocity. A strange sight caught my eye in the distance. Did I really see this? It happened again and so was confirmed - the rays were flying into the air and twisting and flipping around. How bizarre!

Two men in a dugout canoe with dual outriggers slowly paddled against the wind to offer crabs with claws the size of lobsters back home. One man wore an old Bugle Boy T-shirt, they spoke Malagasy and little French. We exchanged a T-shirt and a plastic bottle for five large crabs.

Bill demonstrated the process of preparing the crabs. He put one, alive of course, on its back, pressed a machete lengthways along the body and hit it with a large hammer - splat! The crab juices flowed onto the cockpit floor. He grabbed one half of the crab by the legs, cracked of the body shell, then scooped out the gills and other guts into the water. I helped with the next crab. After it as halved, I grabbed the legs to clean it and was repulsed by the legs moving in my hand as I scraped the awful away. Not to argue with nature, but I really believe that if an animal is chopped in half lengthways it shouldn't be moving!

Bill, and then later Hans, explained the juicy details of the whale-sharks entering the past two days. Bad news. The animals come just after low tide which was advancing one half hour each day, possibly they would appear, if at all, after dark. Yesterday Hans chased after them by dinghy and let the dinghy drift while jumping in with them. He was even able to ride by holding the dorsal fin. While Bill and Maggy were observing, a whale-shark surprisingly rammed mistakenly into their dinghy, no damage done.

We prepared ourselves for dinner on First Choice as the sun dropped lower and lower. We didn't sight the enormous fish. At 630pm the sun was behind the nearby hill and maybe now set.

In front of First Choice a group of manta rays created interest and havoc as they did earlier for us. Then, a longer fin broke water there and flopped side to side - a whale-shark!

We all ran about the boat grabbing cameras, masks and fins, and changing clothes. Chris was in the water and I followed closely behind. Helen and Patricia hopped into the dinghy. I met Chris where the whale-shark was last spotted, out of breath from pumping along, and searching hard for a sign. The whale-shark had vanished. Helen, Patricia, and Bill all had good vantage points from which they could instruct us to the whereabouts of the creature. Moments passed and he didn't come to surface. In the direction of the bay's mouth the mantas started thrashing about so I swam that way hoping for a consolation prize. From behind Helen and Patricia paddled up on me, I noted this and returned to crawling toward the mantas. But then I heard voices, stopped, and lifted my head to hear the girls yelling, "Bob, underneath you!". I stuck my mask quickly through the surface and recoiled back - the huge beast was passing just four feet below. The whale-shark filled my sight, a very wide and long spotted object passing by. I saw five remoras, 'shark suckers', attached to or swimming very close to the whale-shark. Because the daylight was nearly spent the visibility was not perfect and I could not see as far as the head nor as far as the tail, just a large spotted body gliding by. My initial nervous reflex left immediately. When I saw the dorsal fin passing I dove down without renewing my breath, kicked a few times, and grabbed on. Never in my life have I swam with such a grand creature, and I certainly never rode one. I felt the flesh of the whale-shark under my palms and the sea passing over my body on my slow underwater ride. I looked ahead into the abruptly fading light and saw nothing. My breath went quickly and I popped to the surface with a huge smile on, turned to the others watching me, held up both thumbs, and yelled, "D fin!".

Bill and Maggie own a 47 foot Centurion, a beautiful boat below, nicely laid out and finished with rich teak and mahogany. They're a very nice and friendly couple from Houston, Texas, full of energy and loving their ten years cruising thus far. We dined on First Choice, black bean soup and the huge crabs bought earlier which were incredibly tasty, the claws were the size and shape of a one pound lobster. We then listened to a MIDI CD Bill made of himself on guitar, singing, and with backup instruments and backup singers. He has a bunch of computer equipment and we went below to see his digital mixing software and then to view their on-going slide show of their circumnavigation also on computer.

While I typed in my berth during the late night of today's great activities there was a racket of splashing outside. My curiosity drew me. In the kitchen I made a quick snack of Nutella and sweetened condensed milk on baguette and stood outside listening to the manta rays splashing and flopping - "splash, splash, splash ... kerplunk!". Above was a perfect sky of bright stars, the Milky Way, and no moon. The amount of activity was enormous, in every direction I could hear, but not see, the splashing. Russian Bay is truly a special place, I wished we could stay for another two days, but tomorrow we must check in with immigration in Nosy Be.

Chris story: Chris was physician to English rock concert promoter Harry Goldstien (sp xxx), and thus took care of many performers, including Paul Simon while he was on his English Graceland tour, and Eric Clapton during his bad patch when his son died.

Su 8/8/99 - Nosy Komba - 13 26.46 S, 48 21.04 E

zzz

In the early morning we removed the genoa and left it with Bill to hand to another boat for repair. So we motored out of Russian Bay and an hour or so later stopped at Tanikeli for a snorkel and lunch. Tanikeli is a small uninhabited island tucked within Nosy Be, Nosy Komba, and the Madagascar coast. It's a good spot to spend an afternoon and we weren't the only boat that knew of it.

1320: heading: zzz wind: zzz sea state: zzz lat: 13 29.20 lon: 48 14.24 sails: zzz miles to waypoint: anchored south Tanikely comment: zzz

We anchored on a sand spit in ten meters. A short distance away we found good, live coral and plenty of fish. I snorkelled with Patricia and we studied a few very good bommies and the life around them, especially the sea anemones and the cute damselfish that share dependence.

1615: heading: zzz wind: NW15 sea state: zzz lat: zzz lon: zzz sails: main and asymmetrical spinnaker miles to waypoint: zzz comment: zzz

On the way to Nosi Komba we were without the genoa and the wind was right for the asymmetrical chute (spinnaker). I was looking forward to helping the sail up ad seeing the shape, color, and the boat moving with it. Only once before had I flown with a spinnaker, in a Sunday race in Nantucket and the bright blue chute blew out (tore). I also had an attempt with a spinnaker on Dulcinea, Kim Kulawy was leading the attempt, and we broke a brass spinnaker pole end. Hi Velocity's asymmetrical is colored green, blue, and white. Although the colors ran while it was stored tucked within the main while the boat was on hard and for sale, the sail excited us all enough for photos.

