Swimming with the Fishes


So, the rest of the Garden Route was wicked - such a beautiful and varied part of the world, from forest to desert to coastline. Highlights include an tour of the Port Elizabeth township, holding a day old baby ostrich, aerial sliding from tree top to tree top on a canopy tour, and hitting hip J Bay for the surfing. Or mainly drowning.

We are now in Mozambique and have just emerged from The. Most. Glorious. eight days on a picturesque island in the Bazaruto archipelago. What a stunning and unspoilt place. Pure heaven. It was absolutely SCORCHIO and diving into the sea was no relief as the water was just as scorchio! And absolutely crystal clear. There was so much to do, we could have stayed forever.

We spent a couple of days deep-sea and fly fishing and caught some big 'uns. Which is clearly not very hard, given that we don't know how to fish. I was mostly concerned with how long it took the poor blighters to die in the hatch and avoiding all the fish blood swilling about the boat, but it was very exciting despite the gore.

The real highlight, however, was entering into the new world of Darth Vader breathing, lung over-expansion injury and the terrifying Bends. The new world of scuba diving! We are hooked, line and sinker. It was just incredible. We saw fish of every shape and hue, some so comical they make you laugh out loud (slash strangled underwater gurgle). We also saw some of the most GIMONGOUSEST fish you have ever seen. I came face-to-face with one whose mouth alone was a foot wide. Didn't hang around to find out any more... We swam with turtles and rays and even a two metre shark (without a cage for protection this time! I nearly wet myself). It was really something else. Had rather scary moment when I over-inflated my jacket at the end of the dive and shot up to the surface like a rocket. Which you are definitely NOT meant to do. Had to sit on the boat for an hour until the next dive, all the while paranoid that I was going to get the bends and EXPLODE. Am still here tho and the team promptly renamed me Exocet Smith.

We are now off back to South Africa and back into the bush so may not be able to blog again. Thank you so much for reading it, we hope we haven't bored you rigid. Really looking forward to seeing you and you and you. Happy Chrimble to all! xx

Adrenalin Junkies

Well, it turned out that Vic Falls was almost as terrifying. The Falls are incredible but we were not content to admire them from afar. Oh no. We had to swim in them. In fact, we swam in what is known as the Devil's Pool which is literally right on the point where the Falls, er, fall over the edge. I mean RIGHT on the edge (see Superman pic). Twas rather terrifying but very beautiful. We also went white-water rafting down the Zambezi, which was pretty hairy but pretty cool. I seemed to have a problem staying in the boat and often found myself hurtling towards rocks. We were also on our way to do the Gorge Swing (bit like a bungee but you swing instead of bunge) but the heaven's opened and we had to return to the lodge. The gods must have smelt my fear.

We then spent several days in Cape Town. What an awesome city. Considering moving there. It has everything - culture, beaches, mountains, vistas, great shops and restaurants. I was also very pleased that I was able to buy a comb there as I managed to lose my only hairbrushing tool about a month ago. There are no shops in the bush but I did eventually manage to get hold of an afro comb, which seems to have the opposite effect of a normal comb. So was relieved to tame my already wild hair into something that didn't look like a shape drawn on by a spirograph.

The adrenalin rushes kept on coming as we decided it was time to don another attractive helmet and abseil down Table Mountain. It doesn't look very high but, believe me, it was. The views were amazing when I managed to look down (only twice). Not sure why we had to wear gardening gloves tho. We then set off on the stunning Garden Route and have been shark diving (awesome), whale watching (beautiful) and wine-tasting in the wine regions (lethal for two wine lovers like ourselves). I have never drunk port at 10am before. Honest.

The Lion Sleeps Tonight

Actually, they don' t tend to sleep at night. Oh no, they have been very busy a-wum-buh-wey-ing outside our tent. On our walking safari, we stayed in some very exposed and wild fly camps where we heard lions growling and roaring and circling our tent. And that's not all: that's just the beginning. Once the lions start, then the hyaenas start howling, the elephants start trumpeting, the aards start varking and the hippos start laughing, all to the cacophony of 56 million frogs screaming RIBBIT at the same time. Praying mantis and giant beetles dive-bombed onto our heads while we lay wondering whether the tent would withstand the teeth of a lion. Er, NO. Sleep was fitful, if at all.

