Madagascar > By boat to Nosy Be

I leave Ankarana today and head for the island of Nosy Be. By seven o’clock, I’m ready with my luggage at the minibuses. I’ve left my hiking boots and zip-off pants with someone in the village—I’m ready for new ones. The first few kilometers along the road are bumpy again. The road here is also full of potholes. Today I’m sitting at the back and get jolted around quite a bit. Luckily, after about an hour, the road improves significantly. The driver immediately accelerates, so the bumps and holes still come through at the back. Still, I manage to close my eyes for a bit. I didn’t sleep very well last night, so I catch up now. In the town of Ambilobe, the RN6 splits. I walk a bit through the center. It’s Sunday, and the streets are busy. At the church, I see many people in their Sunday best on the church square. I wonder whether the service has just ended or is about to begin. As I step onto the square, I see that the mass is already underway inside, but there isn’t enough space in the church, so some people are sitting outside. The shops in Ambilobe are closed today, but market stalls line the streets. This trade continues seven days a week. On the other side of town, the minibus is waiting again for the final stretch to the port town of Ankify. Just before Ankify, we stop at a plantation garden. Here, cacao, bananas, vanilla, pepper, pineapples, and many other fruits are grown. It’s fun to see all of this growing. The owner pulls a jackfruit from a tree.

Madagascar - It is busy in the town of Ambilobe

This large fruit, about twenty-five centimeters long, weighs several kilograms. He cuts it open and lets me taste it. I find the flavor so-so. Meanwhile, sandwiches with salad and minced meat are prepared. After lunch, we drive quickly to the harbor. The crew is clearly in a hurry today. The sea to Nosy Be is usually calm in the morning, but strong winds can pick up in the afternoon. The earlier we make the crossing, the better. Unfortunately, the police also know that tourists pass through here. Three times in quick succession, we’re stopped. There are many checkpoints in Madagascar, but normally tourists can pass directly. Not here. I clearly see an officer checking papers while slipping a folded banknote into his hand. At the next stop, papers are checked behind the bus, and at the third stop, they are held back. This undoubtedly costs the driver money on the way back. Zoe explains that today’s vehicle is technically a taxi, and the office that allows taxis to carry tourists with extra taxes in Diego was closed. I think even without this reason, a police officer in Madagascar can live well. When I arrive at the harbor, it’s chaotic. Men hang around everywhere, and there’s heavy police presence. I watch my luggage carefully and board a small speedboat, less than ten meters long. We have two boats for our group. In about half an hour, I cross the eight kilometers to Nosy Be. Midway, baggage is transferred in the middle of the sea.

Madagascar - By speedboat to the island of Nosy Be

It turns out my boat sits lower in the water, so it can’t go as fast. I arrive safely on Nosy Be. The port town is Hell-Ville. The joke that it must be “hell” to stay here is easy to make. A police officer at the harbor checks my passport right on the quay. No idea why. I’m allowed to pass. As I turn around, the same officer asks for my passport again. He is convinced he hasn’t checked me yet. Once again, I’m allowed through. I load my luggage onto a minibus and drive about twenty kilometers to Madirokely on the other side of the island. The villages I pass look poor. I had expected more resorts. Only when I enter Madirokely do I reach a street full of restaurants and bars. My hotel is at the back, against the hillside. I have a short walk to reach the center. I have a nice and tidy bungalow. It’s a comfortable place to stay for the next few days. In the afternoon, I walk to the beach. It’s Sunday, and the beach is busy—but not with tourists. Mostly locals are enjoying the beach. Boys play soccer in the sand, and children play in the water. I actually see very few tourists here, certainly not enough to support the many restaurants along the water. I sit at one of the terraces and have a beer with a view of the sea. Slowly, the sun sinks. Looking around the terrace, I see only older white men walking with young local girls. Many of these men come from France specifically for this purpose. It’s a sad sight. I hope the girls with them are at least eighteen, but with some, I strongly doubt it.