1800: heading: zzz wind: zzz sea state: zzz lat: 13 26.46 lon: 48 21.04 sails: zzz miles to waypoint: anchored Nosi Komba comment: zzz

South of Nosy Be is Nosy Komba ('island small') where we anchored off Ampangorinana at dusk. We followed a couple and their attractive daughter from Reunion in their catamaran named Insolence from Tanikeli to the anchorage, then went ashore with them for dinner at Chez Martin. A friend of the family is interested in Hi Velocity.

Reunion is 500 miles east of Madagascar and 100 miles west of neighboring Mauritius. Volcanic Reunion was a French colony and is now a department of France. It is best known for it's spectacular mountain scenery versus Mauritius' claim to fabulous beaches.

Hi Velocity motored to Hellville (Andoany), our first look at this town with the unusual name. It's actually named after a French Admiral Hell. The port was busy and as a reminder of it's bad reputation as a place to have dinghy's stolen, two boys immediately paddled up in a small fiberglass boat using one short board and asked if we needed someone to watch our dinghy while ashore. Rather than leave the dinghy, Patricia offered to taxi us to the busy and filthy dock area.

The village has a vestige of it's French colonial past. The main road from the port is lined with trees and bordered with rundown white concrete buildings.

As we walked toward the immigration office we bumped into Sheila. It appears that Scotty finally forced Sheila off Kingston Rover by dumping her onto beach with all her belongings. Their relationship has been like a rollercoaster for months and the separation seemed imminent. I am the new comer to this yachtie crowd but already I heard too many oftheir attacks on one another and wondered what others thought.

Chris handled the immigration work for the lot. Helen and I visited Hussein the Money Changer, the market, and walked down a couple of side streets for a peak at the urban life. Chris, Sheila, Helen, and I along with a local girl Sheila befriended named Andrea lunched at the Oasis, a popular restaurant, bakery, and drink spot

Since I had the horrific incident of losing my cap overboard while anchoring last evening, I bought a new chapeau, a straw hat in a shape similar to a standard western cowboy hut. And to match the chic hat I received the most horrendous haircut, a real hedge job, for a couple more bucks.

Hussein the Money Changer was very busy with us, between changing money and asking for advice - he could speak excellent English - I talked to him at least five times. The last was during an errand for Chris. He needed cash for his interior trip and handed me three one hundred dollar bills and ask that I change it. At Hussein's sidewalk stall I again asked to change money, but Hussein was out of cash and asked that I return in half an hour. That conflicted with our rendezvous time for the dinghy back to Hi Velocity and so I was at the dock without the local francs. Chris decided that I should return to Hussein, he would wait for me, but I had to hurry since we were to meet people with the boat in Crater Bay. Now this was potentially difficult because of the language quandary. I quickly found a Peugeot taxi and did the necessary charades to ask for a lift to the town center and the driver asked, "How much?". How much?! There is a standard rate and he wanted more. I rushed to another and he nodded to get in. At Hussein's, well, he wasn't there. Where is he? At the bank. What bank? BNG or something like that. Where is it? That way. Damn. I walked toward the bank, maybe I could change money there but it was late and then it didn't matter since the bank was closed. After the rushing about, I let my heart rate lower and I resigned myself to returning with the three Benjamin Franklin's. Beep! Hussein cruised by on his scooter, turned around and I jumped on the back for the short ride to his stall. So, it was all good news and bad news and good news. To end the melee Hussein only had MF10,000 notes, meaning Chris received 195 notes valued at $1.54 each. The highest denomination note is MF25,000 or $3.85!

Chris story: During the war in Serbia and Yugoslavia, the mayor of Seville, Spain asked his people to donate unused drugs to the people of the war torn land. The city sent nineteen freight containers of pills, unsorted and with expirations dating to the forties. Because the cost of sorting through the mess exceeded the value, the shipment was burned.

Tu 8/10/99 - Ambilobe

We joined Chris and Patricia on a private ferry they had booked for the one hour trip from Crater Bay to the mainland at Ankify. Our ferry was a western style fishing boat owned by a big expat. Fortunately, it had two motors so that one could run while the expat tried to start the other - this alternated throughout the crossing. The ride otherwise was fast and pretty, sun beaming on the sea and views of Nosy Be, Nosy Komba, Tanikeli, other islands and the mainland.

On the mainland our bags were placed on the muddy bank and we were tossed into a long discussion with our translator and our would be driver. With Rudy, I firmly expressed my preference for an English speaking driver, but here we had a translator and a driver, Jacques and Patrice. We stood on the muddy sea bank for more than half an hour, attempting to sort through the differences in understanding what Rudy had told us. The original deal on our side was that we would hire a car and English speaking driver for MF160,000 per day and we would also pay for his food, but the price could come down, it was negotiable. Now we had a translator and a driver and were told that the cost would be MF160,000 per day plus food and accommodation for both. The automobile owner didn't trust letting the car out, he would drive, and so we would have two people in the little car. We compromised at MF140,000 per day and lodging and food for only one person.

Chris and Patricia sped away in a new Range Rover and their driver (their costs averaged to $100 / person /day including tenting, park fees, and tenting) while I stared a very old and small Peugeot 4 with bald tires, tiny windscreen with wipers that blocked the shotgun passengers view, door windows that only slid open to expose half the window, and with a funky gear shift in the center of the dashboard. We would later find that the gas tank leaked. The car carried signs on the doors from a company in France where it was originally purchased and since then lived in Reunion before moving to Madagascar.

Although the distance from Ankify to the popular tourist city of Diego Suarez (Antsiranana) is only 200 kilmometers, two days is recommended because of the normal bad road condition there and found throughout Madagascar. They weren't kidding. The road between the two points passed through small villages with very modest houses raised above the ground a few centimeters on logs of small trees that reach the straw roofs and walls of bamboo slats. The villages are without electricity and so in the early evening there were small fires were lit and people gathered around. When I asked Jacques about education, he replied that ten years is normal in the towns but in these rural areas children don't attend school.

