Easier said than done.

Gee, we have all heard that saying a few times. Off the back of a two year lay off, writing my book and presenting my AFRICA365 cycling odyssey to the world I think I needed to be reminded where I fit into this adventure world I’ve claimed as my career. I was reminded without delay that adventure has her own schedule.

Firstly all my bags were lost on route to Madagascar and I was dispossessed of my cellphone while completing my immigration entry form. The first three days I sat with only the clothing I had on, a small bag with some electronics in and zero comprehension of the Malagasy language; feeling very sorry for my self. The day I do eventually receive my expedition equipment, I’m also informed that my kayak is too long for any aero plane traveling from SA to Antananarivo and will therefore be impossible to send.

A week later I finally negotiate for my boat (not a real boat!) to fly via Mauritius from South Africa to Madagascar. The planes on this route are big enough but the down side to this success is that it would cost more to bring her to the island than it did me. Eish.

It then took me 5 days to have customs clear this bright green banana looking object that had most of the officials truly perplexed. The kayak’s dimensions do resemble a banana with it having a curved total length of 5.85 m, a 58cm width and a height of about 45cm at most.

After three arduous weeks in Madagascar’s capital city ironically though, both much and very little has happened. Little in the way of the kayak not even touching the Indian Ocean waters and much in that a few critical decisions have been made regarding changes to my starting venue and most valuably the route direction. The latter, original plan was to head in a clockwise direction around the 5000km of island coastline. The anti clockwise direction, after much local expert advice, will prove to make my paddling much more comfortable and quite possibly more do-able. The trade winds are powerful South Easters that run diagonally up the most treacherous eastern coastline I will encounter on this 10 month solo journey. My 6 to 8 hours per day out on the water should be significantly quicker with a slight tail wind. Optimistically possibly even lifting my intended average paddling speed from 6 km/h to 8 or 9 km/h. With a combined cargo weight in the region of 150kg this assistance will definitely be valued.

My proposed starting point in Mahajanga on the western coast has now been shifted to it’s Eastern bigger port brother of Tamatave. This decision making much sense if one considers the direction I will be going in now and also that the cyclone season will wreak its annual havoc in the north of the island from December to approx April. Winds gust at 200km/h in these storms and the kayak and I, in these conditions, will be more airborne than seagoing.  The biggest attraction though to this starting point change is that I will paddle right into peak whale calving season near Il St Marie in September. With the quality of video equipment I have on board I’m surely going to get some very memorable first hand footage.

‘Attitude with a capital A’ is what my mantra has become for now because the challenges holding me back have been endless. Currently I’m sitting in the shade of a tree on the northerly outskirts of Tamatave city, trying to nurse all the damage that was caused to my kayak on route over here.  Via sms contact with the boat builder we are together slowly putting her back to her original sea going state.

What would I like more than anything else right now? Very simply I’d like to start what I came here to do. Circumnavigate this island on a kayak, alone and unaided. Not be reminded continuously that things are definitely easier said than done!  

ONLY TWO MORE SLEEPS

When I was a little kid growing up in Richards Bay I used to often employ the ‘2 more sleeps’ strategy to try bridle my excitement for something I was exceptionally looking forward to. Getting older and with a bit of luck, wiser, I have found other unique situations to exploit this well known strategy to my benefit.

Probably the most scary part of each day for me is when I come in to beach my kayak every afternoon. With an overloaded boat such as mine it is near impossible to have control when you are been thrown forward (and down) by pounding two meter surf. Apart from my total lack of knowledge of every beach, the mere physics of what could happen to me and obviously 100% of my possessions, is gut wrenching.

For those who do not do surf paddling, the theory is rather simple. When you want to come back to shore you need to time your approach back to solid earth with scientific precision. You do not want to get flung forward on a breaking wave and also do not want a breaking wave to crush you from behind. What is ideal is for a paddler to wait for the bigger of the waves sets to pass through and essentially ride on the back of their broken foam into shallower water.  It definitely helps to understand the beach you paddle in and out of too as you importantly will know where the permanent dangers; rocks etc; may be lurking. This is a luxury I do not have as each and every point I round and every beach I see is new and foreign to me. Essentially each and every beach could spell disaster and possibly the end to my journey.

And here is where I attempt to employ the ‘only 2 more sleeps’ strategy with currently reasonable success. The way I see it I only have at most 100 tough beach landings to do during this journey. Sure, now I may be on ‘98 more to go’ but soon I’ll be on ‘10 more to go’ and almost back home.

By the way, embarrassingly I have not caught a fish yet and even more embarrassingly this meant I had to resort to buying one from a local dugout fisherman I passed at sea. He couldn’t understand a word I was saying, but it was impossible not to sense the glee with which he eagerly exchanged the 1 kilogram fish for 500 Malagasy Ariary (R3.00)

I better become a bit more self-sufficient or those ‘98 more’ will stretch out to an eternity.

Soon the website will show some of the pictures I’ve been able to take. Some tough sea conditions combined with typical mystical Madagascar island scenery. Like many of you I can’t wait to discover some lemurs. But no Lemurs yet, I’m still on my way there.  Only 5 more sleeps.

“Don’t worry, they are gentle animals, very curious but very gentle. Do not be afraid.”

How someone can say that to me with a straight face and convince me to be entirely relaxed when a 25 metre cow hump-back whale , with her calf in tow are about to tip you out of your kayak. And this just from the splash they are making 15m away.

Most Madagascans are surprised that I have sighted more whales this far south, as most of the cows and calves are still in the more northern feeding grounds of Madagascar.

I usually paddle 500m to 1000m off the coast and out of habit focus 300m or so ahead. I surprisingly saw a large object sticking out of the water , then lost sight of it as the swell blocked my view temporarily and to eventually see the famous splash of this whale body back into the sea again. This whale was directly ahead of me. Now normally people on the lookout for whales will look for the tell-tale blow hole chimney cloud rising 5-10m into the air. I was both excited and scared , contrary to what the local advice has instructed me to be . Though afraid I decided to continue directly in line with this sighting and hopefully get a closer view. This I eventually did get. To my surprise a mother was gently pushing her calf , which was diagonal to her snout, in front of her. The calf was rolling slowly against her mother’s barnacled forehead as if simultaneously fooling about and getting a back scratch. This all now no more than 15m away from my puny 5.5m kayak. My heart was beating as I swung my legs out of the cockpit and over the sides for better stability. The turbulence created by the two of them was causing big ripples and splash, making it very possible for me to tip over. I could not help but take a shallow gasp of air in surprise to her exhaling so abruptly and even more loudly. It felt as though the air particles in our vicinity reacted in the same way. Gee, I felt small. No, I realized how small I was. We’ve invented the microwave oven, dstv, gps and big brother. Discovered new planets and gone to the moon, but we still have nothing on nature and her natural majesty. Nothing.

Disaster was also avoided twice. Johan Loots from Paddleyak Kayaks found the problems for water intake on my boat. This all via email. Incredible considering the last two weeks have seen me back and forth trying to repair this annoyance once and for all. The second disaster avoided was for local fishermen along a 3km stretch of rock laden beach to notice me circling anxiously behind the breakers for over 30minutes. They understood my dilemma and soon, after attracting my attention, guided me in safely into a gully no more than 5m wide. Once I stood on the land side of this danger I realized what I would have landed on if it were not for them. Serious ‘EINA’ time it would have been.

But maybe I should be allowed the luxury to be afraid . Quoting my own saying I also remind myself that “without the fear there is no bravery.” So in essence I hope to continue being brave . . . . . . and afraid.

I ticked many boxes this week - caught a fish, stayed in a jungle village, saw whales again. Oh yes and bled a bit.  Yip, it definitely was a busy week.

