Loving Lemurs in Madagascar

Madagascar is possibly my favorite of the places I’ve gone, and at this point I think I can say that’s saying a lot. The country is fascinating, the land beautiful and altogether distinctive. The sky is incredibly expressive, like it’s trying to communicate something profound through the drama of light and shadows. The constant overcast puts everything into deeper contrast, the greens of the rice paddies are impossibly green, and everything seems to have nuance, as well as a good dose of the chaotic. The capital Antananarivo is perched high on a mountain, so driving is constant undulation, latitudinally and laterally, straight lines rare and fleeting. The roads are also narrow, forcing vehicles to share with pedestrians and all manners of conveyance (people pushing carts, zebu pulling carts, people pushing zebu). They’re really more like rivers of humanity than anything conventionally called a road. It takes an absurd amount of time to go very short distances, but there’s so much to see in the unending, inscrutable procession.

In my short experience, Madagascar seemed a magical place full of the unexpected. The country is an enormous island off the Southeast coast of Africa, but the majority of its people are of Indonesian descent (with impossibly long names), along with Africans, Indians and Chinese. The sheer diversity of the land also seems impossible, and we only saw a relatively small part of it. Over the weekend, we hired a driver to take us three hours to a place colloquially called “Lemur Island.” It was the sort of trip that the phrase, “the journey is just as important as the destination,” was created to describe. We drove out of the bustling city, through villages selling vegetables on train tracks that send people scurrying when the occasional train actually comes. We drove past enormous castles of bricks being dried in the open air and sun, topped with people in various parts of the assembly line turning mud to brick.

The landscape changed from the vibrant, wet green of rice paddies to jutting rock cliffs, to rolling shrub covered hills to deciduous forests whose leaves were the reds and golds of fall splendor I’d expect to see in the Midwest or Northeast, and finally to the exotic, oversized flora of the jungle.

 And to top all of that off, our driver shared so much with us about his country and his own life; it

was a fascinating glimpse into the culture which we don’t usually get on such short stays. On our journey, we drove past exhumation and circumcision rituals, both of which are celebrated with parties, large crowds, and fanfare. Exhumations rituals occur every five years, in which a loved one’s bones are dug up and brought (still wrapped) to the party where the memory of that person is celebrated. So say your uncle was a big fan of Jack Daniels, you would bring him a bottle and honor him. While the very physical application of “Never forget the dead” is initially shocking to Western sensibilities, I love the concept behind it. It also serves the practical purpose of rotating bodies and making space available for the soon to depart.

More light-heartedly, he also shared with us the Malagasy tradition of stealing Zebu (their humped, horned bovines) to prove manhood before marriage. (And to impress in-laws?) I find myself wishing I had asked more questions about this, such as how exactly does one go about stealing a zebu and what does one do with it afterward? We learned some great Malagasy vocabulary – “Mora Mora” is the slow, quiet way of doing things, and the fun to say “Malala” is love, coining our phrase of the trip, “Lemur Malala.”

Now, have you ever gazed into a lemur’s soulful eyes? Or had a troupe of hungry lemurs advance soundlessly out of the fog, greedily ogling the bananas you hold? Well, add that to your bucket list. It’s an equally unnerving and awesome experience. When we finally made it to Lemur Island, it was everything we had dreamed of and more… The lodge was surrounded by huge, pre-historic looking plants that made it feel like driving into Jurassic Park, and combined with the heavy morning fog the place was otherworldly. The property has an island that serves as a home for tame lemurs that can’t survive in the wild because they were rescued or surrendered by people who kept them as pets. You get to the island by crossing a small moat with a canoe, and immediately, the lemurs approach out of the wood line. It’s a tremendously unsettling sight at first, they’re not small creatures, they move fast, and don’t hesitate to jump directly at you if you happen to be holding a banana. Luckily, they also happen to be extremely light and fluffy, so after the shock of the first lunge I was able to enjoy their antics. It was such a frantic, funny little episode, all these nervous tourists holding bananas, the trees full of jumping lemurs happy to trade a picture for a treat. Also, it was only the 10,000th time I’ve thought while overseas, “Yeah, this would never happen in America.”

Elephants, Zebras, and Airplane Wine, oh my...