We stopped to a break and to buy provisions in the tree lined village of Ambanja. There we ran into Chris and Patricia eating samosas in a small very local restaurant, then walked through the market with Jacques. The market was similar to Hellville's in that the vendors shaded their goods with off white square umbrellas and beneath was a similar array of vegetables and fruits. A building housed people selling chucks of zebu blanketed with flies, even the cow's face mask and entrails were available.

The LP described a good side trip from Ambanja to Sirama where the largest sugarcane and alcohol processing plant in the country exists. When I mentioned Sirama, Patrice looked very interested in driving us there, but I don't know why. The road was worse than terrible and moving was painfully slow. I gathered that the road was built the sugarcane plant in the fifties and never maintained since. The road was a patch work of short sections of tarmac allowing a pitiful burst of speed, otherwise the road was either the original roadway foundation or the dirt beneath that. We often drove off the center on waves of dirt and bumps. We moved along at ten kilometres per hour and at that speed the temperature inside the Peugeot 4 rose. I just wanted to yell out, "Hit the damn gas!". I fantasised of John and I bombing along the road on rented motorcycles.

When we finally reached the processing plant an hour later we saw remnants of what must have been an efficient and respectable operation at one time. Now the transportation rails are unused and miscellaneous equipment is abandoned along with various buildings. It was like entering a time warp. The main processing buildings, old as everything else, was impressive. A huge crane clawed at and picked up immense amounts of cane beneath to start the process. We bobbed between three offices for the correct paperwork for a tour f the plant but in the end were unsuccessful. We drove back the same way into Ambanja, another long and painful experience.

Our next stop would be the nature reserved named, in French and Malagasy, "reserve Speciale De L'Ankarana", but our guides said we wouldn't be able to make it today and that there aren't hotels nearby the park entrance so instead we headed for Ambilobe, a frisky settlement lining the road.

We checked two hotels out, one was a bit too native and near the main road, the other - Lotus Blue - was filled for the night, and we then settled on Hotel Ankarana. The price was MF25,000 per room, and we took two. One was for the guides although I wasn't sure we were responsible for paying their whole amount. My preference would have been for separate beds and mosquito nets, but the time was late and I figured I could simply sleep totally beneath a sheet.

The guides dropped us off at Lotus Blue for dinner then probably went to a street side vendor instead. Our meal was absolutely gluttonous and tasty. I couldn't finish my portion of fish with a tomato sauce and Helen also could not finish her zebu steak. we didn't even order pudding (dessert).

Sleep was fitful, mosquitoes attacked and my cover was too heavy for cover from the pests, I created a hothouse and although I left an opening from the sheet for my mouth, I sweated like a racehorse.

We 8/11/99 - L'Ankarana Reserve

The four of us left Ambilobe in the dusty Peugeot at 7am, stopping first for baguettes, bread rolls, bananas, tangerines, and water. The drive to the reserve was short in comparison to yesterdays haul, only an hour. Before reaching the park entrance at Mahamasina Gate the road made an ascent that afforded nice views across the flat land we had just driven, long views of dry rolling yellow and green plains dotted with trees.

At Reserve Speciale De L'Ankarana, we sorted through the options and pricing. We took a mandatory guide and rented a beat tent and with Jacques set off for a three hour walk.

park entrance per one foreigner 50,000

entrance per one Malagsy 2,500

guide to Lac Vert / Tsingy 60,000

tent rental 10,000

We focused on birds, lemurs, and trees in that order. Between our guide, named Desire (des-er-ray), and Jacques, Helen was able to realise French and Latin names of birds and plants. I caught what I could from the conversations, and spotted magpie robin, crested drongo, paradise flycatcher, ibis, and pigeon. I see that I am nearing the wild colored birds of Africa. One interesting bird story is of the paradise flycatcher, that alternates color each year, from black body and white breast to black with red breast.

At a clearing and four by four car stop we rested and watched lemurs and a ring-tailed mongoose watch us. The lemurs are constant curiosity for me and the mongoose was very pretty, rust colored fur and black rings on the tail.

Lemurs are endemic to Madagascar and the Comores. There are thirty different species those found in the north include the crowned, black, grey bamboo, sportive, fork-marked, greater dwarf, and the aye-aye. We commonly saw the crowned lemur and once watched a lazy nocturnal sportive sitting in a tree hollow, eyes red-brown and large.

It's hard to describe the a lemur, they vary between species in size and coat, one has tuffs of hair, one has ears like a bat, one is the size of a mouse, and one even hibernates. The crowned lemur seems to be a cross between weasel, monkey, and racoon. The legs are long, the rear long than the front. The tail is bushing and especially long and they bound from tree to tree like a monkey.

The walk took only two and a half hours. The trail was well manicured and spotless from trash, very flat and fast. Our campsite was on a slightly sloping hillside amongst the forest trees. The guides set up our ratty tent then we walked on to witness the bizarre tisngy.

Tsingy is formed from rain erosion on limestone and the result is hard, very sharp, vertically grooved gray colored stone. We walked across a plateau of tsingy and to a an observation platform over looking a fascinating canyon gorged from a millennium of erosion. At one end the canyon was squared and at the bottom was a stagnant metallic green lake. We all gazed along the gray canyon walls and down at the lake. In the center of the water a black stick slithered slowly across - an eel.

We continued our walk around the canyon to another platform of tsingy. There I made the precarious walk to photograph a lone palm cactus plant, a dracaenia, that found fruitration amongst the stone. The tsingy is extremely sharp, one slip and it would slice through a calf or hand. Very thin tsingy sounds like china when thunked.

We returned to camp about 230pm, forked over money to Jacques and Desire then made ourselves at home in our peaceful camp. There was room for a few more tents within bush surrounded patches, but we were alone and that's better for the feeling of nature.

One minute down the hill was a stream. I sat there and listened to unusual and strange noises of the Malagasy bush - frogs, birds, lemurs crashing though trees and calling out, fish stabbing the surface of the trickling brook. All these sounds were unusual for they were Malagasy frogs and birds and primates. I focused on the Madagascar forest sounds and the stream faded from consciousness. Some frog croaks were humorous, and some bird and lemur cries eerie, but it was wonderful.

