Memorial Day in Manakara

FCE train schedule for May 28th

Kristen and spent Memorial Day weekend (and our 4th wedding anniversary!) in Manakara, a sleepy coastal town on the eastern coast of Madagascar. It was a welcome break from Fianar and the cold and overcast skies that had moved in and settled over the area for the past couple of weeks. We took the FCE (see Crossing the Corridor by Drasine post) and it was a lot more comfortable than the drasine.

We left in the early morning, under the usual grey sky and feeling cold, but by the time we were descending out of the corridor, the sun had come out and we started peeling off our layers of jackets and sweaters.

The ride was long, but interesting. If we had wanted, we could have enjoyed unique culinary delights at each stop. Of course there was the ubiquitous banana and other seasonal fruit like papayas and mandarin oranges. At one stop we bought a bunch of finger-sized bananas to munch on. But the main attractions were the beignets, banana/rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves, samosas, little red sausages, crayfish, and chicken livers. It seemed like some passengers managed to eat something at every stop. We weren’t feeling that adventurous, so we stuck with the tuna fish sandwiches we brought from home, and the bananas.

We got into town around 3 in the afternoon. We were warned about the pousse-pousse (rickshaw) drivers at the station would, that they would overwhelm us and we weren’t disappointed. We weren’t interested in riding in a pousse-pousse, but we wanted help with our baggage, so I picked out a strong looking guy, negotiated a price, and off we went to our hotel. I couldn’t tell, but I think as other p.p.s went buy, they were taking the piss out of our driver because his fare was walking and not riding. We made it to the hotel, the Padula, which was right on the beach. It looked like it had seen better days, but compared to some of the other properties around it, the Padula was doing just fine.

The rough surf (and sharks) kept us out of the water, but from our room we could hear the waves and feel the breeze, which was lovely and helped compensate for the lack of hot water, absence of electricity, and sad mattress and straw-filled pillow. I thought Kristen might start crying at one point, but she soon took comfort in our guidebook. She read to me (in as convincing a voice as she could muster) that one contributing traveler thought the Padula was the best hotel they had stayed in during their entire trip. Our guidebook also recommended the food at the Padula, so after we checked in, we ordered up dinner for that evening: lobster (spiny) and fried fish (whole) as main courses and Bananas Josephine as dessert.

After making our dinner order, we struck off to see the town. There wasn't much to see aside from a game of soccer being played on a "pitch" that surly must have claimed many an ankle over the years, and a brand-spanking new gym, which-- despite advertising being open 7 days a week--was closed. By the time we made it back to the hotel, the sun had set and we were ready to have some good seafood. The lobster was quite good. Kristen really was impressed with a vinagrette concoction that was served in place of drawn butter. The fish, however, was disappointing; it had an earthy (that's being kind) flavor, and reasoned later that perhaps we made the mistake of assuming our fish would have been from the ocean and not the river. And the Bananas Joshephine for dessert was underwhelming. What's so special about sliced bananas served over yogurt? At this point, we began to question the credibility of our guidebook contributers.

The next day was Sunday and we awoke to the sound of music. The church next door was warming up for its service and treated us to Celine Dion's Titantic hit. After a revolting breakfast--blue band margarine and some coffee that even I couldn't drink--we struck off into town. We decided that we should really reserve our return seats back to Fianar, so we passed by the train station. The station was deserted, except for some kids playing inside and a guardian. We told the guardian we wanted to buy tickets for Monday's train and he told us to come back at 3, when the next train would be arriving and when there would be someone around who could help us. I was ready to leave, but Kristen's powers of persuasion are not to be underestimated because the next thing I knew the guardian was telling us to wait a minute as he mounted his bike. Off he pedaled and we waited for him to return on the platform.

Walking back to the hotel, with reserved and confirmed tickets in hand, we stopped and bought fresh coconuts to drink their milk. We grabbed a deck of cards, reapplyed suncream, and got some lunch. We had a lovely, leisurely lunch and the odd 65cl THB was drunk (mostly by me). Maybe it was the alcohol, but at some point we decided the Padula just wasn't quite the romantic getaway we envisioned for our anniversary, and that we should look for a better hotel. It had to be the alcohol that led us, after asking the restaurant owner for directions to guidebook-recommended hotel, to hop into a pousse-pousse. We spent the next hour fruitlessly trying to change our lodging, and after all the commotion, we wound up right back where we started.

