“I’m going to Madagascar!” I’d tell people gleefully. “The movie?” “No, THE COUNTRY.” 

And people would scratch their head, not quite knowing where Madagascar is on the map.  So let me help you.  Just wander over 12,000 miles by plane (approximately 26 hours of flying and 10 hours of layovers in Dallas and Paris), through 3 continents and enough time zones to screw up your sleeping patterns for at least a week.  Madagascar is a country just east of South Africa, separated by the Mozambique Channel on one side and the Indian Ocean on the other, an island that floats peacefully isolated and is  blissfully ignorant of the rest of the world.   

I was honored to be invited to travel there by Conservation International and the Madagascar Tourism Board as one of only 10 international tour operators that best represent responsible tourism practices in the world.  The 10-day itinerary was designed for us to hit the ground running from Day 1, and for the next nine days, we scoured the country testing standards for hotels, guiding practices, infrastructure, etc, often with schedules that got us up and running from 5:30 am and had us straggling into our hotel rooms well after 10 pm.  The final verdict:  it is in desperate need of reformation, but is making the right strides to get there…eventually.   

The fourth largest island in the world boasts that 80% of its plant and wildlife species are endemic, found nowhere else in the world.  Some scientists call it the “Eighth Continent.”  There are more than 60 “taxa” of lemurs found here, which makes Madagascar one of the most important primate strongholds in the world.  Ancient baobab trees, many estimated to be 600 or more years old, tower sphinx-like among devastated deforested fields, some still sadly smoldering from slash and burn practices.  There are no stoplights – anywhere.  The language, known for its indescribably frustrating long string of consonants, has a vocabulary that strangely evolved from Borneo.  Yet many of the people speak French fluently, an influence of its French colonization from the mid-century.   

So Madagascar, in sum, is one crazy, beautiful, mixed up place to go.  

The Malagasy people are unwaveringly beautiful and kind, with generous smiles and an overwhelming desire to improve their country.  As a Filipina, many assumed I was from Madagascar, and when I opened my mouth, my American accent would leave them open-jawed with amazement that someone who looked like them could actually be an American.  It was a source of continuing entertainment.  As we were leaving, a group of airport porters asked about me, and when told by our guide that I was an American, all four of them let out a simultaneous yelp of disbelief. One of them pulled on my sleeve to make me talk, and when I greeted them in English, they began giggling helplessly.  Jeez. 

The lemurs were fascinating to watch, especially since November is when most babies are born.  The indri calls out with haunting calls throughout the forest, curiously reminiscent of whales singing.  The sifaka dances awkwardly across the forest on two legs.  Nocturnal lemurs have the biggest, brownest, most beautiful eyes.  The crowned lemur is adorable, their facial markings distinctive from other species.  We saw a ton of gorgeous chameleons and geckos in lurid rainbow colors and watched in morbid fascination as a ground boa swallowed a frog (hard to identify, since we only saw its two legs waving frantically from its mouth). 

We spent hours on dirt roads, bumping our way across the country.  In Menabe, the main highway has been ignored for so long that only a narrow, tattered ribbon of asphalt remains.  Our drivers made it an art form to speed by in a zig zag pattern dodging zebu carts, people and massive potholes, often preferring to drive on sidewalks, honking madly as we brushed by angry pedestrians.  One of our cars crossing a river gully on two steel planks popped a tire and as the driver slammed on the brakes, the car ended up with its two right wheels and half the car hanging precariously over the edge of the gully.  Passengers were rescued just fine, thank you very much, and the local villagers kindly donated the use of their zebus and horses to haul the car off the bridge. 

And it was hot.  One day in the Kirindy Forest, our car’s outside thermometer claimed it was 54 centigrade (roughly 138 degrees).  Our driver explained that the thermometer wasn’t working correctly, it was only probably 45 centigrade (120 degrees).  Unfortunately, that was the same day that I was with two other guys in the group who got lost in the forest, and had to spend an hour wandering around in that awful heat until we were rescued, just minutes before I spotted another boa slithering towards us.  Survivor Madagascar, anyone? 

The leeches, surprisingly, weren’t too bad or scary.  I thought they were inch worms until I pulled up my pants leg and found my entire left sock soaked in blood.  Our guide shrugged.  “That means they are already full and fell off.  Not to worry – we use them for medicinal healing.”  So I didn’t worry, threw away the bloody sock, slapped on anti-biotic cream and scratched my itchy leech bites. 

Nonetheless, we were all intrepid travelers, so we brushed off the bad and the ugly, and tried to concentrate on the good.  Go to Madagascar, see things you’ll never see anywhere else in the world, and enjoy the smiles of the people.  It’s a worthwhile destination – for the true wildlife adventure enthusiast. 

HELLO from Guayaquil! We returned to Guayaquil last night after a week in the amazing Galapagos Islands. I’ve never experienced more tame wildlife in my life. After so many years about reading about this place, it was a treat for us to finally come and spend our honeymoon here.  Just us and a few thousand of the world’s most friendly wildlife species!

