Chasing Lemurs and Vanishing Forests

May 2010 | Madagascar: A Dream Finally Realized

For years, Madagascar sat high on my travel bucket list—an island of bizarre creatures, surreal landscapes, and hauntingly beautiful forests. As someone whose travel decisions are often guided by wildlife and wilderness, Madagascar represented the ultimate adventure.

But getting there wasn’t easy.

Why Madagascar Took So Long

High Costs, Few Flights, and Remote Allure

Despite its appeal, Madagascar remains off the radar for most travelers. That’s largely due to its:

• Limited flight availability

• Sky-high airfare, often over $2,000

• Remote location compared to more accessible African destinations like Kenya, Tanzania, or South Africa

For a long time, that price tag kept me away. But when I found a rare flight for $1,400, I didn’t hesitate—I booked it immediately.

Racing Against Time

A Fragile Ecosystem Under Threat

Beyond the logistics, there was an urgency driving my decision. Madagascar’s unique biodiversity is vanishing fast:

• Only 10% of the island’s original forest remains

• Rampant deforestation continues to devastate ecosystems

• Extreme poverty makes conservation a low national priority

This wasn’t just a trip—it was a race against time. One of my recurring travel mantras echoed louder than ever:
“I better go now… before it’s gone.”

Madagascar Demands Time, Patience, and Adaptability

Madagascar is simply too big and incredible to visit in anything less than a two-week trip—and even that doesn’t do it justice. I quickly realized I would have to make some tough choices. I decided to focus on exploring the southern half of the country this time and return in the future for the north.

Travel here isn’t fast or easy. The roads are notoriously poor, journeys take longer than expected, and there’s a general unpredictability to getting around. Malagasy is the national language, and although French is spoken in some areas, I didn’t speak either. Communication, especially in rural areas, required patience and a willingness to get creative. But I was prepared for the slow pace and rugged terrain—if anything, that added to the authenticity of the adventure.

My 15-Day Itinerary in Southern Madagascar

A Solo Route Through the Island’s Rich Southern Ecosystems

Day 1 – Arrival in Antananarivo
I arrived in the capital city at night on an Air France flight and stayed at Hotel Cheval Blanc.

Day 2 – Flight to the Coast and Journey to Ifaty
I caught a morning flight on Air Madagascar to Toliara, followed by a long and bumpy shared 4×4 ride along a potholed sandy road to the fishing village of Ifaty. Once there, I snorkeled and dived the reef and visited the Reniala Nature Reserve—a surreal desert filled with spiny trees. I stayed in a beachside bungalow.

Day 3 – Desert Flora and Coral Reefs
I spent the day exploring the Reniala Nature Reserve and lounging on Ifaty Beach. I fit in a second dive and stayed again in my bungalow by the sea.

Day 4 – Inland Toward the Highlands
I returned to Toliara by shared transport and arranged my upcoming trek into Isalo National Park. I stayed overnight in a hotel near the park.

Day 5 – Trekking Begins: Canyons and Lemurs
The first day of trekking through Isalo included visits to the Canyon of Nymphes, several waterfalls, Maki and Rats Canyons, and a nearby village where I camped for the night.

Day 6 – Into the Savannah
I climbed up a high ridge and entered Madagascar’s savannah country. That night, I camped deep inside Isalo National Park.

Day 7 – Canyon Life
The trek continued through red canyons and dry landscapes. I camped beside a secluded waterfall.

Day 8 – Pools and Rock Formations
This was the most scenic day yet—visiting the famous Piscine Naturelle, a natural spring-fed pool hidden among rock formations, and the Canyon des Singes (Canyon of Monkeys). I camped nearby once again.

Day 9 – Final Hike and Return to Town
I hiked out of the park and traveled back to Toliara, where I rested for the night.

Day 10 – Back to the Capital
I flew from Toliara to Antananarivo and returned to the familiar comfort of Hotel Sakamanga.

Into the Jungle: The Rainforests of Andasibe & Mantadia

Day 11 – Travel to Andasibe and Night Trek
I took a local bus to Andasibe, home to Madagascar’s most famous rainforest parks. That night, I joined a guided night trek to search for nocturnal lemurs and other elusive creatures. I stayed at Hôtel Feon’ Ny Ala.

Day 12 – Andasibe National Park
A full day hiking in the lush forests of Andasibe National Park. The highlight was hearing—and then spotting—the haunting Indri Indri lemurs, whose calls echoed through the canopy.