Since we only had a two man tent but also a mosquito net, Helen took the tent and I staked down the net on the second best flat spot, well within the bush with some opening to the sky. Mosquito's weren't a bother or concern but scorpions are. Scorpions here are not deadly but the sting in extremely painful, and even though it would have made a good story I tried to avoid being stung. I staked the tent as low to the ground as possible, attached the top to a nylon clothes I purchased in Singapore and then used rocks to lessen the space between the uneven ground and the net bottom. I laid my thermorest down, then my sulu, used my sleeping bag cover stuffed with the long jacket as a pillow. I let Helen use my sleeping bag as a mattress and used my simulation silk sheet as cover.

After dinner of more tuna fish and baguettes and then a nice fire I retired excitedly to my home for the night. The stars were out and through the net I could see many. I leaned my flashlight on my shoulder and read Wilbur Smith's "Seventh Scroll" until I was sleepy. As I laid amidst the noises of the cool night I drew a hard breath of crisp forest scented air. I was happy with my position and being back in mountains again.

Chris story: Sri Leon, rebels cut off the hands of two hundred people so they couldn't vote against the militant party.

Th 8/12/99 - Parc National de Montagne d'Ambre

I enjoyed the night under the mosquito net, I hadn't felt the painful sting of a scorpion and not one mosquito, lemur, mongoose, or even dew had bothered me. But, because my feet hung over the end on my orange thermorest mattress pad, I woke after each new sleeping position because my feet and ankles hurt. Had I been more forethoughtful, I would have fixed the problem by using my backpack or leaves or something.

Helen and I alternated washing in the small, slowly moving river below. I had wondered if bilharzia (schistosomiasis) was a problem here and asked each guide and Chris when he visited the campsite if there was a problem - the guides said 'no' and Chris though not. But now I just read the Lonely Planet "Madagascar and Comoros" on the topic and will be going for a test when I return home. Bilharzia is a parasitic worm found in fresh water throughout Africa. They live in snails and borrow through the flesh causing little symptoms until damaging internal organs. There were snails on the streambed.

After washing and breakfast of bread, cheese, Nutella, and jam, we were back on the trail and our car and drivers.

The road slowly rose and dip and crossed long plains of yellow and red textured grasses. On a rise an unusual looking town hugged the road. The homes were traditional - small, rectangular, elevated, and made with a frame of posts covered with straw and thatch. But, the somewhat orderly spaced and similar buildings had a look of temporariness. Before I could yell "stop!" for a picture we were in the village and Jacques was searching for something along the side of the road. Finally he found it and stopped. This was a frontier town near a sapphire mine. The livelihood of residents was mining and selling the stones. We had stopped at a makeshift stall and the merchant spread a handful of sapphires to view. I was interested for a moment, but what do you do with an uncut and non-mounted sapphire? So, I walked through the quiet village to the north end, past people braiding hair, washing, cooking on small fires, and kids playing, then up a hill for a photograph.

Our next goal Parc National de Montagne d'Ambre, the park systems jewel of the north. The reserve covers 45,000 acres and is managed by the World Wildlife Foundation (WWF).

We turned left from the main road to Diego and bumped 22 kilometers up and into Joffreville (Ambohitra), the last village before the park. Joffreville once was a French military post and thus has large deteriorating concrete buildings and local abodes in the background. The short main street is incredibly out of maintenance and rather then stopping to check for accommodation at the three or four hotels and auberges there, we went another seven kilometers to the park entrance. After forty five minutes we paid for a room for two nights (MF25,000/night), and a guide for tomorrow (MF50,000).

Inside the park entrance are other signs of the past French presence. The pretty road in is lined with Brazilian conifers, which are interesting because every three feet are double rings, counting all the double rings on the tree and multiplying by four yields the trees age. There is a dilapidated research building nearby a flat area used for tenting. An aqueduct runs down the mountain, past the entrance, and into Joffreville.

Once the Jacques and Patrice dropped us at the small lodge we sent them off to stay in Diego Suarez (MF35,000 per night hotel, MF15,000 per day food, and MF15,000 for petrol).

We were very impressed by the lodge, a sturdy and attractive concrete and wood finished building with a kitchen, large dining/living room, and only three rooms. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and I sat in the sunny communal room to read and type. We were alone in the building and liking the luxury. Helen was off for a short walk and I occasionally glanced out the window at the manicured lawns and hedges and garden abutting the lodge. A forest trail ran by and earlier Chris and Patricia strolled past.

I worried of bumping into them constantly, I thought they had enough of our faces although it appears differently. While Chris was laid out with a horrible cold, Patricia stopped by for a long chat and to extend an invitation to dinner which we readily accepted since our food supply was questionable. Once reaching Diego, Chris plans to fly to Tana to sort through an email account while Patricia returned to the catamaran in Hellville. She's nervous of being alone on the boat, she has little experience around boats and has often asked us to keep her company.

During our dinner prepared by their cook, spaghetti bolonais, the only testament to Chris's existence was a cough from the tent somewhere in the dark. The three of us shivered in the cold - amazing how cold it is here, a little bit higher, maybe 1000 meters - and I sat back to listen to Helen and Patricia chat, and for a time, to Patricia and her cook in French. Sitting on the sideline while a conversation runs that is foreign is frustrating, I feel removed, inadequate, and quickly bored.

Chris and Patricia had paid a lot for their trip, even including the four by four, driver, guide, and cook. Patricia especially feels it in the pocket and when she saw they were tenting amongst a group of others and that we had such a nice lodge, she was more indignant. Since the company didn't properly prepare them for the cold, I lent my sleeping bag to Patricia.

I commanded the top bunk in our spacious room. There was only a sheet and one wool blanket so I slept in two T-shirts, cotton shorts, and my long jacket. My upper body sweat and legs shivered, and although the bed could have used a few more inches, I slept well enough to awoke at 4am to lay with my mind wandering about the next few days and my attempt to reach Nairobi and what I would one there.

Fr 8/13/99 - Parc National de Montagne d'Ambre

I set the alarm on my Casio watch for 6am although I was awake long before. Helen and I were ready for our guide at 7am, but he overslept and appeared an our late. Lucein claimed he spoke "small" English, but he did well. He new the forest intimately, for every question we asked he had the answer but one.