So the mozzies were the least of my worries, despite having been eaten alive and looking like a dot-to-dot. Don't worry Mum, am still taking the malarone. I have also survived the sting of a scorpion (oh yes!) - the one night I did not heed Mma Ramotswe's advice (she of the Lady Detective fame) and check my shoes. Don't worry Mum, it was only a baby one and not poisonous. Pretty unimpressive actually. I would have liked a scar.

Now, back to lions. By day, they are absolutely beautiful and we have been unbelievably close to them. So close, in fact, I could just reach out and tickle one under the chin. Until, that is, you see one yawn and you can fully appreciate what big jaws they have and, my, what sharp teeth they have (Grandma). Bizarrely, I was always the closest and acutely aware that one wrong move and I'd be Aslan's afternoon snack. I do not want to leave this world as cat food. Vic Falls surely can't be as terrifying, can it?

What's that Smell?

Spotter Smith and I were on a game drive chasing the elusive leopard when we were hit by a familiar smell. After a number of game drives on which we had honed our vision looking for movement in the bush, the reflection from an animal's eyes or a mis-fitting shape in the distance, we were now testing the full range of our sensory capabilities.

Before the debate could get started, the smell had disappeared and we were within metres of a leopard chomping on an antelope, the curiously named Damara Dik-Dik, the smallest and cutest antelope in Southern Africa. I consider myself of average-to-mediocre immunity to squeamishness, having fainted aged twelve watching an educational film on a woman giving birth amidst a school class of 22 peers (my brother fainted too three years later with the same video), but the sound of crunching bone brought on a bout of rapid acidic burps. This sound also makes you realise that little old homo sapiens erectus is pretty useless outside of the specially designed Land Rover.

Having said that, most of our guides give you the "They are more scared of us, than we are of them" speech. This is utter pony from my perspective. I usually sleep through the sounds that Africa's nights generate. I have always nodded along, lemming-like, when Urs from Switzerland asks the communal breakfast table "Did yuu hear zee lionz at four in zee morning?". The only time I did hear anything, several ululating hyaenas, I was convinced they were in our tent and that if I turned to the flimsy/nylon/gauze "window" that there would be a salivating, large cat-cum-dog, which has the bite power of 16 rottweilers, staring at me (a similar experience to when I first read The Hounds of the Baskervilles, also aged 12).

As well as eating warthogs, hyaenas also eat bones which is why their dung is often white as a result of the calcium present. Whilst Spotter Smith and I were being told this on a game drive in the Okavango Delta in Botswana, we were hit by that smell. As the specially designed Land Rover was stationery, the smell lingered. Spotter and I debated its genesis amongst ourselves. I plumped for Danish Blue, Spotter for Swiss cheese fondue. It was a cheese for certain. We asked our guide, Newman, what the smell was. He replied in clipped tones, "That is the smell of death".

David Bailey Moments

Smoking a Cigarette Bushman Style:












The Big White Tank in front of Fish River Canyon:









Spotter Smith watching elephants crossing in front of our camp:












21st Century Lawrence of Arabia:













Croc Dundee and his pet:

On Top of the Game

Hello, hello! We are still alive and have not been eaten by lions (although at times it felt like a close shave). We have just emerged from a month in the bush, frequently without electricity and always without email. Since last typing, we have been on a willion and one game drives, appreciating the Namibian and Batswana wildlife rather than assassinating it. Truly amazing to see the animals in their (mostly undisturbed) natural habitat. We have seen herds of elephants, prides of lions, zillions of zebra and gaggles of giraffes. We have seen the Big Five, the Small Five, the Ugly Five and Laura's (Far-From-Frightening) Five. So, we are now wildlife experts and know the Latin name, spoor, dung, mating habits, gestation period (why?) and eyelash length of every animal. Mike also knows that for the birds too. It is very worrying.

