Taxi Brousse-capades

My trip back to Anatananarivo (Tana) was uneventful, I took a short flight from Nosy Be and then checked into the highly recommended Sakamanga hotel - more on that another time. A number of the volunteers had taken a taxi brousse when they initially arrived from Tana at the start of their program, so I’d heard many stories of what to expect, and quite frankly, I felt satisfied that flying was the way to go. There are few train routes in Madagascar, two, maybe three in the entire country and they won’t take you north to Nosy Be. The only options are flying or taxi brousse. So let me say this, I was happy that I flew, and I’m not a nervous flier, but each time that Air Madagascar plane touched down I felt a strong sense of relief - those planes have seen better days, its as if their fleet is made up of other airlines’ retired planes. Back to the taxi brousse, it’s a van/mini-bus type of vehicle where all the luggage is strapped down on the roof and passengers are packed into seats like sardines. The trip from Tana to Nosy Be takes 17 hours if you make good time but I knew of multiple people whose trips were… extended. Three days was the longest, which included multiple breakdowns and a night sleeping on the van. So yeah, not worth it.

That said, I did feel like a taxi brousse was something I should experience, but all the build-up made me a little nervous. I heard not to sit in the back because the leg room was cripplingly bad. I heard that Malagasy music blasts throughout the trip. I heard the vehicles are deathtraps, without seat belts if there was a crash, all the “sardines” would go flying. When I landed in Tana I had arranged a taxi through my hotel and en route to Sakamanga the driver inquired about my plans. I told him my plan to travel on to Antasibe and he offered to drive - for €100. Tempting as a private car sounded, that was far too expensive, and how could I justify skipping the taxi brousse? It’s only three hours from Tana to Andasibe, even if it’s terrible, it’s only a few hours.

The night before the taxi brousse I could barely sleep; partly because my room was located in a noisy corner and every noise woke me and also because I never sleep well when I have an extremely early wake-up. I was half-awake when my alarm went off at 4:30 so getting up was easier than ever. My taxi to the taxi brousse station was one of these Renault bug-looking vehicles that felt like it might fall apart any second. Forget airbags and seat belts, the doors were tinny metal that barely latched. I was thankful that traffic is minimal at 5:30am so the chances of an accident were reduced. As soon as we arrived at the taxi brousse station I was accosted by people trying to get my into their vehicles. There are three or four different stations in Tana, depending on the direction you are traveling, so it’s a safe bet that many of the vazaha (white person/tourist in Malagasy) at this particular station are going to Andasibe by way of Moramanga. I was tempted to select one of the empty vehicles, knowing that I would have my choice of comfortable seats in the front with decent legroom - but there was a vehicle that was already two-thirds full and they don’t leave until they are full so I might be in for a long wait if I selected an empty vehicle.

I negotiated for the window seat in the second to last row, paid my $7000Ar and stood outside, enjoying the last few moments of space, and more importantly, to watch my bag until it was secured and all of the luggage was tied down to the roof. When I squeezed into the mini-bus I realized just how limited the legroom was. I wondered how the 6’5” guys at camp did it for such a long trip. I decided it was because they were eighteen. I couldn’t sit straight, so angled into the corner and contemplated how many minor shifts I could make to survive the ride. The mini-bus filled up, there were technically three seats per row as the aisle had a fold down seat as well. There were four rows and the front passenger seat also had a fold down seat in the middle so once we got going there were 16 of us because a few kids crammed together into the same seat. The driver passed out a few small plastic bags before we started and I hoped they were not vomit bags. I felt like if someone was to vomit in this closely confined space it might be contagious. Don’t think about it… that was my motto, just don’t think about any of it. I didn’t know how to feel about the speed with which the driver pulled out of the station - it was alarmingly quick. The upside would be a faster trip,  the downside, perhaps a nauseating one. 

Getting out of town was slow and filled with exhaust fumes as we climbed the hills of Tana. Eventually we passed most of the trucks and were speeding along the R2 towards Moramonga. Let the music begin! Yes! Louder! More distorted please! We bounced along with Malagasy music blasting like we were prepping for a big night out. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful, changing from watercress paddies in the highlands to steep mountains covered with lush green forest. With the mountains came stomach dropping turns which we took at breakneck speed. I decided it was time for the mint gum to help keep the motion sickness at bay and focused on the front window like my life depended on it. I was drowsy for lack of sleep and hoped that I would doze off, even though the speaker behind me on one side competed with the woman behind me on the other side who yelled her conversation to be heard over the music. I could tune out the noise but the jerky motions of the vehicle kept me from any type of sleep. I fantasized about the next ride when I would be sure to purchase two seats, one for me and one for my legs. I’d heard that you can even purchase multiple seats if you’re waiting for the vehicle to fill up and want to get going. Next time. When the mile markers began to show the distance for Moramanga, still 55km away, I got excited about having something to count down. We had left the mountains and were back in farmland, flying past zebu and roadside shacks and passing through small villages at what seemed like absurd speed, honking at pedestrians, bicycles and trucks as we blew by them.

