Madagascar

8 May 2026 – Gone, or On Our Way

Our journey began today with a flight from Walvis Bay. We had deliberately chosen this airport because it is small, easy to navigate, and, thanks to the direct connection to Johannesburg, simply a pleasant place from which to travel. Since the 10 a.m. flight to Antananarivo the following day required an overnight stay in Johannesburg anyway, this seemed by far the most relaxed option.
We flew with Airlink, which, in my opinion, is one of the best ways to travel around Southern Africa. Their aircraft are clean, well maintained, and, most importantly, almost always on time. In Africa, you quickly learn to appreciate such things.
The trip was arranged by Desire de Waal from Desire Travel, a name with a rather clever marketing twist. These things matter nowadays. And it was with exactly that same enthusiasm that she planned our journey. Thanks to her extensive personal experience in Madagascar, she not only put together an excellent itinerary but also paid attention to the little details and accommodated the specific interests of my small travel group. 🙂
She had even checked us into our flights online in advance. To be honest, I had never experienced that level of service from a travel agency before, and I found it remarkably convenient. During our very first phone conversation, while telling me about Madagascar, she suddenly let out an excited croaking sound as she described the call of the Indri. At that moment, I knew: this was genuine enthusiasm. Right then and there, I decided she was the person who should organize this trip.
My father in law always finds it hilarious when people say they have “done” a country. You know the type: “We did Rome,” “We did the USA,” or “We did China.” That is exactly why I have consciously used the expression here. 😄
In the days leading up to our departure, Lisa, Lennart, and I had all been battling rather unpleasant colds, and I was worried that we might not start the trip in good health. Fortunately, children recover quickly, and with plenty of vitamins, black seed oil, ginger, and regular saltwater inhalation, we managed to begin the journey feeling reasonably fit.
At the airport, a health monitoring system awaited us. It displayed our image on a screen while simultaneously checking our temperature automatically. Thankfully, the light turned green for all of us, and we were able to continue without any issues.
After a pleasant two hour flight, we arrived in Johannesburg and checked directly into the City Lodge Hotel OR Tambo Airport.
Whenever travelling through Johannesburg, I generally recommend staying right at the airport, even if it costs a little more. The cheaper alternatives often involve those dreadful shared shuttle transfers, and anyone who has experienced one of those will probably agree that spending a few extra dollars for the convenience of staying directly at the airport is money well spent.
Dinner was excellent and surprisingly affordable, and before long we all fell into bed, satisfied and tired, full of anticipation for the following day and the great adventure that awaited us in Madagascar.

9 May 2026 – We Are Doing Madagascar

The flight from Johannesburg to Antananarivo, commonly known simply as Tana, was surprisingly short. I had settled comfortably into my seat, expecting at least another hour in the air, when the captain suddenly announced our descent. The reason, of course, was the time difference, as we had actually gained an hour during the flight. Wonderful.
Upon arrival, we were greeted with what felt like a red carpet welcome. Well, not quite. The walkway simply happened to be covered in a red carpet. Nevertheless, we strolled comfortably from the aircraft into the immigration hall.
And then came the shock.
There seemed to be thousands of people waiting. In reality, it was probably only hundreds. Chinese, Japanese, perhaps Koreans, businesspeople, NGO staff, project workers, but hardly any tourists. Maybe five pale faces like ours. No, perhaps six including us.
I spoke with two people in the queue, and both were in Madagascar for work. One managed an NGO, while the other was involved in some kind of development project. As a tourist, and I should add that I enjoy being a tourist, I suddenly felt almost exotic.
Remarkably, despite the long lines, the visa process moved incredibly quickly. What impressed me even more was the friendliness of the immigration officers. Working under immense pressure, they remained calm, efficient, and genuinely pleasant. Honestly, much of the world, including Europe and some of the grumpier officials back home in Namibia, though certainly not all of them, could learn something from that. I have experienced many immigration checkpoints around the world, and this one was exceptionally pleasant.
Visa in hand, we stepped outside into the chaos, and I thought to myself: first we will exchange money, then organise a SIM card, and eventually try to find our driver.
The exact opposite happened.
Not only did our driver recognise us immediately, but so did the manager of the transport company. His name was Mike. Our driver, by the way, was called Nirina. Here in Madagascar, Nirina means “the long awaited child.”
Then we drove into Tana, and the first impressions were overwhelming.
Rice paddies in the middle of the city. Cattle grazing among them, egrets standing nearby, geese, people working in the water, life everywhere.
And poverty everywhere.
Antananarivo has more than three million inhabitants. It feels more like thirty million. Madagascar as a whole has just over thirty three million people, and roughly ten percent of them seem to live here.
We had secretly hoped to visit an art gallery and had perhaps expected a somewhat more modern Antananarivo. Instead, we found ourselves face to face with real Africa.
Narrow streets, chaotic traffic, and yet somehow everything kept moving forward. Fruit, vegetables, chickens, fish, all sold directly beside the road, within arm’s reach of passing cars. Flies everywhere. Pickpockets too, apparently. Add to that ancient French vehicles, Renaults, Citroëns, even old Deux Chevaux rattling along in front of us, contributing less to clean air than to the smog hanging over the city like a giant grey bell.
When we briefly stopped to browse some handicrafts in a small shop, Lisa was immediately approached, almost grabbed, by a street girl. Nirina wisely remained outside and kept an eye on the situation. The shop itself turned out to be rather disappointing, and my boss promptly ordered us back into the vehicle.
Admittedly, however, we travelled through Tana almost like royalty.
We had been collected in a beautiful Toyota Land Cruiser Station Wagon with leather seats. At the same time, we passed one jewellery shop after another standing directly beside roadside market stalls. Inside sparkled unimaginable wealth. Outside, poverty pulsed through the streets.
Our driver explained that much of the gold found in Madagascar is exported to Dubai through these traders, which is why jewellery here is correspondingly expensive.
Eventually, we arrived at the Lokanga Boutique Hotel. Even the drive there was impressive, taking us past the old Queen’s Palace. The hotel itself proved to be a delightful surprise. Artistic, charming, full of character, with winding corridors, ancient walls, and lovingly arranged decorations.
Lisa immediately fell in love with the creative details, the historic building, and the unique atmosphere that seemed suspended somewhere between colonial elegance and Malagasy individuality.
For me, it was instantly obvious that this had once been a grand colonial residence. Today, the Lokanga Boutique Hotel is a heritage hotel, and that heritage can be felt in every corner of the building. Large paintings of the former queen adorn the walls, the same queen who was later exiled when the French took control of the island.
Madagascar is a place where the distant past, the colonial era, and the modern world all coexist simultaneously. One only needs to turn around once and take in a full 360 degrees to see it all at the same time. Ancient stone walls, colonial balconies, modern smartphones, blaring traffic, people in traditional dress, and French inspired sophistication. Watching it all was a filthy street dog with swollen teats, chased away by an equally dirty child.
Lisa was completely captivated by this blend of French colonial style, classic European elegance, African colours, and tropical influences. Old wooden floors, beautifully crafted furniture, heavy fabrics, plants everywhere, and that slightly melancholic colonial charm that is both beautiful and thought provoking at the same time.
As for me, my excitement began the moment I looked out of the upstairs window of our room.
Before we had even properly arrived, I had already spotted my first lifers, birding slang for species seen for the very first time. A Malagasy Green Sunbird, admittedly only a rather plain female, several Malagasy White eyes, and even a brilliant red Red Fody. Not only did I see them, I managed to photograph them as well.
Very cool indeed.
Albert is happy.
Lisa is satisfied.
Lennart has WiFi.
So all is well.

10 May 2026 – Run Forest, Run!

This morning I had a bit of time to explore the garden, and that was when I heard an Anjouan Brush Warbler. At last, I managed to photograph it. Well, half photograph it. That proved extremely difficult, as it loudly announced its presence with scratchy, unmistakable calls, only to disappear instantly into dense foliage every single time. Most of the time I was left with nothing more than a brief glimpse or a frantic attempt to get the camera up in time.
Breakfast was fairly spartan, but my scrambled eggs with freshly baked bread were genuinely excellent. The other two settled for yoghurt, and before long we were back on the road.
The coffee, however, tasted so unusual that I probably would not have identified it as coffee had it been served to me blind. Fortunately, the friendly waiter handed me a few capsules for the local Nespresso machine, and that finally produced something resembling a decent cup of coffee. I know, I am spoiled.
I honestly have no idea how Google Maps calculates average travel speeds in Madagascar. If there is one thing here that is utterly unpredictable, it is exactly that. I am used to quite a bit from Uganda and Angola, and Madagascar is very much the same. You constantly weave around potholes, trucks come hurtling towards you head on, motorcycles shoot past from every direction, and mixed into the traffic are all sorts of unidentifiable vehicles powered by ancient diesel engines and running on tyres that make you wonder how they are still legally considered round. Mechanically, the people keeping these machines alive must be absolute geniuses.
In Moramanga we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by bicycle rickshaws. Hundreds of them. The roads were so packed that moving forward at any reasonable speed became almost impossible.
The most important means of transportation in Madagascar, no, actually the most important traffic device, seems to be the horn. Without a horn, nobody here would survive. Other forms of traffic regulation appear somewhat secondary. Most vehicles seem to display little more than a number plate. When I pressed Nirina about roadworthiness certificates, licensing, and vehicle inspections, he merely muttered something about corruption.
This region is home to several nickel and cobalt mines, and high up in the hills one can clearly spot enormous Chinese compounds and mansions. The Chinese appear to have invested heavily here already. Looking around, one cannot help but feel that they are positioning themselves for considerable long term influence in the country.
We continued eastward towards Mantadia. Along the way we stopped at Peyrieras Reserve, a small reserve where chameleons are kept in large enclosures, making them somewhat easier to observe. To be fair, hatchlings raised there are eventually released back into the wild. For visitors, however, it is a unique opportunity to see a remarkable variety of chameleons at close range.
Some were barely larger than a fingernail, while others were so enormous that they could almost cover my son’s entire backpack. Most astonishing of all was the incredible range of colours. Even individuals of the same species could look completely different.
Above us, the first lemurs were already moving through the trees. The Coquerel’s Sifakas, with their reddish backs and gentle yellow eyes, looked almost unreal in their beauty.
The plant life was equally fascinating. Golden Angel’s Trumpet, Silver-leafed Princess Flower, Chinese Ixora, Bushy Rattlepod, and a ginger species known as Crepe Ginger seemed to drench the landscape in colour.
The chameleons bore names such as Carpet Chameleon, Globe-horned Chameleon, Short-horned Chameleon, and Parson’s Chameleon, the latter represented in every imaginable size and colour variation. Panther Chameleons, naturally, were also present.
Then there were frogs such as the Golden Mantella and Berend’s Mantella, so brilliantly coloured that one almost hesitates to touch them.
And has anyone ever heard of a Tomato Frog?
It looks exactly as the name suggests. Round, enormous, bright red, and utterly remarkable.
For me personally, however, the most impressive creatures were the incredibly flat geckos that cling to tree trunks and walls while blending perfectly into their surroundings. Their tails look exactly like dried leaves, lying flat against the surface and casting virtually no shadow. You stare directly at the tree trunk and still fail to see them. Extraordinary.
Here we recorded Lined Leaf-tailed Geckos, Giant Leaf-tailed Geckos, and Mossy Leaf-tailed Geckos.
The saddest aspect of the drive, however, was the constant reminder of what Madagascar must once have been. Instead of pristine forests, one now sees vast areas of cassava cultivation, rice fields, eucalyptus plantations, degraded land, and erosion scars everywhere. A natural world that has, in many places, been irreversibly lost.
Of course, we knew before coming that this was what awaited us. But seeing it with your own eyes is far more sobering than reading about it.
The final stretch to Mantadia Lodge was quintessentially Malagasy. And Malagasy, as I have learned, means looking at Google Maps, seeing only a few kilometres remaining, and yet feeling as though several more hours lie ahead.
Fortunately, we had a good driver. The man knew exactly what he was doing, and eventually we arrived at the beautifully situated Mantadia Lodge.
We were genuinely impressed by the room and by the so called infinity pool, one of those pools designed to blend visually into the surrounding landscape. Namibia has become rather fond of those as well.
Far more exciting than the pool, around which young people once again posed endlessly for their pitiful Instagram accounts, making me wonder whether modern photo editing can still salvage bodies that have clearly seen too much partying and too little work, was the Madagascar Stonechat that apparently held territory right beside the lodge.
Despite the cough we had picked up somewhere along the way, it turned into a lovely evening. The duck was superbly prepared. I chose a coconut chicken dish, while Lennart enjoyed a magnificent tagliatelle Bolognese.
Yeah man.

