I always thought of Madagascar as a big island with weird
creatures inhabiting it. Actually, I wasn’t too far off from that assessment, my
understanding having come from spending more than a month traversing its girth
and length in road cars, dirt cars, water cars, boats of all sizes, planes that
almost didn’t fly (Air Madagascar, you know…) and by foot, huffing it up and
down steep wooded hills, crawling through dark geologically fascinating
tunnels, cringing over rope bridges, wooden bridges and piers, and broken-down
automobile bridges, too. We traversed as much as we could (barring the heavily
touristic areas, of course), starting in Antananarivo (Tana), the capital city,
where the head honchos rule, it seems, with a titanium gavel and inequity from
everything physically binding including gravity, or is it gravidity. We met
amazing people from all over the world, including … yes … from Madagascar. We
chose our travel destination with a sense of logic, but you know how that goes
… “What am I thinking now, how are the neurons firing in my brain based upon
input that was seemingly randomly inserted, but wasn’t random at all, at least
that I can ‘explain’ to myself…” It was August; Israel is miserable then; there
is not a lot of work happening then, since (almost) everyone leaves; we needed
someplace wintery, since (yes) it’s miserable in Israel then; we needed
someplace with interesting animals, cultural phenomenon, and adventure; I wanted
to lay on a beach, the Mrs. wanted to ‘not lay on a beach,’ I wanted to have
inspiration, and the Mrs. wanted to relax. These were our requirements and
Madagascar fit the bill, perfectly.
We had big plans to fly through Istanbul, since it was
affordable for us that way with Turkish Airlines, and since I hadn’t spent any
time in Turkey before. We were to spend a couple of days exploring the museums and
sites. I really wanted to see the Paleo-Hebrew Shiloah (Siloam) inscription
from the tunnel of King Hezekiah that the Turks took when they ran our part of
the world during their occupation of it, but it wasn’t to be, it seems… There
was a coup attempt and police, military leaders, and teachers were being thrown
into jail, so we had to cough up some more cash to limit our time in Istanbul
to a quick connection in the airport. On the flight the entire coup attempt was
explained with Fascist efficiency using a glossy magazine that passengers were
(almost) forced to read out of boredom while sitting on the tarmac. They
explained that, you know, there was a broad range of individual leader
insurgents from all walks of life, religious, secular, right wing, left wing,
intellectual, anyone with a question for the teacher, and, of course,
terrorists, lead mostly by some guy living in the US (a real rebel-rouser lefty
ex-Turk), that were trying to subjugate the proud people of Turkey and take
advantage of the freedoms Turkey has to offer. So, I guess I’ll have to save
the plaque for another time, but the real adventure was Madagascar, anyways, so
here we go!
We hit the ground running in Tana, having been picked up at
the airport by our guide and driver. We arranged the trip from Israel by using
Trip Advisor and, by far, the best, most reasonable guide, by our judgment, was
Belaza from
Gassitours. If you work with him you’ll see what I mean. We were
whisked off to our hotel, with me shooting cellphone pictures out the window
from the back seat at the incredible cacophony of visual imagery coming at me
faster than I could even process. The urban landscape was peppered with rural enclaves;
rice paddies abounded, but with smoking kilns of drying bricks interspersed
with, seemingly (at the time), shacks and makeshift structures. There were drying
clothes laid out perfectly in matching outfits that brightened every riverbank,
and human drawn carts that pulled heavy loads of everything from thatching to
hand made bricks, interspersed with the occasional zebu-cart filled with
smiling people or wares to the market, or bicycles loaded higher than the rider
with charcoal bags or produce. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And it didn’t stop
there. Madagascar is a place that will sit in my subconscious forever. Here,
let me explain:
In my world view the world has always been a battle between
the spiritual and the physical. We have seen throughout history that the
physical has mostly prevailed, since the spiritual almost always seems to get
bogged down in religion. Let’s just say, for the sake of this piece, that
religion has become the fringe territory of the physical, as it tries to
capture the minds and souls from the spiritual. Oy. I know. That’s just too
obtuse to follow… Okay, let me start again. I would say that the most difficult
part of my adventure in Madagascar was the communication gap with everyone and
everything. We are forced to use language, be it body, verbal, or otherwise, to
communicate and in Madagascar I just always felt that I went misunderstood. The
way I tended to gravitate in order to overcome this was to smile, be patient,
and adopt a Mora Mora attitude about things; and I hit the nail right on the
head. What is Mora Mora, you may ask? Well, this is the essence of both
happiness or perfection, and the Malagasy (people of Madagascar) way of life.