I think as time passes I’ll realise again that this is normal going for a solo adventure lifestyle. This of having so many experiences packed into one short space of time. What I am not enjoying though is the onset of infection in my blistered hands and cut feet. My hands, especially since having nearly a month's layoff, have blistered in all the crucial areas. The blisters seem to mutate, growing even under the old ones and then slowly opening to eventually reveal raw flesh underneath. The first 30 minutes of paddling every day is rather painful but subsides as I begin to have other things to worry about. Which brings me to my bleeding story. The town of Foul Point is well known for its tranquil sea side. It really does feel as if you are on the edge of a dam. If you are on the land side of the sea that is! When you are like me approaching from behind the reef, which is about a kilometer out, you realise where the ocean’s bountless energy is being spent. Six foot waves were pounding down onto huge boulders of the reef, which I could clearly see underneath me. The thunder of each one petrified me. Nonetheless I had no choice but to go to shore. I took a gap between the sets and tried my best to get beyond the savage impact zone. And I nearly did. A metre or two more and I would have comfortable been pushed shoreward by the foam. I was rolled off the kayak and onto a mere 1/2 metre deep bed of rock and coral. Out of pure natural reaction, and some experience, I tried to keep the momentum of both my boat and me away from danger by lunging us both forward. And this is where I cut my foot open; on live corals that cause the biggest infections due to their dense concentration of bacteria. I'm treating the cut but need some time out of the sea to have it heal.

Catching the fish was, apart from the excitement, a huge relief. Due to the nature of my route I cannot aim for the best fishing spots so have to make do when I pass near one. Off the coast of a village called Ampisimbe I found a small reef which was situated near a large river mouth. The water was slightly murky and the sky a bit overcast. I put in extra effort to give my trolling Rapala a faster action and Voila!  An 8kg kingfish was on the line.

The jungle village I stayed in was one called Antakobola. After my interview; read interogation; with the local Tangalamina (Chief) of the village I was allowed to put my tent next to his hut. I entertained the children with pulling of faces and repeating what they were saying to me in Malagash. It was fun and my departure the next morning was an entire village affair. With the river banks crowed to the brim with the fishermen, the grannies and all the children. I took some lovely video of this . Actually I managed some beautiful shots of a giant 30cm chameleon crawling all over me. He loved my hair and would aim straight for my head when I pick him up. Gee, I have so much to tell!

I am sitting here writing this weeks report from the office in the Catholic mission of Sonierana Ivongo and I think the priest, who is pacing up and down behind me, wants his computer back, the only one with working internet in the village by the way. Not even the local Mayor from the town has internet here!

Tomorrow I do the big crossing from main land Madagascar to the Island of St Marie. The original island where Blackbeard and like decided to make their home a few hundred years ago. In reality it was known as the Pirate Island before and today still has vast pirate grave yards which the locals treasure as a sacred space. I will investigate.

Hopefully though, no pirates will hinder my 38km crossing to St Marie and that my report back contains only boring challenges related to wind and waves.

The ink had not even dried on my reportage last week and I was already in police custody. Having serious plans such as my crossing of the treacherous bay from the mainland to Isle St Marie and a planned rendezvous with a famous South African camerman, Mike Yelseth, on the island, you can imagine my reluctance to see my arrest as simply part of the adventure.

One of the things I planned to do on my route around Madagascar was to always, where possible, introduce myself to the mayor of each town. In Soanierana-Ivongo I did not only meet the mayor but also had him gleefully hand me over to his town's commissioner of police for arrest. Now, originally I was furious and firmly instructed the commissioner to arrest me or let me go as I had a valid visa and believed the special attention I was receiving to be unfair. It turned out I was in fact illegally in Madagascar. The visa that I received at the airport over a month ago was valid for only 30 days. Eish, a supersized portion of humble pie served ready to go! Considering the quicksand I had dragged myself into I had to rapidly win them over so that they would firstly not deport me and secondly allow me 4 days grace travel to St Marie Island to meet Mike for a quick 3 day shoot. After this grace period I promised I would return to Antananarivo to negotiate an extension. The police station staff contingent grew fonder of me as the day crept towards evening but still the above request was denied. What was I going to do? An old, wise and extremely well travelled man Christaiaan Fayd'herbe, incidentally the uncle to the Durban July winning jockey of 2008, was the one who pulled the correct strings in the right directions. He is well respected on Madagascar and through the social mechanics of his Tamatave Restaurant, Bateau Ivre (Drunken Boat), he had the head of Madagascar immigration call the police chief, who was holding me, to instruct him to let me have the 4 days grace I was begging for. And so it came to pass. The next day I crossed the largest open expanse of water I have ever attempted and with great relief managed to meet up with Mike that same evening.

Another South African , Ockie Snyman (mixture of looks between Moses and Chuck Norris), who owns a beautiful hotel on the eastern side of Ile Au Nattes (check Google Earth to see the beauty first hand), looked after us while we visited his backyard of paradise. It was just what I needed. Some real South African hospitality and de-stressing chit chat while with Mike a dream of me being able to one day show people back home, and my children soon, what a semi normal day entails for Riaan Manser. Mike filmed me when I was no more than 2 metres from a whale that literally was the size of the government's newly implemented 45-seater taxis. Actually bigger I think! I must though mention that I believe I am getting better at this business of sneaking up to wallowing whales in the ocean and that if things don’t pan out the way I hope, I can always fulfill a guide position somewhere on the whale route.

Ockie showed us the pirate cemetery and bubbled with enthusiasm when sharing his favorite pirate story. A 'legend' in the pirate world of St Marie was a guy by the name of Tom White. He faked his own death, tombstone and all, so that he could come back under a new name and marry the queen of St Marie . His descendants still wander the streets of this character filled island. What lengths men will go to for the love of a woman seems to know no boundaries I guess.

One fact which surely could be just coincidence, is that each and every whale I encountered in the waters around St Marie was facing or heading directly south. They are all heading south to the cold Antarctic waters to fatten up for another breading session here in 2009.

I heard that my book 'AROUND AFRICA ON MY BICYCLE' was nominated for the Nielsen 2008 booksellers award. Every book shop in country, from the big corporates to the tiny private stores, shortlisted five books they most enjoyed reading, promoting and selling. My story of the bicycle trip around our continent was in the shortlist of only 5 books. An honor just to rub shoulders with the likes of Martin Feinstein, John van de Ruit and co. Jake White won the award though. Hasn't he won enough? is all I'd like to ask him.

Thank you for all the emails that keep pouring in. I read every single one but unfortunately cannot reply to all. Please make contact through the website to get yourself on the mailing list for extra updates.

Actually it was a good opportunity to involve an eager SA Ambassador, Ambassador Monaisa, and his staff to take over the negotiation process. A process I was, months ago, assured would be taken care of by the tourism department of Madagascar. South Africans now have to cop out nearly 5 times what they did before for a visa half the time. This, in anyone’s language, even Malagasy, begs the question whether it is possible to continually attract foreigners to your shores. Foreigners that eventually create way more opportunity and income to a country desperately needing it, than the once off amount the government feels they are benefiting from. Nonetheless, I’m not a policy maker. I do adventure. The embassy does negotiation and I think they are more qualified than me to be successful in stretching a token 90 days into 9 months.

The time away from the sea has actually shown me it’s value. The cut that was inflicted on me by the Foul Point reef was not healing; even amidst all the positive thought I was directing it’s way.  The wound has sealed now and should in good time, heal completely.

The legend of the guy that hosted me on Isle St Marie, Ockie Snyman, just seems to grow. Ockie, lived in a huge bus for five years and travelled the country selling socks. Geezlike, then he lands up in paradise here in Madagascar.  The message I’d like to end with this week is specifically for the benefit of all the sock salesmen (and women) out there. Be brave, be strong and, above all, never lose hope.  With an abundance of energy, motivation and a reasonable amount of strategy you too can soon be strolling the pristine beaches of  an Indian Ocean Island; carefree and with the best years of your life still ahead of you.

