I’m still continuing south on RN7. There was another police/military checkpoint just outside Ambositra, but it was just a matter of quickly looking at my passport.

At some point I had a break and noticed a tiny chameleon on the ground. Unfortunately, I don’t know its name.

Later, back on the road and seemingly far away from any settlement, a few little girls stood on the tarmac and tried to sell me some physalis while I rode past. At first I wasn’t interested, but after a few meters I changed my mind and stopped. This made the girls scream and run away. Eventually they came out of their hiding place at the escarpment and I managed to buy a bag of physalis fruits.

I made it to Ambohimahasoa, where I noticed a sign for a kind of hotel, and decided to stay. The hotel was located at the edge of the village and seemed fairly new and unfinished in a way, but also somewhat decrepit. I did receive a great dinner, though.

Cycled: 95km

Morning mist over Ambositra

A cozy fire...

...gone wrong.

So yesterday I tried to find more Madagascar maps, especially of the area west of Antsirabe, but failed. I made up my mind to continue south, on ‘known’ (mapped) terrain, maybe to Fianarantsoa.

But today I only made it to Ambositra, allegedly the ‘arts-and-crafts capital of Madagascar’. And indeed are there quite some shops that sell carved figurines and tools and other artisans’ products. I bought a few things, too.

I’m staying in a posh and comparatively expensive hotel, for lack of finding something simpler quickly.

Cycled: 95km

I decided to stay another day in Antsirabe, but had to move to another hotel, or rather a pension de famille (I think that’s how it’s called).

My Lonely Planet mentions two 20m waterfalls, called Chutes d’Antafofo, near the town of Betafo, some 20km west of Antsirabe. Instead of hanging around in the local Internet café I set out to look for those waterfalls. I made it to Betafo where I met an older gentleman who tried to help me find the chutes by drawing a map. He spoke English and was a journalist/photographer. However, I didn’t find them. My (printed) map ends just before where the waterfalls should be, so no help from that either.

On the way back I met a woman from the US who had rented a bike in Antsirabe and hired a guide to cycle to Betafo.

I’ll stay another day here in Antsirabe to look for that missing western map, though not to go look for the waterfalls again, but for future travels.

For some reason I didn’t take any (meaningful) pictures today.

Cycled: approx. 60km

I continued south on RN7 to Antsirabe, enjoying the fine weather and my brilliant mood.

Cycled: 100km

A quick and short ride on the central plateau, towards the south on RN7. Weather and road were good.

I’m in a French-run hotel outside Ambatolampy.

Cycled: 68km

I spent the last couple of days in Tana.

The day before yesterday I went to a market. At some point I took my phone out of that leg pocket in my cargo pants to check the time. About 20 minutes later I did the same, only that my phone was gone. It took me a while to figure out that someone had sneaked up from behind and made a cut along the back of the pocket, probably using a razor blade, and taken the phone. Well done, I didn’t feel a thing.

I’m ready to move on and will leave Tana tomorrow.

Antananarivo

Antananarivo

Antananarivo

Proper maps!

Antananarivo

Antananarivo market (not THAT market, and not THE guy)

Yesterday’s ride went more or less straight south, parallel to the coast but some 8 to 16km inland. The road was undulating but had no long significant climbs.

This was going to change today, as the road turns east here in Ampasimanolotra (aka Brickaville) and climbs up to the highlands that dominate the central parts of the island at an altitude of 1000m (on average, very roughly). Antananarivo, the capital, where I was headed, is at ~1300m.

After a weak breakfast and 50km of cycling into the hills I felt that this was not a good day. I decided to hitch-hike the rest to Tana (the colloquial short form of Antananarivo). And, luckily, the first truck did indeed stop and agreed to take me and my bike for an agreeable price.

After a while the engine stopped working and we stopped dead on the road. The driver knew the problem, however, and immediately started sucking diesel out of the tank and into a jerrycan. He then removed the fuel pipes from the tank and tied their ends directly into the canister. Apparently the fuel is not very clean and the fuel filters had given up. He was happily smoking a cigarette while working on fixing the issue. I stood a few meters to the side and entertained myself directing traffic past the obstacle.