11 May 2026 – Rainforest, After All…

Today we were supposed to start early. We were slightly late.
Sorry, Nirina.
We headed for Mantadia National Park, and naturally the journey was once again extremely Malagasy: endless driving, bumpity bump, bumpity bump, up, down, up, down.
Along the way we collected our guide, Luc, before finally arriving at the national park.
Lennart was not particularly enthusiastic about the long hike, and to make matters worse it rained continuously. Proper rain. The kind of miserable, relentless drizzle Germany specialises in.
Armed with my rain cape while Lisa and Lennart carried umbrellas, we trudged into the forest looking exactly like stereotypical loser tourists. Our guide marched ahead wearing nothing more than a T shirt, shorts, and flip flops, while we looked as if we were preparing for a polar expedition. The contrast was genuinely hilarious.
Here and there an interesting bird appeared, accompanied by my son’s distinctly unimpressed expression, but initially it seemed as though we would find very little.
Then suddenly a call exploded through the forest so loudly that my ears practically rang.
And everyone knows how poor my hearing already is.
My father had me shooting rifles without hearing protection as a child, so I am reasonably accustomed to loud noises.
But this call was loud.
An Indri had called.
We watched a group of three Indris, among the largest lemurs on Earth, moving effortlessly through the trees. They seemed to take particular pleasure in leaping directly above our heads and vigorously shaking branches so that every last drop of accumulated rainwater cascaded onto us.
And suddenly my son’s eyes lit up.
The spark was back.
He was fully engaged again, genuinely fascinated, which made me enormously happy. In fact, he was so delighted that he subsequently tolerated all of my birdwatching without complaint.
Birds such as Tylas Vanga, Chabert’s Vanga, Red-tailed Vanga, Blue Vanga, and Madagascar Paradise Flycatcher particularly impressed me.
The Madagascar Paradise Flycatcher is even more beautiful than the forms we know from home. While our local birds are generally rusty brown in both sexes, the male here wears a stunning black and white plumage with a long tail and striking blue eye rings, while the female retains the familiar warm rufous colouring.
And here I managed to capture some genuinely good photographs.
Happy days.
Back home, Cape Wagtails constantly parade around our garden. Here, the Madagascar Wagtail fills that role. My goodness. Just as noisy, just as opinionated as ours, but sporting a beautifully bright yellow belly. A wonderful photographic subject.
One of the great advantages of birdwatching here is that you rarely bore anyone. While I poked my lens into places where it probably did not belong, Lisa could happily admire the flowers and blossoms surrounding us.
The Crested Drongo also deserves a special mention. Yes, it is a drongo, but unlike at home, where drongos seem to be everywhere all the time, this one feels much more special. It even sports a small crest on its head. Please do not ask me what purpose it serves, but I was genuinely pleased with the photographs.
The bulbuls are every bit as beautiful and noisy as ours back home. The Madagascar Bulbul, with its orange “lipstick” and distinctive eye ring, is particularly handsome.
No travel report would be complete without at least one spider.
Everywhere on bridges and forest crossings we encountered enormous spider webs, occupied by black and white spiders roughly the size of a baby’s fist. These were Darwin’s Bark Spiders.
More than once I marched confidently through the forest only to be physically stopped by one of their webs.
At those moments I was always at least slightly relieved that one of these spiders had not chosen to crawl onto me and, as my wildly exaggerated imagination immediately suggested, sink its fangs directly into my neck.
Our guide repeatedly smeared banana paste onto tree trunks, something he probably was not entirely supposed to do. The lemurs naturally appeared almost immediately and began licking the paste directly from the bark, allowing us to observe them from extraordinarily close range.
Among the species we encountered were Common Brown Lemurs, Black-and-White Ruffed Lemurs, Eastern Grey Bamboo Lemurs, and Diademed Sifakas.
Afterwards we visited another small park, more of a zoo-like affair really, where we saw hundreds of crocodiles and tortoises.
Among all the ducks swimming around, however, the Madagascar Kingfisher was my personal highlight and probably the only truly wild animal in the entire place.
By the time we left the park, we were completely exhausted. Tired, worn out, utterly finished.

12 May 2026 – Luc, My Man

This morning we made the short drive straight to the Analamazaotra Special Reserve, where we once again met up with Luc.
Unfortunately, Luc happened to be wearing a T-shirt from one of my competitors, which irritated me just a little, especially since I had neglected to bring any of my own LeafLove Safari shirts. Well, as we say, stupidity is often self-inflicted.
Off we went into the forest, and what followed was probably one of the finest birding experiences of my life.
At one point my wife simply said:
“I never thought I would see something like this in my lifetime.”
She was referring to the Collared Nightjar.
A relatively large nightjar that sits on the forest floor in pairs, looking exactly like a small pile of leaves and forest debris. Perfect camouflage.
After what was, admittedly, a fairly strenuous walk, although “walk” is not really the right word. It was more of a forest stumble with walking sticks.
When our guide finally pointed at the bird, Lisa simply said:
“There, right in front of you.”
I stared at the ground and saw absolutely nothing except leaves and dirt.
Then suddenly this extraordinary creature seemed to peel itself out of the forest floor as though it had not existed there a second earlier.
Even Lennart was impressed. You could see it in his wide-open eyes.
That was particularly remarkable because his initial level of enthusiasm had been rather limited.
At the start of the walk he had already announced:
“Dad, when I hear the word hiking, I feel like throwing up.”
And yet he was drawn into it once again, especially when we encountered Diademed Sifakas, which are amusingly often referred to here as “Dancing Sifakas.”
This time we saw them from extremely close range.
At first they shot through the canopy above our heads at astonishing speed. Later they sat calmly feeding as if we did not exist at all.
Meanwhile, the haunting calls of the Indris echoed through the forest, interrupted by the peculiar rattling sounds of the sifakas.
It was simply unbelievable.
The natural world here is almost impossible to describe.
Other wonderful bird sightings included the Blue Coua, which looks surprisingly similar to our turacos and is absolutely stunning with its crystal-blue plumage.
Another sighting I never would have found on my own was the Madagascar Scops Owl.
The beauty of this little owl is difficult to put into words.
Check my pictures.
There were also countless colourful forest birds and several species of vangas, far too many to list individually.
Bird photography in Madagascar’s forests is every bit as frustrating as it is in Uganda or any other tropical rainforest.
Calling it “difficult” would not be wrong, but it hardly captures the feeling.
No matter how good your equipment may be, the forest regularly pushes you to your limits.
I shoot with a Canon EOS R5 Mark II, and in theory the autofocus should instantly lock onto a small bird.
Yet when something like a Nuthatch Vanga races up a trunk deep in the shadows, the camera still insists on focusing on absolutely everything except the bird.
You see the bird inside the focus area.
You can even make it out in the gloom.
And somehow the focus ends up on a branch in front of it or behind it.
It can drive a person completely insane.
I generally work wide open, using the fastest shutter speed possible for the situation. From there I balance the exposure with ISO and usually meter from a spot that appears reasonably well lit.
In the forest you are constantly battling extreme contrasts between bright backlighting and deep shadow.
Take one step to the left and everything is blown out.
Take one step to the right and the bird disappears into darkness.
But in my opinion the single most important thing is something else entirely:
Press the shutter quickly.
No matter how.
No matter when.
I constantly catch myself admiring the bird through the viewfinder, wanting to savour the moment, and by the time I have finished appreciating it, it is already gone.
The ability to spot, aim, and shoot instantly while you are still observing is probably one of the most important skills in forest bird photography.
But does that diminish the appreciation of the experience?
I honestly do not know.
Our planned two-hour walk eventually turned into almost four hours.
And somewhere in the middle of it Lennart loudly announced that he was actually enjoying himself.
By the end, however, his legs were definitely beginning to feel the strain.
Back at the entrance we said goodbye to our guide and stopped at a small restaurant with a magnificent view over the surrounding green forest landscape, one of the fortunate areas that has not yet been destroyed.
I ordered grilled tilapia while Lisa and Lennart went for fried noodles.
The experience in the bathroom deserves a mention.
One thing that is genuinely brilliant in many parts of the world is the little water hose next to the toilet that allows you to wash yourself properly.
Because of this, even public toilets often feel surprisingly clean.
Well, sometimes.
Perhaps I simply have not seen enough of them yet.
Today, however, the system backfired on me slightly.
The hose connection had apparently not been attached correctly, and the thread on the tap was stripped.
When I confidently activated the lever, water sprayed enthusiastically in every conceivable direction except the one it was intended for.
Somewhat prematurely, I pulled up my trousers.
Unfortunately, I forgot about my underwear.
What followed was a highly complicated logistical situation that ended with me slipping spectacularly and crashing onto the bathroom floor.
I laughed out loud.
Thank goodness there were no cameras.
When I eventually emerged after attempting to dry everything as best I could, several people gave me curious looks, having clearly heard my laughter echoing from inside.
I suspect they realised that something in there had not gone entirely according to plan.
For the record, I left the toilet clean.
Wet, but clean.
Very wet.
A busload of Chinese tourists arrived shortly afterwards, and I could not help imagining, somewhat mischievously, what they might discover upon entering.
The tiny Yellow-bellied Sunbird-Asity then flitted from tree to tree.
Lisa played the call.
I stood ready with my camera.
It worked beautifully.
Later that afternoon Lisa announced:
“I have a day off today, and tomorrow I have a day off too. I’m going to the market.”
I had to laugh.
After all, this was supposed to be our holiday and technically we all had the day off.
Apparently that fact occasionally needs to be pointed out to me before I start inventing more birding expeditions and hiking adventures.
Back at the lodge, Lisa and I were tempted into booking massages.
Specifically, lymphatic drainage massages. A rather long and intimidating phrase for people like us.
So off we went.
Lisa to the treatment room on the right.
Albert to the treatment room on the left.
The only problem was my cough.
We had recently hosted family visitors and had apparently picked up some stubborn germ that left both of us coughing.
So there I lay, face down on the massage table, while the therapist worked away and I desperately tried to suppress every urge to cough.
Because every single time I coughed she would stop and ask with genuine concern:
“Are you okaaaaay?”
It was one of those massages I only half enjoyed because I felt sorry for the poor woman.
She probably had no desire whatsoever to spend her afternoon massaging a coughing foreigner.
At least my face was pointing downwards.
I just hoped I was not infecting her.
That evening we had originally planned to go on a night walk together.
However, Lennart developed a fever.
Quite a significant one.
Lisa decided to stay with him, and before long she was beginning to feel unwell herself.
So I headed out alone.
Right at the beginning we found a Parson’s Chameleon.
It was as green as the surrounding leaves and almost exactly the same shape as the foliage itself.
Spotting it was incredibly difficult.
Soon afterwards we discovered a Boophis tree frog.
And then we finally found the animal we had really come into the forest to see:
Goodman’s Mouse Lemur.
I knew this species was much smaller than the larger lemurs we had encountered during the day, but I had never imagined that it would be barely bigger than an actual mouse.
In total we found three individuals.
To be fair, the guide found three.
I personally only found two.
Still, I managed a few good photographs.
What an unbelievably cute creature.
Observing a Goodman’s Mouse Lemur for any length of time is nearly impossible.
One moment it sits perfectly still, moving cautiously and deliberately.
The next moment it explodes through the branches and vanishes.
On our way back we encountered a Giant Leaf-tailed Gecko.
That too was immensely impressive.
These geckos are so perfectly camouflaged that they appear almost unreal.
This particular individual was quite large and suddenly moved around the trunk, revealing that it had lost its tail at some point in its life.
Presumably it had survived an attack.
When I eventually returned, Lennart asked me whether I had enjoyed myself.
Well…
I can honestly say that what I saw was absolutely fantastic, and I would not want to miss those experiences for anything. But fun?
Stumbling through a forest in the middle of the night, constantly watching where you put your feet, getting leaves catapulted into your glasses, dodging branches that whip back after the person in front has pushed through, and trying not to fall over…
That is perhaps not my definition of fun.
Would I do it again?
Without the slightest hesitation… Absolutely!