Day 13 – Mantadia National Park
A rough road took me to the deeper, wilder forest of Mantadia National Park. It was more remote and less visited, and I was rewarded with sightings of rare birds and lemurs. I spent one last night at Feon’ Ny Ala.

Day 14 – Return to the Capital
The return trip to Antananarivo was long and tiring. I checked into Hotel Sakamanga for my final night in Madagascar.

Day 15 – Homeward Bound
I began my multi-leg return trip to San Diego, flying through Johannesburg, Paris, and Atlanta before arriving home.

My route in Madagascar

Into the Spiny Desert

Madagascar’s Most Alien Landscape

One of my top priorities on this trip was to explore the Spiny Desert of southern Madagascar. Like most deserts, it’s arid, sunbaked, and dry. But what sets it apart is its astonishing biodiversity. The Spiny Desert is one of the most unique and ecologically rich arid ecosystems on Earth. Nearly everything here is endemic, existing nowhere else on the planet.

The vegetation is nothing short of bizarre—twisting octopus trees, squat baobabs with spiny trunks evolved to fend off grazing animals, and forests of thorn-covered flora that seem plucked from a sci-fi novel. Despite its harsh appearance, the desert teems with life. I spotted chameleons, snakes, tortoises, and even a few ring-tailed lemurs.

Unfortunately, like many of the world’s wildest places, the Spiny Desert is undervalued by locals, many of whom view it as a barren wasteland. Only 8% of this habitat is protected, while the rest is rapidly vanishing—cleared for cattle grazing and monoculture crops. The bushmeat trade adds even more pressure, particularly on tortoises, which are poached and trafficked to meet demand in Asia.

The Journey to Ifaty

Where the Desert Meets the Sea

To reach the Spiny Desert, I took a domestic flight on Air Madagascar from Antananarivo (Tana) to the coastal city of Toliara. Toliara (or Tulear) is a chaotic and impoverished port town, pulsing with life but lacking much charm for tourists.

From there, I immediately boarded a shared 4×4 transport, a dusty, packed bush bus that bumped along a sandy, potholed road northward. After hours of jostling through the heat, we arrived in Ifaty, a quiet fishing village perched between the sea and the desert.

Ifaty was paradise. There were no big resorts, no mass tourism, just a few simple beachside guesthouses, many run by French expats but still grounded in the rhythms of local life. I stayed at Ifaty Beach Bungalow, a laid-back beachfront stay with hammocks and palm trees swaying overhead.

Exploring Reniala Reserve

A Glimpse of What Remains

I chose Ifaty mainly because of its proximity to Reniala Nature Reserve, one of the few protected areas in the Spiny Desert. Over the next two days, I explored its twisting trails and marvelled at the wildlife that had adapted to such an unforgiving environment. The reserve felt like a lost world—an ecosystem clinging on in the face of mounting pressure.

Sunset from Ifaty beach

Village Life in Ifaty

A Slice of Coastal Simplicity

I loved Ifaty. This quiet beach village captured everything I wanted from southern Madagascar—relaxed, beautiful, and deeply local. The people were warm and friendly, and the setting was stunning.

Homes were built in traditional style with thatched roofs and stick fences. There were no paved roads—just sandy paths where people traveled by foot or ox cart. Life moved at a slow, steady pace, framed by the sea on one side and the spiny desert on the other.

Sometimes I would hop on an oxcart to get around Ifaty village

The Night I Almost Fought in a Malagasy Kickboxing Match

Moraingy, Homemade Hooch, and a Crowd That Wanted Blood

What I also loved about Ifaty is that, even though it could have easily been overrun by tourists and a backpacking scene, it wasn’t. It was very much a village for the locals. At night, when I went out to the village bars, they were filled entirely with locals—no other foreigners in sight.

One bar in particular was especially lively, packed mostly with men and buzzing with energy. As I stepped inside, I quickly discovered what all the shouting was about. The place was in full tilt, with everyone focused on a Moraingy match—the traditional Malagasy form of kickboxing. It was an incredible scene. Homemade hooch was being passed around while men shouted, waved their fists in the air, and screamed encouragement or insults at the fighters. Wagers were being placed openly, and the heat inside was stifling—thick with humidity and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation. This was the perfect bar.

