The cutest primate of them all

---

I continue south from Fianar through another landscape of rice paddies and terraces, the former reflecting the fleecy clouds in the blue sky above. Ambalavao is only a short distance away and soon I'm settled into the most expensive room yet of my stay in Madagascar ($15), though it's arguably the most comfortable also.

Inevitably my arrival pings on the radar of the resident English-speaking guide, but he respects my statement that I'm not looking to take a tour, and is happy to dispense information without expecting anything in return.

Ambalavao is a small town of narrow streets, filled with the colonial architecture of balconies and shuttered windows. I've already seen that Madagascar has a good selection of arts and crafts of varying degrees of traditional authenticity, and one of the most famous is made in the paper factory conveniently situated in the grounds of my hotel. The factory produces Antaimoro paper, prepared from sisal, and its USP is the colourful flowers and leaves pressed into it during the manufacturing process. The end product is pretty indeed but not really practical for writing on.

I visit the famed zebu market, held on a rise just to the south of the town. A milling crowd of zebu, locals, and curious tourists fills the space but it would be hard to describe it as a hubbub of mercantile activity. The only excitement occurs when an occasional zebu decides it fancies a bit of a jog and breaks out of the security cordon. It's soon followed by a few shouting boys whose sticks and shouts of "Ati!" are used to return it to the fold.

There are some corrals nearby, presumably for genuine herds rather than the small groups that seem to constitute the majority of the merchandise on sale, but nothing seems to be happening there.

I ask one of the whipping boys how much an average zebu costs. He replies Ar50,000 (=~$25) then, suddenly realising why I might be asking, corrects himself and says the price is Ar 1 million (=~$500).

Note to self: only an idiot wears flip-flops to a zebu market.

From Ambalavao I also visit the Anja Village Reserve, a site just to the south that I've read contains some well-habituated lemurs. I wait 1.5 hours for the taxi-brousse to fill up for the 20 minute journey, during which the curse of Westlife strikes again - "I have a dream" comes on the radio, amusingly sung along to by the woman behind me who clearly knows no English.

I have to have a guide for the reserve, but his English is at times totally incomprehensible and I frequently lapse into French for clarification. He doesn't give a great deal of information anyway but the reserve and its inhabitants speak for themselves.

The first aspect of note is the setting - in a valley of rice paddies and picturesque villages of red-brown buildings, and nestled up against a trio of inselbergs known as the Three Sisters. It's gorgeous, one of the best bits of scenery in the Central Highlands, which in general have been most diverting.

However the highlight of the walk is the ring-tailed lemurs that we encounter. The national symbol of Madagascar, and known as maki in Malagasy, they are cute and playful, with the ones in the reserve entirely accustomed to camera-wielding tourists. However, like all lemurs, they're arboreal, meaning a photographic nightmare of low light and horrendous contrast.

The main group we see has plenty of young ones, either clinging to their mothers' undersides (up to 3 months) or riding jockey-style on their backs (3-6 months).

We also see a large chameleon and a few pachypodium plants but the landscape and the maki are what make the visit. The only sour note is that at one point the guide shakes a tree in order to make the maki a bit more active. I realise that the guides are trying to please the tourists, and for most tourists that means getting good photos, but traumatising the very creatures that the tourists have come to see seems both irresponsible and counter-productive.

Finally, we pass some tombs but the guide's descriptions in both English and French are beyond my understanding.

Back in Ambalavao, I'm intrigued to find games of pick-up basketball taking place on some courts just off the main street. Even more surprising is the number of girls playing. Africa has not been a great part of the world to visit for societies in which women have anything approaching equal status to men, so it's something of a novelty to see this level playing field, with the more skilled girls spinning and dribbling past the larger boys. This isn't the first time I've seen basketball in Madagascar but I still don't know why it's popular here - ditto the martial arts films that I see advertised everywhere.

Ambalavao is as far south as I will come on Route 7. Taking into account journey times and my available weeks, plus my liking for slow travel, I calculate that it's time to start heading north again. When I've been buying taxi-brousse tickets in Madagascar, I've always been asked to give my name. So far - and showing how people here have an awareness of affairs far beyond their shores - one of the following has then been name-checked: Johnny Cash, John Major, or John Terry. Ambalavao gives me a new one - John Cena, the WWF star. Having been told in the past that I look like John Denver, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he makes an appearance too.

Dull but possibly useful info
i. There is Internet available at the CITE office, on the northern apex of the market opposite L'ecole "Les Bambins". It's Ar50 per minute and sloooow ...
ii. There are no banks in Ambalavao.

---

Photos

Curious young maki
Anja Village Reserve

Friendly local
This picture, like the one before it, was actually requested of me.

Comments

[stan7]

More information on that topic
Yahoo