Although French is spoken in most places I have been so far, I am still concentrating on picking up more Malagasy. It can’t be that difficult to learn considering the above mentioned sock salesman has already mastered it! Therefore, I will attempt to include you guys in my crash course, week by week. It will give you an idea of how one gets into something like learning a language with ease. The words that I searched for first were please and thank you. Aza fady and Misoatra being them.  Waves are onja (oenja) and danger is loza (looza). Two key words I thought would be most beneficial when asking passing fishermen where they know the least treacherous return to shore would be for me. Check the website for more words I’ve decided to concentrate on.

Also get hold of a detailed map of Madagascar to see where I am and what this famous Bay of Antogil looks like. Suggestions, through the website, will be welcomed on how, where and when to conquer her huge expanse of water.

Without lumping too much philosophy on my journey this early, I have to admit that the last ten days away from people, electricity and combustible engines were invaluable for putting me into the appropriate, and necessary, head space.

This task I’ve given myself, circumnavigating Madagascar by kayak, is a serious, dangerous and lonely one. I can truly say I had not been honest with myself up to this point. I didn’t corner myself as decisively as I did on the Africa circumnavigation as to what I was willing to offer up in exchange for conquering Madagascar. Am I willing to risk my relationship, my health, my financial welfare and, in all truthfulness, myself? Am I as willing as before to offer my life?

The last week had some hardcore reality, which certainly helped me digest and process the above thoughts. The most telling of those was being caught in a violent storm eight kilometres out to sea. I decided, as I had done many times before, to cut across a bay instead of more safely hugging the coastline.

The sea was choppy to start with but in an instant the wind doubled in speed, bringing with it two to three foot chop in between the already sizable six to eight foot surf! The kayak became uncontrollable and with every wave that broke over us, she started taking on water.

‘No,’ to the above latter question, ‘I don’t want to die.’

The determination within me, even amid a scenario I had never even vaguely encountered, was burning inside to finally be utilised.

As I was being engulfed by these waves, being thrown from side to side and unable for any reasonable period to remain on my kayak, I can remember loudly speaking to myself.

‘If you’re not willing to be determined now, you never will be!”

I started saying, ‘Nobody can help you here except yourself. Do something and start with your attitude!’

Geez-like, only three hours later while recovering on a beach, did it hit home what risk I had taken. Secondly, and probably more importantly, I realised the huge mental boulder I’d just managed to roll out the way.  You see, I am all for the verbal clichéd hype pertaining to one overcoming difficulties with a positive attitude, but I’ll be the first to acknowledge that one has to prove oneself first. Sort of a case of ‘actions do speak louder than words’ I think.

The lesson I really learnt from this ordeal was to time my big bay crossings more accurately and not give in to my ever nagging, stubborn and impatient spirit… ever!

For the fishermen back home I have a reality story that I think will send shivers up your waders. I landed my first cuta, an extremely powerful and aggressive fish with a set of gnashers resembling a chain saw. The first one I caught I had to release as it was too big for my kayak. I estimated it to be about 10kg. The second cuta of about 5kg fought just as fiercely but was destined for the dinner table. As I was bringing him closer to my kayak, my feet dangling casually on either side, I chose my time carefully to hoist him on to my shin area. A good place I thought to pin it down and finish it off. This though did not end as I imagined! The fish still had lots of fight left and as I brought him nearer, for what I presumed would be his final passing, he put his foot on the gas again.

Now for those who don’t know what a Rapala lure looks like, it is basically a plastic fish that you tow behind your boat or kayak to attract a predatory fish. This lure has two treble hooks attached to it. One under the belly and the other trails on the rear of its cigar shaped body. This fish was only hooked by the front hooks which meant the rear hook was totally open and hanging free… free to imbed itself solidly into my left heel as the fish darted under my kayak. With blood pouring from my heel I raised the fish slightly out the water to the left side of my kayak and, while it shook furiously, I grabbed at its head. In this motion my hands were bitten open by the equally desperate fish. Eventually, after getting a firm grip around the top of its head with my fingers sliding into its gills, I used the other hand to grab the pocket knife I keep in the front pouch of my lifejacket and stabbed away at the fish’s head. All I could see in my mind were images of me tipping over the kayak, this fish being set free and me still attached to the fish. My goodness me! The adrenalin was pumping at a furious rate, so much so that I literally ripped the one hook from the cuta’s lower jaw and followed this action with similar vengeance in removing the other treble hook from my heel.  Jislaaik, just writing this story has got me all worked up again!  Needless to say I have been way more cautious in landing fish after that incident and again, needless to say, he tasted better than any other fish I’d ever eaten.

A heck of a lot more has happened to me in this last 10 to 14 days but unfortunately space doesn’t allow for all my stories to be relayed.

The biggest joy is that Windhoek Lager, who people know are my headline sponsor, will produce the highlight of my trip thus far. My girlfriend is coming over to visit me this weekend. Are they good guys or what?

With just over 10% of the journey completed so far I’ve received some incredible words of encouragement from not just South Africa but all over the world. People were inspired by what I achieved going around Africa and I know many people might think that because this journey is only 5000kms it’s considerably easier than the cycling trip. They may even think that because I don’t have to cross any borders or confront whacked-out teenage soldiers or even travel through countries recovering from war, that knocking off the prescribed distance is just a matter of getting out there and paddling.

This trip is tough. At times I would say much more physically demanding than Africa. Think about this: when you’re on a bike and you’re confronted with a downhill, you can just rest your feet on the pedals and let gravity do its thing. Or if the sun gets too hot and you’re sapped for energy, pull up to the side of the road and sleep under the shade of a tree. Not with a kayak. The sea is always moving and not always in the direction I want it to be. Stop paddling for a while and I can quickly be a kilometre or more in the opposite direction. If the weather starts to change the sensible thing to do is point the kayak towards the shore, paddle hard and get out of danger. But of course, this isn’t always possible because there may not be a suitable landing point, reefs might be churning up the waters, rips might be running considerably faster than I can paddle or the tide means savage rocks lie in wait invisibly beneath the surface.

In the last two months I have had my fair share of problems which I have previously related in this column. At times I get dumped on the beach by the shore-break resulting in considerable damage to my kayak. On one occasion I found myself fighting a 25kg fish far out to sea with water flooding into the cockpit and hatches. And then there come times when I need to paddle across open stretches of water that can reach up to 40kms across, with the possibility of the weather turning.

While I have thousands of supporters there are always going to be the critics out there who say I’m being reckless and pushing the boundaries of adventure. An email received from an experienced sea-kayaker says that what I am doing is completely reckless and that I have a disregard for my own safety and the ocean, especially as I am relatively inexperienced at what I’m doing. It went as far as saying my entire expedition may be doomed because of my actions.

For sure, kayaking around Madagascar is fraught with all sorts of danger that could consume me at any time. I’m well aware of that and I learn to adjust my own limits every single day. To succeed in my quest, I have to.

Everyone over here that I source advice from has their own opinion on when, where and how things should be done. After considering all the advice I sometimes have to make split second decisions as I see fit and often it’s the right call but there are naturally many occasions when its not.

I’m glad people are beginning to understand the situations I am faced with because many people don’t have a clue. The Madagascar coastline is very unsafe and understandably isn’t the first choice destination for kayakers. But that’s part of the reason why this will be a world first when I complete it. Hopefully this north-eastern coast is the toughest section I’m likely to encounter although there are many more surprises waiting for me, of that I’m sure.

So yes, I believe I am being adventurous. No, I do not want to die so I’m not being reckless. Having said that, one bit of advice I do feel I am now qualified to give is… DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! 