The match ended shortly after I arrived, and that’s when things took an unexpected turn. The crowd, still riding the high of the fight, suddenly turned toward me. A few men pointed in my direction, and one of them even raised my hand in the air. I didn’t need a translator—I knew instantly what they were asking.

They wanted me to fight.

I towered above the local fighters, and to the Malagasy men, nothing could be more thrilling than throwing a foreigner into the ring. It would guarantee more bets, more excitement, and an unforgettable night for everyone in that bar.

I seriously considered it. My competitive side kicked in, and I figured I probably could win—after all, I was a lot bigger. But the fighters I had just seen were small, fast, and deceptively strong. And even if I did win, I might lose—risking injury such as a broken nose, a black eye, or a twisted ankle could easily ruin the rest of my trip. I still had two weeks of rugged travel ahead of me, so I politely declined.

My refusal was met with a dramatic chorus of boos from the crowd. They were clearly disappointed. I watched one more fight before I left, and the next fighter that entered the ring was actually a much bigger guy—leaving me feeling even more thankful that I’d opted out.

Still, as the night wore on, I began to feel a twinge of regret. I travel for experiences, after all—and that would have been an experience I’d definitely never forget.

Boabab Tree in  Reniala spiny desert reserve

Reniala Reserve: My Happy Place in the Spiny Desert

A Living Museum of the Weird and Wonderful

While in Ifaty, I spent most of my time exploring the Reniala Spiny Desert Reserve. This protected patch of desert was still vast, stretching unbroken as far as the eye could see. I could only hope it would stay that way for a long time—untouched, wild, and thriving.

Reniala quickly became my happy place. Each morning and afternoon, I wandered its thorny trails, completely absorbed in its strange and enchanting world. Every time I stepped foot inside, I discovered something new—a hidden chameleon clinging to a cactus, a bird I hadn’t seen before, or a bizarre plant twisted into shapes that looked like something out of a dream.

I fell in love with the spiny desert. Of all the ecosystems I’ve encountered in my travels, its vegetation was some of the most unique and alien I’ve ever seen—octopus-like trees, fat baobabs armored with thorns, and forests of twisted, sun-bleached growth unlike anything else on Earth.

Reniala wasn’t just a park. For those few days, it was a place where I felt completely at peace—curious, alive, and in awe of the natural world.

Desert tortoise

Bottle trees

Sunset Over Bottle trees

Huge Madagascan hissing cock roach that hissed every time I touched it. It was slow and instead of running away would hiss if touched.

Huge Madagascan hissing cock roach that hissed every time I touched it. It was slow and instead of running away would hiss if touched.

Snake I found in the spiny desert

Me with Someone’s pet lemur in Ifaty 

The Long Road to Isalo

From Coral Reefs to Canyons—with a Few Breakdowns in Between

From Ifaty, my next destination was the legendary Isalo National Park. To get there, I first had to take the familiar 4WD bush taxi back along the sandy, potholed track to Toliara. From there, I boarded a shared van taxi bound for Isalo—a journey that was as memorable as it was bumpy.

The drive took about five hours, though it felt longer thanks to a few mechanical mishaps. On multiple occasions, the van broke down, and all the passengers—myself included—had to get out and help push the vehicle to get it started again. It was one of those quintessential Madagascar travel experiences: frustrating, hilarious, and oddly bonding.

The scenery along the route was incredible. We passed through stretches of open savannah and dramatic rock formations that hinted at the terrain awaiting me in Isalo. I often wished I could stop the van to take photos, but it wasn’t always safe to linger.

Some of the towns we passed through had reputations for lawlessness—hubs for the region’s ruby and sapphire trade, which is big business in southern Madagascar. These gem towns, while lively and colorful, have also attracted their share of smugglers, opportunists, and petty criminals, and there have been occasional reports of tourists being targeted.

In a few of these towns, I had to change taxis, which gave me brief chances to stretch my legs and meet the locals. Most were friendly and smiling, curious about where I was headed. But I also had to fend off persistent gem salesmen, many of whom assumed I was there specifically to buy stones. It was an experience that was part adventure, part cautionary tale—but never boring.

Passengers pushing shared taxi to get it started

Friendly village girl

Wooden wild west looking houses with French influence-lakalak town-a wild west gem town with saloons, cowboys, and prostitutes. The blue building was a saloon/hotel. The front was the bar with bottles of some toxic looking home made rum for sale in crates. 

Beautiful village girl. The peopleof Madagascar are a mix of South indian and African descent.

