Is This Real?

We are in a tiny ancient car, zig-zagging slowly on the best parts of the road, almost stopping to cross potholes. The only light, coming from our head beams, illuminates towering gnarled trees. The air is heavy with a sweet smell. 

Tenga sua (ten-gah sue-ah) in Madagascar! Welcome in Madagascar.

We had one of the most pleasant flights, with large chairs and free leg space, a really tasty meal (with a choice of beer, wine and martini) and stewardesses who had a genuine smile. Ioan and myself are to be blamed for coming to this part of the world. He doesn’t remember why, maybe because of the Madagascar movies, but I wanted to see this “flora and fauna” gem. 

We start in Hellville (El-veel)( named after a general). The main road is asphalted, but the ones radiating from it, are yellow dirt. 

People going to a funeral

From our room we can see a bay, people unloading boats left on squelching muddy sand, carrying on their backs boards for hundreds of yards, a few backyards with quacking ducks, a dirt street on which children play noisily. Add to this the hourly cock-a-doodle-doos, from different roosters, with different intensities, spread around town and you probably got an idea.

Hervais (Air-vay) is our driver and in a way, guide. With his Renault 4, made in the 1970’s, he drove us on various points of the island Nosy Be (Nossy Beh), striving to improve his English, and we, our French. He taught us to answer to his U-bip-bip (Oo-beep-beep) with Oo-aah, and we happily did, several times a day.

Inside a Renault 4

Our first trip was to Lokobe reserve, started almost 15 years ago by the efforts of one man, Jean Robert, our guide. We had to drive almost an hour, stopping from time to time to look at chameleons, clinging to bushes on the side of the road. This one is a male, we know from its green color (the females are pink and black). We admired the design on his skin, his paws, so well-fitted for clasping the branch, his “Egyptian” walking, moving back and forward to fool his enemy, his perfectly coiled tail. It was frustrating to take his picture, as he wouldn’t look at us with both his eyes in the same time!

Then we climbed in pirogues, to traverse a shallow bay and paddled for another hour, under the hot noon sun. 



After a short brake, we were presented the different types of mangroves, long fruit, round fruit. The Malagasy children transform the round fruit into a wheel, harness a crab to it, and have races on the beach! 

Playing with boats made of drift wood and sails of plastic bags.

Whole family fishing: two people are holding the sheet, the rest scare the fish into it.

We had to cross his old village to get to the forest. Houses made of wooden poles and palm fronds were strewn around. The door frame was covered with embroidered drapes. We were asked not to talk in the forest, we could scare the animals, or he could not hear them. We followed his steps, stopping when he stopped, listening to the unknown sounds of the jungle, mixed with songs from the village and other tourists’ voices (it seems that other guides don’t enforce this rule of silence). 

Our first lemur was sleeping in a hollowed tree. Fluffy brown fur, human-like hands, he opened huge nocturnal eyes that seemed to say, “Why are you waking me up? I hope you don’t hurt me.” We would see others, also sleeping, or from a different species, a diurnal one, curious about us. 

The jungle walk is a life lesson. You have to have patience (to walk hours to find animals), to be physically fit (so you could climb up and down the trail, dodge that whipping branch, crawl in confined spaces), be quiet (so you will not scare that blue pigeon away),



 watch where you’re stepping (or you will crush that tiny chameleon)



 go slow (or you won’t notice the owl sleeping or a boa sliding on a branch), 





respect the environment and be mentally prepared that all your efforts have been in vain (sometimes you don’t see animals). 

A feast has been prepared while we were away, with grilled fish, skewers of shrimp and meat, crab and salads: carrot and papaya, avocado, lettuce and tomatoes. Dessert: fruits. 



We eat our fill and while we digest, Jean Robert explains to us what we saw. He begins by singing (and had us following the melodic line) the Malagasy anthem, translating the words (which I forgot). The flag is white—representing the people, green—the bounty of nature, red—the royal color (though now they have a president). He talks about 71 species of lemurs, from five families, where you can find them and so on. He says their scientific names and also the ones of the plants. It is obvious he loves what he is doing. He answers our questions about people. Their life is not an easy one. Most of their needs are satisfied from nature, but they have little cash, if crops fail, they will suffer from hunger. 