I didn’t expect what was to happen to me next, so was genuinely thrown back when a man with his heavy undiluted French accent ran out onto the cafe side walk and shouted, “My God Ryan, you are alive! You are alive! Are you ok? Where is your kayak? I can’t believe it, you’re alive!”

I was, and am, obviously very alive and still have my kayak which I explained to this French man. I now recognized as having previously met him in the town of Antalaha, and then let him actually pinch me to confirm this fact.  He was on the phone to all the people who know of me in Madagascar and let confirmed to them that I was in fact standing alongside him and too was about to eat a plate of food with him at this café. Gee, I was stunned actually, smiling more than saying anything and waiting for the right time to start asking my own questions. Why would I be missing? Why would I not have my kayak with me? Why does everyone think I am not alive?

Now what happens in many places across Africa is that where there is no formal communication; such as at many of the fishing villages I stop at to sleep; the bush telegraph is still everyone’s CNN or BBC hourly news channel. The day I had crash landed and had left my kayak on the beach for an hour or two while searching for assistance, is when I believe someone must have seen my deserted boat lying prone on a even more deserted beach. The Madagascan radio report which eventually surfaced from here, as Francois the Frenchman was explaining to me, said that near Sambava a yellow pirogue (kayak) had been found without any person.  They were asking people who were heading to the small seaside villages to investigate from the locals and report back as soon as possible. 

Francois explained to me how he and another friend of his, Momo, had sat that evening feeling sick in their stomachs as they discussed what they could do to help and hopefully find me alive. Francois decided he would drive along the coast, through Sambava and as far as he could to investigate personally. And then by pure chance I walk past him as he was having lunch with friends. Wow, I was touched by his actions but also jolted into mulling over what I should have a long time ago. In the scenario of actually officially going missing, what do I expect those looking for me to do and what do I expect they will expect from me? Reality thinking for you, big time.

The seas, 150km south of Madagascar’s northerly point have become very dirty compared to what I had encountered 200-300km further south. The fish I bring up alongside my boat now are only visible from about 5m whereas before I could see the clear form of the fish 25m down. It was also possible to see what I was physically paddling over, whether it be rocks, reef or a sand bank, or for that matter, what looks like infinity.  The biggest noticeable difference though as I move more northwards is the force of the wind. On weather reports the wind is easily double what it was 100km south of me right now. On the kayak it feels like triple.

Something else that is now official for the Round the Outside expedition is that I have paddled into the prettiest place thus far. I was desperately looking for a place to land this one afternoon with neither my map nor GOS showing any structure (bays/rocks/reefs) on the coast nearby. This lagoon then appeared as if a vision and only visible as I reached the maximum height of each wave that lifted me. The problem though is that this lagoon was, as most river entries are, protected by huge waves and a strong rip current. The moth to the light gravitation was just too much and I headed straight for the vision. All I could hear ringing in my head as I was paddling with exaggerated force were the words of a friend of mine, Daantjie Malan.

“Be patient and choose your time carefully through big waves… BUT when you go, you go with ZERO hesitation.”

And then, just as I had been thrown back by my officially missing status, I felt the same surprise in discovering this unexpected river paradise. This feeling though felt a little more pleasant.

Leatherback Turtles

Older than the dinosaurs, Leatherback Turtles have survived extinction, through catastrophic and irreversible transformations on our planet. Unchanged in form and design for more than 60 million years they have repeated their extraordinary life cycle doggedly and unchallenged.....until now.

Born at night in a nest of 120 brothers and sisters the young miniatures struggle to freedom and make a run through a gauntlet of civet cats, crabs and birds to the sea.  Drawn instinctively by the white surf some make it to the water only to continue their battle for survival there among larger predators.

Their mother, a 750 kg Leatherback, was born here, on the very same beach, 18 years before. The only survivor of 1200 hatchlings she has travelled far and wide first feeding on bluebottles and then progressing to larger jelly fish.  Diving to depths of 1000m and swimming up to 3000km she returns to her birthplace to breed.

In the bay she will mate with numerous males and store up to 1200 fertilised eggs.  Then, choosing her moment, she will haul her great weight away from the support of the sea and with enormous effort begin a ritual that is hypnotic both for her and for those privileged enough to witness it.

Making tracks more than three metres wide she will progress up the beach to above the high water mark.  As long as everything remains calm and there are no obvious dangers she will choose her nesting spot. 

And then, silently, she begins digging with her hind flippers. Dig, scoop, flick; dig, scoop, flick; first with the left flipper and then with the right – creating a perfect cylindrical hole 120 cm deep.  During this stage it is essential not to disturb her. It is a laborious task she has – feeling the force of gravity for the first time.  Once satisfied she goes into a trance and begins laying.

Ping Pong eggs with soft shells drop silently into the nest – 120 in total.  It is now that you can touch her and photograph.  Her shell is silky soft and her head has a purple tint to it.  Her eyes are weep tears to keep them moist. She has rows of white spots running the length of her shell. Her grace and dignity humiliates those around her. She is greater than we are. She is mystical - an aristocrat of the seas.

And then it’s over. The nest is filled with sand and the important but arduous task of disguising her work begins. She is already exhausted and one can sense the strain. 

At last, after nearly two hours she turns back to the ocean and drags her weary hulk away from our world. As silently as she arrived she is gone.

She will repeat this ritual up to ten times in one season, laying 1200 eggs.....of which only one will reach adulthood and will return to endure the effort of survival.

After millions of years a successful breeding programme, already threatened by natural predators, is now critically endangered.  Man has arrived on the planet. And with him comes an unfair battle for survival.

The staple diet of the Leatherback is jelly fish.  Remarkably similar in appearance as a discarded plastic bag floating in the ocean.  Deadly for the Leatherback. 

Long line fishing and reckless trawlers catching anything in the vicinity of their greed – taking what is not theirs to take.  There are an estimated 34000 nesting females left in our world; and with only one in every 1200 hatchlings surviving to adulthood the numbers look likely to diminish further.

For more information on the conservation of Leatherback Turtles in Southern  Africa go to www.kznwildlife.com.

Harriet Joao

MadagasCat Charters & Travel

www.madagascatcharters.co.za

I’m always first to tell people that I consider myself lucky. Lucky in that I seem to get many many lucky breaks at just the most opportune times. In ‘Around Africa on my bicycle’ I am sure many followers/readers of that journey were amazed, as I was, as to how the timing into and out of certain countries seemed almost orchestrated for my benefit. For example, the southern part of Cameroon would have been impossible to pass through had I arrived two weeks before. Floods had made the few hundred kilometres impossible even by foot!  Now the same could be said for my ambitious rounding of Madagascar’s notoriously dangerous northerly point, in a 5 meter kayak! If I had, as I had originally hoped, to be in that part of the ocean ten days before, I probably would not have had the luxury of being here today. Not even large ocean-going ships had entered these waters at that time. But for me again, as before, the gods of fortune and co-incidence led me to Cap D’Ambre and around to Madagascar’s west coast in probably the most tranquil sea conditions I have experienced in the last three months. Unbelievable, even to me who survives solely on good fortune.

The thing I was most amazed with is how this area manages the forces that collectively, and continually, batter her from all sides. As if in a give and take relationship, the Indian Ocean and the Mozambique current collide but agree to both move in their own directions. I could draw a line with my school ruler where the two entities come together. From marble-smooth water to two foot waves smacking me around and then 20m later the same smooth water again. The most amazing thing here though is that the forces are invisible.

The stories I heard about the west coast and its calm waters were evident in the first 100m of the Mozambique Channel. I actually cannot believe some of conditions I paddled in over the last 1400km! The pictures I have seen advertising Madagascar and her idyllic island beach getaways are definitely from this side of the mainland. Let’s hope the kilometres and the time I have lost on the north eastern side will be caught up in this more hospitable environment.