Women in the market with a bark extract on their face for sun protection and cosemtic purposes

Prepping for the Trek: Entering Isalo’s Wild Heart

A Chicken, a Bag of Eggs, and a Guide Who Did It All

Once I arrived in Isalo, I found a simple guesthouse in the village and immediately began searching for a local guide to take me into the national park. My plan was to trek for five days, and I needed someone who could help me arrange the logistics—permits, food, and local knowledge of the terrain.

Since I had brought all my own camping gear, organizing the trek was fairly straightforward. Before long, I hired a local guide who also brought along a cook-porter—a man of many talents who would carry our food and prepare our meals in the bush.

Our “provisions” were as rustic as the surroundings. The porter showed up with a live chicken, its legs tied, dangling upside down from his backpack. It flailed and squawked throughout the hike, and I quickly found it too disturbing to ignore. By the end of the day, I insisted he butcher the chicken that night and cook it for dinner, rather than subject it to more hours of discomfort.

He also carried a plastic bag full of eggs, which somehow—despite the bumpy trails, rocky terrain, and constant movement—he managed to keep completely intact. It was a small miracle and a testament to the kind of resourcefulness you come to admire deeply when traveling through places like this.

With food secured and my team in place, we were ready to step into the vast and surreal landscapes of Isalo National Park.

Cook carrying live chicken for our trek

Walking into Isalo: Villages, Cliffs, and Sacred Traditions

Meeting the Bara People at the Edge of the Wilderness

The trek into Isalo National Park began with a walk through a scattering of rural farming villages where I had the chance to meet members of the Bara Tribe, the traditional inhabitants of this region. Life in these villages seemed untouched by time—simple, traditional, and deeply connected to the land. That connection was most evident in how the Bara view the towering cliffs of Isalo.

To the Bara, these high cliffs are sacred burial grounds. Along the sheer rock faces, you can spot hidden crevices—some barely visible—where the remains of ancestors have been placed. The funeral process itself is unique. After death, the corpse is first left to decompose in a temporary location. Only after enough time has passed will a family member climb the cliffs to retrieve the bones.

What follows is a village-wide celebration—a vibrant and emotional event meant to honor the life of the deceased. There is music, dancing, feasting, and community gathering. Once the celebration is over, the remains are returned to the cliffs, carried back up and carefully placed in the ancestral crevice for final rest.

It was a humbling way to begin the trek—walking through a landscape that wasn’t just wild and beautiful, but sacred to the people who live beside it.

Oxcart common form of transportation

Small cluster of homes

Bara woman collecting grass for animals

Bara woman

Men making alcohol

Me showing village kids photos of themselves

Bara woman with face tatoos

Wild Camping in Isalo

Campfires, Homemade Hooch, and Lemur Thieves

Every night during the trek, we camped in the wild, far from villages or established campsites. It was just us, the wilderness, and the stars.

Evenings by the Fire

Each evening, we’d build a small campfire, and my cook would prepare a hearty meal—usually rice with meat and vegetables. After dinner, we’d relax around the fire and sip homemade alcohol that my guide had picked up in the Bara village. It was strong, rough stuff—but it helped shake off the evening chill and added to the atmosphere of being completely off-grid.

The Invasion of the Green Ants

Wild camping also brought me face to face with Madagascar’s wildest residents—starting with the biting green ants. They were always the first to arrive. Within minutes of a single morsel hitting the dirt, they would swarm the campsite. These ants were fast, aggressive, and fearless, attacking anything in their path—including me. Their bites were intense and left a burning sting that lingered.

Other Nighttime Visitors

Aside from ants, we had regular visits from scorpions, praying mantises, walking sticks, chameleons, and—most memorably—lemurs. One night, both ring-tailed and brown lemurs descended on our camp in search of food. They were clever, persistent, and unafraid. It felt like camping with raccoons—only more agile and mischievous.

Lemurs Gone Wild

I once left my tent unzipped for just 30 seconds. That was all it took. A lemur snuck inside and began rummaging through my belongings. I had to chase him out in a frenzy, unsure if I should be laughing or panicking. The brown lemurs, in particular, were the worst—bold, troublesome, and clearly used to stealing from trekkers. They tested our patience every night, but they also made those campsites unforgettable.