“There’s a rawness to Africa. The US is well done… perhaps too well,” said Murray, the middle-aged South African sitting next to me on the flight to Africa after sharing several bottles of airline wine. Sitting on a safari vehicle several days later in the pre-dawn African wilderness, surrounded by wild beasts, watching the fiery red dawn slowly devour the blackness, this concept leapt to life. Being in these spaces, it’s like your mind and soul actually expand to try to comprehend the vastness, a subliminal longing for our ancestral lands. Seeing these magnificent animals outside of sad little zoo cages filled me with awe. Against their native background, it was instantly apparent why they are shaped and colored the way they are – enormous elephants at first glance can look simply like large boulders, and a lion’s tawny fur blends him effortlessly into the grass. I’m not entirely sure what’s with the crazy zig-zagging stripes of zebras, but they certainly have a delightful effect as the giddy animals neigh and frolic across the savanna.

We went on two game drives – one at sunset, one at sunrise. We saw far more animals at sunset, but there was an absolutely ethereal quality to the quiet, lonely drive into the dawn, a few meager humans tracking a leopard across the sparse landscape. We didn’t find him, but just being “on the hunt” for one made my hair stand on end and senses come alive. The Big 5 are lions, leopards, elephants, rhinos, and Cape buffalo, and we saw all but the leopard, plus zebras, giraffes, wildebeest, Steenbok, Kudu, and an abundance of these funny little chickens that ran very fast. It was an incredible experience, and I have an intense longing to go back.

Madikwe was only a 45 minute drive from Gaborone, and is the fifth largest game reserve in South Africa. It has an interesting story. In the early ‘90s, the government decided that the best use of the infertile farm land in the area would be to turn it into a game park. Over the next two decades, this project became the largest ever relocation of wild animals as they were moved from other reserves in Africa. It was also developed closely with the local community, to ensure that they were included in the planning process and job opportunities.

Parts of Botswana that I didn’t have the chance to see may be amazing, but the capitol city of Gaborone is regrettably bland. It was pleasant, but there simply was nothing distinctive about it. My colleague compared it to a West Texas town, sprawling, scrubby, strip malls here and there. We took a humorous private city tour, humorous because it was like trying to take a tour of a nondescript big city suburb.  “Here’s our mall. Here’s our other mall. This is where people with money live. This is where people without money live.” Thanks, guy…

Luckily, the trip only got exponentially better from there with the trip to the South African game reserve and Madagascar and Lemur Island still to come.

No Ebola Here!

It’s difficult to put into words why I like West Africa. It truthfully is ramshackle and decrepit, but I have fondness in my heart when I think of these cities and especially the people with whom I spent time. The local staff I worked with was enthusiastic and appreciative, and it makes me sad to have such small windows to get to know them. The ex-pat community, which I mentioned previously, was also a joy. In this single four week trip, I hung out with people from France, Lebanon, Egypt, Jordon, Israel, and England, all a little bit crazy and a lot of interesting for ending up in places like these. One of my favorites was a crusty old Brit, a character straight out of an Indian Jones adventure, who regaled us with stories of the Ivorian civil wars while we drank large mugs of Castel late into the night in a sand-floored Abidjan tiki bar.

Lome, Togo must be an archetypal West African experience. Colorfully swathed women patrol the roads, hawking the entire produce section of a grocery store delicately balanced on top their heads. And ah, the steamy, sultry African nights… where the air clings to your skin like a damp blanket and the erratic city lights twinkle in the humidity. Lome’s unpretentious rooftop bars, which overlook nothing of particular interest, condone conversations spilling out over glasses of beer and wine with people who not so long before had been strangers. The sort of gypsy life of the Foreign Service Officer and others passing through on a semi-temporary basis creates an impulse to throw connections down quickly and passionately.

There’s so much beauty in Africa, interspersed with stunning poverty. Lome houses a swanky new beach day-resort/party spot called Pure Plage, and to get there you have to drive past shanty-towns which look like they would collapse like a house of cards in a storm. I lounged on a red cushioned recliner beneath a tiki umbrella, sipping a Corona while gazing across the Gulf of Guinea, so close yet so removed from the woes of the world. It’s a bit surreal, as is much that happens on these trips.

Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire, served as quite a contrast after spending several weeks in less-developed Togo and Benin. Looking out across the city from the hotel balcony, it dawned on me that I was looking at a cityscape, with skyscrapers… In the 1970s, apparently Abidjan was the place to be in Africa. Then two civil wars and instability happened. It’s a nice city, but clearly still trying to recapture its former glory. I call the hotel we stayed at my “Grand Budapest” experience (watch this movie!). The enormous wading pool and grassy lounge area was pervaded with a sense of faded grandeur. Perhaps it was because the oversized, bright orange sofas and pillows actually were stained and fading.

The other analogy the Americans I worked with drew for Abidjan was “Lost” (the TV show). As in it never entirely made sense why things were happening the way they were. I went on a run outside the hotel, and soon was confronted with a man smiling and clapping for me, saying something that sounded encouraging in French. Then it happened again. Then again, and again. For a moment I thought I must be finishing the grandest race of my life, instead of slowly slogging through the heat and humidity, trying to keep from dying.

These are not places people go for vacation, but that’s a big part of what motivates me to do what I do. I’m intoxicated with a desire to see and feel and experience parts of the world I barely knew existed.

Chaos and Colors of Africa

I like Africa. There is something about the dysfunction, the dust, and the heat that paradoxically draws me to her. I’ve heard West Africa alternatively called “the real Africa” or “Africa, Africa.” Cotonou is at the coastal end of Benin, a phalically shaped sliver in West Africa. The first thing that struck me about Cotonou, asides from the heat, was the chaos and colors. People are everywhere in their elaborately colorful dashikis, made out of traditional wax cloth – teeming around the streets, or piled several bodies deep on motorbikes, often with a tiny child wrapped tightly to her mother’s back, the little head bobbing off the back. The structures all seem shoddy and impermanent, slapped together out of whatever material was available, and trash piles and the smell of burning plastic are ubiquitous.

Even the places deemed safe enough for me to hang out seemed to spring organically from the earth. After driving down what I would categorize as a dark and sinister alley, a bar or restaurant would appear, a bright beacon nestled in among the shambles where ex-pats and “well-heeled” locals would gather and listed to an African band cover American classic rock or sing reggae. There were also surprises, such as a posh, open-air boxcar bar, pulsing bass lines and neon light into the sultry night. At that bar I met a group of Peace Corp volunteers celebrating a bachelorette party, all wearing dresses custom-made from the same bright pink fabric, twirling with shuttle-cocks. The ex-pat community, lively gatherings of unlikely people, came to be one of my favorite things about West Africa.

West Africa is a little short on tourist attractions, but one of the few outings I went on was to place called “Ganvie”, a stilt village built on water and accessible only by boat. The thirty minute ride out and back under the intoxicatingly blue and vast African sky took us past the bustling Grand Marche and many fishermen, casting their nets in and out of the water. I felt a little self-conscious to consider this village where people lived and worked, selling piles of produce right out of their boats, a tourist attraction. The villagers didn’t seem to mind for the most part, many of them smiling and waving, even taking pictures of us as I took pictures of them.

Stay tuned for Africa Part 2: Lome, Togo.

Sofia, Bulgaria

Going to Sofia, I knew nearly nothing about Bulgaria. Part of my passion for traveling comes from the transformation of a place from being merely a name and space on a map to its full sensory realization by meeting the people, eating their food, walking their streets and learning their history.

Sofia has quite an interesting history as one of the oldest cities in Europe, spanning back BC as a Roman settlement. It’s had three Bulgarian empires, interspersed with foreign conquerors including a long period of Byzantine rule – and you can see these layers of time as layers of the city, since each was literally built on top of each other. It in the metros you can find excavated Roman walls and streets, the next layer up an ancient church with frescoes preserved from the first few centuries of Christianity, then a mosque from the Byzantine period, and finally the magnificent Alexander Nevski Cathedral financed by the Russians – a copper and gold Bulgarian Orthodox cathedral with a dark, stony interior adorned with icons that loom stories above exuding severity and righteousness.

Sofia’s nestled into the imposing Vitosha mountain, giving the city a lovely backdrop when it’s not obscured by snow storms or smog. The city has some grand Soviet era architecture and statues, such as the former party headquarters, which now proudly waves the Bulgarian flag instead of a red communist star, and the not so grand but enormous and squatting Palace of Culture. They have some good beer, similar to Czech beer since they use Czech hops, and some… well, very Eastern European food. Tagging along for a couple of lunches to a restaurant where actual Bulgarians go, I ate beans and cabbage for one meal and bean soup for the other. Hearty, earthy, and distinct – couldn’t do it every day, but it’s fun to try.