13 May 2026 – Day of Leisure

“Day of Leisure” was the official programme for today. In other words, a free day.
We genuinely tried to sleep a little longer in the morning, although I suspect the cough drove one or two of us out of bed earlier than he, or rather she, would have liked.
We went to breakfast together, and naturally I immediately discovered interesting birds in the garden again. Among them were Common Newtonia and Madagascar Stonechat. The Malagasy White-eyes also kept distracting me as they constantly moved about somewhere between the bushes and trees.
Lenny, on the other hand, took great delight in the chameleons in the garden, more precisely the Short-horned Chameleons, which we found there in all sorts of different sizes.
Things became especially crazy when Lennart touched a thickened patch on a tree trunk. Suddenly, long black spines shot out of it. In reality, it was a fairly broad caterpillar, around 15 centimetres long, defending itself by extending black, bristly hairs when touched and trying to jab its attacker with them.
Madness, the things that exist here.
The little walk down to the market was very important to Lisa. We had, of course, expected quite a bit of handicraft, especially because Lisa’s friend Nicole had specifically recommended the markets to her. But much of it felt rather bleak. Limping dogs, smelly alleyways, fly-covered stalls full of every imaginable kind of fish, greasy meat, and dirt, dirt, dirt everywhere.
We were only begged from twice, yet Lisa felt somewhat uneasy in places. Perhaps that fear was unfounded, but after our previous experiences, we probably look at the world a little more critically these days.
In the end, however, Lisa did find a stall where she could buy a few souvenirs, especially beautifully woven baskets and bags made from palm leaves, which she liked very much.
In the evening we treated ourselves to a glass of wine with dinner, proudly advertised, of course, as a South African import.
All in all, it was a genuinely pleasant and relaxed day. And I do think that when travelling through Madagascar, one urgently needs quiet days like this in between.

14 May 2026 – Through the Eastern Highlands Towards the East

Today we travelled through the Eastern Highlands towards the east coast. The main asphalt road connecting these regions is, to put it mildly, quite an adventure.
After loading what felt like the most expensive lunch packs I have ever had to finance, and after settling a bill that will probably require me to work for half a year to recover from, we finally set off.
The landscape was beautiful. The road wound constantly up and down through hills and valleys. It felt as though we always had some truck in front of us. In fact, we encountered countless trucks, most heavily loaded and apparently travelling either up from the east coast into the highlands or back down in the opposite direction.
What I found interesting was that many of these trucks still carried Dutch or French lettering. I was still waiting to see a German one. Apparently, these vehicles are imported second hand and then kept running here for many more years. The Malagasy seem to have a remarkable talent for mechanically restoring almost anything to some form of working order and keeping it on the road, whether tractor, motorcycle, car, or truck.
The condition of the roads themselves is equally fascinating. On the steep uphill sections, where the heavy truck tyres have to grip particularly hard, deep lengthwise grooves have been carved into the asphalt. And besides the countless potholes, what stands out is that the roads here do not simply crack as they do back home. They actually deform. In places, the asphalt looks as if it has been kneaded soft, as though the road is slowly melting under the weight of the traffic.
Traditional wooden houses line the roadside everywhere. Calling them huts would hardly be fair. They are more like small, sometimes genuinely attractive little houses. Many, admittedly, are already half collapsed, leaning at odd angles, or visibly marked by the climate. But here and there one also sees a newer house standing proudly and freshly among the older buildings.
In front of the houses, long-legged, very long-legged chickens roam about, some with almost bald heads. Very sexy indeed. Here and there a pig grunts its way through village life.
And everywhere there are people. Absolutely everywhere. At some point one cannot help wondering whether there are any parts of this country without people at all. It is astonishing how many people this land holds and how even the most remote roadsides seem constantly full of life.
We drove through the lush landscape of the Betsimisaraka. Our driver explained that Betsimisaraka means something like “living together”, as in, we all live together.
So basically like everywhere in Madagascar. 🙂
Apparently, when parents have a daughter, a small hut is built. The daughter then has to spend the night there, after which the suitors arrive and bring the father a bottle of rum. If the father thinks the fellow is worth something, he accepts the bottle and first gives himself a proper drink.
Then the man is allowed inside, where they supposedly discuss what their shared future might look like. The next morning, the man can apparently say: “No, she is a bit of a difficult one, I have no interest in that.” Or: “Yes, this girl suits me, we can continue.” And of course the other way around too. The woman can also say: “Yes, I gave him a proper test, the man has potential, life can begin.”
Then the parents apparently burn down the hut, and if they have not died, they are still alive today.
And apparently they really are all still alive today, because there seem to be tens of thousands of little houses and huts standing along the roadside.
PS: The German truck did eventually appear. Written in large letters across the top were the words: “Wir arbeiten mit Herz”, We work with heart. Somehow rather wonderful to read that in the middle of Madagascar. Unfortunately, I could no longer make out the name of the transport company, as the truck had already passed.
Along the roadside we saw wide areas and hillsides full of Ravenala madagascariensis. The name already reveals that this plant, the so called Traveller’s Palm, is native to Madagascar.
It often stands in the landscape like a large open fan, rising clearly from the green slopes and visible from afar. I feel happy looking at these plants. They seem like little jewels in the mountains. Although, in truth, they are not little jewels at all, but enormous, striking green fans that give the landscape a character all of its own.
High up, shortly before we reached Farihy Ampitabe, a large lake that is actually more of a broad lagoon running directly beside the sea, we were travelling across an open plateau. The landscape was mostly covered in grass, but the sandy ground was so uneven that every step became a small stumbling exercise. We stopped there briefly.
I was still thoroughly annoyed that the lunch pack had cost more than 70,000 Ariary. On principle. So without even looking inside, I immediately marched off to search for birds. Somewhere far back in the grass I heard only a faint “zip”. Little did I know at that moment that my struggle through this grassland, which from a distance looked like a pleasant, harmless football field, but in reality was one great uneven stumbling field, would be so richly rewarded.
Within a short time, a Madagascar Cisticola suddenly shot up and then cheekily perched right in front of me on a leaf. I photographed him properly. He will be famous.
Shortly afterwards a lark flew up. First it landed with its back to me, then sideways, and finally front on. This allowed me to photograph the Madagascar Lark absolutely beautifully.
Wonderful, man.
At that point I was already inwardly done for the day. Two absolute target birds in a single stop. It could hardly have gone better.
Eventually the others called out: “You really need to look at the lunch packs!”
So I trudged back. A sandwich and leftovers from breakfast. Well then. I ate the sandwich and had to admit that it tasted extremely good. I was probably just brutally hungry. I did not even bother looking at the remaining leftovers.
I nevertheless wrote the lodge a small bitchy email, to which they responded in a surprisingly friendly way. They apologised very nicely and sincerely. The reply was so sympathetic that, naturally, I also mentioned how comfortable we had otherwise felt there. Apart from the price of that lunch pack, the lodge had truly been excellent.
The journey continued, and then suddenly paradise opened up before us.
Bang.
All at once this enormous lake lay in front of us. Palms, white sand, blue water, friendly people. Well, not all of them friendly, since the boat had apparently already been waiting for us for a good forty minutes, and the other tourists were probably fairly irritated by then.
We were to board a long boat that looked more like a giant canoe. Before we had even managed to get in, a very friendly elderly lady stepped directly in front of us and, bang, laid out her entire little display: necklaces, vanilla pods, vanilla oil, and various other things.
And honestly, anyone who smiles that warmly while selling with such glorious cheek deserves to be rewarded. So I bought something from her. Lisa, of course, was especially pleased with the vanilla.
Then the journey continued. We glided through the calm water along this long canal, which had been dug at some point, probably during the colonial period, though I still need to find out more about that. Eventually, crossing the large lake near Akanin’ny Nofy, we reached the famous Palmarium Hotel, where we would be staying.
The Palmarium Hotel truly lies in paradise. There is hardly any other way to describe it. Plants that at home would survive in a pot only with anxiety, devotion, and a great deal of luck simply grow here wildly and naturally. Tropical plants in every shape and colour, palms, ferns, everything woven into everything else. The garden is pure joy, and one walks around in a constant state of amazement.
The lodge itself is beautifully done, very natural in style, without that sterile luxury some lodges have. At times there is no electricity, but somehow that belongs here. You can immediately tell that the staff come from the surrounding area, and they are incredibly friendly. One could very definitely stay here longer.
In the evening we were due to go on a night walk. The weather was good at that moment, which is worth mentioning here, because although it is now “winter”, this is still rainforest. It drizzles or rains lightly again and again. Not huge downpours, but enough to get properly wet. So one really does have to choose carefully when to go out and when perhaps not to.
Lennart, however, was rather annoyed that we were now setting off again and apparently expected to walk forever. Accordingly, there was a little bickering between us. Lisa, as usual, smoothed everything over wonderfully with her calm and loving manner.
That evening we finally took a boat to a nearby island, where we were supposed to see the famous Aye-Aye.
To be honest, by then I had already seen plenty of lemurs and mainly joined this excursion out of curiosity. I simply wanted to know whether all this effort for such a strange animal was really worthwhile.
The Aye-Aye is a nocturnal, highly endangered lemur and probably one of the most threatened lemur species of all. For centuries it was heavily persecuted because people here believed that misfortune, or even death, would follow if an Aye-Aye pointed at someone with its long finger. For exactly this reason, the species was hunted mercilessly in many places. Our guide explained all these stories to us before we entered the strictly protected reserve.
At first we were still allowed to use torches so that we could see where we were walking. Later everything went dark and only red light was used. Coconuts had already been placed there, whole coconuts, I should add, because the animals have to wear down their constantly growing teeth on the hard shells.
What followed felt like a scene from a horror film.
When we arrived, an Aye-Aye was already there, but it disappeared almost immediately. After that we waited for quite a while. Eventually one returned, merely inspected the coconuts briefly, and then wandered off, apparently bored.
“Well great,” I thought, “that’s probably it.”
But then suddenly the guide said urgently:
“Quick, quick, quick, over here!”
The small group moved rapidly to another spot, and there, indeed, sat an Aye-Aye right among the coconuts.
With its enormous incisors and those long, almost eerie fingers, it tore the coconut apart with a force I would never have expected from such a small animal.
Crack, rip, crack, rip, crack.
Splinters flew, the shell broke open, and finally it reached the coconut water, which it then slurped up greedily and with visible pleasure.
This animal truly looks invented. Like a creature from some ancient fever dream or legend. And suddenly one understands immediately why people used to fear it. Those enormous yellow eyes, the dark fur, the long fingers like the hands of an old witch in the forest. Every now and then the Aye-Aye paused and looked directly across at us. Honestly, in that moment one could almost begin to believe in old stories oneself.
It was an absolute natural-history highlight. There is no other way for me to describe it. I enjoyed and appreciated it immensely and even managed to take some genuinely good photographs. Afterwards, I felt completely full of impressions.
Back at the lodge, a fantastic dinner was waiting for us as well. Never before had I eaten grilled bananas, served with wonderful shrimps, fresh and perfectly seasoned. Where else does one get served a combination like that?
Exactly here.
To be on the safe side, however, I treated myself to a proper whisky afterwards. After all, one never knows how my loyal stomach might react to grilled bananas and shrimps at the same time.
The bed, meanwhile, strongly reminded me of earlier times back home. Those coarse blankets under which generations of people have probably slept. Technically, one is supposed to sleep between the sheet and the blanket, but since there were two of us, I simply took an extra blanket from the cupboard and lay directly beneath it.
To be honest, I also took half a sleeping tablet, otherwise I probably would not have fallen asleep at all with all the rainforest noises around us.
But in the end, at some point, we all slept.

