Madagascar - July 2011

Being more exposed to the ocean swells, yachts going around Madagascar rarely bothered in the past with the East coast. Our many french friends from the days of Chagos though think differently and after expressing my skepticism I still decided to take advantage of the wealth of information, besides the thought of doing a much shorter passage of course.

As we neared the coast of Ile St. Marie the weather just gets worse, until the northerly wind and swell forces us to motor up the channel. All the time we are an the lookout for whales as St. Marie is a breeding ground for them, and we are quite sure to have seen some jumping on the other side of the bay. After a six day passage in which the compass acted drunk the whole time we finally drop anchor in the tiny exposed harbor.

Right away a coast guard official is rowed by two mechanics, he inspects the boat and issues a receipt for harbor fees, a receipt other officials will laugh at as a scam on my way out...

The customs guy does my papers first and asks a contribution of forty euros to the customs "coffers", when I decline we settle that I'll bring some whiskey later. On to immigration, where they disappear with all our documents for three hours, but in the end returning with everything done right.

We are quite elated at the idea of being finally across the Indian Ocean, and this elation is compounded by the new smells, faces, colors, and African liveliness. Ambodifotatra is simple and quite decadent but with cobblestone streets climbing up the neighborhoods lined with ragtag shops with an amazing assortment of goods. Everything seems on the verge of falling apart and yet the town is bustling and functional. We soon discover the market and we are shocked at the abundance and variety. Zebu meat here pretty much replaces beef, pork is sometimes available and all the veggies here are free of pesticides and grown completely natural.

The wind howls and the rain just keeps on coming...the whales jump in the distance...

Off To Mauritius

Well, as far as sailing stories go, this passage was just about one of the three top boring ones: motoring all the way with not a breeze to speak of. Only comfort was the string of Rodrigues' sausages hanging to dry from the rigging, whenever boredom was getting too much for me I would snatch one and eat it greedily and be merry again. Not to lose the habit we managed to arrive at nighttime, and so decided to anchor in one of the easier bays off the western coast: Baie du Tombeau.

After a good sleep we leisurely enter Port Louis' main harbour to clear in, as one should, we tie up to the customs area and do the paperwork. Our resurrection to western sinnery is aroused once again by seeing a mcds' right over the harbor side. We have called in advance for a spot in the marina (no anchorage here!) and we've been reassured that a spot is available. We can see the marina is completely full (of catamarans in double line) but not according to the manager on the phone:

her: "yes, yes, there is room, come in and tie up"

us: "really, the marina IS full, please, where are we supposed to tie up?"

her: "oh, anywhere a spot is free!"

Perfect example of circular "Indian" Logic!

As per instruction by the harbor police we head straight for the marina entrance, where rests an unmarked bank of sand where our keel goes thunk! (we'll later find out they did this to many boats, giving them completely wrong directions on how to go about approaching, that sand bank must have plenty of keel scraps from all over!).

At some point seeing our confusion some boaters from a sport-fishing boat gesture us to tie up along their port side. To our relief we are now tied up and can sort something out. The purported owners quickly disappear and I am left to gage for myself what to do about our "accommodation". The sport-fishing boat is surely hogging a lot of free space around it, as well as a small abandoned looking 30-something footer in front. I decide to gently move the little boat forward and done that I set to move the sport-fishing boat (to which Keturah is tied so I better not let go of the lines!) a bit back. Just as I finish the operation making enough room for us to fit comfortably two visibly upset guys rush up the dock. Yes, I should have not fiddled with your lines, on the other hand my boat is attached to yours so it's unlikely I go about it carelessly, also you could not hog all of that space in such a small marina, and also, see that I actually improved your lines arrangement? With a little explaining and not letting myself being intimidated the situation is defused and finally everyone is settled for the best outcome. We find out that Mauritius has plenty of charter flights direct to Italy, so we arrange to go home for three weeks. For that we must appoint a caretaker for our boat, for which purpose exists a company providing all necessary paperwork and cover.

Port Louis is a pretty town. The historic buildings are plentiful and well preserved, the streets are fairly clean, the fruit and meat market are piled ceiling-high with all sorts of colorful produce, the sellers eager to show their wares and offer a taste of whatever we look at with diffidence...

Time to go home soon after a long time, so we instruct the caretakers on what/where the main things in the boat are.They will pocket the money and do absolutely nothing but I won't get into that.

Upon returning from Italy we have a couple nice parties on the sport-fishing boat -after the initial trouble we became really good friends with Michael the captain, from Cape Town- then the crew arrives as we keep on preparing, we get a chance to hike up a mountain, eat a couple french steaks and soon we're off to Madagascar.