Sea-life is a world of which we still have little understanding. To see a leatherback turtle of around 400 kilograms, almost the size of a 1963 VW beetle, glide past below me reminding me of my insignificance in her world. The one leatherback that popped up in front of me just north of the island of Mitsio, had a head the size of a soccer ball. Can you imagine that? Maybe the milder conditions ahead of me will open the door to more intimate interaction of the world below the hull of my kayak.

For some wonderful information on the leatherback turtle and her balancing act with extinction, please go to the website www.africa365.co.za; courtesy of the crew from Madagascat chargers in Nosy Be.

It was sometimes with disbelief when the sail fish, giant rays and dolphins swam alongside me this week - each of these animals relatively unfazed at my and the yellow kayak’s presence in their world. The dolphins seemed particularly chuffed at my ability to glide with them for a while and treated me to a wildlife acrobatics display I will never forget.

Heading south towards the famous holiday destination of Nosy Be, which in Malagasy simply means big island, I was slightly apprehensive because of the numerous negative stories I had been fed en route. The smaller villages where I have stayed in the last month warned me of the evil this tourist town presents. “There is a mafia there,” the one guy in Diego kept telling me. “Your kayak will be robbed and stolen if you don’t sleep alongside it!”

I guess it is no different in South Africa, where the countryside town inhabitants warn travelers of the dangers the nearby metropolis potentially holds. Nonetheless, I would have made a big mistake avoiding this character-laden and friendly place. Had it not been for the South African guys who hosted me on Gecko, a catamaran charter, I would not have given this town, packed to the brim with tourists, the benefit of the doubt. They took me and my ‘Round the Outside’ manager, Seamus Reynolds (who has himself done the Cape to Rio sailing race) to the outlying seas in absolute luxury.

When I first caught sight of Yacht Gecko on the horizon I believed it to be a hallucination of sorts. I have been down in spirit these last ten days and was in need of food, fresh water and, more importantly, medical attention. My hands were littered with 21 raw blisters of which half were swollen with infection. The cuts on my feet, which were originally small had now also swelled and were significantly halting my ability to move swiftly on land. Rest is what I have decided to be the primary go-to solution for my body and its aches. Continually taking antibiotics for every little scratch will eventually prove to be counter-productive if I am not careful. When a life-threatening infection takes hold of me I want to be dead certain that the medicine I take will be effective. With the attention of these kind South Africans and their crew I was able to recover and recharge. I was also taught not to believe every horror story people on the way tell me!

Yes, Madagascar is that dream holiday destination. The look of awe I have seen on the faces of the tourists here, many of them honeymooners, is a look I have not seen anywhere else in my travels. I hope some of you at home will come see Madagascar for yourself and maybe, even if by accident, be part of my welcome-back party in Tamatave next year.

Lastly, I want to encourage the schools and Education Department who have an interest in sharing Madagascar with our youngsters to be in contact via the website. We have had many individual classes asking for maps and information about the mysterious places I have already seen. I would like to share the magic of where I am and where I am going to with as many of our country’s youth as possible.

Everyone always asks me whether I have seen a shark. Before my answer was always “No, thankfully no!” but today it is an emphatic, “Yes, not again!” A northern kilometre out from the island of Kalakajoro which I had planned to set camp on for the night I was aggressively rammed from behind by a three-metre shark.

Usually the last few kilometres of each day are strenuous and seem never to come to an end so it’s understandable that I wander into a mental lull. While in this lull and imagining what land feels like again I suddenly had this 30cm high shark fin slice the water at speed across the bow of my kayak. This sudden movement startled both me and two large bottle nose dolphins who were some 10 meters away and sent them immediately aiming in the opposite direction. The benefit of seeing the two different fins at the same time allowed me quickly to ascertain that the first fin sighting to in fact be a shark. The thought of this 200kg plus beast of JAWS fame circling under me was not a calming one although anyone seeing me immediately reach for my camera could argue my state of mind to the contrary. The shark did not surface again but the dolphins, visibly agitated, continued on their route to deeper water. Two to three minutes, with my heart pounding loudly, I patiently waited to get a snap shot of the shark but it was to no avail as he did not rise again. Dejected, and I guess slightly relieved, I packed the camera away and started to paddle again, focusing again on the idea of getting to terra firma after eight hours on the open sea. Six to seven strokes later and with me nearly at my desired speed the kayak lunged forward with such force that my head snapped backwards. My mind went numb; so much so that when I try think back to what I was thinking then, I only see a blank space. Fortunately the attack was from the rear and had me accelerate in the same direction as to what I was originally travelling. Only three, four, maybe five seconds later I was able to swivel around to see what had happened behind me. In my wake, the remnants of this experience left for me to see were only foam and swirling water. My mind was still numb but now I was also in shock and disbelief. “It couldn’t have been the shark… could it ?”

What do you do in this situation? I took out my aptly named ‘Dog of War’ portable knife and extended the thick sharp blade in anticipation of another attack. Would the knife have helped in this gun fight? No, probably not, but I felt that even in a sharks’ world there can be nothing like a free lunch!  

Once safely on shore I asked all the local fishermen and also the French fishing tour operator on this tiny island what they thought of the incident and they all agreed that only a shark would have acted in this way. Especially as the splash of my paddles create that surface action synonymous with scuttling schools of bait fish, a scenario known to attract sharks.  

Get a map out a see where I am currently. I have passed through of the most beautiful scenery, island wise, that Madagascar has to offer. The Radama islands which are a bit south of tourist packed Nosy Be are stunningly pretty and to top it all, also has some of the best fishing in the world. When you read this I should have just passed the port town of Mahajanga having a few days recovery and rest. I need it.

I'm very disappointed in Madagascar right now. I don't want to feel this way but cannot help it.

Two weeks ago, during the time I lay sick in bed, thieves cleared out some vital and expensive items I had stored in my kayak. At this time it took a conscious determination to stay positive and remain focused on all the good that has come my way. After all, I was better now and the items that were lost could be replaced, albeit at some expense. I successfully maintained this attitude until the latest round of thievery; thievery that dispossessed me of my video camera and all its batteries. Again I could lecture myself as I did the on the first theft and force myself to simply digest this loss. "It's only a material item. Right? No! it unfortunately is not that simple!"

The cameras that Sony supply me with are the latest technology available. All the HD (high definition) video images I capture go directly onto the camera's built-in hard drive and then from there are downloaded onto a PC as soon as possible. To date I have made this latter download a priority so as to avoid any of this irreplaceable footage being lost. And you could have guessed it. ALL the footage I had taken since Nosy Be was on the camera the thieves got away with.

Man I was beyond furious, I was lame with disappointment. The staff at the place I had trusted with my supposedly secured belongings were now all singing a very different tune to their original one. When I had first arrived at this guest house everyone was over eager to assist and help me but now all were suddenly aloof and disinterested in my problem. Some even bizarrely accused me of creating this story so I could claim a benefit of sorts. Geez! Its times like this when I realize how alone I am. Nonetheless, a day's contemplation later and I returned to the guest house manager with a proposal. I am offering a reward to any person that returns my video camera, no questions asked.

I am holding thumbs this works out. All I want is to have that footage back!

On my Africa cycle trip I had a luxury which I did not realize to be valuable at that time. If I had had any unsavory experiences in a country and subsequently became proverbially 'gatvol' of the place I always knew that a border and a new beginning was never far off. Here I have no borders and no 'new beginnings'. I have to accept my fate and move on.

And in my usual reconciliatory mood (and the fact that voodoo is only slightly too complicated for me) I will wish the new owner of that top of the range Sony hard drive camera endless accidental formatting of irreplaceable footage they have taken.

Bon chance mon ami!