15 May 2026 – Snuff Boxes and Hook Bills

My morning walk to the restaurant took me past all sorts of plants, from Painter’s Palette and Heart of Jesus to Foolproof Plant, various aloes, and large coconut palms. Standing beneath one of those palms and looking up at the heavy coconuts, I can easily understand why people supposedly get killed by falling coconuts more often than by sharks.
The Aye-Aye would feel very much at home in this garden too.
Then Lisa asked me:
“Did you see that large black and white bird?”
I immediately replied:
“Which one?”
And sure enough, right there were two Hook-billed Vangas. At first I thought I would now have to embark on a major Hook-billed Vanga hunt, but the bird simply perched beautifully for us. Lisa had a wonderful view through her binoculars, and I, of course, photographed it.
Ah, what a splendid bird.
And how kind it was to me.
It sweetened my morning immediately.
Apart from the fact that almost anything capable of putting down roots seems able to grow in this garden, my eyes were drawn to a gigantic Snuffbox Seabean. Enormous pods dangled from the tree, almost unreal in size. Later I read that the hard seeds were once used to make snuff boxes, which is also how the plant received its English name. Immediately I found myself wanting to buy one of these little boxes somewhere along the roadside as a souvenir.
But in Madagascar this use seems hardly known. The huge pods are used here mainly for decoration and are sometimes simply collected and laid out.
The Snuffbox Seabean, scientifically known as Entada rheedii, produces some of the largest seeds in the plant world. The bean-shaped seeds can drift in the ocean for years without losing their ability to germinate, which is why they wash ashore along tropical coasts throughout the Indian Ocean and beyond. These extraordinary seeds were once occasionally fashioned into small snuff boxes.
After breakfast we set off on a walk with our local guide. He was very cool and relaxed, watched carefully, and showed us the Indris once again, as well as another Black-and-White Ruffed Lemur. We also saw Common Brown Lemurs and several hybrids, later followed by Black Lemurs and, among others, Red-bellied Lemurs.
Almost more beautiful than the lemurs, however, was the fact that we found Nepenthes madagascariensis, a carnivorous pitcher plant that grows here in the damp forest. We also saw the Blueback Reed Frog, a wonderful little crystal-blue frog sitting perfectly hidden on a leaf. Lisa immediately said that if she had been a jeweller, she would have made exactly something like this as a pendant or medallion. And indeed, the frog looked like a tiny gemstone made of glass.
We also saw Cuvier’s Madagascar Swift, an impressive girdled lizard with a jagged tail and such presence that it looked magnificent sitting on a tree trunk. I kept wondering, however, why they are called swifts. In English, a swift is a bird, after all.
Weird.
On the ground grew brittle gills, beautiful mushrooms emerging from the moss. One also sees huge African Giant Snails here, as well as beautiful butterflies such as the Madagascar Forest Nymph.
Afterwards we went swimming with Lennart in the shallow lake. A huge lake with crystal-clear water. At first I was slightly worried about bilharzia, but after seeing the other tourists, fat and thin, tall and short, all happily bathing there too, I became brave and went swimming with Lennart. Beach bodies, by the way, are rather rare here.
Except Lisa, of course.
Lennart then tried to catch fish with a self-made spear. Most of the larger fish here have probably long since been caught, and only small ones dart about here and there, although on closer inspection they were surprisingly beautifully coloured.
Then came lunch. Always plenty of flour and curry. One can see from some people here that food is enjoyed often and generously, and that it does not pass entirely without consequence. But it was certainly delicious.
In the evening we did, after all, go on a so-called night walk with our guide, Romeo, I believe his name was. Lennart had absolutely no desire to go, and to be honest, neither did I. But it is often the way with these things. You do not feel like going, and in the end it was still worth the effort.
So off we went, and I have to say, I was delighted.
We saw Brookesia nofy, apparently one of the smallest chameleons in the world. People, you cannot imagine how tiny this chameleon is. Fingernail-sized. But its size alone is not even the most interesting thing. Its shape is simply mad. Although so tiny, it is angular, jagged, and somehow wonderfully prehistoric. It was apparently discovered only two years ago, more or less by chance.
Also fascinating were the frogs with their large inflated vocal sacs, as well as many other chameleons we saw there, including Panther Chameleons.
We also saw woolly lemurs and mouse lemurs, both nocturnal lemur species, staring down at us impressively from the trees with their glowing eyes.
I also found a moth particularly interesting. It had a blue head and such a ridiculously shaggy coat that neither any AI database nor iNaturalist could make anything of it. I am almost convinced this moth has not yet been discovered.
Or at least I enjoy telling myself that.

16 May 2026 – Time to Relax, or Not

The day began late.
I coughed and coughed.
My poor wife.
My poor child.
And poor, poor Albert.
Eventually I did fall asleep, coughing now and then in between, and this morning we slept late. For a birdwatcher, almost something to be ashamed of.
We walked very leisurely to breakfast. Afterwards, according to Lisa, I was supposed to rest a little more. Instead, I waddled off up to the viewpoint. In the end it probably turned into a six or seven kilometre walk. I have no idea exactly.
Ornithologically it was rather disappointing, although I did at least see a Madagascar Cuckoo and several Olive Bee-eaters, which lifted the spirits a little. There were also a few Common Mynas, those damned exotic invaders, another Crested Drongo, and a Madagascar Turtle Dove.
That was it.
I clambered over sticks and stones until eventually I came back down to the beach. The view from up there, however, was absolutely breathtaking. Here the Indian Ocean meets the mainland, forested hills, white beaches, lagoons, and small lakes in the hinterland. It truly is an incredibly beautiful corner of the world.
Back at the lodge we had lunch and then enjoyed a little relaxed chilling on the beach. Lenny swam in the shallow water of the lagoon, but later decided he did not want to join us for another walk.
I had really wanted to show the two of them the beautiful view from up there, but we had not kept our deal and had not played touch with him in the water. So he preferred to stay below, dutifully writing an essay as Lisa had instructed him to do, while Lisa and I set off alone.
Fortunately, I was able to show her the beautiful orchid I had discovered during my walk that morning. Probably the only flowering orchid in Madagascar at this time of year. Although everyone had told us that nothing was flowering at the moment, we had found a genuinely beautiful one.
See my gallery and find out.
After that we continued on and actually saw Madagascar Lovebirds. Then suddenly a Madagascar Nightjar flew up right in front of us and, with outrageous confidence, perched like a professional photo model on a moss-covered trunk. I was able to take fantastic photographs.
It was an ornithological orgasm.
Afterwards Lisa and I walked romantically back along the beach, she about twenty metres ahead of me, as we usually do. After so many years of marriage, one no longer needs to talk all the time. Love happens automatically.
But of course I knew why she had hurried ahead.
She was worried about her child, whom we had left below.
He, however, was perfectly fine and had written his essay.

17 May 2026 – Travel Day

Today was the ultimate travel day.
The programme had casually dismissed it as seven hours.
I believe that too. Without traffic, the entire route could probably be done in seven hours.
At 7:30 in the morning we climbed onto the boat and were actually on time. Then straight into the car, porters zack, zack, zack, everything done, tip given, and off we went.
At around 2 p.m. we stopped for lunch.
Wonderful.
I had actually wanted to continue straight away, but since we had already bought and stuffed ourselves with crisps and all sorts of unhealthy things at petrol station stops, none of us was really in the mood for anything anymore by the time lunch came around.
Nevertheless, we ate pizza.
And then we drove on and on and on.
At some point there were only 25 kilometres left.
Two hours later, after pushing through crowds of people, traffic jams, and smog, we finally arrived at the hotel.
Those were the longest 25 kilometres of my life.
I have never seen so many people along a roadside. So many stalls, mopeds, Sunday evening chaos. Why, on a Sunday evening, do stones need to be stacked, chickens grilled, mangy dogs run across the road, people party, and mopeds fly everywhere as if there were no tomorrow?
Well, eventually we arrived at the hotel.
There, some little brainless tour leader from another agency tried to push in front of us. I first had to give him a small piece of my mind.
There were raised eyebrows.
Anyway, we had a good dinner and went to bed grateful simply to have arrived.

18 May 2026 – Marching Music, Propeller Bombers, and Northern Madagascar

When the alarm went off this morning, I was trapped in a deep pit of exhaustion and could barely pull myself out of it. I was so, so tired. The previous day had truly gone straight into my bones. You could see it in our driver too when he came to pick us up. He also looked completely worn out. We took our breakfast packs with us and later handed them over to him. Somehow, he needed them more than we did.
At the airfield, we did what one usually does at airfields: we tried to go straight inside and position ourselves at the check-in counter. But no. We were practically shooed back outside and told to wait in front of the door. Then our car was placed directly in front of the outside entrance, and Nirina said: “At least you will be first when they call you in.”
It reminded me strongly of my boarding school days. That little touch of being bossed around, that faint feeling that one should apparently already know one is not supposed to go inside yet.
So there we stood outside in the second-class-human queue. Strangely, other people were allowed to go in anyway. Probably private flights or something along those lines.
Eventually a ground stewardess waved us kindly into the hall. We went to check-in and everything went surprisingly smoothly. So the system did work after all. We hardly had to wait.
Then we marched out to the aircraft.
A propeller plane.
A proper little propeller bomber. A huge sausage-shaped body with tiny wheels underneath, making you seriously wonder how this thing can possibly land without scraping along the ground.
Inside, however, everything was perfectly fine. Enough space, modern enough, clean. And despite the propellers, the aircraft had plenty of pull. No need for jets at all, I thought.
We landed on time in Antsiranana. As the plane touched down, I briefly wondered whether it would scrape somewhere after all, but the landing was clean. Only the brakes came on so brutally that I was genuinely glad to be wearing my seatbelt.
Far more important, though, was the landscape during the flight. Those incredible mountains, lakes, lagoons, and inlets of sea. And then, as the plane turned in for landing, marching music suddenly started playing. Proper classical marching music.
There we were, sitting in a propeller plane in the middle of Madagascar, listening to music that would probably normally be played at some horse-riding event somewhere.
It was very strange indeed.
For a moment I wondered whether it was perhaps meant to calm the Malagasy passengers on board.
At the airport we were welcomed by Thomas.
“Mister Thomas,” he was introduced to me.
I had already asked Nirina earlier what all this constant “Mister” business was about here. Mister this, Mister that. He said it was simply a form of respect. I told him I understood that, but if one is already using the first name anyway, one could just as well leave out the Mister. But there we are.
“Punctuality is a revolution,” Thomas taught me.
He had studied German at the University of Antananarivo and told me about a professor who always began his lectures ten minutes before the scheduled time. From then on, “punctuality is a revolution” became our little friendship phrase.
Another new thing for me was learning that here one does not point at things with a straight finger, but only with a bent finger or an open hand. Another small cultural detail one only really picks up while travelling.
So now we had a German-speaking guide, an older gentleman, a former German student at the University of Antananarivo, fluent in German, plus our driver Said, who basically spoke only English, and even that rather brokenly. But somehow he seemed like a solid, no-nonsense type.
And first of all, we went for lunch.
By the way, on the way to lunch I asked Thomas, by then I had simply dropped the “Mister”:
“Tell me, what are those larks running around on the airfield?”
Flight pattern a bit like a fawn-coloured lark, perhaps slightly more robust, with reddish flight feathers.
And he simply answered dryly:
“Hova.”
I later looked it up. Hova apparently means lark. It was the Madagascar Lark, the only lark found in all of Madagascar. At that point I suspected that some ornithological support might be required here, but never mind. My wife and my son have interests too, and during the afternoon walk in Amber Mountain National Park, I think Thomas really satisfied those very well.
First, he was incredibly patient with my son, and second, he showed Lisa a wide variety of chameleons. Even when he had not found some of them himself, he always had something interesting and educational to say about them. And there really were many different species. I will have to write them all down properly later.
Right at the beginning, however, he found, and I am not sure every guide would have managed this, the smallest chameleon in the world. Brookesia minima, or something very similar, was what it was called. An impressive achievement.
When I say this animal fits on a fingernail, you may believe me. It really is absurdly tiny.
Thomas explained a great deal about the botany, the rapid growth of the lianas, and the many different tree species in the forest.
I, however, trudged along behind somewhat frustrated again. Typical forest. Of course I also wanted to see birds, but as usual I was battling backlight, darkness, and the fact that I did not yet know the few bird calls there at all. That feeling of not yet being “sharp” enough in a forest always irritates me a little.
Still, I saw some cool species. Among them Madagascar Buttonquail and also Lesser Vasa Parrot. In flight I probably even saw a Sickle-billed Vanga, but I cannot confirm that with absolute certainty.
Regardless of the birds, though, the entire forest atmosphere there is dreamlike. The waterfalls in the middle of lush green vegetation, the humid air, the light in the forest, truly beautiful.
I must also tell a small anecdote about lunch.
We ate in a little local restaurant where it was better not to look too closely into the kitchen. It was somehow clean, and yet so simply constructed that one had the feeling it could not really be kept properly clean at all.
But then we were served a chicken curry that was genuinely excellent.
Lisa and I had to laugh. Or rather, Lisa smiled at my mockery of these incredibly sexy long-legged chickens that run around everywhere here.
You have to imagine a wiry model type who has not yet quite figured out what to do with her life, wearing leggings and some lively blouse on top. That is exactly what these chickens look like.
And from the chicken legs on our plates, we could clearly tell that our curry had, until very recently, been one of those.
Later we arrived at the Litchi Tree Boutique Hotel. Beautifully built. Colonial style, lovingly renovated, and extremely cosy.
Unfortunately, Joffreville does not seem to be properly supplied with electricity. We were told that the town at least has a mayor, but apparently no functioning public power grid. That means electricity here comes only from solar power or photovoltaics, and even then only briefly in the evening.
Accordingly, there was a rather long to-do and not-to-do list in the room, politely explaining how sparingly one should use absolutely everything.
But despite that, we felt extremely comfortable here.
The loveliest part was actually the evening after our return from Amber Mountain. In the fruit trees around the lodge, Madagascar Mannikins suddenly appeared, and I also discovered a typical weaver species, the Sakalava Weaver.
With that, I have now actually seen almost all the weavers of Madagascar.