Resigned to spending a second night at the Padula, we walked the beach. First we walked up to the jetty and warded off offers to buy precious stones and other tourist trinkets. Then, on the way back to the Padula we stopped and sat on a bench to watch a group of young kids doing flips and cartwheels off a high bank into the soft sand below. They were totally into it, so much so that they didn't even notice us noticing them.

The next morning we caught the train back to Fianar. We saw familar faces, other tourists making the same circuit. Kristen and I both agreed that Manakara is okay, but it's really the experience of the FCE that makes the trip worthwhile. As we climbed back onto the plateau, the clouds reappeared and engulfed the hills. But not before I was able to get a picture of some valley rice fields.

The train made record time back to Fianar and we picked up where we left off before leaving.

A Trip to the Paper Maker

In one of our guidebooks we read there is a paper maker living in Fianarantsoa and it recommended making a trip out to his studio. We’ve tried to incorporate into our weekends a jaunt in or around the city thought this sounded like a good way to spend a Saturday. However, the directions in the book weren’t entirely clear; about the only place we could locate with any accuracy on the map was where Kristen and I would start arguing over how best to find the route. We consulted our hotel’s receptionist for more detailed directions. With the aid of a thirty year old map, he gave us enough confidence to strike off to find the paper maker.

The walk was pleasantly uneventful—our directions steered us correctly along the right paths. Along the way we ran into the paper maker himself, Mr. Maurice, who was returning home from doing errands in town. Maurice runs his studio out of his house and is a real family affair. In fact, he learned his trade from his parents, and now he’s teaching the art to the third generation.

Maurice’s home is completely dedicated to the paper making process. In one corner of his concession a cauldron sat balanced on three large rocks. The first step in the lengthy process is to cook down the plant material in the cauldron. In another corner stood racks of finished paper laid out to dry in the afternoon sun. Throughout the concession flecks of paper waste covered the ground like snowflakes. A little further in was a small out-building that serves as his gift shop. On display were cards with flowers pressed into the paper, photo albums, wall hangings, cute little paper boxes, and much more. The craftsmanship was really fine and we marveled at his inventiveness. However, what struck us more than the products was the array of flowers planted throughout the concession. Flowers of all sizes and colors could be found, along with greenery, like small ferns, and are used to decorate the various paper products. What a great fringe-benefit.

Making designs

Maurice gave us the full tour, starting from scratch and going all the way to the finished product. Kristen really got into the decorating phase of the tour and even tried her hand at it. Like a good salesman, Maurice left the gift shop until the end, and once he had us safely inside, he strategically stood in the doorway. We decided to buy a dozen note cards decorated with flowers. While we were picking out our cards we talked about what we were doing here in Fianar and that we were friends (and neighbors) with Karen and Mark Freudenberger. When Maurice learned we weren’t just some tourists blowing through town, he gave us the local discount. We thanked him for our tour and promised to return with any guests that might visit us during our time in Fianar.

Kristen designed the top two panels

Crossing the Corridor by Drasine

On Kristen's first day of work in Fianar we stowed away on the drasine for a first glimpse of the shrinking forest corridor of old-growth forest. A probable first question might be what is a drasine? A drasine is a sort of train car, comprised of a single engine and some very stark bench seating. I imagine this kind of machine might be used to dispatch engineers and mechanics to broken down engines in need of fixing. However, on this day the drasine only dispatched the head of USAID-Madagascar and a small entourage of other AID employees along a portion of the Fianarantsoa – Côte Est (FCE) train line, which runs east and south from Fianarantsoa to Manakara on the coast. The route, some 160 kilometers in length, carries both freight and passengers, and because of the remoteness of this area, plays a vital role in linking small forest communities to the outside world. The train starts at an elevation of 1100 meters in Fianarantsoa and descends off the plateau towards sea level and the Indian Ocean. At one point the rail grade becomes the third steepest of any non-cog railway in the world. And, with the exception of about 30 kilometers of welded rails, the FCE is the one of the bumpier rides I've been on. The no-frills design of the drasine heightened this fact, and every nine meters the small car, and its passengers, jolted across the non-welded rail seams.