Vasti has left me since but while she was here I was able to share an incredible place with her. Lac Sacre (Sacred Lake) near the luxury resort of Anstantia, just south of Mahajanga, was spoken up by so many locals that we just had to see this place for ourselves. Most of us travellers know that many tourist sites are there just to rake in the foreign currency and are not too perturbed if the visitor is truly impressed or not. For a tourist tout, as long as he convinces you to go and you pay, then that is good enough. The next sucker would be waiting in line. The reason I make this analogy is because of the numerous superstitious stories that were originally over-fed to me regarding this supposed magical place.

And magical is what it turned out for Vasti and I! Although I still don't believe the fables that accompany the place I am still in awe of it. This whitish/greenish lake is about 30 metres in diameter, two meters deep and is home to big fish that follow you as you walk around its edge. The non‑conformist in me went against instruction and took some pictures under water of these friendly fish. The fish amazingly are a mixture of salt water and fresh water fish who now are all surviving in purely fresh water; what we in South Africa would at first sight believe to be carp and moray eels. Some of the carp in this little lake are huge and would, if caught on a ball of pap (porridge), put most 'Vaalie' dam fishermen on the cover of their local newspaper.

Over here though they would get hung! The lake is very sacred and revered by all the local population. When I asked if I could swim in the lake I was told, "Yes you can, but you cannot get out again, you will not be safe from the people."

The legend of this lake goes something like this: the king of this part of the country, at the time when Madagascar was still ruled regionally by kings, had lost a war with the ruler of Anatanarive and had fled to this waterless area of the Mahajanga region. Many of his soldiers and people began dying until a brave warrior wandered upon this place with his tribe of Zebu (cattle). When a specific one of this warrior's zebu walked on a certain area of land a fountain of fresh water began to energetically spring out of the dry ground. This revived the kings army; his people and their land was returned to them. A couple of hundred years later and the water still flows strongly.

Ending on a positive note, I met this French couple at the Antsantia resort who raised my spirits considerably. The girl told me one thing that stuck like fly paper. After her hearing of my adventure ordeals before Mahajanga and then the subsequent robbings, she challenged me with this remark - If you want to be a TRUE modern day adventurer then you need to be a true WARRIOR. Things that take place during a quest are irrelevant to a warrior, the end result is the only goal. I agree.

I am a warrior.

I'm back on the road so to speak. Actually this last week I realised I had been in Mahajanga far too long.

Every alley and road I turn down someone knows me. The local population has gone as far as even naming me! "Jesosy, Jesosy, Jesosy !" echoes as I walk down the streets, trying in vain to respond to each person with a smile or a wave. Jesosy is the Malagasy word for Jesus and it's not difficult to understand why they call me this once you see what I currently look like. My beard is bold and thick while my hair hangs at the traditional biblical length.  My chances of having a successful audition in a 'Jesus of Nazareth' production is currently at its peak, I think. Its good to be welcomed like this every day I enter the town, although personally I wish it were by another name; even 'Caveman' would do!

Sony in the interim week has duly sent replacement equipment. A saving grace for our proposed visual story we hope to screen after this trip.

Although a successful week in this regard it was also one of near calamity for me. This time on solid earth!  On the recent Sunday I headed into a familiar part of town to find an ATM and some cash. This first task I completed with reasonable success; the first withdrawal was swallowed by the ATM as I took too long to retrieve the money presented. Now I must wait a few weeks for the card company to refund me my money!  Eish!

Then as I walk away, deep in thought of what my next step will be for the day, I take reprieve from the pelting rain under a bus stop shelter. One of those metal framed ones with mandatory advertising on; we have plenty in Cape Town. A taxi bus in the time being stops across the road to collect a passenger. A bus that is headed for the exact area my kayak is being stored. I make a split second decision to go check on my kayak, run across the road, and jump into the front seat of the bus. Having literally not even shuffled my wet frame into the seat I hear the crunching sound of timber exploding and simultaneously see a huge 10 m tree that was over hanging the street and aforementioned bus stop come crashing down, crushing the left hand side of the bus stop! Exactly where I was standing! It felt as though I was dreaming, until the screams of the children woke me up. I jumped out of the bus, sprinted through the water and fortunately found the other people not to be seriously hurt. We helped to get those injured into taxis and to the hospital as quickly as a possible.

You can, for yourself, work out the thoughts that were going through my head.

The notorious rain that everyone has been warning me about has arrived but I still believe if I stick to my planned early paddling hours I will miss the winds that follow the heavy early morning downpours.

Gee! Madagascar is a complicated weather zone! A few hundred kilometres north or south, east or west and you are in a different world. I am heading directly into cyclone season but in my humble opinion, away from the biggest danger; the North coast.

I've been extremely lonely as most of you know, but am buoyed by the growing interest and support from largely our South African community back home.  567 Radio's Aiden Thomas will be chatting to me in the morning's every fortnight; so listen out. This stretch heading south to the town of Tulear you will probably be hearing less from me than in the past. Keep the messages coming!

Obviously my concern right now is the sea chaos and every day a new challenge as regards crossing large bays and river mouths. Normally my focus at these junctions will be to successfully manage the turbulence created by moving tides, currents and the expected additional millions of litres of recent rain water now trying to escape gravity. The debris is so thick with logs and foliage that at times I cannot put my paddle properly into the water. Seeing the huge trees drift by is surreal, especially considering I am at least two kilometers out to sea. The strangest thing for me has been the fact that even though I am a good way out into the Mozambique Channel, the water has been fresh without a hint of salinity. Odd! Even as exhausted and thirsty as I have been in this repressive heat, like me most would not jump with eagerness to drink this water as it is about the same colour as a kindergarten's paint brush washing tray.

This same dirt is what tarnishes a countries image, sometimes longer than people believe. Madagascar has boundless natural beauty but unfortunately the pictures going out to the world are of dirt, deception, deceit and destruction.

For me the backlash is being hassled by more aggressive and bored police. This time the problem was with the visa issued by their own Internal Affairs department. Our embassy soon resolved that problem thankfully and I was back on the water within a few hours.

I like police in general and believe it to be a thankless but honorable profession. But when I am accused around every bend of every bay of carrying weapons, being a mercenary, falsifying documents or planning a coup, I gradually become a little less inspired by these men in uniform.

The halfway point is literally around the corner and only a few days paddling away. Its going be a big milestone as those who have read 'Around Africa on my Bicycle' will know I see journeys in predominantly two parts. One half going away from home; the other half heading home. I cannot wait.

"I'm a businessman" he first told me. Exactly what kind of businessman I only found out later. Gilbert was in fact a turtle poacher and was currently on another hunt.  While we sat and ate together on the deserted stretch of beach and watched the sun set over the mocambiquen channel he explained to me how organised his industry is.

I was shocked. From ready and eager customers in Thialand to ultra organised transport routes, during our chat, he never seemed to have any qualms about his chosen career.

Obviously language is a problem for me and trying to genuinely question someone involved in a business we back home see as taboo , is at best difficult. Nonetheless Gilbert assured me he was not endangering the survival of one of the worlds' near extinct animals.

Geez , and in my view he was realy a good guy . Not a criminal as one would expect. Afterall the guy walked, yes walked, over 100 km into forest and deserted areas such as where I met him, with one goal and that to feed his family back in Mahajanga.

The bottom line is that he is wrong but actually it is the clients who are more in the wrong. They should know better. Gilbert (I hope he doesn't mind me using his name!) Truly believes he is making zero impact on the world. His upbringing has not allowed him acces to conservation info as many in the developed world have had. He like me, sees value in someone who is willing to work hard for his daily food.