Under Jean's hand and tool there is a white diagonal line: that is the sap, streaming from a hole that he made. If you drink it, it's sweet, if you wash with it, it will take away even the resin. The stems are good for walls, fences, doors. The leaves for roofs.
This is the Travelers Palm Tree.

The school is free only in the elementary and now the teachers are in a two months strike for higher wages (the only raises are for military and police, even the doctors went on strike). Learning about our trip he is curious about the children’s school. “You are the school for today!” Mihai answers. And they are not the only one who learned new things today: I found out that pepper is a vine, and needs a tree support to have a good crop. The different kinds of pepper come from different handling of the seeds: white, black, green. The red pepper is a different plant.

Pepper vine with fruit

Going back on the pirogue I open my channels and take all that I can in: the swish of the pirogue over water, the rhythmic dipping of the paddles, the slanted sun, the birds, the open sky, the sound of insects, the children playing, my toes in the water slowly accumulating on the bottom, the grey sanded wood, the smell of all of them... filling that memory room for later, when I need it.

June 26th is the Madagascar National Day. Everybody is dressed in their best. The feast started the night before, with dancing and singing. On this day there is the fanfare playing while the schools (elementary, private, Muslim and so on), les jandarmes (police force) and some other institutions parade. The road is lined 4-5 people deep, all happy and proud, holding their children high so they have a good view. 

The Malagasy flag (right upper corner) is on every house!

The heat is too much for us. We retreat in our hotel and in the afternoon we move on the beach of Andilana.

We rented an apartment that has shutters instead of windows and there is a 6” space between the roof and the walls. Every bed has mousticaire (mosquitos drapes) that flutter in the breeze. In the night time we can hear the waves, changing sound as the tide comes or goes, and a small animal that moves through our room and disturbs the garbage. We have lunch on the beach, French cuisine under palm trees with sand between our toes. And an almost deserted beach...

But after two days we had to go back to Hellvile. We were to visit a perfume distillery. On this island there are many ylang-ylang (ee-langue- ee-langue) trees brought here from Philippines in 1903. If left alone they could grow to 30 m (100 ft), but here when they are three years old, they cut the growing tip. This makes the branches droop. Why? It makes for easy picking. Their flowers have a heavenly smell.



 Women, armed with headlights and front bags, will pick the flowers, starting at 3 am (the sun affects the perfume). They bring the bags to the distillery, where they would be weighted. They fill a cistern with flowers, seal it, and through a coiling pipe comes the water vapor. When it condenses, the water picks up the essential oil, and together they exit in a sealed cylinder. The oil stays on top, the water is recirculated. 500 kg (1000 lb) plus 300l (72 gal) water make 12 l (3 gal) of essence. A few milliliters cost $10. In the room were the old machines, made from copper, in France. Now they were using stainless steel ones. 

Crop of ylang-ylang and tourists.

Above the red funnel is a cylinder. The inside white band is the essence of ylang-ylang.

Crop of pepper

After this we were treated with a juice and fruits buffet. We got to try the cola nut, the one that goes into the soft drink formula. It was bitter and we didn’t feel any stimulant action. With bananas in our pockets we went into the forest to feed the lemurs. Emanuel, our guide, started calling them: maki-maki and making grunting noises. Soon enough four male Sifaka lemurs appeared interested in our bitses of bananas. They would hold onto a branch and lean to pick it, touching our hands or licking them (it felt like a cat’s tongue). As I was standing on my toes one of them caught my hand with his and steadied me, then he took his banana. It felt strong and sure, though soft and warm, and so tiny! It was wonderful to be there and have this kind of interaction, but in the same time I was asking myself: is this correct? We shouldn’t touch them, we could give them diseases, we shouldn’t feed them, it will change their behavior. But it felt so good... 

In the vicinity there were cages with other kind of lemurs, and a wild cat (this one is persecuted because when it attacks, it will jump for the eyes). The guide said that they were kept for three months and then released, their place taken by new ones. No one has any consideration for the change of habitat, or for territories, for the animals. Just for the tourist and his satisfaction (and his money). With one stop he can see many kinds of lemurs (including King Julien’s brothers - Madagascar movie, the ring tailed lemurs, who were kept on an island, as they are afraid of water), 

Catching a nap.

chameleons (kept for 3 weeks; while there, a female was digging a hole to deposit 4-6 eggs at intervals, that will hatch in 50-60 days, they will all have the same sex, the first one to claw its way out will be the strongest, the rest will emerge in 2-3 days), a giant tortoise, Napoleon, who celebrated his 200th birthday (he has a dent in his shell because after independence an hotelier wanted to shoot him, to have his shell in the hallway!), beside wild pigs, crocodiles, snakes.

