Wednesday 5 June 2024 – And so it was time to say goodbye to everyone at Masoala Forest Lodge: to Jessie and Alban, who had made us feel so welcome and run everything so efficiently; to Ursula and Pascal, who had shown us so much wildlife and taught us about it; and to Tom, who had added so much context and background to what we were seeing. We were lucky in a way; the high spring tides forced a later-then-usual departure of 9am, which gave us time for a more leisurely breakfast and to say our farewells.
Before we left, though, Jessie showed us the two tree boas, who had now separated. The male, still, presumably in a post-coital glow, didn’t seem to mind us taking a few more photos of him.
Tom went off kayaking
and we left on the boat to Maroantsetra.
You really can hardly see any sign of the lodge, it is so nicely blended in.
The boat trip was, as before, bumpy and almost devoid of interest. Towards Maroantsetra, one passes a couple of islands, the largest of which is called Nosy Mangabe and which is heavily forested.
looking closely, you can see egrets, too many to mention,
and then the waters calm as you reach the shallows around Maroantsetra.
It was clear that the boat had to negotiate some very shallow water in order to reach the landing point; we presumably couldn’t set out until the tide had come in sufficiently to enable the boat to get through.
But then, there we were at the dock
and it looked like quite some shopping had been done for stock to take back to the lodge.
Paola and Kenny were there to meet us and take us back to the airport. As before, the route took us through the periphery of the town
and we eventually bumped our way into the airport
where Fury was waiting for us again, with an aeroplane that looked the same as the one we arrived in,
but which was actually a Cessna 182, rather than the 206 of our previous journey.
Clouds obscured the landscape for a part of our flight, but cleared as we went along, and we took another load of photos of the landscape as we went. Reviewing them later, and given the extra information we’d gleaned from Tom, it was actually quite difficult to understand what was going on below us. For example, parts of this landscape look ravaged, but is it erosion? Was that caused by over-exploitation? There’s plenty of other agriculture happening over to the right.
What are the little lighter-coloured pit marks that dot this landscape?
What’s the story with the grey areas?
These gouges in the landscape: was this mining for something like sapphires? Whatever, if you look carefully, you can see lots of terracing, so there’s clearly still some level of agriculture going on.
This landscape looks terribly scarred, but is it just natural erosion? Or has it been exploited for mining? Again, there’s plenty of agriculture going on around it on the flat bits.
This final photo of Jane’s gives a great insight into the amount of rice planting that goes on, to support this important part of the Malagasy diet.
So many questions, so few answers. Anyway, Fury got us safely down and we were escorted back through the domestic terminal where a driver called Adza (again, ?sp) was awaiting us. He took us back through the colourful streets of the outskirts of Tana
and explained that he would be our driver for the next 12 days or so whilst we explore parts of the island south of Tana. We meet our guide, Kenny, tomorrow and head off eastwards to Andasibe and Mantadia. The next few days should prove to be as educational and absorbing as our time in Masoala, and quite possibly as busy and involving as many photos of wildlife. Stay tuned to find out how our onward journey unfolds.
Friday 7th April 2023 – Rather later than the “couple of days” promised in my last post, here are some valedictory thoughts about Costa Rica, which are worth exactly as much as you’ve paid for ’em.
Overall? We would heartily recommend it for a holiday (or even for travelling). The people are amazingly friendly and helpful, the country is safe and the sights are interesting. The wildlife is rich, varied and occasionally fascinating. There’s a great variety of microclimates to choose from – cool (and damp) cloud forest to hot (and humid) Caribbean beaches; as well as wildlife watching (which was the main reason we went) there are many activities to choose from – swimming, stand-up paddleboarding, ziplining, lying around poolside, white water rafting, hiking. This site gives a good overview.
Some research is necessary to ensure your visit is as pleasurable as it can be.
Timing of your visit is important.
The rainy (or “green”) season lasts from May to November. If you don’t like it when it rains, probably best to avoid these times – and anyway bear in mind that in many parts of Costa Rica it can rain at any time, which is why all the hotels provide umbrellas. Outside the green season, the rain tends to be in sharp showers rather than continuous downpours. You can find more information here.
