Back in Antananarivo, I had 36 hours or so to wait for my flight to the north western city of Sambava. In that time I planned to visit the out of town Royal Palace, called the Rova (confusingly one of several Rovas) at Ambohimanga. But only if the weather was good. Unfortunately, when I got up that morning it was overcast and threatening to rain, so I decided against that excursion.


Instead I contented myself with a trip back to the Gare Soarano and a look for a bureau de change . At the Gare I ended up have a long lunch and catching up on the internet. By the time I returned back to the Jacaranda, a new traveller had checked in. Ana-Marie from Romania now living in Durban was a very interesting person and we had a good chat about all things African as she had travelled a lot in Southern Africa and was interested in my plans for my trip with my father.


In the end we decided to grab a bite to eat together bat the well reviewed (by Lonely Planet anyway) La Varangue. This delightful restaurant decked out with a fabulous collection of old gas lamps and various other antiques had a terrific ambiance and feel to it. A real touch of colonial France and I was pleased to see I could finally experience that colonial meal I had promised myself.


The service and setting was truly grand and the clientele just simply ex-pats and the food was , well er… just OK . I had the foie gras starter followed by the beef (zebu) Ravitoto (stew). Ana Marie had the frogs legs and the zebu. It was certainly good, but not earth shattering, although the Ravitoto sauce was delicious. It was though a great evening plus Ana Marie and I agreed we would meet up again, should our paths cross.


The next morning I took the airport shuttle back to the airport and checked in at the domestic terminal (a smaller version of the international terminal). Inside the terminal remind me of Shanghai’s old airport in 1989. More security than passengers, huge security checks, rechecks and rechecks - scans, re-scans and scans. There was a mandatory two hours checkin but nothing to do the other side of all that paraphernalia. I asked for an aisle seat and was given one, only for my boarding pass to be cancelled on entering the plane and assigned a window seat. C’est la Vie.


One hour later we descended over the lush green jungles of the north west and came in directly over the Indian Ocean to land at Sambava . It appeared many people had come to watch the event, as we touched down next to the main road. There was an impressive line up line of locals gazing at the Boeing, and even more as we taxied up in front of what can only be described as a hut.


The plane’s passengers poured (well the ones who were not remaining on the plane) into one half of the hut and were separated from a line of eager taxi drivers by a large wooden bench (where our luggage was to be placed). Considering the plane was some 20m for the hut it surprisingly took over one hour to unload and distribute our bags, go through another security check and then fight through the line of taxi hawkers.


Sambava was a pleasant 32C, about 10C warmer than Tana and was really just a ramshackle town stretching along side the sandy town beach. There was no swimming at this city, due to strong under currents, so there were virtually no tourists here and the only whites were the resident ex-pat pensioners from France and their young Malagasy girlfriends .


In Andasibe I had meet Dr Aristide Andrianarimisa from the Madagascan Wildlife Conservation Society whilst I was gawping at the Indris. He asked me where I was going next and I answered that I wanted to go to the northwest to see if I could see the ‘Angels of Jungle’ - the legendary white Sifakas that are included on the WWF top 25 endangered primates list. Aristide kindly put me in touch with Dr Eric Patel from Cornell University in the US. Erik is the leading scientist studying these lemurs and he put me in touch with Bruno Lee, a local business man who co-ordinates all Eric’s visits and work within the Maroujejy National Park. Consequently I had some excellent contacts to facilitate a good trip.


Within twenty minutes of leaving the airport I was sitting in Bruno’s restaurant, Mimi, after checking into his hotel . Everyone seemed to know Bruno. The Jacaranda’s staff back in Tana all knew him and I was quick to notice he was recommended in the Lonely Planet. When I arrived he was in a meeting, so I enjoyed a coffee. His hotel was not quite what I had expected. It was really just a concrete block (no ocean view) and a hot one at that. The doors did not lock properly, the toilet seats were missing and the water & electricity were sort of and on. However on meeting Bruno, all my misgivings started to disappear. His food was also a delight combining his native Chinese food with traditional French and Malagasy food. His staff were fabulous, all keen to teach me some words of Malagasy, all smiles and all so friendly (especially when they discovered I was not French - and here for the animals). Bruno on the other hand was a quiet, humble man who never let on to me actually how much he has helped Maroujejy Nat Park. Much later during my stay in the area it became clear that he was a major donor and supporter financially of the park, having moved here from Andasibe .


I met Bruno in the late afternoon and he introduced me to Louis Jaofeno, the director of Sava Tourism. Together we all planned my visit to Maroujejy including the duration, the guide, the tracker, the cook and the porters.This was all done to maximise the chance of seeing the Silky Sifakas. With an outline plan, route and personnel, the next thing I needed was to buy four days of food for five people. For this job, Bruno suggested I engage the services of one of his staff, Jermaine and that we spend the following day buying all the gear at the morning markets. Jermaine would then arrange transport etc so I could leave on the friday, return on the monday and have one days rest before my flight to Diego Suarez. This seemed an excellent plan.