Bush highlights include tracking the elusive black rhino on foot, staying at a big cat rehabilitation reserve and visiting a wonderful elephant camp, full of Nellies who had packed their trunk and said goodbye to the circus to be released back into the wild. Trump, trump, trump! Wonderful projects. Mike participated in an impala dung spitting competition (ooh, give us a kiss) and we were lucky enough to see an elephant being born. AMAZING (gestation period: 22 months). We did a fab three day walking (slash eating?) safari which makes you feel just as small and vulnerable as we really are in the bush. For protection, we had our lovely guide, Vaughan, with a rifle, and Robson the Bushman carrying three small roots in a matchbox. I stayed firmly behind the man with the rifle. Not sure how effective a 1cm root would be to combat buffalo.

Just so you have the full picture, Mike is really entering into the safari spirit and has purchased a Crocodile Dundee hat and a necklace. He is talking of spiritual enlightenment and starting a game lodge in Nambia. But I know he couldn't cope without his Cowshed "FC".

Surfing the Namibian Dunes

I can't understand why people would rather see pics of us over lemurs but here are some of us In Action...

We visited the strange town of Swakopmund in Namibia where zee people are more German zan zee Germans. It felt like we were in a Bavarian town, not at all African.

This is me hurtling down a sand dune on a wafer-thin board. I set the record that day reaching 78kph - I beat Mike -yippee!!

I was less successful at "snowboarding" on sand, as was Mike. It was too much for my brain to compute as I kept saying things like "I've got snow in my mouth" which amused the instructor (who, incidentally, has never seen snow).

Middle of Nowhere

Compared to Madagascar, our accommodation in Namibia has been very civilised. Not a bucket shower in sight (yet). The lodges we have stayed in have all been in the Middle of Nowhere. And I really mean Nowhere. As in, it's a minimum four hour drive to the nearest "town" (for the meaning of which, see previous post). We have stayed in a lodge made of hay bales (good for insulation apparently, which is odd given that it is 40 degrees outside) and an absolutely awesome lodge cut into the mountain with incredible views across the Namib Desert and a twenty minute drive to breakfast. We also stayed in a "kulala" made of clay and canvas where you can sleep on the roof and stargaze. Mike got a bit slapdash the first night and forgot the mozzie repellant so woke up with fifteen enormous bites on his already prominent (but beautiful) forehead.

We have been on lots of game drives from the lodges and seen plenty of fascinating animals including oryx (is the plural oryxi? It should be), springbok, kudu, gnu and ostrichi. Mike has eaten all of those in biltong. The sunrises and sunsets over the Kalahari and Namib deserts have all been very dramatic, even without pollution. On Tuesday, we watched the sun come up from a hot air balloon over the desert, which was a wonderful experience. It felt like a magic carpet; there is no turbulence as the balloon just floats with the wind. I did enjoy it although, as we got higher, I did start to wonder whether the bottom could fall out of the giant picnic basket and whether the balloon ever bursts. Will have to ask Mr Branson. We landed and were served a champagne breakfast in the Middle of Nowhere. I could get used to this.

Come to think of it, we have spent most of this week up high as we climbed up Big Daddy, the highest sand dune in Africa, which is not as easy as you first may think. One step forward, two steps back as you sink into the soft sand. Or that's what it felt like. We then took a light aircraft up over the huge expanse of sand dunes which reach all the way to the coast so you also see a shipwreck and seal colonies. Very pleasant although it was vaguely disconcerting that the pilot looked about six and could barely see over the dashboard (?) out of the window.

Anyway, the best thing so far about Africa, I think (apart from lemurs), is that the lodge staff have a wonderful tendency to burst into song and dance. It is very moving and very interesting to learn the different songs of each region/country. One song was even in clicks and tuts. But I can't believe the staff are all so talented and tuneful. Can you imagine your waiter suddenly bursting into song at a Hilton?

"Let it rain down in Africa..."

After touching down in Namibia's capital, Windhoek, we set off for the Kalahari desert. We are driving around this country clockwise in The Big White Tank (no further description necessary). It is very different to Madagascar as the roads here are excellent: long, straight, long, tarmac, very long roads through the most MINDBLOWING desert scenery, just vast, empty expanses in every direction. The stunning vistas change from golden desert grass dotted with strange quiver trees and springbok to lunar landscape to titanic terracotta sand dunes. This country is bigger than France and Britain put together but it has only 1.8million people living in it. It feels like we have the whole country to ourselves. You can go several hours without passing a car and, when you do, it is customary to wave at it frantically. The "towns" are often just a petrol station, bottle store and occasionally a hotel. Our soundtrack to this beautiful scenery should really be Bob Marley or Toto's Africa but the only CD we managed to track down was a hard house compilation of speeded-up songs such as "Total Eclips of the Hart" (sic). Very irritating but, according to Mike, preferable to my wailing. Before the CD purchase, I had tuned into a local radio station and was fascinated by the language of the Damara and Nama people which includes lots of clicks and tuts. I listened to it for so long that I thought I could understand it.

