Hilary Bradt Leading from the front
In Madagascar I made mistakes – but one guest’s ‘word in private’ left me speechless
“You can fool some of the people some of the time… but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.” As a tour leader, this has often proven true, memorably on a trip to Madagascar in 1990 when, on the third day, one of the group asked me if he could have a word in private.
He had been on something like 17 adventure travel trips, he told me, “So I’m no neophyte, but you’re the worst leader I’ve ever had. I’ve a good mind to abort this whole trip!” The thing is, I have no recollection of what I’d done wrong. We had barely left the capital. In the rural areas, the opportunities for both the country and for me to create havoc were much more promising.
I concede now that maybe the justopened national park of Andohahela, in the untamed south of the island, wasn’t quite ready for tourism when I persuaded the tour operator to include it in our itinerary more than 20 years ago. Our guide spoke little English and had retained his cultural beliefs above the less interesting aspects of wildlife science. Thus when he spotted a fandrefiala snake motionless on a low branch, he retreated. I love snakes and I know there are no dangerous ones in Madagascar, so my response was delight as I moved forward to encourage it to slither into camera range.
The guide screamed, the group scattered, and they accepted his tale that this snake could stiffen its body into a spear and drop down on passing cattle – or tourists. That is why the lower part of its body is blood red, he told us.
Things became more complicated after we had set up camp and the crew created a wobbly plank bridge over the little stream that separated our campsite from the vehicles. Then we learnt that it was fady – taboo – to prepare a meal near the tents or to urinate within that area. Which meant that, although the cook prepared a nice meal of spicy pasta, by the time it had been conveyed to us, some 50 yards away, it was stone cold. And those who needed a nighttime pee had the challenge of walking across the prickly scrub and crossing the wobbly bridge in the dark before they could relieve themselves. And most obeyed, because we knew that the Ancestors would be watching and we really didn’t need any more difficulties.
Another time, another year, another national park full of unexplored delights. Isalo is flat desert, baking hot and scattered with succulents and sandstone outcrops the size of houses. But after two or three hours of walking, you come to a narrow canyon with clear water tumbling over rocks through a tunnel of greenery and ending in two deep pools. It would be my first time to the canyon and perhaps my excitement explains why I left the national park permits in my hotel room.
I discovered this when we picked up our local guide at the park headquarters; I was not popular. I suggested that I run back to the hotel for the permits and catch up with the group at the park boundary. I knew they would proceed slowly with the guide spotting chameleons, bottle trees and other Isalo specialities. I soon discovered that running in 40C (104F) heat is not the same as jogging along English lanes.
Also, my ability to get lost is legendary. And when a path divides in the desert, how do you know which branch to take? Fortunately, a kindly member of the group got the guide’s help in scratching arrows in the sand with a stick and I caught up with the steelyeyed tourists at the canyon entrance. Never has a swim felt more welcome.
Back to that conversation in 1990. The specifics of what came before I followed that man to a corner of the lobby have been blotted from my memory, but I recall the aftermath. The “word in private” was overheard by a more forgiving member of the group. “What was that about?” she asked. “We think you’re neat!” So fortunately for me, but not for the non-neophyte traveller, the rest of the group rallied around and, whenever there was a snarl-up, someone would say loudly, “I’ve a good mind to abort this whole trip!”
The thing is, I have no recollection of what I’d done wrong. We had barely left the capital