19 May 2026 – Bluddy Hot

Driving through the streets of Joffreville and seeing the old ruins, one would hardly believe that a place like the Litchi Tree Boutique Hotel could exist here. A beautifully kept property with fruit trees and extremely civilised owners. The owner is French, his wife clearly Malagasy. And their daughter served us with an etiquette, professionalism, and friendliness that could almost be put on display.
Dinner was prepared in such a way that, in terms of taste, I can only compare it with the very best meals I have ever eaten in my life. The presentation was kept relatively simple. We were given a large pot of meat stew, so refined and so perfectly prepared.
Then came a dessert unlike anything I had experienced before. A small cake, simply unbeatable in flavour, served together with a bowl of coconut water, which somehow worked in alternation, so that one kept sipping a little, then eating a little more of the cake.
Whether that was French cuisine, I do not know. All I know is that it tasted so good I almost disappeared into it.
This morning breakfast began with fantastic coffee, the only truly good coffee of the entire trip. Then came homemade croissants with jam. When I bit into one, all my taste sensors switched on at once. Texture, flavour, emotion, simply perfect.
Then came a large pan with a huge cheese omelette, shared between the three of us, served on freshly baked bread.
What more could one possibly want?
We sat there looking out towards the ocean in the distance. The view was absolutely sensational. Beside us were gigantic day geckos, bright green with red heads. Lisa simply said she did not want to leave.
And I, as usual, opened my big mouth and said:
“Who on earth booked us here for only one night? You could stay here for a week and simply enjoy life.”
When we finally had to leave, we were honestly quite sad. It was one of those rare feelings when you leave a place and immediately want to turn around and go back.
I wrote at once to Desire de Waal from Desire Travel, who had arranged all of this, and told her how wonderful this accommodation was. She replied dryly:
“Yes, I know. Unfortunately, it is the only one of its kind in all of Madagascar.”
But it is very clear that love is at work here. That the owner is art-loving, a true connoisseur, and someone with a taste for the fine and beautiful things in life is impossible to miss.
We then sped through Antsiranana, after what felt like 1,000 to 5,000 tuk-tuks and 300 Renault R4s. After a brief visit to the pharmacy, the supermarket, and the local fish market, which, by the way, was filled with a fairly dramatic smell, we continued towards the Red Tsingy.
Experiences, colours, life.
Wonderful.
When we stood in the queue at the pharmacy, yes, yes, here the pharmacy is visited from the outside, in the middle of the day, through nothing more than a small barred window where one states one’s wishes. Somewhere deep inside the dark little cave, someone answered and then passed the medicine out through the bars.
While we were waiting there, I looked to the right and saw a fish seller at her stall. At regular intervals she sprinkled her fish with water, apparently to keep them as fresh as possible.
I took a general photograph in that direction, but quickly noticed that the woman was anything but pleased about it.
So I said to Thomas:
“Here, take 5,000 Ariary, please go to the woman, apologise on my behalf, and tell her I am sorry. I will not do it again.”
Thomas went over, explained the situation, and the woman immediately smiled, waved it off, and made it clear that she was not angry with me.
Nevertheless, I insisted that she accept the 5,000 Ariary as a small apology. At the same time, I asked whether she would be willing to sprinkle her fish with water once more so that I could photograph the scene this time with her permission.
Because this way of keeping fish fresh, as unusual as it may seem to us, is part of everyday life here and deserves to be documented.
The whole episode ended with much laughter, friendly gestures, and warm greetings. When we returned to the car, we all had smiles on our faces. That was fun.
Back in the car, I was suddenly greeted by country music. Driver Said proudly announced:
“Your son wanted musiiiiic!”
I am not entirely sure whether my son is truly an Alan Jackson fan, but the music was playing and we continued driving. Meanwhile Alan Jackson lost his horse, his house, his love, the next love as well, and longed for something somewhere on some highway… whatever.
It was not actually such a long drive. But somehow with us, everything always takes muuuuch longer than planned. When the itinerary says “Afternoon Leisure”, it usually means we arrive somewhere shortly before sunset.
Probably because of my irritating birdwatching, which annoys everyone enormously, especially my dear wife and son. The drivers, of course, are not allowed to say anything. They are being paid.
Lisa always says it is not that bad, just very “time consuming”.
Eventually we arrived at Ankarana Lodge. Our agent had kept saying it was the best available there, and that does seem to be the case.
German-run, or rather German-Malagasy-run. Let us put it this way: it is nice here, one can feel comfortable, but here and there a few things could certainly be attended to.
Our room is huge and spacious. Lenny even has his own room. His air conditioning does not work, but at least ours does. One must mention the positive things too.
Dinner was good. I ordered some kind of chicken curry affair, Lisa had another chicken arrangement, and Lenny, I think, ordered zebu as usual.
I must also mention our lunch.
Today we had “Avocado à la Max”.
My close friend Max Hesse from Austria, long story, actually travels with me almost every year. Well, we once went to Uganda together and at the time solemnly agreed that we would travel somewhere together every year. But money, women, children, work, you know how it is. Not so easy.
Back then in Uganda, Max bought an avocado by the roadside, cut it open, added pepper, salt, and lemon, and we simply ate it with spoons.
And I swear to you, it was the most delicious avocado of my life.
Today we did exactly that again.
Our driver, who always explains things in wonderfully literal terms and says things like:
“This is avocado town.”
By that he simply meant that many avocados were being sold along the roadside there.
And indeed they were.
We stopped at a stall and paid 1,000 Ariary per avocado.
At some point I told Said to just stop somewhere by the roadside. We then pulled over in the middle of nowhere and slaughtered the avocados on a national park sign that also served as a small wall.
Before that, by the way, I had to quickly buy pepper, salt, and spoons in one of those little roadside shops. That alone was another small adventure.
While there, I also bought a few sacks with cool prints for Lisa.
She was already shouting from the car:
“Albert, the sacks! Buy them for me!”
I then mocked her by saying that I could later use them wonderfully for my cattle lick. But I already know she will place them somewhere in a highly artistic decorative arrangement.
And then we sat there in the middle of nowhere, spooning out those avocados.
And just like back then, they tasted absolutely fantastic. Even my Lenni liked them.
À la Max.
Thank you, Max.
Memories are the most valuable thing of all.
In hindsight, choosing the hottest part of the day to visit the Red Tsingy bordered on idiocy.
According to the itinerary, one can walk around a little, enjoy the landscape, and after about 45 minutes meet the vehicle again to continue the journey. In practice, things turned out slightly differently.
Already on the approach I noticed several Malagasy Kestrels, which pleased me greatly.
Then we continued climbing until we reached a small plateau. There our walk to the Red Tsingy began.
The landscape is unquestionably impressive. Over many years, probably over centuries, water has eaten its way through the red, iron-rich earth, creating a multitude of bizarre erosion formations.
Everywhere red spikes and fingers rise from the ground, giving the area an almost surreal appearance.
The walk itself, however, was quite hard on me because of the heat. It was well above 38 degrees, with an oppressive humidity that made every step more exhausting.
The landscape is certainly impressive to look at. However, as a Namibian, I must be forgiven if formations like these do not completely knock me out of my shoes.
When you come from a country like Namibia, shaped by millions, and in some places billions, of years of largely untouched erosion landscapes, you perhaps develop a slightly different scale of reference.
It was beautiful to see, and we took some photographs, but to be honest, I found the chameleons and lizards we discovered there almost more interesting than the landscape itself.
Added to this were the beautiful Ilala Palms, Hyphaene coriacea, which stood here and there decorating the red landscape and giving it a character all of its own.
On one of these palms sat another Malagasy Kestrel. To my delight, it allowed itself to be photographed beautifully and remained completely relaxed even as I approached.
Perhaps it knew perfectly well that outside its shady perch only the merciless heat of the midday air awaited it. In any case, it made no effort whatsoever to fly away and seemed perfectly satisfied with its decision simply to stay put.
At the end of the walk, our driver Said had already brought the vehicle forward a little and was waiting for us there.
Beside the parking area stood a small stall selling fresh coconuts.
Had someone there been selling ice-cold, clean water, I would probably have grabbed it immediately. But the idea of drinking a lukewarm, sweet coconut in that heat, while the seller herself was visibly suffering from the temperatures, one could smell it from quite a distance, did not particularly appeal to me at that moment.
So we climbed suspiciously quickly back into the pleasantly air-conditioned car and continued our journey.