If you want to see specific phenomena, check your seasons. In Ostional, turtle season is February. In San Gerardo, Resplendent Quetzal season is March. And so on.
Location is important.
If you want to swim in the sea, the Caribbean coast is probably the best place to go. It’s rarely safe on the Pacific coast, where rip tides are a feature.
If you want to have a base and drive around, then there are certain places to avoid, such as the Nicoya peninsula, where the road surfaces are not conducive to driving pleasure. Also, journeys take longer than you might think. It’s difficult to average more than about 30mph anywhere and often this speed is aspirational rather than achievable. Twisty roads, trappy road surfaces, and slow traffic due to heavy lorries all mean that patience is a virtue when driving from A to B.
Driving: the country is small enough that a car is a decent way to get around.
Every community (which may be as small as a handful of dwellings) seems to have a school for young children. The areas around the schools are marked in the roads – “ESCUELA” – and on signposts. The speed limit goes down to 40kph and then 25 kph around each of these areas. I started off by observing these limits and then realised that no-one else paid them any attention at all so I stopped being so particular about this.
However, many (but not all) of these zones are guarded by speed bumps (“Reductor”), many (but not all) of which are painted yellow and/or signposted. So it pays to be alert. Some of the speed bumps are aggressive.
There are also speed bumps to guard some (but not all) junctions with other roads.
Most major road surfaces are actually pretty good, although vigilance is required to avoid the occasional guerilla pothole or other degradation of the surface. Once you get off the major roads, you’re either on dirt tracks, which are by and large fine provided you’re in a reasonably robust vehicle, or the surface is randomly paved and hence treacherous.
There was a reasonable supply of fuel stations wherever we went, and we covered most of the country.
Wildlife viewing: having a guide is essential, unless you are very sharp-eyed and expert at spotting small, well-camouflaged and occasionally deadly creatures. Guides know what to look for when they hear the faintest noise; they know where to look for particular animals and they know the signs to look for that indicate nearby wildlife. And, once they’ve spotted it, they can tell you what it is that you’re looking at and will be able to use your mobile phone camera through a spotter scope to get a photo for you. I really believe that if you go walking unaccompanied you’ll miss 90% of the animals that are nearby.
Photography: if you want to take photos of these animals, for top image quality I recommend that you have with you a camera with the equivalent of a 400mm lens attached. My particular kit was a Nikon Z6 with a 100-400mm zoom lens, which I used almost exclusively at the 400mm end – and I wished that I had a teleconverter to extend this to 560mm (but it didn’t arrive until after our return, regrettably). There are other options: a bridge camera such as the Sony RX10 IV will do a fine job; and increasingly there are mobile phones which will enable you to capture photos and video. I can recommend the Samsung S22 (or, these days, S23) Ultra, whose 10x zoom capability will enable you to get good results if the light is adequate. And, as I said above, the guide accompanying you (you did arrange one, didn’t you? Good) can often get a decent photo using your phone and his/her spotter scope.
Spending money is easy. Virtually everywhere we went was equipped to accept cards and, more often than not, phone transactions. For cash, US dollars are accepted almost universally, and in one or two cases the dollar was the only currency accepted. We did get some local currency (colones) out of an ATM, but never really needed them. Some ATMs will dispense dollars as well as colones. It’s worth having cash available for tipping guides. It’s not obligatory, but if the guide does a good job, I believe it’s the decent thing to do.
The only security tip we received was this: never leave anything in your car. We were pretty careful and only left the car with anything in it a couple of times – and one of these was in a supermarket car park which had a security patrol.
I’m a firm believer in the Reithian diktat which shaped the BBC in its pomp – I try to inform, educate and entertain and I hope I’ve achieved this in some small measure. These pages will go quiet for a while, until either something photographically notable happens to me or we go travelling again. Whichever it will be, I hope to see you back on this site in the fullness of time. Until then…
Wednesday 5 October 2022 – Sitting in the departure lounge at St. John’s airport, as I typed the headline, I felt a small spasm of sadness, because I’m about to describe the last day of our holiday in Alaska and Canada. Even though it’ll be nice to get home to our own shower, ease of laundry and some control over what we eat at breakfast, we shall be sad to come to the end of a two-month odyssey across North America, because it’s been such a great holiday. Yesterday’s wanderings were a positive contribution to the overall experience.
