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I started in Antananarivo, the capital, located bang in the centre of the country. The initial going was pretty cruisy, clocking up an easy km each day. Rice paddies littered the roadside and granite-topped hills provided a striking backdrop. A village would pop up every half an hour or so for refuelling. Fried dough with banana, cassava, pineapples, mangos and papayas were all regularly available. At cents an item from the street stalls there's no excuse for going hungry. Further south supplies were less abundant. The villages became more widely spaced - I was lucky to pass more than four a day and only two of those would have any food of note beyond Coke, Fanta, butter biscuits and dried noodles. I was keen to check out the lemurs amidst the rain forest, so after four days I left the safety and seal of the main drag fora side trip down to Parc Ranomafana. The clay surface became increasingly rutted but was still dry and therefore rideable. Clay roads are actually the norm around Madagascar - making travel in the rainy season unthinkable. After a pleasant sojourn hanging with the monkeys, I continued to Manakara on the east coast - logging an impressive hilly kilometres in a single day. Manakara was worth the effort with its palm trees and golden sand. Although I avoided a dip in the treacheroussea. Rather than 'back-pedalling' to the RN7, I hitched a ride on the train from Manakara to Fianarantsoa on the hauts plateaux - just down the road from where I turned off for Ranomafana. The sign said first class, the seats said otherwise. As we started rolling the train's entire populaceappeared to filter forward into first class until the seats were full of bodies and the floor packed with baggage. It was a claustrophobic ten hours. My bicycle emerged from the goods wagon only a little worse for wear. It had been innovatively hung from a metal edge by the seat and bar end - easily fixed with duct tape. Anyhow, roughed up a little it blended in better with the local's bikes. A typical day consisted of getting up just before 5am when it's still quite dark. Then just after five someone switches the light on, that's the tropics for you. The mornings are cool and the light phenomenal for taking photos. My best moments were cruising downhill at five thirty with not a person in sight. Breakfast comprised a baguette with jam and coffee on non-cycling days when I could hang around till the shops opened, otherwise it was yoghurt and butter biscuits. I aimed to cycle for 6 to 8 hours, so by lunchtime- the hottest part of the day - I could focus on the less strenuous activity of finding lodgings for the night. All accommodation in Madagascar is defined as a 'hotel'. A short siesta and then I'd venture out to snap more photos before dinner. The majority of Madagascar's tourists are French. Combine that with its French colonial past and you have a recipe for great culinary experiences. Seafood options abound with all manner of fish, squid, lobster and shrimp. Exotic fruit and plenty of vegetables all make for healthy eating. The remaining six days cycling to Toliara was through the most spectacular scenery imaginable. Parc Andringitra has huge granite cliffs, some up to m high - of which I saw a mad French man base jump. Further west, the landscape eased into wide plains with red roads and hills dotting the horizon in the same bold red. Canyons are etched into red sandstone and bright green foliage hems the clear water. The sifaka large lemurs and chameleons quickly jolted me out of that daydream. Travelling on from Isalo you could still easily be misled into believing you're on the set of a spaghetti western. The locals call this area the 'Wild West'. Its wildness derived from the discovery of sapphires and the consequent influx of miners and opportunists. Houses were rapidly built from board and corrugated iron, so different from the mud-brick dwellings of the hauts plateaux or the wood and thatch construction method used on the coast. Towns are infested with gem stores, complete with steel grilles and thuggish looking males lounging outside. Casinos are also popular so the newly rich can become rapidly poor. I arrived at Toliara after a hot, final km ride, happy to see the coast and a town witha supermarket only the second since leaving Tana. For my final few days in Madagascar I indulged in the dubious luxury of a taxi-brousse ride 20km up the coast to Ifaty, with a coral reef and associated snorkelling opportunities. I concluded that the rudimentary nature of Madagascan cars and their propensity to regularly breakdown, leaves cycling as the premium means of travel in the country. Cycle touring around Madagascar? You'd be mad not to. Join our UnderGround newsletter for regular updates from our blog, new product releases and hot deals. MORE bargain bin gift cards view all products. POSTS latest hot rides tech tips video moments like these. Out of Africa. It's km long, km wide- about twice the area of New Zealand with a population of 12 million. Dec-Mar is the wet season and to be avoided. Winter July-Oct is best. The Madagascar Embassy and the Lonely Planet were useful for the initial planning. I used the Lonely Planet Madagascar guidebook and it reliably found me good places to stay and eat, etc. UnderGround email List Join our UnderGround newsletter for regular updates from our blog, new product releases and hot deals.