Wild camping

My guide in his traditional straw hat and I drinking home made alcohol on my birthday at the campsite

Into the Heart of Isalo

Canyons, Cliffs, and the First Glimpse of Lemurs

Isalo National Park is shaped like a massive stone fortress—a plateau of open grasslands perched above a maze of canyons and cliffs. While the top is mostly dry and windswept, the true life of the park pulses along the edges—in the forests that line the canyons, where spring-fed streams carve their way through rock and feed the ecosystem below.

As I entered one of these forested canyons, I spotted my first ring-tailed lemurs and sifakas. They were clambering through the branches, watching me with cautious curiosity before bounding away in graceful hops.

A Changing Cultural Taboo

Traditionally, lemurs have been considered fady, a Malagasy word meaning taboo. For generations, they were off-limits to hunt or eat, protected by cultural belief. This has made them surprisingly unafraid of people—you can often approach them quite closely before they decide to leap away.

But like many things in Madagascar, this is changing. Poverty is widespread, and as desperation grows, cultural taboos are beginning to break down. Lemurs, once revered, are now being hunted for food in some areas. It was a sobering realization—one that made every sighting feel both joyful and urgent.

Lemurs by Day, Hiding by Night

During the day, lemurs are most active in the trees—feeding, grooming, and socializing. But when night falls, they retreat to the cliffs, tucking themselves into rocky crevices to avoid their chief predator: the fossa.

The fossa is a strange, cat-like creature—not a cat, but more closely related to the mongoose. It’s sleek, powerful, and nocturnal, making it the top predator of lemurs. I didn’t see one during my trek, but I knew they were out there. Just because you don’t see something in Madagascar doesn’t mean it’s not watching you from the shadows.

Forests formed along the cliffs that rise to form a plateau of  grasslands

Sifaka

Chemelion

Canyon leading into a jungle rich with wildlife

Ring tailed lemur

Me swimming in the cold freshwater springs of one of the jungle canyons 

A very venemous scorpion

Walking stick insect

Elephant foots plant

Huge orb spider

Ring tailed lemur

Brown lemur

Across the Windswept Grasslands

We walked for long hours through open grasslands with no marked trails, guided only by direction and instinct. Though wildlife was scarce, I loved this part of the journey. The golden grass swayed in unison with the wind, and in the late afternoon sun, the landscape glowed with a quiet, haunting beauty. It was a peaceful, meditative stretch—simple but unforgettable.

Walking in grasslands

Preying mantis

The Garden of Eden in Isalo

A Final Reward After Days in the Sun

On the final day of the trek, we hiked for hours across open grasslands, fully exposed to the relentless sun. It was exhausting—but the reward made it all worthwhile.

A Hidden Oasis

Out of nowhere, a lush green oasis appeared in a depression in the land. The dry grassland gave way to jungle, and in its heart was a turquoise pool fed by a spring, cascading in from a series of small waterfalls. It looked like something out of a dream—what I imagined the Garden of Eden might resemble.

I dove into the cool, clear water, and for an hour, I felt like a child again—splashing, swimming, and laughing to myself, completely immersed in the moment. Best of all, I had the entire place to myself. Just like most of the trek through Isalo, there were no crowds, no tourists—just me and the wilderness.

Eventually, I pulled myself from the water, reluctant to leave. I dried off, packed up, and returned to the grasslands for the final stretch of the journey back to the town near Isalo. It was the perfect end to an unforgettable trek.

Natural springs

View of the Natural springs from the grasslands above

Into the Rainforests of Andasibe

From Thunderstorms to the Songs of the Indri

After finishing my trek through Isalo, I returned to Toliara and boarded a Madagascar Airlines flight back to Antananarivo. The journey was anything but smooth—we flew through a violent thunderstorm, and the turbulence made it one of the roughest flights I’ve experienced.

I spent one night in Tana at a guesthouse run by a French expat, then set out early the next morning on a long, bumpy public bus ride east to Andasibe National Park, home of the famous Indri lemurs.

A Cabin Beside the Forest

I stayed in a guesthouse on the edge of the rainforest, which gave me easy access to the reserve and allowed me to search for wildlife at any time of day. From the moment I arrived, the rainforest felt alive—buzzing with insects, croaking frogs, and rustling leaves high in the canopy.

The Ear-Splitting Calls of the Indri

One of the absolute highlights of my trip was observing Indri lemurs in the wild. These creatures are massive—the size of large dogs—and incredibly vocal. I watched a pair only 20 feet away in the trees, their haunting calls echoing through the forest like sirens. The sound was ear-splitting, loud enough to rattle your chest, and completely unforgettable.