Our walk was five hours long and all it could be - a little exercise, unique rain forest scenery along fine paths, a guide who was very knowledgeable, and an amazing array of animals and plants for the viewing. We walked to a small waterfall nearby our camp, then up a steep hill to a winding dirt mountain road. This road provided a fantastic view over the top of the forest and into the distance to ragged Cap D'Ambre. Further up the trail forked and we descended left to a green lake. While walking Lucein pointed out and identified the birds by sight and call, and ferns and trees.

We backtracked and passed our lodge and the vacant research station to the park access road. A trail to the left brought us to another waterfall, and another trail further along the access road carried us across the park. The trail was lined with planted trees, beyond was natural growth filled with the life of the wild.

The trained eye is amazing. Chameleons, lizards that change color from green to red to blue, are normally colored to match their background. They're ridiculously difficult to see for most people. We stood at the trailside, Patricia and her guide Antonio. walked up and instantly he looked down and said, "Want to see a chameleon?". He moved a branch and pointed. He had to bring his finger within an inch of this inch long creature before we could see it! Yesterday, on the drive in, Lucein was in the car as we sped along and he asked if we wanted to see a chameleon. Granted this one was bigger, but it blended into the background perfectly - and we were driving by in a car, the closest we passed was seven meters away!

Lucein led us from the path to another road where we observed our forth troop of lemurs today, these were brown lemurs. We watched in amazement as they flew between trees above our heads to cross the road. Two young lemurs were curious and bold enough to come to the lower branches near us, within ten feet or so. Unfortunately, my camera batteries were shot and I missed the photo opportunity.

A viewpoint revealed an 82 meter falls tossed from thick forest to rock below. Lucein had a problem with his foot and offered to wait while we descended to the bottom. I ran down while Helen dawdled. At the base of the falls was a fairly clear pool. Waterfalls are remarkably deceiving - the amount of water falling through the air seems a magnitude more in volume than that running from the base. After seeing an impressive falls, I often think, "Is that all?" when I see the river below, but leave it to nature to impress us with little.

Lucein's walk from Joffreville to meet us in the morning took an hour and a half, so he peeled off a few kilometers before the our walks end to way back home. Helen and I sauntered along the well manicured trail, in particular the first wide section that led up a small hill and was bordered neatly by trees. Hopelessly, we searched for chameleons, but we did sight more birds, and enjoyed large and hanging ferns, and huge palm plants.

BIRDS:

paradise flycatcher

Ambre mountain forest rock thrush

Madagascar white throated rail

Madagascar kingfisher

Madagascar drundo

white aye

lesser fasa parrot

Madagascar blue pigeon

helmeted guinea fowl

Madagascar bulbil

CHAMELEONS:

calumna brevionis

calumna aushaughnesis

brookesia stumpfie

TREES:

ramy

canarium

Madagascar iensis

dracaenia

aralia

pandanus

An English mother and her daughter were the only other guests in the small lodge. They accepted my invite for a short walk before dark. They were from the Midlands, the mother a zoologist, the daughter finishing up a second degree in nursing, the first was mathematics and didn't suit her. They were an all inclusive trip through the national parks and had a four by four, driver, and cook. Since we were all becoming friendly and there was more food than they could manage, we were more than glad to assist in the chore of devouring fish and zebu brochettes, and vegetables. Once again we weren't cooking and I was glad for it.

Chris story: Chris spent three weeks on Congo River on local transportation, steamships reminiscent of Joseph Conrad. His quest included searching for Black Headed Bee Eater and the Congo Flamingo

Sa 8/14/99 - Diego Suarez (Antsiranana)

Jacques and Patrice arrived just after nine. Helen and I were just returning from little walks. We piled our kit through the fifth door of the little beige French car and zoomed down the mountain towards Diego Saurez.

I was very interested in seeing this town of 75,000. It would be the first in Madagascar. I found sprawl of mixed old colonial buildings and on the outskirts ramshackle homes Even in this city the many roads are full of huge potholes, and that's good because some are just lumps of dirt and rubble. The center had a circle though that's attractive and neat, lined with a few restaurants and many buildings closed for the weekend, metal shutters drawn for security.

We searched the town for a hotel, of the eight we checked only one was a available and asked double what it should. The search was exhausting and we eventually came upon the Diamont, a little seedier than others, but the cost was okay at MF46,000. Although Helen didn't like the looks, she consented after looking at yet another filled for the night around the corner.

After dropping our bags and a huddle about what to do for the afternoon we set off for the popular beach nearby named Rimena. Rimena was further away than I imagined, a slow hour along potholed roads. We drove through the dusty town, past a large cemetery of British war dead who fought the Vichy forces (French siding with Germany), and to a high outlook over French Bay and the peculiar island of Nosy Lonja, a tall cone centered in the bay.

Rimena Beach is a popular day trip from Diego although there is some lodging. The road t-boned into the sea, right the Peugeot 4's parked and left were very local eating places. The beach had many pirogues (dugout boats) and dhows lining it, palms hung over the sand, and children running and splashing. A few pirogues came to shore with supplies of beer and staple foods.

Jacques and Patrice ate near the car at a small wooden stall while we chose the Oasis Restaurant. I had a fine meal of calamari and chips and we split a large bottle of Sprite.

After a side trip to another bay, this one smaller and nearly enclosed in a circle, we bounced back to the city.

Near Chris's hotel, the Colbert, is a nice French run ice cream and snack cafe with email. I hope I can't type this again, but this was by far the worse email connection yet. Madagascar is very backwards with tele-communication, phones are seldom found, and the closest internet provider is in Tana (Antananarivo), the country's capitol 800 kilometers away. Although the email was thoroughly frustrating, in an hour and a half I read five and sent two messages and I was charged the whole amount (MF1,00/min) even through the connection was lost, I did enjoy the ice cream, having three small doubles of chocolate coconut and Diego vanilla.

After dinner, I asked the guys for nightlife, Helen wasn't interested, so the three of us went to the Tropical Disco. I paid for their entrance and their drinks, everything was MF10,000 - Coke, beer, entrance. We arrived about ten o'clock, and it had yet to fill. Later the disc was packed, many young locals dancing to the beat while facing a wall of mirrors, the tall stools at the bar were occupied by old vazaha (Malagasy for white people) men, most likely French, checking out the girls and some being entertained by those available for the night at small cost (MF50,000 - $7.69).