I was in Sofia at the tail end of winter when on March 1 everyone starts wearing red and white bracelets called martenitsa that represent life and health. Everyone wears these for several weeks (including men with whole wrists wrapped in these colorful braided bracelets), and then ties them to the first budding tree they find, heralding spring. What a nice tradition, I might tie one to a DC cherry blossom trees if one decides to bloom before I leave again.

So now Sofia is more than a spot on the map to me, and I hope for you. It fuels my lust to bring more of the world to life, to see, to know, to understand just a little bit more. Although after another month of traveling, I have to admit how happy I am to be coming home and spending a few normal weeks with my husband!

Prague, Czech Republic

Prague is possibly the most beautiful city in the world, and one of the most photogenic. Every corner you turn there’s a new stunning view of ornate old buildings, castles, churches, cobblestone streets, or vistas over the Vltava River. Other cities have all these things, but perhaps it’s the concentration of them that make Prague exceptional, how in the old town you cannot turn down the smallest, quietest lane and not find it lovely. As an added bonus, Czech also brews some of the best beer in the world. A city permeated with beauty and excellent beer, what’s not to love about Prague?

This was my third time in the city, and a place I’d gladly keep returning to (if you hadn’t gathered). I came here the first time with my friend Cindy while Ryan was in Afghanistan, and loved it so much I brought him back before we moved to the States. Since I’d already done most of the touristy stuff, this was a more subdued visit. Although the walk is steep up to Prague Castle and St. Vitus, the reward is stunning panoramic views over the city and the impressive gothic architecture itself. I went on a couple long runs over the iconic Charles Bridge and along the Vltava, with the city lights dancing in the water, simply enjoying being alive and being a part of the night.

I loved the people I worked with, including a guy who had lived his first few years in Czechoslovakia, then moved with his parents to Australia and back to the Czech Republic as a young man after the Soviet Union fell. The fascinating stories people have. My friend Cindy, the same friend with whom I first discovered Prague, drove from Germany to spend the weekend with me. It was a fitting and wonderful place for us to have a reunion. Catching up with an old friend is just one of those things that make my soul happy.

There are so many nooks and crannies to explore in Prague, it seems like half the city must be underground. Dodge into an unassuming bar or restaurant from the street and you’re likely to find stairs leading you downstairs to a complex of domed, stone cavern-like rooms serving deliciously traditional Czech food and copious amounts of fantastic and cheap beer. Na zdraví! This is my third trip to Prague and I still feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface.

Madrid, Spain

Madrid is the most nocturnal city I’ve ever experienced. Lunch is at 2 or 3, and dinner may start at 9:30 on the early side, on the weekend 11 or 12 isn’t unusual. And while Madrid does have an intense nightlife scene, these are the normal rhythms of life, young and old alike. This actually suits me quite well personally as I do love to sleep in, and the shops and attractions don’t open till fairly late and stay open longer than other countries, so there’s no great impetus for early rising.

Another notable thing about Madrid was the great number of old couples, bent and diminished with age, ambling about together at all hours of the night. It makes me think that Madrid must be a wonderful place to fall in love and grow old.

Madrid bursts with beautiful parks and plazas, expansive tapas, and a stunning collection of art. I’ll take my croquet with a Degas, por favor. I was in Madrid solo for this trip, which is not ideal for experiencing tapas but is possibly the best way to explore museums. Madrid has what they call the “Golden Triangle” – the Prado, Thyssen, and Reina Sofia galleries… A lot of cities have art museums, but these somehow seem more culturally relevant in Madrid, perhaps because they are predominately filled with Spanish masters like Goya, Velasquez, Dali, and Picasso, expressing the soul of the Spanish people.  It was incredible to experience these paintings after learning about them so long ago in high school art classes (Thank you, Mrs. O’Toole). The compositions, the angles, the brush strokes jumping off the canvas, the emotions a painting can evince: fear and chaos in Goya’s El Tres de Mayo, the hallucinatory haze of Dali’s Endless Enigma. These museums will make you marvel at the depth of human talent, creativity, and mastery, and definitely take a place at the top of my favorite places in the world list.

Just go to Madrid, wander down the brightly light Castellano boulevard, sit in a plaza and drink Tinto de Verano (summer wine) and watch the wonderful world go by. You won’t regret it.