My body was in horendous conditon when I landed in the village of Maintrano. Heat rash all over my body, swolen feet from mosquitoe bite infections, inflamed tendons in my shoulders, crampimg lower back , sun blistered lips and then the worst sun blindness I've ever experienced. My suffering was compounded too as I had not had a proper meal for 3 days before. Crazy !

Bottom line is that the halfway mark is a day away and what I've been aiming for for 2000km.

This journey, even in the early planning stages, has been a seesaw ride mentally. Most of the time I have only been thinking what I've always been accustomed to thinking - the positive stuff. But at times I had wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could literally chew. The week before I left I remember not being able sleep. And it wasn't just excitement. It was fear. "Had my enthusiasm for solo and obvious dangerous adventure clouded any logical decision making abilities in me?" I remember asking myself.

The numerous prophets of doom's words began to replay in my mind more often. That day I left Tamatave harbour to do the first 20km of this journey I was nauseous with fear. Fear of failure probably.

Doubt; geez its an ugly thing.

Nonetheless, here I am.  With over 2400km of Madagascar’s stunning coastline that has had me pass by her to date. Whales have been at arm's length away, giant turtles laying their eggs next to my tent, sharks ramming my kayak, parasites living in me and then of course the thousands of great Malagasy people I've met along the route.

Just as I did in 'Around Africa on my Bicycle' I cannot stop looking at a map and tracing the route that I have competed thus far. I'm now not shy to pull out the whole map and see how much I've done; and obviously still have to do.

I'm bursting with excitement to complete this journey. Surprising seeing how down and negative I'd been since my mishaps in Mahajanga. But that is the lesson. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going! 

TWO MINUTES WITH RIAAN MANSER
 
Congraulations on getting half way! Was reaching the half-way mark significant for you psychologically?
Thanks. Yip. I needed to know, or more SEE that I was getting somewhere. You move slowly on a 70kg kayak! For me motivation is not all around me. Its been a tough last 800km. Lonely, deserted and without any communication. So when I realise I've actually gone this far I like to find a reason to pat myself on the back. And that's not often!

Have you needed the boost?
Definitely, I've been very negative since Mahajanga. The robbings etc were severe on my view of Malagasy people and subsequently made every interaction from there-on a over cautious one. Not good for relationship building. I've eased slightly with my apprehension and it’s helped me to see the obvious positives in going over the halfway line.

Any different from reaching your cycling half-way mark?
The cycling was different. Way different. This more isolated, physically challenging and mentally draining. Halfway here represents for me, to some degree, that this journey and its challenges will come to a finality; that is if I just keep going. I'm on the way home now.

How are you feeling physically at the moment?
I'm strong and in healthy shape. Par for course though which I have to accept is the pain associated with the gruelling daily effort, day in day out. Tendons in my wrists and shoulders inflame quickly when under undue stress. Take into account that I do approx 20 000 effort filled strokes per day. That is beyond extreme. I'm surprised how I'm holding up!  My hands blister, swell and are infected every day. Mosquitoes come out in there thousands as the sun dips below the horizon. I scratch these bites raw to my own detriment. In sea water these initially small abrasions only grow in size and deteriorate rapidly to infections. My feet swell sometimes overnight! Then there are jelly fish stings etc., a lot to look out for when at sea so long.

I'm eating a bit better than I did when I initially left Mahajanga, catching fish was near impossible because of the terrain I was crossing so relied on sweets and water to sustain energy. Now though I have deeper water and can catch dinner every day or two. Eating well definitely lifts my spirits, apart from physically reinforcing me.

How have you been affected by the weather/cyclones?
I have learnt a lot about the weather and its destruction while here. South Africans 'watch' a lot of things on TV. We don't actually experience them. As a child I endured cyclone Demoina from a brick house - different experience. The people here have to watch the roofs of their houses and all their belonging blow away when a cyclone hits. The biggest shock was having a huge tree collapse over a bus stand I was standing under 10 seconds before. It was during the Fanele cyclone in Mahajanga. And we were only on the edge of this cyclone itself! I don't want to be out at sea on my 5m kayak in those conditions.

How would you compare the differences in the physical challenges?
I believed, with my natural exuberance and enthusiasm, coupled with the Africa circumnavigation experience, I was more street-wise when deciding to tackle this world first attempt. I was very wrong. Geez, the sea and nature are non-measurable and non-negotiable. I've learnt quickly. Still I have no regrets going as blindly as I have. Attitude is the absolute and definitive ingredient for success. No doubt!

You’ve had quite a few rough patches on this trip. Which have been the hardest to live with?
Loneliness. Its hell out there to suffer day in day out, especially this last 800km and have no communication. If I did not see a human being for three day it would be normal. Then if I did see someone the chances of communication are minimal. My vocabulary of Malagasy language is ok, but limited. Local are also very afraid of white people because of historical/political propaganda. South African white people are all mercenaries and want to over throw the government to colonise the country! Can you believe people actually believe that? But that's what Malagasy people, especially in the southwest believe to be fact. Makes it difficult for me sometimes. I want to make some real friends while here.

What has been your lowest point so far?
Robbery of my camera and other baggage in Mahajanga. Geez. I had awesome footage. A bird landing on my kayak 20km out at sea to rest. A turtle crawling up alongside my tent and laying her eggs. Never again footage. Stuff I cannot show people now. I was disappointed, very disappointed.

You were plagued by insect bites on your last trip – what precautions have you taken this time, if any?
None really. I regret having this approach but have this semi rational idea that if the locals live with this plague their whole lives I can surely cope with it for one night. Again, I never learn my lesson!
 
Worst injury or physical issue – including insect bites?
Tendon inflammation. It doesn't matter how big or strong your muscles are, when tendons are inflamed you are almost immovable. Insect bites from spiders etc have been frequent and severe but manageable.
 
Average distance travelled per day?
35km

Furthest in a day?
60km

What has been your best meal so far on this trip?
Spaghetti bolognaise has been the best. I have know idea why I specifically crave it. People in the early stages of my trip believed me to be Italian because all I ever asked for was spaghetti bolognaise!

Your worst?
I'm not a fussy guy and very rarely, especially if I need the sustenance, will I complain about a meal. Eating turtle meat on Irodo Island was not a pleasure though. I was hungry but could not stop thinking of conservation issues as I munched away.

The longest you’ve been without food?
Three days without a solid meal. I've never experienced that. Never thought I'd have to.

Your best time of day?
If the wind is from behind - the late afternoon. I stress, if the wind is from behind!

Most beautiful sight on this trip?
The humpback whale cow and calf two meters away from me. The experience was more than just visual.
 
Your most frequent thought?
What is Vasti doing now? And Russel my pig? And Jody and Cruise my dogs? And Jumanji my cat? Gee, I miss home.

"Was I going to paddle at night?"

"Was I going to break the one rule I had assured myself I would not on this journey?"

It turned out, yes I was! And it is without shame that I admit my wants presided over my needs at this stage. Yes, Seamus was going to be there and yes I understood the time factor, but right now, after already 13 hours at sea in that same crunched up position, I wanted nothing more than a steaming big plate of spaghetti bolognaise. You see what made me almost certain about this possible reward was that a friend of Hillary Bradt (Bradt guide books), owns the hotel Chez Maggie and had promised to spoil us while Seamus was there. My spoiling would begin tonight, not tomorrow.

Dense darkness blanketed me where I could not even make out the shape of my kayak. The sea continually pitching waves over me without warning and thoughts of what lurked in the deep waters below me became even more prominent. But I paddled for that spaghetti. And paddled. The wind turned to a strong southerly, now directly in my face. Bringing my average speed to 4km/h, slow going! It was only at about 8pm when I caught sight of the cell phone masts roughly 10km in the distance, I realised I was nearly there. In a daze of renewed energy I was eventually alongside the sprinkling lights of Morondava village. Made a few crash landings in the darkness to find out where I was and eventually at 10pm had the assistance of a couple late night beach strollers carry my kayak to Chez Maggie's entrance. 16 and a half hours later and I was about to satisfy both my needs and my wants.