We went diving one day and swam with hammerhead sharks (which was a bit scary for me, but exhilarating), numerous marine turtles, white tip reef sharks, sting rays, sea lions and more. Unlike the graceful reef sharks, the hammerheads are so quick so you never know where they are. The best was swimming with a sea lion at the end of our second dive. He was so curious about us, playfully checking us out with his huge eyes swimming around and underneath us. He was especially curious about Kevin. A Galapagos turtle came mask to nose with me before heading over to our dive master and taking a playful bite out of his head. It was as if he had a personal vendetta with the dive master! Fortunately he was fine.

The boat, the BELUGA, was a great experience. The highlight was crossing the equator at sunset on the west side of Isabela Island - all 15 of us were standing with the captain watching the GPS unit, waiting for latitude 0 when we saw a set of dorsal fins pop out of the water. The amazing whale shark was feeding at the equator. His HUGE mouth was open to capture all the plankton in the upwelling waters and we happened to be passing at the right moment. I could have fit inside his mouth, it was so huge. We were all screeching with excitement over the giant fish. 

Just as we thought this was the best moment ever, we saw a manta (the biggest ray in the sea) feeding in the same area, and then the grand finale: a tropical whale was spitting water through his blow hole! All with a red and pink equatorial sunset as a backdrop. George, our bartender dressed in his silver and black bartender vest, brought us all a cocktail to celebrate. El Capitan spent an hour chasing the whale shark so we could coo and aw over this magnificent creature. Monica, our naturalist, was a wealth of knowledge and was just as excited to see the whale shark as us. It had been 2 years since she had last seen one. Monica has been a naturalist here for 14 years so our experience would not have been the same without her. Her understanding, passion, enthusiasm and knowledge allowed us an in-depth understanding of the islands.

It was so hard to leave the Atacama Desert.  Years from now, archaeologists will look askance at the scratched fingernail marks at the doors of the Tierra Atacama hotel and wonder what poor, desperate human would be so distraught to leave the desert that one would carve her fingers into the wood of a door of a luxury all-inclusive resort in a futile attempt to avoid being dragged away to civilization?  Umm, that would be me.

On my last day in the desert, I got up at 4:30 am.  I had chosen to see sunrise at the Tatio Geysers.  That meant leaving by no later than 5:00 am, then driving two hours across the sands into the Altiplanico high desert plateau to an isolated spot where burbling hot springs spittle and gurgle and percolate, emitting sulfurous gas fumes into thin air.  Better to go as early as possible, I was told.  The colder it is, the better to see fumes.  Be prepared for bitter cold.  No one mentioned that 90 minutes of the drive would be on teeth-rattling, bone-shaking gravelly dirt roads that meandered up and down and around and about the Andean mountains in the pitch dark of the pre-dawn.  

Even at below 5 degrees Celsius, it was magical.  As the pinkish hues of sunrise draped its warm arms around the mountains, we walked among the ghostly steamy clouds of the geysers, stepping carefully over rivulets of boiling water rippling from gaping holes in the barren earth.  It’s only been in the last few years that stone barriers were built around some of the bigger geysers in the areas.  You really don’t want to hear the gruesome details about what’s left of a human body after it has fallen into one.  At least, not before breakfast.  

Next, we rattled and bounced our way to the Puritama Hot Springs, hidden in the creases of the bottom of a deep red rock canyon.  It’s not easy to get there.  A rock-strewn one-lane road (and believe me, I use the term “road” loosely) is the only route down.  Some poor hapless soul has the thankless job of sitting on top of the canyon, peering down, and signaling drivers the thumbs up sign to head down as long as no one else is driving up.  Because it would really, really, really not be a fun thing to go in reverse on a rock-strewn one lane road.  Uphill.  From the bottom of a canyon.  No matter how pretty the view is. 

It’s a short hike.  The hot springs cascade down into a series of gorgeous little pools, one more spectacular than the next.  High desert grasses provide a modicum of privacy.  We picked Pool #4.  The one with the adorable waterfalls that provided a pounding massage on my back FOR FREE.  The one that we lazed in while we daintily picked from an assortment of smoked salmon, cheeses, crackers, and nuts that was thoughtfully provided to us by our guide in a floating wooden tray so we didn’t have to exert ourselves by getting out of the water.  Hmmm, champagne?  Beer?  I went for the Fanta.  Orange soda in all its sweet glory never tasted so good.  Dear god, this is too decadent, I thought, as I floated in the pool, blinking at the blinding blue skies and contemplating my wrinkly fingers, shriveling from way too much time in the water.  

Too soon, it was time to leave.  We had to head back to the hotel so I could pack up, be driven an hour to the Calama airport, then fly two hours back to Santiago.  Tonight I was staying in an executive suite at the Holiday Inn literally across the street from the SCL airport.  By the time I collected my luggage and walked the 20 steps to the hotel front door, it was nearly 11 pm and I was ready to bed.  I had a 6 am flight the next day and I needed to check in by 5 am. 

This is the glamorous life of an adventure travel specialist!