Indris are also fiercely territorial, and at one point I witnessed a pair kickboxing each other in the treetops, flinging leaves and snapping branches in the process.

They’re among the most endangered primates in the world, and they cannot survive in captivity. All attempts to keep them in zoos have failed, as no one has been able to replicate their complex diet, which includes a vast and shifting variety of wild leaves. To see them, you must come to Madagascar—and see them I did.

Hidden Wonders of the Forest

Beyond the lemurs, the forest teemed with life. I saw chameleons and geckos of all shapes and sizes, some of which were so well camouflaged I only noticed them when my ranger guide pointed them out. Their camouflage was astonishing—true masters of disguise, blending perfectly into bark, moss, and leaves.

Indre lemur

Eerie high pitched shrieking of Indre lemur

Indre lemur

Gecko blending in with tree branch

Chameleon 

Gecko blending in with tree

Colorful gecko

Large chameleon

Smallest chemelion

Evenings in Andasibe

Music, Beer, and a Village Full of Energy

About an hour’s walk from my guesthouse was the village of Andasibe—a rough but lively place where people lived in poverty, yet the atmosphere was full of warmth. In the evenings, I’d head into town to drink beer at bars blasting Malagasy music, the sound echoing through the streets.

One bar stood out for its surreal scene: a room full of small children dancing wildly to the pounding beat. It was strange, chaotic, and oddly memorable—like much of Madagascar itself.

Small village of Andisabe

A Jungle Road, a Bicycle, and a Boa

The Night I Hired a Stranger to Guard a Snake

One night, about 20 minutes from my guesthouse, I was walking along a jungle road toward Andasibe village to grab dinner and a beer when I spotted something incredible—a massive 8-foot Malagasy boa stretched across the road. I had left my camera behind and knew I couldn’t live without a photo of the beautiful creature.

Just then, a Malagasy man on a bicycle happened to pass by. I flagged him down, and when he saw the snake, he nearly panicked. To most Malagasy people, snakes are fady—taboo or bad luck—and best avoided. He didn’t speak English, but I managed to gesture my request: hold the snake in place until I returned with my camera. I offered him the equivalent of $20 USD—a generous amount in this rural area.

He hesitantly agreed. I borrowed his bicycle and pedaled as fast as I could back to my room, grabbed my camera, and raced back.

A Village Spectacle

When I returned, the man was still there—guarding the snake with a big stick—but now he had company. A crowd of about ten villagers had gathered, laughing and watching the spectacle from a safe distance. It must have been quite a scene: a foreigner racing back with a camera, a man protecting a snake he feared, and curious locals enjoying the bizarre moment.

The boa was still there, calm and coiled, and I got my photo. I paid the man as promised, and he was clearly thrilled. In that village, $20 went a long way—and for me, it was worth every penny for the memory and the image.

Giant Malagasy Boa

Into the Heart of Mantadia

A Rough Road to Madagascar’s Most Intact Rainforest

I had read that Mantadia National Park was home to some of Madagascar’s last remaining primary rainforest—a wild, untouched ecosystem filled with towering trees and rare wildlife. It was farther away than Andasibe and required navigating rough 4WD dirt roads, making it a more expensive and difficult trip. Still, I decided to hire a jeep and go—and I’m glad I did.

Hiking Among Giants

With a local ranger, I hiked deep into the forest, surrounded by ancient trees and the constant hum of life. Mantadia felt wild and untamed. Along the way, we spotted rare and endangered lemurs, some from just 10 feet away—absolutely adorable and completely captivating.

We also heard and briefly saw Indri lemurs, but unlike Andasibe, they were farther off and more elusive in this vast forest. Still, the sense of being in Madagascar’s most intact rainforest made the effort more than worth it.

Road into Mantadia

Red Bellied lemur

Beautiful mushrooms

A snake I picked up that bit me. Lucky it wasnt poisonous.

Waterfalls I swam in

Diademed sifaka

The Long Road Home

From Jungle Trails to the Skies

After my time in Mantadia, I returned to Antananarivo by bus, wrapping up my journey through Madagascar. From there, I began the long trip home—starting with a flight to Johannesburg, then boarding the longest single flight I’ve ever taken: a 17-hour haul on Delta Airlines from Johannesburg to Atlanta.

It was a grueling end to an unforgettable adventure—but well worth every hour.