We started off attempting to remedy an omission from the day before; we’d passed Kilometre (or Mile) Zero of the Trans-Canada Trail without stopping to take account (and a picture) of the formal marker post that Jane had spotted on an internet search just beside the Rail Museum building. Our first stop, therefore, was to take a look at it.
Or, rather, take a look for it.
We could find no sign of the marker board that Jane had seen earlier photos of, even though we bumbled about aimlessly for a few minutes, which is our normal search strategy. We did, however, notice a gazebo set up over some noticeboards.
one of which noted that this was a memorial setup. Reading the information display gives the impression that this is now the formal beginning of the Trans-Canada Trail and the T’Railway we pottered a few steps along the day before,
We then addressed ourselves to the main task of the day – getting back to the top of Signal Hill where driver Basil had shown us our very first glimpse of St. John’s. This time, however, we would be under our own steam.
We passed a rather faded memural (a Steve Walker patented portmanteau neologism – not a typo) to the days when the railway was such a critical part of the history of St. John’s,
and then walked along Duckworth Street, which is one of the main downtown roads in the city. It has its share of the attractive Jelly Bean houses that make the place so individual – even the modern apartment blocks are things of beauty –
and, of course artwork. Above you see part of a long mural which depicts a lot of the traditional ways of life of St. John’s and Newfoundland including
men carrying fish around (cf ladies doing likewise yesterday). We assume this must be salted fish of some description. Duckworth Street is world famous in Newfoundland for being the home of The Duke of Duckworth, a British-style pub.
Tempting as the thought was, we didn’t stop in for a beer, but carried on, past the sort of sights which make St. John’s such an individual place
including an Air Force memorial and a Portuguese memorial (spot the azulejos – blue tiling).
Duckworth Street turns directly into Signal Hill Road, so one could just carry on walking. However, we wanted to follow a trail that took us through The Battery, the cluster of attractive houses we’d walked out to photograph the day before. Where Signal Hill Road carries straight on, Battery Road is a right-hand turn; it also leads past the Battery Cafe
which, I can report, serves damn’ fine coffee.
Battery road goes down a bit and then up quite a lot, giving progressively better views back over the town
as you reach The Battery
and continue up the hill
to the St. John’s Lookout.
At this point, we were at the foot of Gibbet Hill, beside attractively-named Deadman’s Pond. Gibbet Hill is the lump of rock behind the cottages we photographed from the other side of the harbour yesterday…
Apparently only one person was ever hanged on Gibbet Hill, but the name, erm, hung around nonetheless.
Passing Gibbet Hill took us back on to Signal Hill Road and we walked up to the Cabot Tower at the top, past George’s Pond.
Since the hill is pretty much the highest point hereabouts, it’s unsurprising that it gives a great view back over the town
but we were also interested to explore the tower and its history. Construction of the tower itself began in 1898 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of John Cabot’s discovery of Newfoundland, and also Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. John Cabot, by the way, was actually Giovanni Caboto, an Italian, and there’s a sister tower, of very different architecture, but with the same name and serving the same purpose, in Bristol, UK.
The St. John’s edition of the Tower has a slightly chequered history, in that the town was agin building it in the first place on account of the town having been burned to the ground a few years earlier and the banks going broke an’ that. But there it is, and there it was for its best-known part in the development of the world as we know it – the first successful receipt, on December 12th, 1901, of a radio transmission across the Atlantic Ocean, by Guglielmo Marconi (the origin of the signal, the letter “S” in Morse code, was Poldhu in Cornwall). Its prime use, though, was for flag signalling, it being in a good location for that purpose, visible for miles around in all directions.
We went into and up the tower, and a room at the top has signal flags neatly pigeon-holed all around it
as well as an installation to do with its role in radio telegraphy,
including a picture reconstructing how Marconi set up his receiving configuration. (We read that scientists at the time pooh-poohed his idea that transmission across the Atlantic was possible, but that’s because they didn’t realise that the radio waves would bounce off the ionosphere; I don’t know whether Marconi had realised this or not, actually).