Birdman of Luderitz.

As you may have read, Laura and I are now in Namibia and driving ourselves round the Big Country in The Big White Tank, which will be comedy for most of you given the pathetic combined strengths of Laura's and my driving. On a recent day trip, we left our isolated mountain lodge (bbq included) near Aus in the south west of Namibia to go to Luderitz on the Atlantic coast via a former mining town (and now a ghosttown) called Kolmanskop with yours truly at the wheel.

The day started off as usual in Namibia with stunning vistas, deserted straight roads and game (including bizarre wild horses that move in slo-mo). Ten minutes into the journey, Laura and I noticed that there appeared to be a large number of small birds resting on the side of the road and, more alarmingly, in the middle of the road. Initially, Laura and I marvelled at the bravado of these birds as they flirted with the bumper, windscreen and headlights with ever greater machismo. And then I hit a bird. At 120kmph the bird was not going to get much change from The Big White Tank. The bird bounced off the car and Laura did not speak for several minutes.

To our dismay the number of birds milling on or around the road increased. As the gentle waves of birds rising from the road became a ceaseless torrent, the "hits" multiplied. Laura started screaming hysterically whilst I ducked and weaved in the cockpit. The Big White Tank kept going straight (what a car).

I was mightily relieved to reach our ghosttown destination, although wondered why the guard at the entrance gave us a weird look as we drove by him. When I looked at the front of the car, all became apparent. Laura screamed again and I was left to tidy up of the front grill. Unamusingly, following a lovely day on the coast, we had to drive the same route back. Needless to say, I inspected the grill of the car again and cursed the travel guide which did not mention at all that the road between Aus and Luderitz is actually the Road of Death.

I have openly expressed that I am not a huge fan of twitchers and take no real interest in the wellbeing of birds generally but my annihilation of tens of birds (I lost count) and my subsequent feeling of immense guilt suggests that karma can go too far. Laura and I have becalmed ourselves through the fact that the flying pattern of the birds suggested some form of coummunal suicide pact. I do now feel like a fully fledged member of the hunting fraternity, although my choice of weapon is a 3-litre 4WD Nissan, not a shotgun or pack of hounds.

A bientot Madagascar

It is our last day on the "Big Island" as the Malagasy call it and we are really gutted to be leaving this incredible country. Each step has brought a new surprise, and a new kind of cuddly teddy-bear. The great thing about this country is that almost everything you see here - animals, birds, reptiles, trees, flowers, Mike's dodgy beard - cannot be found or grown anywhere else in the world. Am slightly worried tho that Mike is now a fledgling twitcher (and Mike's mum doesn't trust twitchers).

Tourism is clearly in its nascent stages in this country so we feel as though we have had a very authentic trip. We can highly recommend this stunning, strangely diverse and unspoilt country. I will miss the varied landscape, grumpy chameleons and little children running after us shouting "Salut les vazahas!" (Hello Foreigners!). I leave safe in the knowledge that over a third of my photos are of lemurs. Very sad to be leaving but looking forward to exploring Southern Africa. First stop: Nambia.

PS A big thank you to the two lovely medics we met, Daniela and Alan, for great company and the new supply of shampoo, wet wipes and mozzie repellant. Thanks also for patiently enduring Mike's blow-by-blow account of his bout of splats.

Bats and bugs and shower gel

Following Masoala rainforest, we flew back to the capital, Tana, to then fly even further north. The roads are extremely bad in Madagascar - it is difficult to get anywhere, except by bike or zebu cart or in the comically-overloaded taxi-brousse (bush taxi). The trains no longer work and it is common to see bridges collapsed into rivers and potholes as deep as Mike is tall. At this point, Mike says I am not allowed to make any political comment as I "sound like a bleeding heart liberal" which, apparently, is a bad thing so I will resist...