We started to lose passengers about 20km away from Moramanga; we ‘d pull over and they hopped out at their intermediate destination. I was thrilled when we were able to move into newly open seats and my legs could take over the legspace next to me. I would be able to walk when we arrived! We pulled into the Moramanga station which actually felt more chaotic and overwhelming than the station in Tana. I found the ticket window and purchased my ticket for Andasibe for $2000Ar. I had some difficulty determining which van was heading to Andasibe, and once I did I couldn’t figure out who was the driver. The place was teeming with people and the minibus was already fairly full. I climbed in and found what seemed to be the only remaining seat. Unfortunately it was next to a creepy, leering guy who smelled faintly of beer and kept asking me over and over if I spoke Malagasy. I told him I did not but he insisted on trying to take the papers from my hand to see where I was going. I admonished him with a no and a stern look but he was undeterred. I contemplated my options and when someone began to fold down the middle seats in the center aisle, turning each row of three into a row of four and sliding huge bags of rice under our feet I made the call. I was going to take the lone taxi that I saw when we pulled in. I didn’t care about the ticket price but needed to figure out how to get my bag off the roof. I was able to get my ticket refunded and the taxi driver helped find someone to get my bag down. We agreed on $60,000Ar for the last leg to Andasibe - about $23US. Given that the first leg was less than $3US, I decided it was all still very reasonable. Andasibe was still 24km away, the second taxi brousse seemed less desirable with my new travel companion and while $60,000Ar was more than I’d paid for a nice dinner and was the equivalent of one night in my hotel in Andasibe, it seemed very worth the price at that moment.

I was correct, the last leg of my journey was incredibly pleasant. My driver kept the speed reasonable and I felt my body relax. In fact it was nothing like the first half of my journey; I was able to take in the scenery without distraction and at least for a while the music was enjoyable, with a vaguely Hawaiian or maybe Polynesian sound. The ride was certainly better than the alternative with my seat next to creepy guy. I arrived at the hotel and was able to check in and drop my things off at my hut immediately. The hut was sparse and the bed looked like it had seen better days, but it had its own toilet and hot water shower! I had barely finished peeking around when I heard it, the bizarre wailing of the indri. I was so entranced I just sat in front of my hut staring into the forest and I completely forgot to record it. Tomorrow. 

It was only 10am and although I was hungry, having only nibbled a small roll throughout my journey, I wanted to figure out my plan. The parks were only a little over a kilometer away so off I went down the road. I was surprised that I wasn’t seeing any other tourists, my research seemed to indicate that it was pretty easy to get around Andasibe by walking. I checked out the info at both the national park and the private Mitsinjo reserve and decided to go for a night walk in Mitsinjo later in the evening and hit the national park first thing the following morning. I set off to check out the village another mile past the park entrances. The locals along the road were quite friendly, returning my greetings but still, I didn’t spot any other tourists walking. I had passed a few mini-bus tours full of vazahas, and some private cars but that was about it. The village was very depressed and it did not appear to have any businesses catering to tourists or outsiders. I felt a lot of eyes on me and while one or two people did greet me, for the most part the eyes did not feel friendly. I had hoped to have lunch in the village but decided that instead I’d start my trek back to the hotel.

As I left the village I saw the taxi brousse I had left in Moramanga emptying out. I hoped my friend didn’t notice me but I was in the clear. It was just after 11 - I had clearly made the right decision with my taxi. During my walk I had plenty of time to contemplate my options for returning to Tana. The conspicuous lack of tourists on the road conflicted with the impression I had after reading the Lonely Planet guidebook. Even though the majority of Malagasy people I have encountered have been friendly, or at least indifferent, I was less comfortable with the idea of catching a taxi brousse back to Tana on the side of the R2 highway as the guidebooks instructed. Maybe if I wasn’t alone I would have given it a go but as it stands, it’s not an option I’m comfortable with. The taxi brousse station is near the village, a good distance from my hotel, as well as in the opposite direction from the highway. The lack of sleep is catching up with me - I still have time to figure out my return trip. For now lunch and an afternoon nap sounds just about perfect.