20 May 2026 – Tsingy Means “Barefoot”

Today we went to Ankarana National Park.
Or rather, we drove there.
Since today’s programme included a hike of at least eight kilometres, Lenny was already fairly annoyed with us before we even started, simply because we were putting him through such a thing.
“Trudge, trudge, trudge, bird, bird, bird, trudge, trudge, trudge,” more or less according to his motto.
When we arrived at the park, it once again took an African length of time before the permit was finally organised. So I marched off along the forest-edged road, simply to see whether I might discover anything interesting.
And indeed, three Madagascar Hoopoes suddenly flew over me.
The hoopoe here looks very similar to the European or African Hoopoe, but it calls completely differently. That alone immediately tells you that it is, in fact, a different species. Its behaviour and flight pattern also feel unfamiliar.
Unfortunately, I could not photograph them. As so often, they were gone faster than I was even remotely ready.
To be fair, I must say that my wife can probably see ten times better than I can. My son too. Lisa points out all sorts of things to me, including birds. 🙂
Of course, that frustrates me immensely. As someone who wears glasses, I am constantly restricted by the frame, and because of the progressive lenses I never have that quick, wide view I would like. Then the blasted things fog up or get dirty all the time. Sometimes I could simply smash my glasses against the wall.
One really spectacular bird that must be mentioned today is the Crested Coua. It looks a little like a go-away-bird and actually makes a sound often described as a “laser gun”.
Tok tok tok tok…
And so on.
I managed to photograph it a little up in the trees. The others had already moved on, but I simply could not tear myself away from this bird.
Suddenly the coua dropped down and landed about three metres in front of me on the forest floor, where it picked up a praying mantis. I hope it was a female mantis, given how cruel they are to their males. Just for the sake of justice, if you know what I mean.
Then it slowly climbed back up along the trunk.
Now, of course, everyone thinks:
“Perfect, a thousand photographic opportunities.”
But try, no matter how expensive your equipment is, to photograph an animal between branches as it moves unpredictably up a trunk, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, sometimes visible, sometimes gone again.
Wildlife photography is frustration photography.
Seriously.
Sometimes I envy nude photographers. They sit there, squinting in an artistic sort of way, press the shutter, think everything is fantastic, or act artificially shocked, and even get paid for it.
Nature photographers like me sweat, have fogged-up glasses, get eaten alive by mosquitoes, can barely see half of what is going on, and at the end perhaps receive a compliment if a picture has turned out at all. And then one gets to hear sentences like:
“Wow, you must have a really good camera.”
Sometimes it is so frustrating that I genuinely ask myself why I do this at all.
But at the same time, there is also this enormous joy in it.
No idea why.
Everyone has their own bird, I guess.
We continued walking and were then supposed to admire the Tsingy.
When we reached the edge of the forest and saw this jagged dolomite landscape in front of us, I really had to marvel. Vast, completely eroded, razor-sharp rock, like a natural torture chamber. Anyone who falls in there probably never comes out again.
Eventually we reached a spot where an entirely different plant world suddenly began, mainly consisting of thorny succulents.
From there we came to a suspension bridge, which, as Lenny so nicely put it, turned the hike “into a little adventure”.
Because when you walk across a suspension bridge with all those knife-sharp rocks below you, it is quite a special feeling.
On the way back, Lenny walked ahead, and we completed the eight kilometres surprisingly quickly. The little guy really is fit and sharp. When we returned, he certainly did not seem exhausted by the long hike.
The forests through which we walked strongly reminded Lisa of a German mixed forest, mainly because of the smell, as she said. Everywhere, however, there were lianas woven through it, thick-trunked baobabs, and enormous fig trees of gigantic proportions, with roots one could walk between or have oneself photographed among, which of course we did.
Sadly, or perhaps more accurately to my own photographic disadvantage, I have to admit that this woman’s artistic eye is simply impressive. She presses the shutter exactly where I would have walked past without a second thought. Scenes I would consider completely unspectacular are transformed by her eye into images that tell stories, capture moods, and hold the viewer.
When I later look at her photographs, I sometimes turn pale with envy. Not because of the technology, not because of the camera, but because of this ability to see things that remain hidden to me.
That is probably the difference between someone who photographs with true artistic instinct and someone like me, who enjoys photography deeply, but whose strengths lie more in observing nature than in creating art.
Or to put it more kindly: I have great respect for people who do not merely see motifs, but feel them. Lisa is very clearly one of those people.
That is probably also why her company, Graphic Arts Studio, now serves clients all over the world. Whether logos, wallpapers, brochures, packaging, or other creative projects, her work reaches far beyond the borders of Namibia.
Again and again I heard interesting bird calls and briefly disappeared into the forest to follow them. Overall, it was truly a very beautiful and pleasant hike.
In the afternoon, we were supposed to visit a cave. Lisa and Lennart, however, decided they would rather stay by the pool. So I went out alone with the guide to see the cave.
I was so drenched in sweat that I first had to rid myself completely of backpack, binoculars, and everything else. I took off my shirt, wiped the sweat from my body, wrung the shirt out, and put it back on because the mosquitoes immediately began destroying me.
Then I slowly but surely climbed down the path towards the cave.
I only did the afternoon outing because the guide had promised me that Greater Vasa Parrots were very easy and frequently seen there, as they breed in the area.
Well.
I saw three or four of them shooting over me in absolute turbo flight. Photography was entirely out of the question.
The cave itself, however, was gigantic.
Truly gigantic.
It was fantastic to stand inside and look out from that enormous cave opening onto the great rainforest. A view that probably exists nowhere else in the world in quite that form.
We went a little deeper into the cave, and I would have loved to illuminate everything properly. Large fruit bats were hanging everywhere, and they could have been photographed beautifully.
Had the esteemed tour guide told me beforehand that a torch might perhaps be useful, I would of course have brought one.
May I briefly note here that there are few things worse than an unmotivated guide who no longer has any real interest and has spent his entire life taking ordinary small groups around, where it is enough to play teacher a little and receive great thanks and reverence in return?
But I had better not say more about that now.
In any case, I was not particularly satisfied, although it was not really his fault.
I drove back and met Lisa and Lenny at the pool. I ordered myself a cocktail, but had barely sat down when I spotted Madagascar Green Pigeons high in a large tree.
So out came the camera again, and on we went with the photography.
And then, finally, we actually allowed ourselves a few minutes simply to chill.
Lisa had practically ordered me to:
“You need to calm down now.”

21 May 2026 – Turf, Then Surf

Thomas, our guide, and please do not forget: “Punctuality is a revolution”, ordered a 7 a.m. departure. We obeyed dutifully, and so we set off towards Ankify.
Along the way, Thomas promised us a visit to a cocoa plantation. Before that, however, we had to stop the car again because Lisa had seen rice baskets by the roadside, those large, flat baskets used for turning and drying rice.
Some of them were beautifully colourful and, of course, handwoven. Lisa did not buy one. No, she bought four. But I have to admit, I can understand why these baskets would appeal to many people. Lisa wants to use them as wall decoration.
The girl selling the baskets was so charming that I personally would have bought a few from her just for the way she was.
She then showed our guide Thomas her homework, since he is apparently also a lecturer. He looked through it, pointed sternly at this and that, and in Malagasy she was once again guided onto a better path in life.
Then we continued to the cocoa plantation.
It was, in fact, more impressive than we had expected because it was a mixed plantation. I not only learned a great deal about cocoa, but there were also three different types of cocoa there. One fruit was even opened, and we were allowed to suck on the cocoa beans, which tasted wonderfully sweet and delicious.
You must not bite into them, though. Then they turn bitter.
We were also shown vanilla and pepper, and between the leaves Western Girdled Lizards kept darting past our feet, quite large lizards with beautiful red throats.
Just as we were happily buying spices, a Chinese delegation of “very important people” suddenly arrived.
Filming with various cameras as large as cannons, they rushed ahead, surrounded us, and more or less took over the entire place. We were trapped in the crowd, which naturally irritated me greatly, and so we could only buy half of what we had actually wanted.
But Lisa got her vanilla and her cocoa beans, and then we continued to the harbour at Ankify.
There we said goodbye to Thomas and Said.
The Indian Ocean opened before us. We loaded our luggage onto a speedboat, a large, fast boat. It was all quite pleasant. We were welcomed kindly by a local guide, and in no time we were racing across the Indian Ocean, passing along the islands.
Then Lisa suddenly lifted her hand and said:
“Look over there.”
A Great Frigatebird was gliding above us.
I just managed to take a photograph.
Our guide said only:
“That is a Madagascar Magpie Robin.”
I said:
“No, no, no, my dear, that is a frigatebird. Its wingspan is about the size of this boat.”
“Aha, aha,” she replied.
Well then.
We landed at the harbour on Nosy Be and were immediately surrounded by porters, who of course also had to be paid once the luggage had been loaded.
The drive then continued for another hour through Nosy Be to our accommodation.
By that point I was already somewhat fed up with people lining the roadsides, chickens crossing everywhere, thousands of tuk-tuks, cattle, and constant honking. And with the permanent smell of exhaust fumes and whatever happened to be rotting along the roadside. Fish, meat, and sometimes even human necessity.
But when we arrived at Ô Belvédère, the surprise could hardly have been greater.
Ô Belvédère is very simple, that must be said. But it is so beautiful here, with a view of the sea.
The atmosphere has a flair that can really be described with only one word:
Holiday.
Unfortunately, many Common Mynas move about in the trees here, that invasive bird species. This will probably only bother ornithologists. Others would likely simply find it pretty.
Crested Drongos and Madagascar Bulbuls were also squabbling over the figs in the trees. Sadly, no parrots. Perhaps I will still manage.
We were welcomed by a genuinely lovely young woman named Rosie. When Lisa saw her, she immediately said:
“I want trousers like that.”
In fact, the way this woman dressed and moved, and then her smile, was very captivating. One immediately sensed: here is someone completely at home within herself.
We soon understood why this was so, because the matriarch of the place, an older lady named Virginia, practically floated towards us in her robe, and one immediately sensed: here come life experience and wisdom.
Later we learned that she even speaks twelve languages and has truly lived in the world.
Her love of children was immediately noticeable, especially towards Lenny, and he too felt at home here right away.
Lennart and I went swimming while Lisa first had a rest.
I assumed she would probably sleep for another hour or so.
No sooner had we reached the ocean with borrowed goggles and snorkels than a Malagasy man approached us. First, he politely apologised, and we immediately said:
“No, no, we do not want to buy anything.”
But he said he only wanted to take us by pirogue to the place where there were corals and colourful fish.
I immediately said yes.
Lennart immediately said no.
Lennart was worried that Mama did not know. I said to him:
“Run up quickly.”
He replied:
“Way too far up.”
So I asked the pirogue man how long it would take.
“One minute there, one minute back, and you can snorkel as long as you like.”
Well then. I negotiated him down a little, and then we climbed into the wooden canoe and set off.
Lenny with very mixed feelings.
And honestly, when I noticed how slowly the man was paddling, I too began to feel a little uneasy. I already suspected that Lisa was probably starting to worry.
But then we reached the nearby island. He stopped the boat and simply said:
“Here.”
We put on the goggles, slipped into the water, and suddenly an entirely new world opened up.
What a dream.
Here, dear God had truly poured an inkwell full of colours into the sea. The most colourful fish, beautiful corals in blue, yellow, purple, and white, all sorts of things were visible beneath us. Huge sea urchins too. Lennart and I had great fun diving around.
At some point Lenny suddenly said:
“This is what I want to do. This is what my holiday should be like. I want to do things like this. Not always just hiking.”
And honestly, I understood him.
By then I too had had enough of all the driving and constant moving around and needed some peace.
So we spontaneously decided to cancel the hike planned for the next day and simply take a rest day.
However, by then Lisa had become very worried about us. She searched for us on the beach, could not find us, was completely distraught, and even shed a tear, which of course made me feel very sorry. If only I had listened to my son. That would clearly have been wiser.
Dinner that evening was once again fantastic. A wonderful seafood mixture that I cannot properly describe, but it simply tasted magnificent. And then homemade vanilla ice cream, truly unbeatable.
Happy, we finally went to bed and were even able to say good evening to a frog, Dumeril’s Bright-eyed Frog, which had made itself thoroughly at home in our room.
At first we thought there was only one, but later we realised: one here, one there.
One then leapt from one corner of the room to the other with such athletic ease that we could only laugh.
Lenny has now also adopted my love of the iNaturalist app. He is busily photographing animals and plants himself and is learning more and more to notice things that many people would simply walk past. He has already recorded 46 species. If this continues, it will become really exciting. And honestly, I am absolutely delighted by my son’s interest in nature.
I think iNaturalist is a truly fantastic way of somehow connecting the digital addiction of many children with nature in a meaningful way. That is also how I learned that our little roommate was a Dumeril’s Bright-eyed Frog.
At dinner there was the option of choosing a juice. Orange juice or corossol.
Naturally I immediately asked:
“Huh? Corossol? What is that?”
“Yes, corossol, corossol,” was all they said.
So we looked it up and discovered that it is soursop.
And this juice tastes so mild and wonderfully fruity, really quite special. We liked it so much that we immediately had two of them.
By the way, after dinner there was also an entire selection of rum on the house, with different flavours and fruits infused in them.
Lisa chose vanilla.
I chose ginger.
And so we were able to go to bed slightly tipsy and rather happy.