Napoleon liked to be petted, especialy on the back of his very strong neck.

There was also a miniature botanical garden, with mini native trees and plants that look like rocks. The Malagasy people would keep it around the house for the water that is stored in it (the moment it develops horns, it becomes poisonous). 

So many new things for us in just a few days. It seems like a dream ... is it real?

Romance For Ever

Bali. The paradise on Earth. The most fantastic travel destination anyone can imagine. Impossible green rice terraces, misty volcanoes, surf beaches, thousand-year old temples, magical sunsets, fabulous food, friendly locals, unique cultural experiences. Romance for ever. I get a question on Facebook: "Is it really beautiful over there?"

My answer: "it's OK."

Bali. 

It is OK. It does make me think of travel as a general experience, it does make me wonder if there is such thing as a "romantic destination".

As we ride toward Uluwatu, I read an advertisement board by the road "come to our five star hotel, have your wedding here, romance is for ever". I want to take a picture, but it takes a moment to start the camera and this is what I get:



We could argue in our family over who wanted to come to Bali, why did we come here and what are we doing here. We could blame Maria, because she read "Eat, Pray, Love" and she said "let's go there." On the other hand we could argue over who deserves praise for choosing this place and we could give Maria all the credit. Or not. We all wanted to come here and we are happy that we did. If tourism and travel would have the slightest connection with what we see in the advertisements on TV or in glossy magazines, there wouldn't be any tourism or travel. Let me explain.

Bali is a small island in the middle of Indonesia. It was blessed with great weather, rich soil and industrious people. More than a thousand years ago they cultivated rice in terraces with an ingenious irrigation system and a cooperative work agreement. This allowed them to obtain more rice production than they needed, freeing some time for other activities. They went to the temples, built some more, sculpted every surface that they could find and devised a complicated system of celebrations and festivals that translated in the 20th century as "rich traditions", "culture", etc. Some lost over europeans stopped by, sent some pictures home and the legend started. The main draw was the form and shape of the breasts of Bali. Men and women did not wear any clothes on the upper part of their body. The clothes were only for some temple ceremonies. Outside of that only prostitutes would cover their bodies, to maintain some  mystery and entice clients, so clothes were seen as a bad thing. Because of the habit of women to carry heavy loads on their heads, sustained by holding the arms up, the women here developed large shoulders and strong pectoral muscles. A German doctor spent a year in 1909, saw 10000 patients, took 4000 photographs and published a book in 1912 with a few hundred pictures about the women of Bali. This triggered an enormous interest in post war Europe and scores of artists and scientists started to flock on the island. The only positive thing that the occupying Dutch did - was not to allow any missionaries to land here. They might have recognized the value of the local culture or might have been just as mesmerized by the Bali breasts as the  scores of artists, cineasts, musicians, anthropologists, biologists, and even entomologists. Combined with more or less fictional stories about how charming and amiable the locals are, they augmented the legend of Bali. There is some truth to it. It is a world in itself, 2 million Hindus among the other 280 Muslims that make up Indonesia, they seem to be just the strongest, tough enough people that could take the onslaught of occidental tourists without changing their ways and losing everything in the process. I reread the introduction to our guides. Could it be that the print has changed? I remember that it said something about magic, exotic, fantastic, unique. No, it doesn't say that - it just says that is a great place to be. We watched again a 10 minute documentary about Bali and we told each other: we saw all of these fine images here but they should put a fine print, "it's not quite like that."

Planes land on small boats

Five stars resort. Horrible.

There are some beaches, we saw some of them. They are not white sandy beaches. It's complicated. 

Local people crowd the beach in Kuta every evening

There are rice terraces. We went out of our way for a couple of hours to see the ones in Jatiluwih, next month they will be declared another World Heritage site. People had farmed the rice like that for a thousand years, now they blocked the road and sell tickets for tourists to drive by and admire the landscape.