I met Jermaine the next day at 7.30am (his idea) during breakfast, amid a terrible monsoon like rainstorm. He brought his nephew Cecile, to practice his English. Jermaine I guess was in his early twenties and looked vaguely Ethiopian with a big round face and beaming smile. His English was impeccable, Cecile’s less so. With the rain failing to cease we elected to get wet anyway and start the shopping. The national park website had a list of food to bring and Bruno had added his own suggestions. I thought I would get some nice food for the guides as I wanted them to be happy and try their best for me. Zebu (the famous cattle with the hump near the neck - introduced to Madagascar) steaks was also added, but with no fridge - everyone would have to go vegetarian for the last two days.


Jermaine was quick to direct me along the main road up to the main supermarket. In the pouring rain all the customers were forming a barricade preventing access to the entrance which was sheltered underneath the buildings overhanging roof. Once inside the dry interior, it was obvious that this was less of a supermarket and more of a cash and carry, nevertheless perfect for our bits and bobs, plus many plastic bags (to protect my gear against the presumed bad weather). Then it was straight into the market, a narrow winding dirt pathway that lead off the bitumen high street and into the back alleys. Jermaine lead me straight to the vendors he knew best, and we bought smoked fish, raw white beans, rice, tomatoes, eggs, salt, sugar, oil and vegetables plus a great looking 1kg slice of topside Zebu for $4. Then it was up to the taxi brousse station where we meet “January” (yes! - that was his name) who sold me his front two seats in his minibus for a combined rip off price of $8, including my baggage - with a collection at 5.00am.


It was still pouring when we had finished and I treated them both to a glass of coke before they left. The rest of the day was spent sheltering from the rain (the rainy season was meant to have finished over a month ago). In the late afternoon the sun finally came out and I managed to get away to the bank and then after dinner all was ready.


It was an early morning start the next day at 4.30 and I had to wake Elois (the head waiter) so he could give me my Zebu from the fridge. January appeared soon after 5.00 with music and heater blaring, as the rain started to pour down again and we set off to look for more customers to fill the partially full minibus. By 7.00am we had still not filled the minibus, and were driving up and down the main high street and all the side roads. The heat in the front seats was dizzying and at least the audio machine had packed in. January just kept on going leaning out of the minibus and haranguing people walking on the road.


Eventually after two hours we left and January hopped out to be replaced by the driver, as January was only the middle man. “Why could I have not been collected now” i thought……
The road to the park headquarters at Manantenina was smooth and trouble free for the 66 km journey. We swung through little villages and hamlets, many rice paddy plantations and vegetable farms. There was little other traffic on the road, but we continually stopped stacking book cases, sacks of rice and farm machinery on the roof. By ten o’clock we arrived in Manantenina and just before the village was the national park headquarters, where I, my food and daypack was dropped off.


Within minutes I was met by the manager who signed me in and then my guide, cook and finally tracker appeared. My guide was a tall gangly man called Guy who spoke fabulous English was in his mid-thirties. Marcel was my cook, he spoke just Malagasy and a few words of French and he was my age as was the wiry Nestor who was to be my tracker. The manager said I required two porters as my food was over 15 kg (just) so these were to be organised separately, whilst Nestor and Guy would get ready and leave with me a little later.


Everything that I had agreed with Bruno in Sambava had been communicated to the manager, including purpose of the trip plus Bruno’s recommendation of the first night at Camp One followed by the next two at Camp Two. The manager then concluded by saying that he assembled his “best team for me, with a guide who speaks perfect English.”  I was impressed, but was interested to see what happened after we had left. Everyone seemed nice and keen.


Firstly we went into the village so Guy and Nestor could “pack”. Whilst I was there I took the opportunity to have four oranges and a bar of chocolate, as I had missed the opportunity to have breakfast. I shared my oranges with the hungry local kids and their mums came and thanked me. The women found it hilarious when I tried to speak Malagasy.


Soon we were ready and the sun finally came out as we left towards the peak of Mt Maroujejy which dominated the town. The first part of the trek to Camp One consisted of walking to the park entrance. This was through the first village of Manantenina and then after 4 kms, through the second village of Manantenina. Guy and Nestor seemed to know everyone, which was reassuring.


The temperature soon soared now the sun had made an appearance and I guess it was in the mid thirties as passed all these friendly villagers. The total trek to Camp One was about twelve kms rising from sea level to about 500m. From Camp One to Two was a further 5kms rising to 750m. I did not for see any problems, I was though a bit surprised to find the porters had gone ahead, as I was expecting to follow the food and have access to it.