22.05.2026 – Misjudging Women

We were tired of travelling, tired of walking, and generally just tired of being on the road. We desperately needed a day off. So we decided to cancel the planned excursion to yet another national park in the area and instead opted for nothing more than a beach day.
Just for once, no organising, no driving, no searching, no ticking things off a list. Just the ocean, the beach, some peace and quiet, and a chance to catch our breath.
It was beautifully warm at Belvedere. Right outside the room, a small table would be set up, and by seven o’clock the coffee was already waiting for us. Breakfast followed shortly afterwards, served in a wonderfully relaxed way, exactly as one would hope for.
And every morning there was a beautiful fruit platter with all kinds of different tropical fruits.
The first activity of the day was snorkelling, and we rented a snorkel for Lisa as well. Lennart had lost his the day before, which meant we first had to replace it for the rather impressive price of 30 euros. Ouch.
Then off we went.
Our boatman was already waiting for his guests. I managed to negotiate the price down a little, because twenty euros for such a short paddle back and forth seemed rather ambitious.
Once we reached the right spot, we first had to teach Lisa how to fall into the water with at least a little dignity. Surprisingly, she picked up the whole snorkel and mask business very quickly. It is all rather unfamiliar at first.
Meanwhile, I once again struggled with keeping my diving mask from fogging up.
Nevertheless, it turned out to be another wonderful snorkelling experience. For Lisa, it was probably even better than for the rest of us. She discovered enormous sea cucumbers and even a blue pufferfish.
Well, that is what happens when one spends more time concentrating on photography than on what is actually happening around them.
Afterwards, we walked along the beach. There was a small shop where an elderly lady was selling tablecloths and presenting them in a pleasantly non-pushy way. Lisa immediately bought three of them and, I believe, also two woven bags made from palm leaves.
To be honest, though, it was probably a very good investment. The craftsmanship was genuinely beautiful.
For lunch, we stopped at some beach bar. Afterwards, I honestly regretted going there at all.
The meal cost well over fifty euros, and although the fish tasted good, I was not particularly satisfied. The whole place felt like a generic tourist operation run in a very Italian style. More like one of those mass tourism beach holiday destinations that could be anywhere in the world.
For me, it no longer felt much like Madagascar, and I found myself mourning money that I had worked hard to earn.
We later passed a small gallery of sorts, apparently run by two artists who seemed to spend most of their days in a rather altered state of consciousness. Lisa showed considerably less interest in their artwork than she had in the tablecloths.
I wandered down the main road in search of birds. My actual goal was to find a way into a patch of forest that I had previously discovered on Google Earth.
But everything here seemed tangled up in mysterious structures that, at least according to local stories, were linked to wealthy Italian investors and large hotel developments.
A beach boy, or perhaps more accurately a beach bum, told me that Italians had bought up much of the area and built many of the larger hotels.
When I asked him why there was so much rubbish lying around everywhere, he simply replied that the hotels threw their water bottles and other waste into the forest.
I felt rather powerless and, to be honest, quite angry. At the same time, I am fully aware that the Malagasy themselves also contribute to the problem.
The beach boy led me through the backstreets of the settlements and tried to find a way into the wooded area.
Walking through the backyards of the houses, I became genuinely saddened.
Everywhere there were large snails and shells, hundreds of them, simply lying there, abandoned to their fate. The smell was horrific.
Apparently the animals are collected from the sea and then left there to die slowly in the heat. Only after everything has decayed and ants and other creatures have cleaned away the remains are the empty shells polished and sold along the roadside to tourists.
Does it really have to be this way?
I wanted to shout into the world:
Please do not buy these things!
Every one of those shiny souvenir shells once belonged to a living animal that died for no reason other than to become a decorative object on somebody’s shelf.
There was, however, one wonderful moment.
I finally saw a Madagascar Pond Heron, a species I had wanted to see for a very long time, and not just one but two of them.
That was truly special.
Eventually, exhausted by the heat, I made my way back.
Dinner at Belvedere was once again wonderful and absolutely perfect.
At first, we had rather stereotyped the two ladies as alternative, free-spirited travellers with a somewhat philosophical outlook on life.
Later, however, we learned that Rosie already had two children and had lived through a remarkably difficult life. She had her first child at the age of seventeen.
It quickly became clear that this was not some consciously chosen carefree lifestyle. These were practical women who simply had to fight every day to make ends meet.
Their relaxed and easy-going nature seemed to come far more from circumstance than from any particular worldview.
The real stuff, not the fake bullshit.
As apparently every mosquito in Madagascar had been preparing for Lisa’s arrival and had collectively switched into full attack mode, one can imagine how frustrating the situation became for her.
Especially when her husband was hardly bitten at all while she was being eaten alive.
At one point she finally declared:
“I just want to be free from the heat and free from mosquitoes.”
In a week’s time she will probably be sitting in the cool, foggy weather of Swakopmund, completely free from both heat and mosquitoes, and perhaps still find herself missing Madagascar.
Well, maybe not the mosquitoes.

23.05.2026 – In Search of the Perfect Island

Right on time at eight o’clock, we were picked up. Lisa found it surprisingly difficult to say goodbye to her newly acquired alternative friends and eventually climbed into the vehicle with a slight delay.
We drove straight to the harbour and from there took a boat to Sakatia Lodge, located on a small island just off the coast opposite Nosy Be. The lodge sits on a beautiful beach in a sheltered bay, directly bordering a small patch of forest.
A truly lovely and refreshingly simple place.
Our room was a real surprise.
We had expected glamping tents, something fairly basic. In my opinion, however, that description was completely misleading.
What we actually found was a beautiful tented chalet.
It offered every comfort one could reasonably wish for. A large bed, good linen, wonderfully spacious mosquito nets that were completely open on one side, which made me wonder why they had bothered putting them up in the first place. There was also a lovely bathroom.
Everything was clean, well maintained and clearly designed with divers and underwater enthusiasts in mind.
Lisa, Lennart and I first sorted out the correct fin sizes. After that, our masks were adjusted and we received another briefing on how snorkels actually work. We were also given rash vests to prevent us from turning into lobsters under the tropical sun.
Then it was time to get into the water.
We swam out roughly two to three hundred metres in search of sea turtles.
Unfortunately, the water was extremely murky and visibility was poor. Apparently a storm off the South African coast had stirred up the sea, leaving suspended sediment throughout the area.
After hearing so much about the turtles and the spectacular underwater world, we had naturally expected crystal-clear water. Instead, we often found ourselves staring into a milky green haze and hoping that a turtle might suddenly materialise out of it.
As a result, the afternoon was more or less left open for free exploration.
I went for a short walk around the island. During that stroll I had the opportunity to admire a Madagascar Buzzard from directly below and observed various bulbuls and drongos in the trees surrounding the lodge.
At the same time, I once again found myself frustrated by the rubbish scattered around many of the villages.
This contrast follows you throughout Madagascar.
On one side there is an astonishing natural world filled with endemic plants and animals. On the other side there is plastic waste, litter and often a lack of infrastructure to deal with it.
Sometimes one cannot help wondering what this paradise would look like if that particular problem could be solved.
Later in the afternoon, we simply sat on the beach and gazed out across the sea.
There are rare moments while travelling when you no longer need to see anything, photograph anything or experience anything special.
You simply sit there and appreciate being exactly where you are.
Not the turtles.
Not the snorkelling.
Not the search for something extraordinary.
Just the simple act of having arrived.
And for that, Sakatia was the perfect place.

24.05.2026 – Tourist Mode, All Ahead @ Full speed

As the son of a farmer, I was raised to be pragmatic, logical, tidy, disciplined, straightforward and honest. As a result, I developed a strong appreciation for things that simply work. I believe that is exactly why my travel company has been successful. For me, logistics always come first.
My father used to say:
“First you build the foundation. Then you make absolutely sure that foundation is solid. After that you can build the house. And only at the very end do you decide which picture goes on the wall.”
Sakatia Lodge is essentially one of those places that simply works.
You can tell that it was built with a great deal of care, common sense, cleanliness and practicality. You feel well looked after and safely accommodated. The people are friendly. The room we are staying in is modestly marketed as a glamping tent.
Today I told the owners that this is most certainly not a glamping tent.
I have been staying in safari tents for more than thirty years. This is definitely a high quality tented chalet.
At exactly 7:30 a.m. the lodge transferred us first to the mainland and then across to Nosy Be, where we joined a day trip to Nosy Komba and Nosy Tanikely.
We arrived in a place apparently known as “Little Paris”, presumably because tourism has piled up there to extraordinary levels.
To be completely honest, I do not think I have ever said “no” as many times in a single day.
We were practically under siege from vendors trying to sell us something.
Hats, scarves, bananas, oranges, jewellery, souvenirs, literally anything imaginable.
And not from a respectful distance either.
Small children and women would move to within inches of your face, practically touching you, until your response became entirely automatic:
“No. No. No. No thank you. No.”
Not because you wanted to be rude, but simply because you were trying to regain a little personal space.
At some point Lennart developed a completely blank expression and simply stared at the rubbish scattered along the beach.
Boats were anchored everywhere and all of us were longing for the moment when we could finally get out onto the water.
Unkempt dogs wandered between piles of rubbish, some heavily pregnant. I genuinely felt sorry for them.
The air smelled of garbage, stagnant water and diesel.
Plastic everywhere.
Macaques everywhere.
People everywhere.
And what saddened me most was the feeling that there often seemed to be very little local desire for cleanliness or sustainability. At the same time people talk about sacred forests while those very habitats are visibly being destroyed in many places.
Perhaps I have simply become too much of a nature person over the years, but the constant pressure and endless sales pitches were starting to make me genuinely irritated, while none of the other tourists seemed particularly bothered.
Here we met our local guide, who first took us to another departure point because it was faster to continue by boat from there.
From there we travelled together with other tourists to Nosy Komba.
And it was, quite literally, a monkey circus.
I know some of my own guests who would have gone grey on the spot.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists are brought to Nosy Komba every day, many of them Italians, as there are numerous charter flights from Italy.
Beach tourism in its purest form.
The guests are processed in groups and then the so called nature walk begins in search of the Black Lemurs.
I genuinely thought we would be hiking through the forest and eventually discover these animals naturally in the trees.
What I did not know was that the animals are fed and that the path to the lemurs is lined with HUNDREDS of small stalls selling everything from vanilla to sunglasses, T-shirts and genuinely beautiful handicrafts.
The guides, who unfortunately showed very little respect for nature, seemed to take particular pleasure in making sure that every possible tourist ended up with a lemur sitting on their shoulder for a photograph.
The reward for the lemur was a piece of banana.
One guide even waved a banana up and down in front of a Black Lemur so that the poor animal started bobbing rhythmically while he loudly sang:
“I like to move it, move it.”
To be completely honest, I am still annoyed that I tipped that guy afterwards instead of telling him exactly what I thought.
But people keep telling me that I am too serious and too intolerant.
So for once I simply kept my mouth shut and smiled politely.
Afterwards we looked at boas, both ground boas and tree boas, which were draped around the necks of tourists, including Lennart and Lisa. There were turtles, photo stations and the full tourist package before we finally continued to Nosy Tanikely for snorkelling.
The snorkelling experience did not begin particularly well for me because the equipment was so poor that I immediately became very German.
We Germans are apparently known worldwide for complaining.
Complain, complain, complain.
Fortunately, I inherited that talent and therefore practise it professionally.
Eventually I was given better equipment and could finally enjoy the snorkelling properly.
Shortly afterwards I was whistled out of the water again because lunch was ready.
So I obediently marched back to shore.
And the food was genuinely fantastic.
Crabs, fish, rice, chicken, the list seemed endless.
A proper feast.
The fact that the beer was served in plastic cups and that several rats appeared to be waiting nearby for the tables to be cleared was completely irrelevant to me at that moment.
After lunch we headed straight back into the water.
We saw five sea turtles.
Three of them carried small blue tracking devices complete with antennas attached to their shells. Two did not.
And then there were those incredible fish.
I was also lucky enough to spot a large octopus that continuously changed colour.
To properly describe the colours and shapes of these fish, the English language would probably require an entirely new vocabulary.
Or perhaps I simply do not possess the necessary words.
Something that beautiful is difficult to put into language.
On the way back from Nosy Komba and Nosy Tanikely to Nosy Sakatia we were intercepted by a police boat as if we were Madagascar’s most wanted criminals.
Imagine a police boat.
Not a particularly modern one.
But packed with enough hardware and attitude to make up for it.
The whole thing felt more like a military special operations unit.
Armed to the teeth, wearing sunglasses, projecting intimidation and carrying themselves with the seriousness of men about to capture a dangerous pirate gang.
Alongside them sat our tourist boat.
All of us wearing life jackets.
All of us looking slightly bewildered.
Everyone wondering what exactly was about to happen.
And behind the tourists stood our boat captain.
Looking nervous, completely harmless and about as threatening as a school bus driver on a class excursion.
The officers climbed aboard, demanded paperwork and spread themselves strategically around the boat.
One held a studded belt in his hand as though he might start swinging it at any moment.
Another wore reinforced knuckle gloves and looked prepared to punch the first person foolish enough to say the wrong thing.
The third stood there carrying an AK-47 while observing the entire scene with eagle eyes.
You genuinely got the impression that an extremely dangerous operation was underway.
On a boat full of tourists.
Afterwards we had to accompany these guardians of national security to a nearby beach where we were finally allowed to disembark.
When I asked our driver what would now happen to the poor boat captain, he launched into a lengthy explanation involving the word “corruption.”
Which suggested that somewhere along the line a little extra income was probably being collected and that uniforms do not necessarily prevent entrepreneurial thinking.
I then asked why the police did not spend some of their energy cleaning up the rubbish instead.
As I said this, I pointed towards a duck picking its way through piles of rubbish in search of food.
The poor thing was probably white once.
Now it was stained brown by dirt and grime.
The driver glanced over and simply said:
“No, this is the people.”
To this day I am not entirely sure what he meant.
What I do remember is that sentence, along with the image of heavily armed officers treating a boatload of tourists as though Madagascar’s national security depended on it.
Soon afterwards we made our way back and reached our wonderful Sakatia Lodge in time to reward ourselves with an Aperol Spritz and enjoy our second last day of holiday in style.
In the meantime Lennart had also found a friend.
His name is Enzo.
When we first arrived, Lennart wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, as children so often do.
Now he has already rearranged tomorrow’s entire programme because it will be his last day with Enzo.

