From Russia with love
When we landed in Madagascar on a former Soviet research ship, the reception was… mixed
I don’t think the Professor Khromov – as she was in the 1990s – would pass muster as a cruise ship these days . A Russian-owned former polar research vessel, she was also – so rumour had it – a spy ship with strange towers and wires everywhere, and was crewed by enormous, silent Russians. The food was terrible and served on trestle tables along which the dishes glided from one end to the other in a rough sea. I was allowed to dry my seasoaked tennis shoes in the engine room (where they melted). I had two stints on the Khromov as a lecturer as it cruised around Madagascar, and I loved it.
With only 25 or so passengers, these were intimate expeditions where I got to know everyone, and I had to rustle up extra lectures during the many days “at sea” when the Khromov, chugging along at her own, slow, icebreaker pace, struggled to meet the planned itinerary.
So it was that on the second voyage I was able to fulfil a long-held ambition to visit the (nearly) southernmost tip of Madagascar, where David Attenborough had written so alluringly of a very special feature: the fossilised egg shells of the giant elephant bird or Aepyornis, extinct for at least 500 years.
My friend Janice had joined me on this cruise. She’s a handy companion, speaking fluent French and a good smattering of Malagasy. As the Khromov made her leisurely way down the east coast it was clear that we wouldn’t reach our next scheduled destination, Tulear, on time; it was equally clear that the passengers were aware of this.
So Janice and I hatched a plan with the Swedish expedition leader, Stefan. Suppose we try to land at Faux Cap instead? In those days, 1997, it was almost impossible to get there overland so if we were to succeed, what a treat for the disgruntled passengers! He and the captain studied charts, noted a possible passage through the coral reef, and agreed it was worth trying.
We anchored overnight within sight of the small village of Betanty, set on cliffs above the sandy beach, and early next morning we set out in a zodiac for a recce. A few men were waiting on the beach for us and we watched as a small wooden outrigger canoe was pushed off from the sands and paddled to the edge of the reef. Two boys jumped into the water and swam through the only gap,
The policeman wanted to know the colour of the ship. Janice drew a sketch of it with ‘blanc’ and ‘bleu’ marked in
to be hauled, as brown and shiny as seals, into the zodiac. The older boy positioned himself proudly at the front and directed us to the shore.
Malagasy greetings are complex. You don’t just jump out of a boat and say “Take me to the fossils!” When a man stepped forward, Janice greeted him in Malagasy, with the ritual phrases: “Hello, what news? No news” and they then conversed in French. He told her that we were the first people ever to approach the village from the sea.
While they were talking, the local policeman bustled up with a notebook. Could he have all our names? Stefan radioed to the ship for a copy of the manifest. The official then hesitated, pencil poised. But what colour was the ship? Janice drew a sketch of it with the two colours blanc and bleu marked in. Formalities accomplished, permission to land was granted.
Meanwhile, the entire village was trickling like ants down the hillside to watch. When all Khromov’s passengers were assembled, a young lad guided us to an area of sand dune where – amazingly – thousands of egg-shell fragments from Sir David’s favourite giant bird lay scattered underfoot. Possibly the dune had once been a midden: an Aepyornis egg, each one equivalent to more than 100 normal hen’s eggs, would have made a wonderful food source.
It was time to get back to the ship, but Stefan was using the zodiacs to give children a joyride. Not joy to one mother, though, who let out a scream when she saw her daughter being kidnapped; she waded into the sea and dragged the protesting child to safety. It was a widely held belief in rural Madagascar that vazaha (white foreigners) would steal children to eat their livers. An unforgettable morning for all.