The rice terraces at Jatiluwih

After walking through the valley the parents are reunited with their children

We didn't go to the volcanoes. Ileana did her cooking class that involved a trip to the market and a nice conversation with a beautiful Finnish girl and a couple of Germans who have been traveling without a plan for the last year. Ileana learned to cook a couple of dishes and I learned that there's nothing special about the Balinese cuisine. It could be argued that it is an invention just for the satisfaction of the tourists, but it is rich, varied food, it is tasty, easy to make and cheap. It would be nice if the local children could get some more than the white rice. (For a great summary of Balinese cuisine, read this post: http://www.uncorneredmarket.com/2011/07/bali-food/)

Satisfied students pose with their teacher

There are temples everywhere. You need a special uniform to get in, but they are closed all the time, either because they are performing a service or because there's nothing going on.

The entrance to the port looks like an entrance to a temple

Guardian of an unnamed temple

The sunsets might be amazing, but the sun didn't get it right for one week of consecutive tries. It just dropped out of the sky behind some blueish curtain, before reaching the horizon. No change in colors, just darker, we took some pictures...

Kuta

Uluwatu

Having said all that, you could be hard-pressed to devise a trip around the world without stopping in Bali. Close to Australia, South East Asia, with simple connections to Japan, Europe, and North America, it is easy to get here. More importantly, it is easy to be here. Everyone speaks English, and Indonesian is simple and uses a latin alphabet. The transport is well developed and reliable, even when overcharging, they believe in karma. They will be rewarded or punished in their next incarnation for whatever they do now, so they are nice and careful. There is a unending list of hotels of all prices and amenities and they even negotiate the rate a little. Every place has a warung, a little restaurant and every staff member can become a cook when needed, plus in busy places like Kuta they have all the chain restaurants in the world. There is cheap massage, cheesy attractions like a water park, submarine (where they feed the fish in the ocean so tourists can take pictures), a butterfly park, a zoo, a reptile park, an elephant safari, and so on. There is quality traditional entertainment, expensive touristic imitations, cheap video stores of illegal Hollywood copies. We don't use that, but the stores have baskets like in a grocery store and other tourists buy stacks of pirated DVDs. There is a tolerance and light attitude on the part of the locals that makes life easy for a traveler. So, there is everything. It is not romantic, not magical, just a nice, cheap, safe place to recharge some exhausted batteries.

We were lucky to make friends with a family of traveling Australians and besides our trip to Gili Meno, we met with them several times in Ubud. We left most of our luggage with them for ten days while we went to Java and some other places around here. In Ubud  we visited the Monkey Forest and the temple around it, where I was viciously attacked by a monstrous monkey. (Maria described all here). 

The green valleys of Ubud

One of the hundreds of monkeys who own the Monkey forest

Sometimes the monkeys get set in stone

One day in Ubud, Ileana took a cooking class. I tagged along to take some pictures. Next day she took a batik class. We took a trip to the botanical garden and TreeTop adventure park. (Maria wrote about it)

Can you see who is hiding in the trees?

TreeTop fun

Fear of heights

  

Completing the red circuit the team reunites on the ground

Group picture at the end

Yes, you guessed right, it is Maria!

In Kuta, we stayed several days and Ioan and Ileana learned some surfing. 

One morning we decided to change hotels, in a couple of minutes we were in a taxi and found something closer to the beach. In the evening we left money for the children and went on the beach for a stroll. The children went by themselves to Pizza Hut and we regaled in an expensive shrimp extravaganza at a luxurious American restaurant. Next day, the Internet stopped working and we decided to leave. I called The Gong - they had rooms, I told the front desk good bye, got in the street and took the first cab to Uluwatu, an hour away. We saw another temple there, a great kecak (kechak) dance, missed the sunset, we decided to stay another day. We spent all day by the hotel, walked a little to see the ocean and miss another sunset. Next day we got in a car, stopped in Denpasar to visit Bali museum and returned to Ubud for another three days close to our friends. The hotel gave us the same room, the same discount and welcomed us like they knew us for ever. 

Uluwatu

The entrance to the Uluwatu beach

Walking back from Uluwatu beach

It is easy to be here. It's not magical, it's not romantic. It is OK.