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We arrive on a smooth, yet, nonetheless, nerve-racking flight on Air Mad. Customs is painless and we are able to purchase our visas on arrival. We have to wait about an hour and a half, though, to change some damn money with the slowest banker this side of Ethiopia , but we are rewarded with some of the coolest looking currency I have ever seen. Aren sorts a convoy of taxis to haul the entire group in the center of Tana. We arrive at the prearranged hotel and are treated to a room with a view. I made it to Madagascar—the furthest land mass on Earth both latitudinal and longitudinally from where I live in California. We eat a dinner of Spaghetti a la Marinera what else is new! The menu is all in French with no English subtitles and I realize that I am going to have to learn basic French fast if I am ever going to order what I actually want and remain a somewhat beef-free eater. We end up at the hotel and are treated to some fine Malagasy television, but I fall asleep with the TV on. We stroll slowly down the main avenue towards the alleged market. On the way, I meet several small men and buy two cool crystals from one of them; these soon become favorites. We head south at the train station into a maze of markets. People are selling everything imaginable both used and new: tools, out-of-fasion-clothing, tropical fruit drinks sanitary? Aren somehow buys a wild looking Malagasy stringed instrument left called a valiha. It is a piece of polished bamboo with raised strings of various length all around it. Mark is talked into purchasing a small djembe. The bustling market scene eventually takes its toll on the gals so they head back to the hotel for relaxation, but not the men; we instead walk up the inviting hills behind our hotel. We hike to a large church and Aren, Todd and Mark play basketball at with church boys. I am not interested; I want to explore the cobblestone streets behind the church, so I continue up the hill for a ways and explore the winding alleyways. I am instantly in love with Antananarivo. I stay away from the raw meet. Post dinner finds us at the bar and we meet woman with curly light brown hair, blue eyes, and chocolate colored skin. Her name is Natalie. We arrive at a club and are bullied by some guards, but Natalie argues with them and we are eventually escorted in. We dance, drink and suddenly Todd is parallel to the floor facing up. His right arm is down holding him up about 12 inches off the floor and his left arm is waving wildly in the air. Wow, I never knew Todd had it in him. Meanwhile Natalie and Aren are dancing away, quite freely. Aren suddenly disappears and then Todd follows in an urgent manner. I, frankly, am staying where I am because two girls are arguing over me: the otellee girl and now a new, rather large African woman. I love the singles-ex-pat life. After about five large beers each, we try and leave the place, but all the girls stick to us like flies on shit. We are frankly too drunk to plan an escape, so we willingly let the girls follow us. We stumble back towards our hotel, walking through the most dangerous parts of town. We are too loud and too many in number to be messed with. I notice Todd is suddenly paying his girl to leave him. The other girls have already followed Aren and Mark into our hotel and I simply run away from my girl. I walk in my room a minute too late. There are two girls with Mark; one on his bed caressing him and the other one is going through me stuff. The girl is wearing my shoes. You all are outta here. Mark, these girls have got to go before they take all of our things. I shoo the girls out the door while the hotel manager, who has been awaken by all our rowdiness yells at the girls in his native tongue. We all go sleep. What a night. My head is killing me. Could someone please shoot the sun? Luckily, I downed a liter and a half of water the night before. I feel OK, but I think I am the only one. Upon arrival, I realize that I am in big trouble. Never in my life have I ever seen this many crystals and djembes on sale. I start bargaining left and right. It is out of control. Amethyst, quarts, amber, rubies, crystal balls, double terminating crystals. I try not to get too overwhelmed but buy a smoky quartz crystal ball and a spectralite egg. Most people eat it but I stay away. I think they are stupid. Talk about getting sick, but I am inspired to write a song. So we all space out for a while trying to locate the Eastbound taxi brousse Finally, I hail two local taxis and they take us to the right spot. Mark, my roommate, suddenly gets sick and throws up all over in the bathroom. Night falls and we meet a guide who takes us on an ultra-cool night walk and we see a chameleon this big:. Then we see two brown mouse lemurs and one friendly and curious greater dwarf lemur. It is raining the whole time and we find one cool big chameleon and I accidentally knock him down and he disappears. Oh no—but chameleons bounce so it is OK. The weather is great today. Partly cloudy, threats of rain, but the sum prevails. We meet our guide again for the main walk through the rainforest. I hold the chameleon and everyone takes pictures. We then track the indri lemur famed for its high screeching calls. We find some and they howl at the top of their lungs right above us. The eerie and loud howling can be heard miles away. I wish I could make those