By adopting this strategy the result is generally a sense of pleasure, or
longitude. Mora Mora means, literally, slowly slowly. In Hebrew it is le’at
le’at, but it’s really a different kind of thing. Le’at le’at is said only when
there is a sense of frustration in the air, while Mora Mora is a way of life,
seemingly known from birth. The people in Madagascar have suffered some of the
worst possible abuse from the world and from themselves. Their leaders are some
of the most corrupt on the planet, or at least we can see the abuse, unlike
other countries where the leaders are so, so slick that we can’t as easily.
It’s just obvious in Madagascar, kind of like Turkey, I guess…
The people are simple, smiling a lot, and they really seem
to love life. There are many tribes with different cultures, as well as many
religions, such as Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Animist, and even Jewish. They
don’t fight among themselves about who is right or wrong, even in the far
reaches where people are poor and totally tribal I saw Muslim girls playing
with others, Animist, Christian or otherwise. I could tell only because of the
head covering on the girls, but everyone I talked to seemed surprised at my
questions about their religious leanings. They were happy to explain,
regardless … however. They have all, it seems, adopted the Mora Mora strategy
in life, you know: easy goes it, slow down, think long term, don’t worry … it
will all work out. I resonated with it completely. This is how the entire world
should operate: Mora Mora. I just wish we could get our leaders on board, who
all, without exception it seems, opt for a different mantra altogether. Me’a
Me’a is just such small thinking, especially for the leaders that we elect to
rule in our stead.
Shavua tov, kulam, and enjoy some select pics from our
adventures in Madagascar!
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| Me and the Indry Indry |
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| Painting on a tomb |
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| Zebu cart |
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| Family tomb |
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| Fruit at the market |
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| Cathedral in the Tzingy |
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| Spelunking |
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| Hiking in the Tzingy |
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| The ferry |
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| The lovers |
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| Baobabs at sunset |
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| Family outing and market day |
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| Life happens alongside the roads in Madagascar |
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| The Indian Ocean outside a mangrove forest |
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| Satellite dish on the country store |
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| The Mozambique Channel at sunset |
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| Rainbow at low tide |
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| Snail on a tree |
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| Go carts are common for transporting goods to market |
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| Breaking rocks into gravel, by hand, for construction material |
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| Taxibus jammed full and riding low, as usual |
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| Chameleon at night |
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| Grave robber's leftovers |
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| Eze' punim... |
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| The guard's house with his wife in the kitchen |
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| Sisal plantation |
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| Happy mothers |
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| Goods being carried to market |
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| Pitcher plants and the Indian Ocean |
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| Surreal landscape in Lokaro |
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| Aluminum pot factory |
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| Zebus to market |
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| Circumcision gifts |
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| At the gold mine |
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| Boy on a bridge |
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| Mat carried on head |
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| Post death wish list painted on family tomb |
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| Sunday ride |
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| County fair |
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| Swimming pool |
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| Sefaka |
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| The cafeteria clan hard at work |
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| Carved steps |
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| Swimming hole |
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| Bike courier |
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| Fishing boats |
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| Ifaty at sunset |
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| Beach band with custom instruments |
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| Market day |
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| Cactus with chameleon |
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| Worker and zebu carving |
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| Spiny forest |
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| Croc |
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| Bats |
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| Lounging |
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| Bright eyes |
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| Chameleon on a log |
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| Have a seat |
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| The ballet! |
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| Air Sefaka |
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| Giving me five! |
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| Fisherman in the mangroves |
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| The Mozambique Channel |
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| The fruit market |
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| After hiking up wooded slopes |
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| My watchdog |
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| Making itself at home! |
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| Hello there! |
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| Ready for a walk |
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| The Aye Aye |
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| Delivering luggage and scooters to the ferry |
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| Me and the ferryman |
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| Fisherman netting sardines |
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| A typical house |
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| The only known pirate cemetery in the world |
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| Dugout ride through the mangroves |
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| The Indian Ocean after a storm |
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| Fun and games for bananas |
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| Fun and games for bananas |
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| Delivering coconuts for the Aye Ayes |
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| On the speedy-boat |
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| Belaza and one of his vehicle hires |
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| Graveyard |
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| Happy kids |
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