Island Madagascar - Part 2

After lunch, everybody and everything was ready. Leisurely we stowed our belongings into the boat, which was kindly leased to us by the guide. We should talk about it separately, a little. Once this vessel constituted a solid log: 20 meters long, about two meters wide and something like one meter high. Then a watercraft was gouged from it, of such a kind, that even the most reckless adventurer would probably hesitate before sitting into it. This you would think at a first glance. In reality, all people of Madagascar sail in such canoes, and they do it quite skilfully.

We also took our chances. The water in the river was yellow-brown. Not water - a clay suspension. Not only you would not ever want to drink such water, but also you will not make yourself to get into it. Local dwellers, however, do not disdain to do the first and the second. And we took a drinking water with us planning to occasionally replenish the reserves on our way.

Sun was burning open parts of the body mercilessly, and I was envying to the birds dancing up above our heads protected by fluffy plumage.
A lot can be written about the unique flora and fauna of the island. Madagascar is a land of lemurs. This is the only place on the Earth where 28 species of this amusing creatures live, and where they are leading the day way of life, as long as monkeys do not trapping them nearby and they may frolic freely. And they do… that is a thing worth seeing. And they also like human company, at least, a company of local inhabitants. A family of these animals lived in the hotel, in which we stayed after the end of the rafting trip. A crocodile, which we, with difficulties, managed to shake up and made to smack his tail couple of times, was whiling his days away at the same place. And a huge turtle, which, amazingly appeared to be very sociable (in contrast to its neighbour) and appreciated greatly when it was scratched behind an ear, was creeping not far off. By the way, it is prohibited to take out dead or alive lemurs, crocodiles and turtles from the island.

Second day… fifth… seventh… Still the same sun. Regular oar sweeps, assuaging splash of water, sprinkles of invigorating moisture, wetting scorching hands and face. Birds are soaring around, unimaginable combination of bright colours and screams, crowns of trees are stretching down from steeps, a little more and their branches will touch water. Powerful roots asking for a drink come out from steep banks.

Sometimes we sailed by lonely straw huts, sometimes the whole settlements. Now, a fishing boat catches as up, our guide and the fishermen shout something at each other, the next moment it disappears behind the turn. Waist-deep in the water, the children are frolicking near the bank. It seems they never go out, unless and until they will sit in a boat themselves, in order to help their fathers and elder brothers, and then replace them, as it has been continuing from generation to generation.

Clay-walled huts by their appearance make believe that they will soon raze to the ground. It does not scare local inhabitants, though. They are taught from the childhood: "The house is good, but it will also fall apart". Besides, houses of peasants are empty, a little bit of food and straw for taking sleep. Nevertheless, there would no free space be left and you would have to cuddle together to sleep. That's all right, as soon as you have a good sleep before the new working day.

Finally the day had come, when we too were lucky to catch up on sleep with comfort, in a hotel - not in a tent, wrapped up in a sleeping bag. That means that Belo-syr-Ciribihina spread out before us. We said goodbye to our guide, and he moved back home, pushing off the bottom by the pole with powerful moves. There is no stream for a Malagasy, they are extremely enduring nation. And we in our turn sat on a cart, harnessed with couple of zebu, and ride to the town to seek a hotel. After we found ourselves in the hotel room, if this lodgement can be called so, the interpreter fallen to sleep like a log and it was obviously unthinkable to get through to her. I sat for a while doing nothing, giving a rest to my limbs worn by the sun, and then went to roam around the town. I'd like to point it out from the beginning, that the Malagasy are not known to have particular astuteness or insight. This also relates to understanding of foreign language. They either translate a sentence or do not translate a sentence, to guess implicitly is an unsolvable task for them.

On my way I decided to enter one small restaurant, settled down modestly on a corner of monotonous streets shining with poverty. The walls of its hall were decorated with different handicrafts, among which I have noted one curious piece. This thing represented itself a stuffed swordfish, on which nose some African motif stood in beauty rendered by a brush of unknown artist. I'm still regret that I have not managed to wake up interpreter. The only thing I was able to get from the restaurant employees was that the stuffed fish had been brought from Morondava. I was going all out trying to learn where I could buy similar thing here - I should be able since it is here - but I did not manage to explain this: neither my mimic, nor gestures reached them. Finally, all the hotel gathered for a council. It came to the point, that behind their yells and attempts to shout down each other they seemed to forget about me. For everybody it was important to understand what I was really asking from them. What is curious, that in Equatorial Africa everybody would have been scattered long time ago, but here local inhabitants were probably more persistent, especially in their desire to fulfil my interest. It came to the point, that they decided to walk around all distinguished places of the city, where it is possible to find person not from the plough-tail, who has any power and authority in Belo-syr-Ciribihina, in the hope of, that maybe he would be able to understand what I want. Alas! These people were either absent, or they also did not surpass their tribesmen in shrewdness and looked at me with kind but nothing understanding eyes. As a result, we made a full trip around town and peacefully broke up, local inhabitants went back to their restaurant disappointed with their failure, and I, also disappointed, trudged back to hotel, complaining again of that I had not took my companion with me.

The next day, we sailed across the river and walked three-four kilometres up to nearest village sinking knee-deep in mud. But what we could do, only there it was possible to seek out a car to reach to Morondava, a town stretched on the banks of the Mozambique Channel.

We had found a car without any difficulties, bargained for about an hour with the driver, negotiating the price, and finally hit the road. At the wheel - a young 13-14-year-old guy, the journey was going to take the whole day, and the Kirindi National park and baobab grove were waiting for us ahead. The last phenomenon is really worth mentioning.

For the first time I saw so many baobabs together at once. A real baobab forest, where all the space between these giants was overgrown with dense undergrowth. There are six species of baobabs at Madagascar. Age of these trees attains 5000 years or even more. Their height varies from 12 to 23 meters, and the trunk diameter can be up to 9.5 meters during the raining season, when the tree "drinks" and swells. But during the drought period, a trunk of baobab is capable to become 25 centimetres thin. The tree tissue is very soft, so that its trunk can be shoot through from a rifle. But these trees are extremely viable, and are able to root from any position, reaching for the ground, nevertheless.

We came to Morondava by evening. Salty sea wind, it seemed, was trying to make a nest of the fluffy chevelure of my interpreter. And she probably did not like its unpardonable behaviour, because on the next day we said farewell to each other and she ride away to the capital. And I was left alone to while away the last two days of my vacation on the shore of the ocean. Than Antananarivo and… halloo Moscow!

It became necessary for me to exchange a $100 banknote in Morondava. It turned out, that it was simply unreal to do it officially. I entered a first exchange office, they told me politely that they have no change. The same thing repeated at a second office and at a third… Finally, I have reached a bank. There the situation was clearly explained to me: "Very big sum. It will lie on us like a dead weight." One local taxi driver helped me to find a way out, prompting that such money can be only exchanged at smugglers on the market. So did I, and as a result the two more happy people appeared on Earth.

The whole next day I spent in front of endless blue expanse, which rolled small waves onto the sandy shore from time to time. I felt nice and calmly. I was having a rest. White sail was looming far off, another, similar, replaced it. Children, as always, were pottering about in the water as hot as air, and the others, who were older, were catching shrimps with white net, resembling rather a white bed-sheet from a distance. A young girl contrived to keep impeccably a basket with a catch, performing an elaborate pas of a dance known only to her, at the same time. And I was sitting and contemplating. Screams of seagulls were swishing blue sky and careless laughter of children was answering with echo.
Will I be back here?
Who knows…

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