One real treasure of taking the FCE is how it transects so many different ecosystems, including a narrow corridor of old-growth forest. Seeing this corridor and getting a lay of the land was the reason we were invited to stow away on the drasine. For those who work in the People and Environment area of development in Madagascar, it seems as though the corridor, and its contents, occupies much of their thoughts. How large is it? (I've seen estimates for 2000 that put the forest area to be over 350,000 hectares.) How much has been lost? (The Fianar region of the corridor alone lost over 12 percent of its forest in the decade from 1990 to 2000.) What is happening to the wildlife in the corridor? (Scientists don't know for sure, but a Malagasy biologist in the Fianar area is currently studying the effects of forest fragmentation and its effect on genetic diversity in the local lemur population.) How are human communities faring in the face of changing forest resources? (This, too, is not entirely known, but there is a lot of interest with conservation and development groups to work with and support local communities as a means to ensure and enhance biodiversity and reduce deforestation.)

We left the station in Fianar mid morning and slowly chugged through the city limits and out into the countryside. The abundance of ramshackle housing impressed me, as did the proximity with which people erected their market stalls to the rail line. People alongside the tracks waved to us, especially children, and the conductor made liberal use of the whistle to clear the tracks of pedestrians. Soon we made it out into the countryside and buildings gave way to rice paddies and fields of cassava and beans. Not too far outside Fianar, we passed Madagascar's only tea plantation, Sahambavy; the light green tea leaves stood out against the darker green of the surrounding fields. A little farther ahead, the tracks and paved road parted ways and the drasine began its approach to the corridor.

The transition into the corridor was dramatic. Beyond a certain point I noticed the occurrences of rice fields and of eucalyptus and pine trees (both are introduced species) fell off sharply and was replaced by a dense mat of exotic (i.e., not introduced, but new to me) trees, vines, and other flowering plants. Banana trees planted by local farmers were part of the tree mix and many bore big bunches of green bananas.

The FCE boasts 67 bridges and 48 tunnels and we traversed and passed through our fair share during our tour. At the mouth of one tunnel we noticed a spider had built its web across the entire opening. A collective "AWWWH" came from the group as the drasine tore through the web. Like in the Gary Larson cartoon, I was impressed with the spider's ambition. Part of the fun riding the drasine was the freedom to stop at will and take in the sights and marvel at the "wilderness." And, almost always when we stopped somewhere the illusion of isolation would be broken. Out of nowhere farmers would materialize, give you a passing look, go around the bend, and be gone. We also experienced this phenomenon in Niger last fall with turbaned Touaregs, and I guess it shows that you now have to work pretty hard to escape the reach of human contact. Comforting or upsetting, it's a fact. We ate lunch at Mandriampotsy waterfall, which also offered spectacular views of the corridor. However, the effects of deforestation were also apparent from the same vantage point. Looking north and west back across the corridor, we saw hillsides cleared of trees and could imagine the fringes of the corridor being slowly chipped away. It surprised me to learn that the FCE actually helps fight deforestation.

Threatening the forest is Madagascar's rapidly growing population and an unsustainable agricultural system (essentially slash and burn). To grow enough rice to meet a household's needs, farmers in the corridor clear hillsides to plant upland rice. The soil on these sites is not well-suited for rice production and soon yields on these marginal fields decline. When this occurs, cassava gets planted next. This buys a few more years of food production before the native fertility becomes completely exhausted and the site is essentially sterile. At this point, that field is abandoned and a new patch of forest is cleared, and the cycle repeats.

Without the FCE, this cycle would accelerate more quickly. The presence of the rail line allows farmers in the corridor to focus on more sustainable agricultural practices, which basically involves relying on tree crops like bananas, coffee, avocados, and lychees. Farmers can use the train to transport fruits to outside markets like Fianar and buy rice, their preferred cereal, with the proceeds. The FCE won't stop slash and burn agriculture completely, but it does offer the hope of slowing it.

The USAID party disembarked from the drasine in Tolongoina and continued with their program by car. Bananas from across the region are collected in Tolongoina before being shipped to Fianar on the FCE. We went into one warehouse that was packed to the gills in bananas. They have 18 different species of bananas just in this region. We said goodbye to the group and rode the drasine back up to Fianar with Karen and even managed to cat nap during the bumpy ride.

Antananarivo II

Panoramic look at Tana.

I have enjoyed walking with Kristen to work these last few days. The mornings right now are crisp and cool; most Malagasy wear jackets or sweaters, but I am comfortable in shirt-sleeves. By the time we've eaten and left the hotel, the city is already at a bustle. Most people walk fast and with a purpose. Cars jam the narrow streets and taxis fill and empty with fares. On the many stairs that connect the upper and lower sections of the city—and spare you from all the cars—it's not uncommon to see somebody taking stairs by pairs, evidently late for some rendezvous. If it weren't for the pollution, I'd feel invigorated by all the activity.