We sat together at a small round table in a dark corer near the bar end. Soon the two left the old white guy and I sat and half focused on the scene. An old lumpy man with white hair and thick square glasses walked in with a very attractive young Malagasy girl in a tight short white skirt and a tight wrap around her neck and breasts. For most of the night he sat on a bar stool and she danced toward him. She eyed all the vazaha while attempting to dance provocatively, but she was awkward which was humorous, but she was about fifteen years old and that was sad. We would see around Diego and in the parks many Frenchmen travelling with local women, I guess both sides are satisfied, it brings money into the poor third world local community.

When Jacques returned to the table I asked, "What do you think about the women?". He winced, shook his head side to side, and shrugged his shoulders. I pointed to my left, "That girl is something special.". She was very beautiful, slender and a perfect pretty face, long braided hair past her bottom. She wore a orange-red tye-dyed sun dress, and sat with her elbows on her knees, chin in the palms of her hands, looking a bit disinterested. Jacques laughed, "Her?! She's my girlfriend. She didn't tell me she would be here, she came with Almond, the driver.". She soon came to our table and cuddled to Jacques most of the night while he give her the cold shoulder. (Jacques is 25 years old, his girl 18)

As I sat in what felt like familiar surrounds, simply another disco, like many in the world, I felt comfortable and almost part of it. Then a realisation hit me - Jacques was the only person amongst the hundred here I could speak to. Patrice, Jacques' girl, and all the locals spoke Malagasy with some French. Damn, I was just an observer.

Another young and almost as pretty girl danced by the table in a tight white skirt and top, and too high white flat shoes. I don't know exactly how it happened, she didn't know Patrice, they didn't dance together, and they didn't talk, but when we left at 2am, both girls were in the car also.

Su 8/15/99 - Parc National de Montagne d'Ambre

At 630am I awoke to a wailing baby and screaming mother. Below our widow was a loo made of corrugated panels and no roof. Attached was a home and large noisy family.

I ate breakfast in the restaurant downstairs without Helen. I knew I could figure something out on the menu and ended up ordering two fried eggs and an egg omelette. Okay, so I didn't know the word for eggs in French, but I pigged out.

Helen and I had enjoyed Ambre Park so much, we decided to return for the night. Jacques and Patrice dropped us at the park around noon, we paid the MF50,000 entrance and MF25,000 nights accommodation per person and had room number one again.

In the afternoon, I walked for an hour to Antonboka Falls alone, then back with a Belgium couple. The man was mid-thirties, tall, long curly hair, thick stubble, a veteran traveller. Amongst his many trips, he has visited Indonesia fourteen times.

I wanted lemur pictures and had passed one troop twice, but the lighting was too dim in the trees for a shot, I just observed and enjoyed with curiosity the strange animals.

Our night guide didn't show, and instead of a walk I was happy to fall asleep on couch in the living room, then later made my way to my sleeping bag and top bunk.

Chris story: In Sri Leon his company, Merlin, produced a song titled, "xxx is bad for you" to build public awareness of the disease. They paid a songwriter and local music group to produce the song, and it reached the upper charts. Thereafter they used similar tactics for public awareness for active diseases.

Mo 8/16/99 - Crater Be, Nosy Be - 13 23.88 S, 48 13.12 E

Our return drive to Nosy Be was fast, I believe the guides wanted to return early. In contrast to our journey north, we flew at break neck speeds through villages and long open stretches, only slowly abruptly for potholes and some speed bumps before and after bridges.

We only made one stop in Anivorano North for fuel. To keep myself entertained I typed observations through the window of the little old beige Peugeot. The land was rolling expanse of dry grass, trees, and shrubs, the distance views are attractive to the higher mountains, I wonder what the land was like before French colonists and locals cleared the forests. Most crop areas were bright green rice paddy fields, some plowed by young boys with two zebu and a paddlewheel. Villages are rough, basic homes of wood and straw on red earth. Along the roadside products are displayed for sale - jackfruit, baskets, spicy lemon and pepper concoctions in Coke bottles.

On our trip to Diego, we passed an accident where a semi truck hit a small vehicle, the vehicle went through concrete posts on a small bridge and burnt in the stream below. The semi's front left quarter was caved in. On our return trip now six days later the semi had been totally dismantled and carted away in small pieces.

At the south end of the sapphire mining town, Ambondrofehy, about fifty homes were burnt down, only black and gray ash squares remained.

The drive took only four and a half hours, we were at the Ankify ferry landing just after noon. While waiting for our chosen tourist ferry, five times the local ferry (MF25,000 versus MF5,000), the four of us sat in indecision for were we to pay the total of MF980,000 (7 x 140,000) to Patrice or was Jacques to receive some. We passed it all to Patrice and worried about Jacques - did he spend a week away to return without anything?. Later, we would have tipped him at least, but he ran off in the taxi that brought us the short distance from the Hell-ville port to Oasis for lunch, after he had us overpay the taxi driver by double - I wasn't happy for that, his loyalty didn't lay with us. I hope Jacques, Patrice, and Rudy will sort it out.

Lunch was a pig out on pizza, we then walked in drizzle around Hell-ville for errands including confirming an airline ticket for me to Nairobi. For dinner Scotty invited us aboard for spaghetti - his friends Bob and Anna, an Australian and Siberian, left during the afternoon, now he's alone since Sheila flew home also.

Tu 8/17/99 - Crater Be, Nosy Be - 13 23.88 S, 48 13.12 E

Helen and I arranged a car and driver from Hussein yesterday, and when we arrived the dock Jean Claude was awaiting with a red diesel Peugeot station wagon. Our first goal was the Reserve Naturelle Integrale de Lokobe (Lokobe Reserve), and instead of entering the park directly, which would have required a 4x4, we were driven to Ambatozavavy and negotiated for a pirogue, guide, and entrance fee into the park. Regot, speaking to Helen in French, convinced us that we really wanted to go for MF175,000.