We stayed two nights in Joffreville at a bizarre place run by three very colourful characters (one being Yvonne Constance's doppleganger (sp?)) and an evidently egocentric 300 year old giant tortoise, with whom Mike became big pals (and looked quite similar).

On from there, we visited the special reserve rainforest of Ankarana (whatever that means) where we trekked for ten hours in the blistering Malagache heat (Thos, please be impressed). We climbed up to see the incredible Tsingy - extensive razor-sharp limestone pinnacles. Impressive but we now have pin-cushions for walking shoes.

We also visited huge, pitch black caves full of screeching bats, stalachmites, 'tites and ENORME scary, evil-looking spiders. I was very brave. We had an excellent guide, Bruno, a former English teacher, who kept us entertained with phrases such as "Observe, can you hear that smell?". I know, I know, his English is much better than our Malagasy but we're working on it...

Whilst exploring Ankarana by day, we stayed at Chez Robert by night. Very basic accommodation where we slept in huts like the villagers, with no running water or electricity. The shower was a very pleasant affair consisting of buckets of water tipped over oneself filled from a large vat warmed by the day's sun. It seemed somewhat incongruous that Mike used his charcoal-infused Origins shower gel.

On that note, Ails, thanks for your concern regarding my coping without toiletries and lipgloss. I am loving it and came with just the basics: shampoo, conditioner, stop. I discovered that Mike, on the other hand, appears to have decanted his entire Cow Shed range into mini bottles, clearly labelled "FC" (Facial Cleanser), "FS" (Facial Spritz). It is very worrying. I am also coping just fine without a hairdrier although Mike does look at me each morning with the vague expression of "Who are you and what have you done with Laura?" as my hair has taken on some new creative shape.

Having said that, after all the "roughing it", we are now staying in a rather nice hotel in the Mozambique Channel, accessible only by hotel plane. It even has its very own time zone and welcome committee of dancing lemurs. And a hairdrier.

Thingy Spotting

Since last writing, we have explored a gazillion more rainforests in northern Madagascar. It is verdant (?) and wet up there - lots of ylang-ylang trees and vanilla plantations. Each 'forest has been jam-packed with enchanting lemurs, birds, trees, chameleons, geckos, snakes - each more surprising than the last.

One of the rainforests was a private island reserve, Nosy Mangabe, only accessible by boat. The boat journey was pretty hairy. I thought I was enjoying it until I realised that I'd lost the feeling in my right hand from holding on so tightly. The rainforest rises out of the waters, green and lush, and reminded me of Life of Pi's beautiful carnivorous island. This one, however, has a much friendlier eco-system and is surrounded by a strip of golden, deserted sands. Very Robinson Crusoe. Two steps on to the beach and we pitched our tent on the edge of the rainforest with incredible views of the sea and the aye-aye beach.

The aye-aye is an extremely rare, endangered nocturnal lemur. It is so strange looking that the Malagasy named it "thingy". Having never even heard of the damn thingy a week earlier, I suddenly found that, for three nights running, we were scouring the beach, torch in hand, for hours on end, for this elusive creature. Needless to say, we didn't see the little blighter. I don't really mind though as it's an ugly, ratty looking thing. And there's one in London zoo. The huggable dwarf lemurs and pocket-sized mouse lemurs we saw were MUCH more endearing. They get caught in the headlamp and just stare back at you with these dinner-plate, honey coloured eyes. I would have pocketed one but they're just too damn quick.

The Malagasy People

The Malagasy people are a very welcoming yet somewhat reserved bunch. The women are beautiful and the men are completely ripped - there is not an inch of fat on their bodies. Everyone has been very friendly, all the kids wave at us. Despite being a French colony until 1960, they do not seem to have inherited any French traits apart from their culinary skills. They are all very short which makes me very happy and Mike a freak.

Dauphin:

Our initially reserved Ranomafana guide. 24, ambitious, multi-lingual. Led us through the rainforest with passion and expertise. Despite trekking for up to 8 hours a day with many a steep incline, he never once broke into a sweat or seemed tired. In fact, it turns out that he is famous locally for his strength. His secret, he tells us, is that, once or twice a year, he collects local bees and stings himself in seven places (we're talking behind the knee, back of the neck pressure points) for POWER. OW. He battles with living the simple life but wanting city luxuries.

