Island Hopping

Just off the east coast of Madagascar is a small, skinny island and supposed former pirate haven known as Ile Sainte Marie. This little island completely redeemed the entire country of Madagascar for me. It was a beautiful and tranquil place, with white sands, clear water, and humpback whales breaching offshore. In many ways, it was the image of Madagascar I had in my mind before I arrived. Four days on the little Ile were  just what the doctor ordered after a noisy and chaotic week on the “mainland.”

We somehow forgot to take a picture of the beach itself, but our beer picture gives a sense of how pretty it was, no?

I confess I was a little nervous at first. When I heard we were taking a ferry to Ile Sainte Marie, I pictured a Croatian-style vessel (or at least something akin to the Oakland-SF ferry), with bathrooms and a bar and comfortable seating. Silly me. This little open-sided boat barely fit 30 people, along with their bags of produce and live ducks and chickens.

Our fellow passengers, chickens in hand, waiting to board.

Not excited.

Duck, legs bound, on board the boat.

We all had to wear life jackets because part of the journey entails plowing through giant waves just off the coast (there is no breakwater outside the harbor). Water splashed over the sides and soaked our things, not to mention the poor chickens and ducks.

On board.

The scenery was amazing, though — we saw more whales jumping out of the water than many people see on paid whale-watching trips. Checking them out helped the two-hour ride go by much more quickly.

Pretty! (The whales were too far away for pictures.)

A gorgeous sunrise on our way back from the Ile.

Once on the island, we made our way to our hotel/beachfront cabin and met the dogs who live there: sweet Otis and Tina, jerky alpha male Chocolat, and a poor older dog who seemed ostracized from the pack for some reason.

Pierre in front of our cabin with Tina (under the chair), Chocolat, and Otis (in front).

For the first time since we arrived in Madagascar, we were finally able to go for a run, which drew some interesting looks and words from the locals. Some of the kids even ran alongside us for a while, which was fun. But nothing matched the attention received when we decided to rent bikes and ride into town (which turned out to be much, much farther away than we remembered… and to attempt it with crappy rental bikes was a major mistake). I headed back earlier than Pierre, meaning that I was riding by myself for several miles. Being on my own, on a bike, was apparently both fascinating and hilarious to the locals. One guy literally dropped what he was doing on the ground, turned around, and shouted “whhooowww!” I smiled, and waved, and then grimaced as the poorly-fitting seat reminded me of its presence.

Apart from exercising, the bulk of our time on the island was spent eating great French food, swimming in the ocean, reading, and unsuccessfully looking for the pirate cemetery. (Actually, we found the turnoff to the cemetery while on our bike ride, but were so sore by that point that we decided not to go and told ourselves it was probably fake anyway.) Heading back to the grittiness of the main island after a few days on Ile Sainte Marie was a downer, but we stayed just one more night in the capital before going back to Tanzania for a weekend, and then returning to Amsterdam — where the sight of a woman running or cycling alone doesn’t even draw a second look. I was ready to go.