Tsaranoro Valley, Madagascar

The highlights have been high, but the travel has been long and punishing, and one week in, I’ve spent more than half my time in Madagascar sitting in transport. After an 8 hour 4×4 ride again on the world’s worst road from Tsingy de Bemaraha to Morondava (250 km), barely a night’s rest before a 12 hour ride from Morondava to Antsirabe (484 km), a one-day break there, then what was supposed to be a 7 hour taxi-brousse ride to Fianarantsoa (243 km) that turned into 10 hours where I missed my onward transfer, I admit to feeling pretty done. And while people have been unfailingly polite, real interactions have been few. For a classic backpacking destination, I was also surprised not to have encountered anyone to group up with; any other tourists I saw were heading off in different directions, mostly in private transport. (Turns out I was a few weeks early from peak season.)

After missing the transfer, I needed to re-plan, deciding to take one last southbound taxi-brousse 2 more hours to Ambalavao (55 km – yes it’s that slow even on a paved road) en route to a nearby lemur reserve. It turned out to be one of the worst rides I had: a one-hour wait for it to fill up before departure, 29 people squeezed in a Sprinter for 18, squeezed so tight I was unable to move (hey look, name of the blog), barely avoiding the beak of a live duck in a plastic bag sitting on the lap of the man beside me. It felt like the last straw — in my head, after that, no more taxis-brousses except to return to Tana. No more hikes, having had enough of that in Réunion. Sure, there’s far more points of interest further south, like Isalo to Toliara, but… when the spark’s gone, you can’t force it.

And yet, on my arrival to Ambalavao, a vaguely familiar face made me change my mind on a dime, with a different spark. Thanks to him, I chose more suffering, and got even more suffering than I braced myself for — yet I couldn’t be happier for the experience.
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