We walked onto the beach and were sat into the primitive wooden boat. Roget sat forward followed by myself, Helen, and a Malagasy named Ahmadi.. This pirogue was narrow with an outrigger on starboard and similar lighter extension on port that a sail is secured to if when there is wind. The hull was made of boards abutted with iron nails, otherwise the outrigger and connecting parts were interlocking or held together by rope. I questioned its seaworthiness and slowly leaked but felt solid once underway.

Placed directly in front of me was a solid wooden paddle and I took the hint and labored with Roget and Ahmadi. The sky was clear and the sea very calm. We passed quietly along the coast, between mangroves, and beside pretty and empty bright sand beaches. We arrived in Ampasipohy forty minutes and some sweat later. Ampasipohy, like Ambatozavavy is a village of very basic homes raised on stones, posted with mangrove, walls of travelers palm slats, and thatched roofs. But this village is only accessible by zebu or 4x4 and with that difficulty, we felt we were in the heart of Madagascar.

Roget guided Helen and I for a little over an hour. He explained in French the names and intricacies of various wild plants such as green pepper, pineapple, vanilla, coffee bean, a cure for fevers, and so on. We followed Roget and mosquitoes followed us. At a rise in the forest, Roget stopped and made the pig noise by scratching the back of his throat with his tongue, and clapped. Bounding through the trees came a troop of cute black lemurs hoping for banana. Eight lemurs gathered around us, sitting on branches or half hanging from the sides of trees, very expectant. The males have black fuzzy coats and long fuzzy tails. Contrary to nature's norm, the females are prettier than the males with shiny red coats and white tufted faces, also with long fuzzy tails. We watched the lemurs in wonderment, and the cute and curious little primates stared back.

Further through the woods we crossed a two meter boa constrictor resting a tree seven feet high, curled amongst itself, it's head in sunrays. He provided us with a fun five minutes, although when he made a move for Blacky Roget and I jumped from apprehension.

We walked further on, by a Madagascar tufted drongo known as the king of the forest for it can kill larger birds. There was also a large brown cookoo, and few sunbirds.

We browsed through the crafts made in Ampasipohy after our guided tour - wooden masks, pirogues, ships, dice sets, and necklaces. The tide was much lower and we walked across hard mud flats to our pirogue and set off for another sweaty forty minute voyage back in the sun and mellow sea.

Roget and Ahmadi convinced us to have them cook for us, offering four fish, six mud crabs, coconut rice, and mango salad. We couldn't resist, we both looked forward to more mud crab after the feast in Russia Bay.

In Ambatozavavy we were escorted into a small typical simple hut arranged for accommodating tourists. There was a separate bedroom, a sitting room plastered with glossy pages of people pictures from some magazine, and a small porch where we sat and had a table placed between us. After an hour of cooking we feasted. The crabs, cooked in saffron and other spices, weren't as large as those in Russia Bay so they were more difficult to eat, but Helen focused them while I enjoyed the spicy grilled fish much more. It was a good couple of hours in the local village and having a few men cook over a wood fire behind our little adhoc restaurant, in fact the whole day was great so far and we were very happy with it.

On the way to our car, which had to be push started, we browsed over natural colored cotton tablecloths with embroider cut-out designs. These are made and sold around Nosy Be and could make attractive gifts, but like the wooden work I like earlier - how do I deal with carrying these things, what would be the hassle and cost of shipping them home? Helen bought one for MF100,000.

Because the time was getting on, 3pm, Jean Claude quickly motored us across the island the 320 sq km island. The objective was Mont Passot (330m), but on the way we took a crazy side trip to the L'Arbre Sacre (Sacred Tree). Dirt roads shifted left and right through and around sugar plantation fields. At one spot the cane closed in on the road and car, we wheeled through a near tunnel of high sugarcane. Ahead of us was a luminous green Renault 4 taxi which slowed our progress but added to the perspective of the cane. The banyan tree was absolutely huge, in square area more than the square area of Hi Velocity. Banyan trees are really strange looking, not one trunk and a spread of branches above, but a mass of roots growing straight from the ground and here to twelve feet in height before having some spread above. My mouth dropped, "wow!". The French occupants of the taxi and Helen, Jean Claude, and I walked between the roots and branches in the light dimmed by the banyan. Four small dirty boys appeared and watched us assessing the huge tree. A vine hung free in a hollow of the tree and was fashioned into a swing with a ball of roots at the base. I swung about, twisting for each forward swing and pumping my knees for momentum. A girl from the taxi with blazing died auburn hair did the same, then one of the small boys. Jean Claude by now raced the engine to signal our departure.

We drove through a corner of Hell-ville, then north on the west coast through large fields of sugarcane and a couple small villages before turning toward the interior on dirt roads. We climbed the narrow road to find many cars, mostly taxis, parked at the end. The top of the mountain was clear and fifty people, consisting of tourists and locals selling the cotton cloths and other items, wandered about. This vantage point afforded excellent views to the south and west of Nosy Be. Finally I could get a good feel for this island. In the distance was Nosy Komba Tanikeli, and somewhere across to the mainland Russian Bay. I spotted Ambatotomboka, the crater I had climbed eleven days ago, Nosy Sakatia, and in the distance to the north Nosy Mitsio, the (with emphasis) place to go for superb diving and an isolated retreat. The sun was lowering toward the horizon so the light was casting warm glows across the land. Below the mountain is a handful of crater lakes, depressions in the land formed thousands of years ago and then filled with rain water from mountain runoff. Other bumps and partly blown away craters were spread across the island, testaments to the once active volcanic area, now cover forest or cut for farming. Far away in the darkening green land a couple of high volume water sprinklers fed newly seeded farm land, the spray was nicely backlit. The sight was very pleasant and we, along with the few dozen others there, enjoyed the view and watching the sun lower to the Mozambique Channel. (Although Madagascar has volcanic activity, the island was formed as a separation from the African continent which all was once part of Gondawanaland.)

We made a plan with Patricia, whoever was back at the boat earlier would check the dock for the others at 6pm, then 7pm, and 8pm. We arrived fifteen minutes before 7pm, and waited and tried to check through the darkness with Helen's binoculars of activity in the harbor. Eventually we heard a motor and Scotty fetched us, Patricia is having a difficult time becoming comfortable with the workings of Hi Velocity and the dinghy and typical things that happen around sailboats.