noises. We continue on our hike and spot some yellow frogs in a boggy area. There are hundreds of them. Bright yellow. We rest and then go to the airport to pick up Mies and Wouter. We stay up and talk and then Mies and I talk while hanging out in the window sill. I lead the growing group to the Market de Artesian. I buy a shit load of rocks Aren goes djembe crazy. I buy a double-terminated quartz for Mies, an aquamarine for Amy and lots of other quartz for my friends at home. We eat at the Tana Restaurant for dinner. Soup, noodles and beer. Then we hike up the stairs and go to the church for singing mass. But the singing is poor so we head out and are met by one of the djembe con artist we saw at the market earlier today. He is now drunk and trying to continue to overcharge us for a djembe—how rude. We go for tea at a nice hotel and there are three musicians playing the same weird bamboo instruments that Aren bought earlier. However, this musician plays the instrument with such precision that it sounds like a harp. The band plays several Christmas selections and then some traditional Malagasy songs. The band finishes and invites us back again. We wake up and Santa has come with some treats. Actually Mark has left some funny notes, hilarious. Nicole realizes that her stalking got stolen. Too bad. We go up further and pass kids playing ball in the streets. We end up at a nice Christmas gathering at a restaurant. We walk in and there is the nicest vibe going on. People playing instruments and guitars, singing, dancing, people of all ages, kids, my age, older. We get drinks and pom fritz and enjoy the sunshine. We then walk up to a view on the other side of the hill, talk to some kids and go up to the Rova—the now burned out inhabitants of the royalty. A guide somehow joins us. We try to ditch the guide and sneak into the church. We sit for a while, and I reflect for a while, as I always do when in such a high place. We eventually find our way down and walk back. Todd and I are taking an alternate route and we all end up back at the hotel where we get ready for dinner. Nice coke for dessert. We then taxi to a night club where we drink, dance. I get on a big block in the center of the club and dance with an slender, and extremely beautiful Malagasy woman. But she has no interest in me as her back is to me, but that is fine. Aren takes some photos. Mies and I go upstairs and talk again and Nicole falls asleep on a booth. Was this a hotel? Four Americans had just left that morning on their way to Ifaty. We put our stuff on top of some beer bottles and left again to look for a bus to Ifaty. We bought fruit from a cactus tree. Why do we keep having the feeling that people laugh at us all the time? Do we pay too much? This lady probably could not believe we never ate this thing before. We see a bus, just about to leave to Ifaty. They really want us to come in for 20, each. Brian still had his doubts but I kind of convinced him. In maybe two hours we could be one the beach. We would have a beautiful ride along the coast during sunset and see our friends and eat fish. Meanwhile, Brian sat in the pousse-pousse on top of our stuff looking quite exhausted of all this. After a while, the bus came back and we could enter it. We took a place in the back of the bus, would be nice to sit close to a window, close to the backdoor. Several people tried to sell us tickets, all for different prices, none of them turned out to have anything to do with the bus ride—they were just trying to get our money. We left after some time of arguing, putting more people in the bus, screaming children, drunk people. It was a beach with big bumps everywhere. The ride was terrible, though I loved it especially afterwards. I never forget the loud whistling of a man sitting next to Brian, announcing a following stop. And for how long? Finally, we see the group sitting on a terrace. They are quite surprised to see us. A nice day, but the feast is the best. All you can eat lobster, followed by a goose. No room for dessert, but I play reggae with the band. At midnight, we all get naked and run into the ocean, but it is low tide and the water is only three inches deep. We run and run for deeper water, but the shelf goes out for miles and we give up and run back to land. We, instead, jump into the resort pool making a spectacle of ourselves. I hug Nicole and then we put our clothes back on. It is great. Dinner at the Jasmine Restaurant of duck. We go to the airport, see Mies and Wouter off, and sleep in the terminal awaiting our early morning flight. The trip is over. What a fucking blast! Our scehdule. I am not sure how it all got started. Somehow, though, the powers of the universe contrived enabling our journey through the Heart of Africa. It began quite innocently as an alleged trip to Bulgaria and Romania. Zap—a long awaited spark was kindled—The Middle East: Yemen, in particular. And the visas were applied for, the air tickets purchased; and on a fine March 4th day we were on our way aboard a gleaming Air France en route to Cairo, Egypt, via a five day layover in France. We never did make it to Yemen, nor the Middle East for that matter; we headed South, instead, into the Heart of Africa, and what follows is the story of events as they unfold. Our Itinerary. Countries visited - Africa - Our scehdule I am not sure how it all got started.

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