Jessica:

Our outstanding tour guide who accompanied us on our first week in Madagascar and taught us so much about the people, the country and the culture of her beautiful country. She comes from the highlands (around the capital) and looks almost Indonesian. Superb chef. At the very basic Ranomafana campsite, she prepared spectacular meals over a very small campfire, including a Japanese ramen soup that would have put even Wagamama's to shame. I liked her: we giggled together. Wants to do the Dauphin seven bee stings next year.

Smiley:

Barefoot porter and general handyman in the rainforest. Utterly unpronounceable name so we dubbed him Smiley on account of his sunny disposition and infectious laugh. Didn't speak much English or much French or much at all. Cut Henrietta's throat without a thought (for which we are grateful). Taught Mike how to make fire.

Emile:

Our excellent local Masoala guide who had never been out of the Maroansetra region. Fiercly proud of his country. Diplomatic about the French. Forty-odd, married with three children of 16, 14 and 12. Grows rice and vanilla to support his family during the low season. Has a self-confessed thirst for knowledge about the international world which he passes on to his kids. Couldn't understand why, when Malagasy children learn about UK culture and politics, British kids do not learn about Malagasy culture and politics. Hard to explain. When I asked him if he still found the view of a deserted beach against a backdrop of lush green rainforest beautiful, his response was to ask me whether I still found a London street beautiful. Hard to compare.

A couple more pics of these gorgeousnesses.
I want one!

We have just returned from seven more nights in the rainforest, this time in North Eastern Madagascar which is T-r-o-p-i-c-a-l vanilla and palm tree country. Stunning.






Female brown lemur, Nosy Mangabe



























Sifaka lemur, Ranomafana

Them Bones, Them Bones

After a long and beautiful journey up through southern and central Madagascar, we made it back to the capital, Tana. We saw hundreds of people working hard ploughing the patchwork paddy fields and leading zebu to market. We visited small villages and markets on the side of the road which sell everything from charcoal and honey to beautifully crafted colourful raffia bags and hats. Hats are big in Madagascar - intricately woven, pretty straw hats - everyone wears them, even the men. We stopped at the wood-carving capital, Ambositra, overflowing with "pousse-pousse" rickshaws and beautiful Giacometti-style skinny wooden carvings of Malagasy people and animals. We also visited a village renowned for its stunning gemstones, but, don't worry, Mike didn't take too much of a hit - they were only SEMI- precious after all.

One frequent sight on the long journey through this intriguing country was the tombs or "permanent houses". These are beautiful, small houses made out of polished white crystal stone that appear up on hillsides outside villages and towns. Families save for years to afford a tomb and they can cost up to three million ariary (that's very expensive to you). "Famadihana" ceremonies take place each year between July and September and entire villages gather to celebrate. The literal translation means "the turning of the bones" and the ceremony is pretty much that.

When the party begins, family members enter the tomb and, once they have meticulously cleaned the bones of the deceased, remove their dead ancestors from the tomb and, amid zebu-eating and rum-drinking and general merriment, the bodies are carried outside and danced around the tomb, and then even photographed with family members. Once returned to the tomb, the deceased is clean to join God. Apparently tourists are very welcome to join in this ceremony but we decided to give it a miss all the same.

Just the Two of Us.



Following on from one of the previous blogs, this is a picture of two ring-tailed lemurs in Anja Park, an "eco-park" run by the local villagers. Very cute little critters indeed, not unlike gremlins.

After Laura slipped the guide some local currency (ariary), he obliged and darted the animals with poison and they are currently being shipped to Get Stuffed, the finest taxidermy practice in London (Essex Road) , so that we can use them as hat stands in the flat in London. We hope to add to our collection en route.




The key things to note about Madagascar are the following:
1) The local beer (Three Horses Beer) is excellent and very cheap
2) The wildlife is (on land, at least) is universally not lethal - a bonus for city types like me
3) The local beer is excellent and very cheap

RIP Henrietta!