As we again reached the park entrance at the foot of this small climb, again I started to get a hypo (due to the lack of breakfast and high levels of medication etc etc). I had worried about this when I was unable to eat this morning, but I did bank on lunch, which was now several kilometres in front of me (as the porters and Marcel had gone on ahead). Nestor kindly volunteered to run ahead and retrieve some food - as Guy mentioned there was nothing I could buy off the locals. As we ventured slowly into the park, the landscape changed. Guy and myself immediately entered a dense forest with the pathways covered by huge rocks (actually Maroujejy means many rocks in English, Guy told me), tree roots and deep piles of leaves carpeting the muddy floors. It was dark, very slippery as everything underfoot was either mushy or covered in greasy green lichen. Walking suddenly became slow and difficult and my hypo unfortunately got worse. To add to my problems the heavens opened and we got drenched monsoon style. Lucky my waterproofs and plastic bags remained true to their words.


The frogs of course loved this and within minutes Guy had spotted my first Mantella (the famous black frog, with spindly fingers, a bright green rectangle colouring on their backs and the size of a 10p piece). We saw a large jungle crab, close to dinner plate size and surprisingly bright red, plus several stunning Chameleons and large red Millipedes. All the time the paths got steeper, more slippery and my hypo became worse. Looking back on this it was character testing, but at the time I felt shit.


Despite the proximity of Camp One it was still slow going and we were only managing one km a hour. With two kilometres to go and in middle of a torrential downpour, Nestor arrived with peanuts, a snickers bar and a flask of tea, fabulous. As I ate the emergency Snickers bar, it disintegrated in the downpour, but it helped. Within minutes I felt better and we managed to complete the rest of the trek, problem free. As soon as we arrived in the picturesque Camp One, it stopped raining. Like all the forest accommodation at Maroujejy, these camps had bungalows built with wood and waterproof thick tarpaulin. These could accommodate four people in each and there were six bungalows in each camp. A western toilet and shower cubical were also on site as was a communal restaurant and kitchen. Marcel was hard at work in the kitchen as as soon as we arrived food was placed on the table. A lot of the equipment I discovered here was donated by Bruno, and consequently I was pleased I was staying at his hotel. We (the four of us, as the Porters returned to the village) were the only guests. It took a while to get out of the wet clothes and hang them up. I also discovered several well gorged leeches under my trousers (they had wriggled through my defences) and coloured my beige socks blood red!


With the rain stopping the neighbouring bamboo thicket sprang into life with small Bamboo Lemurs. I was very certain they were the same one I had seen in Andasibe, however in the dim afternoon light it was not easy to be sure. With darkness fast approaching we got ready for an early night and checked the rooms for Scorpions and Black Widow spiders. Marcel then produced a stunning meal of Zebu curry with ginger & rice. The best meal (and the tenderest Zebu) I had experienced in Madagascar, and who would have thought that - camping. As we ate the sounds of the jungle started and large spiders appeared in their webs. Cicadas were aplenty, but it was the frogs with their musical instrument sounds that will remain long in the memory (especially) the one that sounded like a 1970s electric guitar. I slept well.


Guy had me up early the next morning, obviously worried about a repeat of the previous day’s issues. Breakfast was sumptuous and on time and I watched the three Malagasy men dilute their already weak Madagascan tea with huge quantities of sugar and condensed milk (nobody I know has diabetes, said Guy without a hint of irony). Unfortunately we had to cancel a side trip to a local waterfall as so much water had fallen yesterday, Guy said the track there would be treacherous. After my three falls yesterday, I took heed.


We embarked on our leisurely stroll to Camp Two and as well left, the two Porters reappeared to cart the food there - followed by Marcel. Nestor had already left at 4.00am to start his scouting for the Silkies.


Multicoloured Geckos, Lizards, Frogs, Cicadas were everywhere in the sodden forest. I even spotted, quite by chance, a tiny Pygmy Kingfisher, but it was too quick for my camera. Guy said I was very lucky - and that this was a good omen for the Silkies. Water was dripping off the trees from the previous day’s rain and it made the pathway very slippery especially over large roots, which we now had to scramble over. The path continued to get stepper and stepper the nearer we got to Camp Two, but at least today there was blue sky above.


Eventually we came out into a clearing on the rocky backs of a high waterfall. I glanced over the edge to see it dropping down into the forest, only to realise that behind me was Camp Two, built on the rocky sides of the river, with the communal restaurant right at the top. It was stunningly picturesque in beautiful warm sunlight and blue skies.


We waited for Nestor and when he arrived, Marcel produced an enormous plate of spaghetti for lunch and he then gave me news of his attempts to find the Silky Sifakas.