Hikes in national parks

I am in Fianarantsoa, Madagascar’s second biggest town and the capital of the Betsileo people. The last week or so has been quite different from my previous experiences. I am travelling up the RN7, the nation’s best road, and how I enjoy it! The RN7 is the classic tourist route and for good reason. It is a good road with many attractions. Still there are some aspects I miss from the brousse; I am starting to understand Kurtz in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. My colonial spirits are awakening: in the brousse, I was a prince. On the RN7, I am a tourist. Children were scared of me, every girl looked at me, and the men called me Monsieur. They were all hoping I would notice them. Now, on this well worn path, I am a normal sight. Not that there are many vazaha, but there are a few when there were none.

I disgress, and for those who see colonisers as oppressors, I am not endearing myself. The RN7 goes past several national parks. I did two, and I think I will stop at that.

First, Isalo, Madagascar’s most visisted park, at twenty and some thousand visitors a year. Isalo’s main attractions spawn from two sandstone ridges dominating the savannah. With a couple of Frenchmen, I walked in and out of the park for two days running. We visited the main tourist attractions; doing anything else is difficult with the guiding system of the park. One needs a guide to visit the park, and the guiding fees for day hikes are per site visited. They add very quickly to considerable sums. Noticing this, we wanted to do a one-night hike. Ah, but the guide was more clever than us. You will need a porter, he said. We added up prices and it was cheaper than what he proposed. You will need to buy food, he said. Not a problem, I thought, until he pulled some outrageous food costs. Error, I believed him. When a few days later I went to the market, I realised he had inflated prices by five times. I should have doubted his words and called his bluff. But I was too polite and didn’t dare call him a liar. The burden of education...
The sites were interesting, if too arranged for my taste. The most famous one, the piscine naturelle, would have belonged in a garden of the very rich. Very beautiful, yes, very natural, no. What do I mean by arranged? Cement on the paths, steps carved out of the rocks, and rails on some of the trickier sections.

My second park, the Andringtira, was an excercise in contrasts. The paths were arranged but inconspicuously. Granite rocks were laid across the paths to form steps that blended into the scenery. After Isalo and a mild disappointment, I wanted to go to Andringtira but didn’t know how. The park is not on the RN7 but a little way away and my budget is tight. And here comes the perpetual luck of the traveller: I met a French stagiaire of ANGAP, the governmental association running the national parks and reserves of Madagascar, who had been offered a trip up Pic Boby, Madagascar’s second highest peak, and highest accessible peak. (The other peak has not been climbed yet. Too difficult. I can think of a few people that would interest.) Together, we made for Ambalavoa, met people of ANGAP, and were taken to the park, where an agent waited for us and took us up on a splendid two-day hike. All of this for free.
The landscapes of the Andringtira have been described as lunar. I put up pictures on this site that make me think more of the moon. Instead, I would qualify them as stark: granite mountains eroded by endless rains and winds into a variety of shapes. Some harsh cliffs, and others that look like caricatures of noses. The agent who took us up had twelve years of experience in the park. He had helped build all of the paths, and he was the one ANGAP trusted with taking the big shots up. Whenever we ran out of breaths, he paused to point out a plant and explain its importance in the region. Whenever we stopped for lunch or to make camp, he rushed around to prepare a fire for the rice and sundry. That we cooked him two meals surprised him greatly: why were vazaha helping? Power relationships are important here, and as vazaha, we are perceived near the top regardless of our background.
The second day, after a very cold night, we climbed Pic Boby. The ascent was hard but worth the effort. Once I develop the film, I will try to post some photos here.

Now I am in Fianar, about to take the train to Manakara tomorrow. This is a classic trip, which makes me cringe a little, but it has been highly recommended to me by every traveller who has done it.