After spending one night in Fianarantsoa, we set off with our fantastic guide on the long drive to Ranomafana National Park. The landscape unfolding before us was stunning. The people in the countryside live in very simple houses with no running water or electricity, their livestock live in one of the two rooms dowstairs. We saw women washing their clothes in the river and drying them flat on the ground; whole families ploughing the rice paddies; hoardes(?) of zebu led to market; blacksmiths solding tools by the roadside...

On Friday, we embarked on a three day trail through Ranomafana rainforest, camping overnight in the primary rainforest. We weren't allowed to take our big rucksacks as the porters will only take very basic camping equipment and food for three days. There is something very liberating about setting off with only the clothes on your back and the stench of insect repellant.

We met the porters briefly before we set off, who, in true Inca trail style, threw huge weird shaped boxes on their shoulders and ran, barefoot, into the rainforest. One, carrying a live chicken in his hand, must have seen the look of horror on my face and thrust it in the air gleefully shouting "Lunch!" and disappeared.

The rainforest was awesome. I had no idea what to expect but it was like walking into some weird, colourful Jaberwocky poem (but less threatening, if a children's poem can be threatening). All the wildlife is completely werid and wonderful: you just can't imagine it. Everything is topsy turvy or unexpected. There are chameleons as small as your finger, moths as big as birds, fluroscent birds of every hue, lemurs the size of a small child and others that will fit in an eggcup.

And no one told me about lemurs. They are a primate, a sort of pre-monkey (and not a type of llama as my uncle thought). But no one told me that, in reality, they are a live TEDDY BEAR. I have never seen anything so adorable. They have long, soft fur, cling to tree tops and have the cutest faces with big saucer eyes and puggy snouts. We trekked for three days through the forest in search of them (up steep climbs, hacking through the undergrowth at times) and were rewarded with eight different types. They just stare at you and don't seem to mind humans so you can get quite close. So close in fact that I got peed on and Mike got poo-ed on. I was quite glad it was that way round.

Now, you may be wondering what happened to the chicken. When we arrived at the camping area at dusk on day one, she had been tied by one leg to the shelter area and seemed quite happy. I said it would be fine as long as we didn't name her. So Mike promptly named her Henrietta. She was still squawking away happily on the morning of day two. However, we returned at the end of the day to the delicious smell of bbq chicken. She tasted great. I thought I would have more qualms being a former vegetarian. RIP Henrietta!

Thanks for all your lovely messages. I am curious about the one on this site that was withdrawn. Kieron, please remember that my Ma and Pa will be reading this! And because I wouldn't be me if I didn't apologise - sorry for the delay, this is the first place we have found with internet.

After the twenty hour journey to Madagascar and the dawning realisation that it's just me and "chatty" Mike for four months, our adventure began well. On arrival in Antananarivo, the capital, we realised that the months of planning, excel spreadsheets and endless lists had been fruitless. We had forgotten the one crucial item, the bible - the Lonely Planet guide. Oh, how we laughed. So, we're strictly off piste now...

Antananarivo (Tana) is beautiful, set on a hill, heaving with colour and life but very, very poor. I hadn't expected it to be so. It reminds me of La Paz. Adults and children line the streets, barefoot, selling their wares or walking to market carrying their goods balanced on their head. No one speaks English so the degree has been quite useful. I love speaking French as it is the only thing I can do better than Mike. We sampled the local cuisine on the first night, zebu, which is effectively a humped cow and does not taste dissimilar, although the Malagasy insist that it does.

After spending a busy morning exploring Tana, Mike was looking forward to lunch on the plane south to Fianarantsoa (yes, all the places are unpronounceable). The "plane" turned out to be the equivalent of a clapped out old banger, with a magimix for an engine and two ceiling fans for propellors. I thought I was going to have to start flapping my arms to get us off the ground. It was a ten- seater with windows cracked on the outside and a pilot who was reading the instructions. I didn't have a problem with flying until then. It was a (very) small comfort that the views were incredible: paddy fields, plotted and pieced, dusty salmon pink roads and lush green mountains. Oh my god, do I sound pretentious? I hope not. Anyway, it was a huge relief when we plummetted from the sky (landed). Mango, Sal - you would have hated it!

We're Off