We didn’t make it to Tana. My driver stopped in Moramanga, about half way between Ampasimanolotra/Brickaville and Tana, but still demanded the full negotiated fare. It was dark by then. He did, however, find me a new ride, which didn’t cost me anything (both the ride as well as the finding one).

The new truck driver was a bit more cheerful and his truck had more stamina, and we did make it to Tana at last. He dropped me off I-don’t-know-where, pointing me roughly in the direction of the centre. I had no choice but to set out and hope I was going in the right direction. There were no people anywhere to ask. This is possibly explained by the fact that Germany was playing Spain in the finale of the European Football Championship. Or maybe the streets are always this quiet on a Sunday night in Tana?

I did make it to the centre (were some public viewing was going on), and I managed to find the bar where I was meeting my couchsurfing host by hiring a taxi driver to show me the way (by driving ahead…).

Germany had just lost 0:1. (Though I didn’t care much at the time.)

Cycled: 50km, hitch-hiked about 200km

Fiddling with fuel, smoking

The past days since being back from Mananara – oh gosh, that’s almost two weeks! – I spent in Toamasina, staying at Heinz’s place. His friend had now arrived and there was no boredom.

Anyway, I wanted to see more of this island than just parts of the east coast. The baobabs and tsingy are what I came here for originally.

So today I set out again to discover more of this intriguing country. I cycled to the south from Toamasina, on RN2, a paved road. Half of today’s distance I had seen almost three weeks ago already when I did that ‘test ride’ to Ampasimadinika and back.

The ride was ok, the countryside is beautiful. Though, despite this being a ‘rainforest region’, there is not much real, primary forest left here. Most has been chopped down over the years, for firewood, slash-and-burn agriculture, (sometimes illegal) logging, you name it. What’s left is shrub, secondary/tertiary forest, or loose trees. Only the nature reserves offer some kind of protection, but even there illegal logging of precious woods is taking place, simply because there is still some significant amount of trees standing there.

Cycled: 103km

Another long day.

The night was difficult due to mosquitoes.

We left the hotely early and continued the drive towards Toamasina.

Eventually we arrived that the end of the road, that is, at the estuary of the river Marimbona opposite Soanierana Ivongo. That was as far as the 4WD would go because there were no car ferries here. Everything was unloaded from the car and we boarded long and narrow steel boats (which, by the way, were pretty much overloaded). I figured that I would have to find a new ride in Soanierana Ivongo. That, of course was unfortunate for me. I tried to explain my situation to the driver: I had, with my last money and to the best of my knowledge, purchased a through-ticket all the way to Toamasina. To my surprise he gave me 3000 Ariary (or was it 5000? Memory fails me there) which, according to him, would cover my fare from Soanierana to Toamasina in another taxi-brousse.

I even found one that charged less, so that I was worth 1000 Ariary all of a sudden!

Though my luck wasn’t to last long. After a while we stopped at the end of a long queue of taxi-brousse. Everyone started unloading their stuff again and walked to the front of the queue, and so did I. There, at the bank of a river, the last bits of a new pontoon bridge were put in place. It was the same river which I had crossed six days before over the makeshift swimming bridge. When the last gap between the new pontoons that the bank was traversable I crossed the river with everyone else and waited for my taxi-brousse to cross as well… and waited. And waited. The sun was setting.

I spotted the driver on this side of the bank, to my surprise without his car. He solved the mystery: his trip ended here, I was supposed to find another ride. That, again, proved difficult, because my 1000 Ariary didn’t buy me a ticket. The guy was helpful, though, and helped my to persuade another driver to take me for the last money I had. This time to Toamasina for real.

The only nuisance on this last bit of the journey was a tipsy guy sitting next to me, who started harassing me for my lack of French and I don’t know what else, when I didn’t want to pay him the fare. He didn’t get violent but it felt like he was close. Maybe it was luck that I didn’t understand him.

I arrived at Heinz’s place exhausted but in one piece.

Waiting for the ferry

New pontoon bridge almost finished

Left rather late, 9ish or later.

I felt better than yesterday and managed to cycle on. The ‘road’ was still very bad. I arrived in Mananara around midday, I think. For some reason that is difficult to reconstruct in hindsight (I’m writing this quite a bit later), I felt that I didn’t have enough cash to keep on travelling across the Masoala peninsula ahead. There were, supposedly, no banks in the towns ahead (Maroantsetra being the only one of significant size). I think my physical condition played a big part in the decision to return to Toamasina. A taxi-brousse (bush taxi, basically a 4WD) was the only option. I spent pretty much all of my last cash on a seat in the one leaving this afternoon.