We 8/18/99 - Crater Be, Nosy Be - 13 23.88 S, 48 13.12 E

I sat in the saloon of Hi Velocity until 1pm. Helen and Patricia had left early for a couple of dives with Tropical Divers (MF320/2), and I took the opportunity to relax alone and do a few personal tasks for myself such us fixing by daypack - a shoulder strap detached, fixing my cheap sunglasses - a arm pin fell out, move and replace batteries in my cameras, washing my Cassiopeia cover, and then catching up on the journal. I've also been feeling a little below par, hopefully only allergies are the cause, I woke with a very sore throat, and thought that resting may help. I had retrieved my two CD's from Scotty two nights ago, and played them both while drinking weak Orange Zinger tea and snacking a little.

At 1pm, I dinghy-ed to the dock, then walked into Ambatoloaka through the ultra small village of Dar Es Salaam, then onto the beach. It was a nice summer like day, albeit eventually too hot so I stopped at an inviting restaurant for a Coke ("Coca"), and stumbled through the few words of French I know with the bemused and hostile appearing waitress - what a pain. Nearby two large French women with hairy armpits sat and spoke that language foreign to me also.

An older man in tattered clothes stopped on the beach outside the restaurant and played a home-made instrument and sang. He had a rough wooden box with strings and a heart shaped hole on each side, supporting the box from a neckstrap, and resting it against his chest. It was like two sandwiched harpsichords. He picked and strummed and sang nicely, a mellow Malagasy song. I relaxed and listened and alternated my gaze from him to the open sea. I felt comfortably versus my anguish of the language barrier. I had pulled two MF1,000 bills from my wallet and when he finished I left the restaurant and placed the bills in his dirty worn cap.

Again I passed through the small village and back onto the beach. I walked to the southern end and since it was low tide, onto exposed rocks. I wandered on and laughed at fish and crabs scampering across the rock and into pools because of my presence. I continued on and wondered if I would be led back to Crater Bay, but before making it there I found a cove with a dock and oil storage tanks behind it all. I worried a little of passing through private property to access whatever road may be there, but there wasn't a cause for alarm. I passed six women wearing colorful dresses and sitting on a wall, workers waiting for a ride I assumed, then walked up the roadway.

At the top of the road I found a view through thick bush of Crater Bay, really an obstructed view, and a pretty women in a red dress and makeup walked right behind me, lifting up her skirt. What? She looked at me with somewhat frantic eyes and made her way into the shrubs to squat. Hmmm.

Behind, the hill still ascended and I took a little used path up through thick grass and bush and then into hot open sunlight where I started to sweat. Further up I looked into the sun and also saw a funny Gary Larson-like silhouette of horns and ears pointing straight out - the head of a zebu over the rise, and he was watching me.

The hilltop was mostly cleared and just yellow grass and had great views in nearly every direction. The sky was nearly cloudless. I could see Crater Bay well, Hi Velocity, Kingston Rover, and Alk sat happily amongst other yachts in the calm sea. Just south was the very round and high Nosy Komba, to the right the little snorkel spot, Tanikeli, across the straight the entrance to Russian Bay was easy to see. The view north overlooked Ambatoloaka Beach, the crater hill I climbed, and many hectres of sugarcane. Both last night and today I had very decent views of the surroundings of Nosy Be.

After exploring the hilltop, I found shade, laid my blue sulu down, and typed notes for today while having a view of Hi Velocity directly in front of me. I could watch the boat and look out for the dinghy out of curiosity It's rare that I type exactly what I am doing at the time, but this is one of those instances.

Chris asked invited another prospective buyer of the catamaran for dinner. Helen and Patricia prepared shrimp, rice, and vegetables. The guest was Lynn Peterson, an American via Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Washington state. Lynn works for the World Wildlife Foundation (WWF) and is currently based in Diego and has spent seven years here but also worked in east Africa for years also. She explained the details of the many parks around Madagascar and helped Chris, Patricia, and Helen to decide on there future travel in the country.

Th 8/19/99 - Crater Be, Nosy Be - 13 23.88 S, 48 13.12 E

I woke again with a sore throat, plugged sinuses, and a headache. The morning was spent packing for tomorrow's big departure and talking with Patricia and Helen.

We left the boat after noon, walked into Ambatoloaka for errands and lunch (vanilla fish, sauce good, fish very beat), and then Patricia and I shared a taxi-brousse with a few locals to Hell-ville (MF5,000).

My main objective for the day was to pay for and pick up my airline ticket on Air Austral from Nosy Be to Nairobi, Kenya. I had mixed feelings on the move, I wished a compelling reason would appear why I should stay on, but that was difficult, I have only six weeks before potentially meeting Sue in Harare, meaning I have that time to cover Kenya, Tanzania, and Malawi - not much.

Stores and offices are closed from noon until 230pm, so I time my arrival at Air Austral for their afternoon opening. Stephen from Mariutus assisted ed out again, very polite, helpful, and he spoke English very well. I purchased the ticket for a price - $390 (eck!), and he even called Nairobi to confirm reservation at the 680 Hotel in the city, the same hotel I spent my first night in Africa twelve years ago with Stephen Quinn. It's expensive (US$45), but with the scary stories from every direction about the violence in Nairobi and the fact that I am arriving after dark, having transport and a room arranged is wise. Funny that, me being wise.

For dinner, Chris spoiled Helen and I for dinner. Scotty came along for the company and dessert, Patricia stays aboard Hi Velocity. Since Chris had email and DHL (roller furling) and other errands to fix in Tana for a couple of days, Patricia spent time diving. Curiously, on two of three dives over two days she vomited after surfacing strange, what was that?

Fr 8/19/99 - Nairobi, Kenya

Woke to attempt to finish Wilbur Smith's "Seventh Scroll", transferring journal to Chris's Macintosh Powerbook to spellcheck and place on a floppy.

Patricia left early for diving, and it was sad saying my first goodbye.

Scotty came by with a smile and a name and letter of introduction to friends in Narobi. We said goodbye, maybe we'll see each other in South Africa.

Flight to Nairobi is at 330pm!!

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references:

Madagascar and Comores, Lonely Plant

East Africa Pilot, delwyn McPhun

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