As well as the various old-style cannons visible around the site
and the nearby Queen’s Battery
there’s a more modern one
which we found out about when it went bang. We were actually still quite a way away from the tower at this point but even so it was startlingly loud; heaven alone knows what it was like for the spectators. It is one of the various Noon Day Guns which seem to be popular hereabouts (as well as in Hong Kong).
From the top of the Tower, one can just about see Cape Spear,
the rather uninteresting-looking flat bit of land on the left of the photo above. It is the easternmost point of North America. Just so you know. Also, there’s one of those really helpful signposts telling you how far away you are from civilisation.
So, now you know that Poldhu is a mere 3,468 km away. Given that more civilised northerly and industrial parts of the UK, e.g. Liverpool, are even closer, it’s hardly surprising to learn that British fishing fleets started coming over to Newfoundland in the summers and ended up basically controlled the fishing industry here from about 1600 onwards, having seen off some upstart Portuguese (we were at war with them then).
The other planned component of the day’s walk was to visit a place called Quidi Vidi, recommended by both the mother of the whingeing, squirming brat and the ever-helpful Ian Burley. It’s pronounced Kiddy Viddy, by the way, which sounds to me more like a child’s entertainment. There’s a trail leading there from Signal Hill. It’s a decent trail, albeit a bit rocky and up-and-down in places
but basically very well-maintained in those places where it counts.
We caught sight of Quidi Vidi village fairly soon after starting on the trail
(you can just see the eponymous Quidi Vidi Lake to the left) and before long we were down in the village, at the Wharf end (where the lake debouches into the Atlantic).
It’s ridiculously pretty.
It also has attractions beyond the simply visual.
To be honest, we knew there was a brewery there – Ian B had told us – and so I had a plan which involved a certain amount of quaffing – and the place has a splendid bar and patio for those in need of fluid replacement therapy.
Having partaken of a couple of their offerings
(frankly, Day Boil doesn’t sound like a very pleasant brew, but Jane liked it; and their Iceberg lager is excellent), we walked on through the pretty village, past some rather attractive crocheted rock-cosies (reminiscent of what the natives do to trees in the island of Graciosa in the Azores);
past a couple of historic properties: Mallard Cottage, built in the early 1800s by the Irish-immigrant Mallard family;
and the Inn of Olde (sadly shut);
and what used to be a multi-denominational church.
Our route back to St. John’s took us by the banks of Quidi Vidi Lake on a decent trail, quite a lot of which is a boardwalk
past the St. John’s Rowing Club
and, past the lake, some very large and handsome properties on the outskirts of the town.
We ended up on George Street, which has a simply legendary density of bars and restaurants
(mainly bars, I think, with the occasional “gentleman’s club”), and past a final reminder of how attractive it can be to disguise the mundane with some nice artwork, in this case a map of all the other artwork, which I think is rather a neat idea.
And so, 12½ miles (20km) after we started, we arrived back at our hotel at the end of our day’s walking and our North American holiday. We’ve walked 214 miles (344km – actually not a lot over two months), ascended (and descended!) 4312 metres and enjoyed every minute of it. But we have to go home now – real life, our own washing machine and a defective septic tank await our attention in the UK, but we shall have the memories of all the places we’ve visited for a while and these blog pages for when the memories have dimmed.
For previous holidays, I’ve often penned a summary of our thoughts as a valedictory post. Canada is too vast and diverse, both geographically and culturally, to be able to do it justice, so I shan’t attempt one. A couple of things stand out, though: the helpfulness, politeness and friendliness of the people; the thoughtful approach that Canadians, both citizens and authorities, take to life around them; and the knowledge that we have but scraped the surface of a huge country during a single season – I couldn’t begin to tell you what anywhere here is like during winter, for example. You’ll just have to come and experience it for yourself.
Of course, this is not by any means our last major adventure. We have a real cracker coming up early next year, in February. I hope to be able to regale you with our exploits then and we hope you’d like to rejoin us to hear about them. For now, farewell!