My seat turned out to be on top of bags of cloves in the cargo area of the 4WD, which I shared with 9 or so other passengers. The passenger seat in the front was occupied by an elder gentleman. My bike was strapped to the roof. The trip back turned out to be much longer than expected. Of course, the car couldn’t race over that ‘road’ either; the same one I had come up on. By nightfall we stopped in a village and everyone stepped into what turned out to be a hotely, a little restaurant. The last bits of cash bought me some dinner. At that point I didn’t know whether we’d continue the drive, or what was going to happen. When the driver started drinking some spirit I hoped we’d stay.

Soon after dinner mattresses were brought in. Bast or raffia ones for most of the guests, and a foam one for me and the elder gentleman from the passenger seat, which we shared.

At that time I didn’t know the village’s name, and still don’t know it at the time of writing this.

Waiting for departure in Mananara

During the night a storm raged over the coast. I had to close the rain fly completely around the hammock to stay dry.
Needless to say that I didn’t sleep too well and was awake early.

Fishermen were already out in the waves in their dug-out canoe.

I had a quick swim in the sea and continued my ride, but the bad dietary situation and the condition the track was in didn’t really help my swift advance.

At some point the road climbed steeply up a hill. The red clayish soil was wet and sticky. That, and deep lane groves made cycling almost impossible. Additionally, my metabolism was close to giving up and I felt lousy. I had run out of potable water earlier today, so I stopped to boil some water from a river. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the stove to burn properly under the watchful eyes of some passers-by.

I gave up with the stove and pushed the bike again. Left and right of the track there was either ocean, thick forest, steep cliffs, or a combination of the latter two. There were no options for a quiet retreat.

Eventually I was ‘adopted’ by a guy carrying a piece of wood. He threw it away and helped me move one. We reached the next village and he showed me to a shop where they also rented out rooms for the night. I received a tasty dinner (rice and fish) and went to bed.

Fishermen at work

Ivontaka

Awful road

I woke up early.
Paid for last night’s dinner and had a short (difficult) chat with an older guy. I asked him for directions to Manompana again and he pointed in the opposite direction, away from the wharf. Luckily I hadn’t taken the ferry last night, it would have brought me straight back to where I had come from!

The track was ok’ish to cycle. Massive flooded potholes that covered the entire width of the track made the ride very interesting. Some drizzle every now and then, most of the time for a few minutes only.

The countryside was extremly beautiful. Streams and rivers flow into the ocean without any human intervention, probably changing bed and mouth with every flood and storm.
Sometimes the track was sandy and I had to resort to pushing the bike again. Later the road climbed up some hills and the ground became stonier.

Came through Manompana, and some kilometers later I saw a sign saying something about a national park and some waterfall. I had seen the ANGAP (National Association for the Management of Protected Areas – national park service) office in Manompana, but hadn’t seen any people there (a rare thing) and didn’t know how all this stuff (i.e. visiting national parks) works here.

(Apparently I had some cold rice, cold chicken lunch in some village restaurant. Or so my notes say. Interestingly, I do not recall having lunch at all let alone stopping at a restaurant.)

Later I felt the need to find a place to sleep.
At that time, the road went parallel to the sea, with only a small strip of palm trees and thickish forest in between. The beach was beautiful! There were lots and lots of shells, sea urchin remains, and corals lying around. A couple hundred meters out was a coral reef were the waves broke. Finally I found a place that promised to be peaceful. I hung the hammock under a massive tree directly at the beach again.

My campsite for the night

I woke up somewhat refreshed. The tide had risen up to my bike and under the hammock during the night, but everything was in order.

I left very late, almost at noon, and continued to the north, on paved road. I reached Soanierana Ivongo after a short while. The town is located at the mouth of the river Marimbona. There is no bridge across the estuary, dug-out canoes and motorboats ferry people and goods from one bank to the other. Porters were bustling about the mooring area. As far as I could see, motor vehicles could not be transported to the other side.

Originally my plan was to go to the island of Sainte Marie, which lies approx. 30km off the coast and can be reached by boat from here. The quoted price for the passage seemed quite steep, though, and I changed my mind and decided to stay on the mainland instead.