25.05.2026 – Snorkelling Wears You Out

Waking up in the morning without an alarm clock is something special. Even if you wake up early, it comes with a sense of freedom.
The first thing I did was head down for a coffee.
Okay, coffee in Madagascar is a disaster.
It tastes just good enough that you can drink it, but only just. One thing I am genuinely looking forward to when we get home is a proper, full-bodied cup of coffee. I honestly do not know what they do to coffee over here, but this country could certainly use a decent coffee roaster.
On our farm, Nomtsas, I have the blessing and curse of having very mineral-rich water.
Our ordinary filter coffee tastes so exceptionally good that some friends start looking forward to it weeks before they even arrive.
No expensive coffee machine.
No secret blend of beans.
No special preparation.
Just plain old filter coffee.
By now, everybody talks about the coffee at Nomtsas, and I must admit that I am missing it rather badly at the moment 🙂
Lisa, Lennart and I then went snorkelling in search of sea turtles.
At nine o’clock the boat headed out and dropped us off in the area where the turtles are usually found.
At first we saw absolutely nothing.
We paddled around like lunatics and spent most of our time looking at seagrass and the seabed.
And then suddenly, there it was.
The first enormous turtle.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
At some point Lennart met up with some of his friends and later informed us that he had seen one that was bigger than he was.
I can believe that immediately.
The sea turtles we encountered were simply beautiful beyond words.
From another world beautiful.
What does it feel like to spend time with a sea turtle?
Small.
You feel small.
You dive down, watch it feeding, and then it slowly rises back to the surface.
Completely calm.
Peaceful.
Gentle, as Lisa would say.
You hear that loud exhale and inhale when it comes up for air.
Then it glides back down again.
While we need twenty kicks of our fins just to vaguely keep up, the turtle makes perhaps one or two slow movements and effortlessly disappears into the blue.
It is simply divine.
By lunchtime we were completely exhausted.
I sorted through some photographs, Lisa did a bit of work, and later we decided to head back to the coral reef in the afternoon to look for fish.
Because Lisa’s feet were hurting, she returned earlier.
I stayed a little longer around the corals and was lucky enough to encounter another sea turtle.
A smaller one this time.
It was clearly far more cautious and retreated into the coral whenever I got too close.
Seeing that turtle among all those colourful fish was something truly special.
That evening Lisa and I bought an outrageously expensive bottle of wine and walked up to the romantic hill overlooking the bay.
Although I am not exactly known for my romantic side, I have to admit that the view was spectacular.
The sun was setting.
The light was perfect.
And Lisa was happy.
And that, for me, is always the very best thing.
When my wife is happy, I am calm and content.
Later we had a long phone call with Richard, which was wonderful.
Afterwards we headed down for dinner, met some new people and ended up chatting over a few beers far longer than we had originally intended.
And that is exactly how we went to bed.
Happy.
Content.
And very, very tired.

26.05.2026 – Follow the Warnings of Travellers

It started in the middle of the night.
I had to go to the toilet.
Very quickly I realised that I had done something wrong.
The dinner had been delicious, but suddenly I looked back on it with horror. As I happily unwrapped the steaming leaves and enjoyed the cooked fish and seafood inside, perhaps I should have known better.
Then there were the double and triple whiskies in between and afterwards, which I most certainly did NOT drink.
Man, what a mistake that was.
Unfortunately, I was already slightly tipsy from the wine, and we ended up having lively conversations with a well-known lawyer named Alex Hamilton. He wanted to know a great deal about our lives, and we were equally interested in hearing about his strategies and experiences.
On top of that, we polished off another two or three bottles of beer.
Beer after wine, and you’ll be fine.
Seafood on top of that, and perhaps not so fine.
At some point I became thirsty and realised there was no drinking water left in the room. There was, however, a bottle of water standing next to the kettle.
So I picked it up and drank.
Later, when I told Lisa that we were out of water, she replied:
“I know. Go downstairs and get some.”
When I returned and explained that I had fortunately found some water next to the kettle, she simply said:
“Are you crazy? That was tap water.”
At that moment I knew I was doomed.
And indeed I was.
To make a long story short:
One and a half boxes of Loperamide, otherwise known as Imodium, and an entire bottle of Pectrolyte later, I was finally able to start planning as much as the next two hours of my life.
There were headaches. Backaches. And occasional little fever episodes.
By the time we arrived at the airport and I had to stand in line, I felt as though I was in hell.
Hell is the feeling of standing sick in a queue in Madagascar.
While standing there, I found myself philosophising about what irritated me most.
The rich South African yacht owners loudly bragging about their holidays.
The locals trying to sell us things.
The perfectly normal tourists who had done absolutely nothing wrong.
The slow progress at check-in, although it probably was not slow at all.
The smell in the air.
The weather.
I no longer know.
I only know that eventually I made it into the departure hall and was finally able to find another toilet.
The flight from Nosy Be to Johannesburg was actually not very long.
But it felt like days.
I no longer knew whether I should lean forwards, backwards, sideways or perhaps not sit at all.
My entire concentration was devoted to one simple objective:
Survive.
Slightly exaggerated, of course.
And we all know: When men are sick, they are always considerably sicker than women.
At least that’s what women say.
In Johannesburg everything went surprisingly smoothly. I even made it through the fever scanner.
I have no idea how. I looked into the camera with a very definite “I couldn’t care less anymore” attitude and thought: Right. This is where they send me to hospital.
But the light flashed green and I was allowed to continue.
Checked into the hotel.
Everything went smoothly.
That evening I even regained a bit of an appetite.
So I devoured a magnificent steak – which I should not have done – together with French fries – which I should definitely not have done.
Because afterwards the whole bloody story started all over again…

27.05.2026 – Home Sweet Home

At this point, I would once again like to recommend Desire de Waal of Desire Travel.
Not only had she planned the entire trip exceptionally well, but every transfer worked perfectly, we were always picked up on time, all accommodations were booked, and everything had been carefully arranged long before we arrived.
The departure time on our final day was equally well chosen.
We did have to get up at six o’clock in the morning, but there was still plenty of time for breakfast afterwards.
I chose to skip it, however, as I was still lying in bed feeling rather sorry for myself.
My wife and son returned looking cheerful and refreshed, and Lennart proudly announced that he had eaten an especially healthy breakfast.
I, on the other hand, preferred to keep a low profile and pulled myself together once more for the journey through the airport.
Check-in, the flight and everything surrounding it went smoothly.
My dear mother was already waiting for us in the arrivals hall.
And with that, the journey came to an end.

Conclusion

I am glad that I visited Madagascar!
If I were to write a book about Madagascar, I would probably call it:
“Poor Madagascar, Poor, Poor Madagascar.”
Madagascar is suffering!
And above all, it is suffering because of us humans.
To me, Madagascar is the visible result of many of the imbalances of our world. The poor take what they need in order to survive and cannot afford to worry about tomorrow. The rich enjoy what remains and often consume resources without much thought for the consequences. In between, there is frequently very little room left.
From a natural history perspective, anyone with even a modest understanding of nature, and mine is admittedly fairly modest :-), will be positively surprised again and again.
The number of endemic species is simply astonishing.
Chameleons, insects, plants, lemurs and, of course, the birdlife provide countless highlights.
Lemurs of many different species can still be observed in a number of places. However, many of Madagascar’s most fascinating animals and plants are now found almost exclusively within national parks and protected areas.
One can be grateful that these places still exist.
One can appreciate that at least fragments of the original habitats have survived.
But once you leave these protected areas, you are often confronted with a reality that is more than a little depressing.
Deforested landscapes, severe erosion, pollution and the visible overuse of natural resources shape much of the country.
One thing that struck me in particular was how few birds I encountered outside the protected areas.
In gardens, along roadsides and across agricultural land, I saw far fewer birds than I had expected.
Sometimes I did not see a single bird for hours.
For comparison: On our farm in Namibia, located in a semi-desert environment, I can record around fifty bird species over the course of two days, many of them in very high numbers.
In Madagascar, I spent roughly fifteen days actively searching for wildlife and birds in protected forests, rainforests, coastal habitats and marine ecosystems.
The fact that my entire trip list amounted to only sixty-six bird species genuinely surprised me.
In many places, suitable habitat simply no longer exists.
Perhaps pollution plays a role.
Perhaps deforestation.
Perhaps other factors.
Or perhaps I am overestimating the adaptability of many species.
What I do know is that the difference was impossible to ignore.
From a natural history perspective, something is clearly and seriously wrong.
Unfortunately, I am a pragmatist.
I am not someone who likes to romanticise problems.
I grew up on a farm and learned from an early age that responsibility matters and that problems need to be addressed rather than ignored.
That makes it difficult for me to romanticise developments that I consider troubling.
To me, a worthwhile world is created where people take responsibility.
Not by withdrawing from nature, but by caring for it.
By protecting the places around them.
By preserving habitats.
By leaving their surroundings cleaner, healthier and more beautiful than they found them.
Madagascar made me sad.
Not because the people are poor.
Poverty can change.
Countries can develop.
Opportunities can emerge.
Living conditions can improve.
What saddened me was something else.
Madagascar was once a natural wonder of global importance.
A place filled with unique plants, animals and habitats found nowhere else on Earth.
And in many places, one has the feeling of witnessing its decline almost in real time.
Piece by piece, something priceless is disappearing.
How can this be changed?
I do not have a simple answer.
Education would probably be a start.
Functional institutions would help.
Economic opportunities for local people.
A responsible approach to natural resources.
And perhaps political leadership willing to think and act consistently over the long term.
Because what is being lost here does not belong only to Madagascar. In a way, it belongs to all of us.
Am I glad that I travelled to Madagascar?
Absolutely.
Was it a worthwhile experience?
In every respect, yes.
Would I recommend it from a natural history perspective?
For now, yes, but with reservations.
Is it paradise?
No.
Many years ago, a friend who runs a nature-oriented safari company responded to my wish to visit Madagascar with a single sentence:
“If you want to see Madagascar, do it now. Tomorrow it may no longer be there.”
He may prove to be frighteningly right… Or hopefully not.

Epilogue

A conversation in the office.
I said to Lisa:
“I have now put all the photographs you took of colours, colour combinations, interesting structures and patterns into a separate folder. But honestly, there is no way you will ever process all of that in one lifetime.”
Without missing a beat, she replied:
“You’re right. I need more lives.”