Somebody told us that an air sample taken in the tunnel of Antananarivo was as poor as Mexico City's in quality. I suppose elevation, topography, and lower (absent) emissions standards contribute to the poor air quality. Tana is nearly as high as Denver and its streets coil around and up and down the surrounding hills. This kind of layout makes it seem perfect for trapping stale air. Yesterday, after seeing Kristen off to work and exploring the city, I made the mistake of walking through the tunnel, which was packed with cars and trucks. I breathed through my shirt, but even still I emerged feeling dirty. Later, back at the hotel, I blew my nose and the tissue came away sooty.

Before the nasty tunnel experience, I walked along Lac Anosy, a good-sized lake in the lower part of town. There I found stalls filled with exotic plants and cut flowers. If I had to guess, I'd say the plants have their provenance from the tropical forests and the flowers are plantation grown. I wonder if ex-patriots fuel this market for plants and whether these plants are harvested sustainably. I have my doubts.

One thing we struggle to understand about Madagascar is why their poverty is so great. A few development workers we've talked to see Madagascar at the bottom of the heap, even behind places in West Africa. But to us, we see tons of activity and interest by outside donors an

Antananarivo I

A look at Upper Tana en route to the Rova.

The first two days in Antananarivo have been spent getting our feet on the ground and accustomed to this new environment. Kristen has spent most of her time meeting supervisors and colleagues and finding out what they want her to do during her fellowship. She is getting a crash-course in USAID-ese, which at this early stage is confusing, but will ultimately be very valuable should she stay in the Development field.

As a TS (trailing spouse, or trophy spouse), I've had more opportunity to venture out into the city. The city is hilly and divided into upper and lower portions. Our hotel is in the upper portion, along with the Presidential Palace. Speaking of which, yesterday, trying to avoid traffic, I made the mistake of using driveway to the Palace to get back to the hotel. Soldiers with machine guns quickly pointed out my mistake and put me back on the right track.

During another walk, I headed up towards the old Queen's Palace and looked up into the telephone wires. There, in between two strands of lines, I saw spider webs, and in the middle of each were the biggest spiders I'd ever seen. It looked like they might be able to handle small birds. Those, aside from stray dogs, have been the only wildlife seen so far.

Then, for lunch yesterday, I walked down to Avenue de l'Independance looking for a restaurant recommended in the Brandt guide. This street is very busy with both vehicular and pedestrian traffic. The entrance to the main market is off this street and looked inviting, however I wasn't feeling bold enough to run the gauntlet yet. I did eventually find the restaurant, El Pili Pili, and ordered the Pili Pili Sandwich, which advertised chicken with fries, and a beer. I guess the description was more literal than I imagined because the sandwich arrived with both the chicken and fries inside the sandwich. It reminded me of when I was in grade school and would put potato chips in my PB&J. Sadly, but perhaps predictably, the Madagascar version did not meet my childhood expectations. The beer, however, was pretty good.

Some of our first impressions of Tana and its residents is how clean both the city and the people seem. Absent are the wandering flocks of goats, sheep, cows, donkeys and camels that we have come to associate with Niger. Also absent, thankfully, are the stench of human sewage and the sight of it in the streets and alleys. The people in the city dress more demurely than in West Africa, with most people wearing Western styles of dress. Kristen was told that in Fianar, the people are more colorfully dressed than in Tana. Beggars and hawkers still pester Westerners, but seem to be less persistent than ones in Niger. Appearance wise, the Malagasy seem much more Asian than African. This is what we read before arriving, but somehow is still surprising. And, stature wise, I'm up in the 90th percentile, which is a first for me.

This morning I met Kristen's supervisor, Philippe, and walked with him and Kristen to the office. The office is on the top floor of a newly constructed building. Originally, the space had been designed as a penthouse suite, but apparently that concept is not quite ripe enough for Tana, so it was converted into its current configuration of offices. But, overall the space is quite nice and the view is nice, as are the amenities like kitchen and fireplace. Philippe did mention that he has Nissan pickup that he will be selling at the end of April, when his container from the U.S. arrives. We'll probably look at it; he says it's in good shape and the price is in our range.

That's about all the news. We'll keep you posted as things develop here.