I got ferried across the river and continued my ride – from now on the road was unpaved.
My dietary situation hadn’t improved from the day before and I didn’t exactly feel strong. The track’s quality was quite good at first, but deteriorated severely only a few kilometers further. Much later I discovered that I was on a narrow island, formed by arms of the rivers Marimbona and Simianona, and the Indian Ocean. Each storm and flood had attacked the island and soon I had to push the bike across open sand. The island was less than 100m wide there. At the far end, less than 10km from Soanierana Ivongo, the river Simianona blocked my way and I had to be ferried across in a dug-out canoe again.

I pushed the bike along a narrow footpath to an outpost of the village of Andrangazaha, near the vehicle ferry wharf (which was just an earthen ramp, really). I asked the two guys who were in the canoe with me for directions to Manompana. They pointed at the wharf. It started to rain heavily and I sought shelter under a roof that covered tables and benches – the hut it was attached to seemed to be some kind of kitchen that probably catered to travelers that had to wait for the ferry. A bunch of people were waiting there with two 4WD pick-ups. The sun was already setting. A ferry arrived, it was completely dark by now. The rain was so heavy that I could not persuade myself to leave the sheltering roof and the ferry left without me.

The rain stopped and I asked at the kitchen if there was some place where I could sleep. The lady showed me to a number of huts that apparently were for rent. They each contained nothing more than a bed covered by a mosquito net. I also received a fine dinner — rice with fish in some kind of tomato sauce. Very tasty!

Cycled: 27km

National Road 5

My hut for the night

All night I was afraid I had used some kind of holy place for camping as this was the only taller tree still standing. Why had it not been chopped down if it wasn’t somehow important?
In the morning I noticed that there were some more trees around and at least one combo would have been suitable for hammocking. They were standing at the bottom of an embankment and further away from the road, which is why I didn’t see them last night. My current place was just 3 or 4 meters away and hammock and bike were clearly visible (in daylight).

I woke up before dawn, packed my stuff, had a couple of biscuits for breakfast, and left at 6am without having been seen by anyone.

After some time of riding I noticed that I’d have to take a break. The little breakfast I’d had was not enough. At 10am I found a beautiful spot directly at the beach. Hung the hammock between some rocks and an old tree and cooked some pasta. Puked. A couple of times. I had just cycled for 2.5 hours today but I was not capable of going any further. Spent all day and the night there.

Cycled: 61km

The dog rock

My campsite for the night

I left Toamasina to the north in the afternoon. The idea was to travel along Madagascar’s northeastern coastline as far up as Antsiranana. I was aware that the Masoala peninsula would pose a problem as there are no roads through or around it, but for some reason I was sure I’d find some paths or tracks to travel on.

Anyway, that’s a couple hundred kilometers ahead. Today’s ride was pretty easy. The road was mostly flat and in good condition.

Shortly after leaving the city a guy caught up with me and we started chatting. He was a pupil in Toamasina and lived in a village 20km up north. He taught me that ‘yes’ means ‘eny’ and ‘no’ means ‘tsy’ in Malagassy. ‘To know’ is ‘mahalala’.

One of the rivers had no bridge. Only a few modules of a washed-away pontoon bridge were hanging off the banks. Instead, for pedestrians, a swimming ‘bridge’ had been built from branches, boards, and other floating material. Cars were, apparently, transported across the stream on makeshift rafts. The banks of the river were shoal and muddy, and getting the cars onto and off of the rafts was an endeavor only few dared to try. Everyone else just unloaded their fright, be it passengers or cargo. Goods were carried across the river over the foot bridge by the many porters and loaded onto another vehicle on the other side.
The very second I arrived I was surrounded by people offering to help me cross, the bike was taken out of my hands, and before I really knew what was happening a guy was pushing it over the wobbly and narrow bridge. On the other side, happy to have crossed so quickly and still a bit overwhelmed, I paid him what he demanded without even trying to haggle. Of course it was a major rip-off.

I cycled on. It took me a while to find a place to sleep. Only after nightfall did I hang my hammock in a big tree a few kilometers from the village of Mahambo.

Cycled: 90km

Saying good bye to Heinz

The tree I'm going to sleep in