Pity Seamus' flight was delayed and he would only be getting in the next day! The spaghetti was good though.

'This is no picnic!' or 'this is no walk in the park' are clichés apt for my situation right now. Though the one cliché perfectly outlining how I feel is 'This is no holiday!'

Geezlike I'm in the heart of Indian ocean beauty with some of Madagascar’s most exotically beautiful waters ahead and all I am thinking about is how I can begin to recover physically. The biggest problem right now are the numerous scratches, cuts and bumps that before healed pretty quickly, are all festering and now growing in size. With these unsightly sores I have at times resembled a beachcombing leper! Couple that with the heat rash that also originally would settle once I had had a day out of the sun and sea. Now my entire back and most of my arms are covered in a semi infected but constantly stinging bumpy rash. The freshly plucked chicken look!

Coupled to this physical deterioration is the an attitude that simply won't admit a problem. This even though every night I scratch, moan, groan, toss and turn for hours before eventually falling asleep. It 'sort of' only dawned on me that I'm in serious denial this week while having a live radio interview with John Robbie on Radio 702. He asked me how I was holding up physically. I went straight into my default positive response mode, mentioning that the odd ache and pain associated with doing 20 000 strokes a day can be expected, but ending with, "No, I'm in great shape John and feeling good." All during this conversation I was fiddling away on a boil that has formed on the crease of my right hand just above the thumb. It lies a few layers of skin below the surface and is extremely painful when I paddle. Never mind holding my toothbrush. To extricate, one would have to lance open the infection. Not an option for me right now!

Geez, now if I was semi-sane and gave it some thought I would understand how valuable firstly my hands are and secondly the health of my entire body. The bottom line though is that it comes down to the fact that every day longer here is one day less at home.

Now if you have not realised yet, this article in some way is serving as therapy. Similar to what washing dishes or gardening can psychologically do for you. I've nearly, nearly convinced myself of a total recovery plan in Tulear. Nearly!

This coup, slash change in power, could really have been scheduled slightly differently. I mean come on, here I am nearing the end section of the journey and should in most instances be sharing the amazing facts about Madagascar's wonders, instead of having to live through this turmoil with the local population. It's a big challenge to paint the paradise picture to the world that most would have expected, to say the least!

Fortunately, a month ago, I had just left Mahajanga when the first riots and looting began in the major towns. This gave me a co‑incidentally appropriate quiet month in the most isolated and newsless region of the country, very fortunate considering what I've heard and seen lately. Now that I've arrived in Tulear, the tense atmosphere is tangible and everyone has an opinion.

What has amazed me the most is the lack of tourists wherever I've landed. Some of the prettiest places while nearing Tulear, which normally have a substantial number of foreigners enjoying the spectacular diving sites, were empty. If you take time to observe how sometimes a huge chunk of one village relies solely on tourist spending, then you will understand the grave situation Madagascar faces. People in the industry will tell you that it is a temporary slowdown but the fact is, just like South Africa still suffers today, opinions last a lot longer. The reputation of Madagascan people being laid back, island-going people, has been hurt. And the foolish believe it’s temporary.

Madagascar tourism need a strategy beyond just telling delegates at the next function that all the violence and turmoil has disappeared. Come on! The average thinking person will work out that a few million people voted Marc Ravalomanana back into power in 2006, and will still support him irrespective of a new president that has been put in place by the military. It simply is not all plain sailing, as I have seen in the cities.

Madagascar as an entire entity, government and its marketing bodies, need to convince the world it has a clear and precise strategy of delivering to the masses it has excited so over the last five weeks. Africa has history of liberations but few, if any, have a history of delivering on its promises. Quite the opposite.

I know my tone is different from many articles before but I am gravely disappointed in what has happened in Madagascar. I don't care who is president or who is the most corrupt, because after experiencing the beauty I have in the last seven months, I sincerely believed Madagascar to have avoided the instability trap-hole of the rest of Africa.

Now I have 1300 km of worry ahead, instead of the dominating feeling of heading back home. I hope, no I know, it’s temporary. Best thing is me back with the sea.

"I'm not in it for this!" This is what I've been repeating to myself non stop the last two days - two days after being attacked and held up at gunpoint in this port town of Tulear.

The bottom line is that I am 100% willing to accept adventure in whatever form she presents herself to me. That's why I am here, afterall. It’s just that when my life is at stake and literally not in my hands I begin to wonder what is really worth offering my life up for.

Geez, one thing that is exactly the same about what has happened two days ago and to the time when I was held hostage by the Liberian rebels on my Africa cycle trip is that these life threatening situations make you think more honestly and simultaneously, almost involuntarily, take stock and accountability for where you are in your life right now. "Am I using the two score years and ten allocated to me to its maximum?
"What did I do with this last year that passed by? The last month, week, day?"

Many people believe the journeys that I undertake to be my ultimate dreams coming to fruition. This is in fact not true. My ultimate dream is to one day have children. Take my son to rugby matches, watch my daughter in a school play, with my wife plan how we are going to give our children more than we had as children. Beyond the sleepless nights with crying babies and the inevitable teenage rebellion years I can see my dream turning out to be at least half of the vision I hope and dream for. That will be good enough.

I'm off in a few minutes to attend a rally being held at the beach promenade's public area. The new president of Madagascar, AndryRajoelina, is arriving with his cavalcade to apparently reassure Malagasy people in this region that their lives will improve with him at the helm. It would be good for me though to have a one on one chat with him, relating not only my recent experiences but also the special ones I've been privileged to have had thus far. Madagascar needs a leader, not a new president - someone to look up to and aspire to be like. I think Andry has the charm, I just don't know if he has the know how to run a country and avoid running down the same road all his predecessors have before him. Self interest needs to be secondary for a country in turmoil, physically and mentally.

A country that I think in the 'hero to zero' race would be hot on the heels of Zimbabwe if it is not careful. This though would be a race you would purposefully aim to lose. Heck! Why even participate?

Come on Madagascar. Stand up and get in charge of your destiny.

In the space of minutes this week, after my ordeal, I received hundreds of emails reminding me of why I am here and what I aim to achieve. Thank you. I did need it. Riaan Manser is back. It'll take way more to stop me.

The new president came to town, I had my passport documents replaced, DHL sent the replacement equipment lost in the hold up to me at no charge and then to round off the week I met an Ozzie who is making diesel fuel from the seeds of the jatropha plant.

The president in town was a mixture of feelings for me because I directly relate the lawlessness in Madagascar to the way in which the 'new' president came to power. It was undemocratic, violent and unfortunately as in many other African country's changes in power it came with support from the military. An environment I think a bandit would see as ideal to ply his trade!  Getting my documents replaced so quickly was a paradox in its own right. Apparently all government institutions are semi crippled currently because of the obvious and reigning uncertainty. This was not so as the documents needed by me to carry on my journey were issued in a speedy two/three days.

DHL South Africa, on hearing of my Tulear gun hold up, decided to offer their services in getting the most vital of lost supplies to me in record time. The Garmin GPS has never been more important on this journey as the terrain I'm heading for now include stretches of 200km of sheer cliffs. To find the safest place among these rocks to land is only possible with my Garmin. Without it I might as well paddle blindly. I’m really chuffed DHL helped out with this package transport as the last courier duties I was expected to pay hovered around the $400 mark. Unbelievable!

The highlight though this last week was to meet the CEO of a company called GEM (Green Energy Madagascar) run by this globe trotter extraordinaire. Adam Broadhurst. Ok, he's an Ozzie and currently I don't need the Ozzie twang in my ear constantly reminding me how they have beat us on our home soil recently. I'm hoping for some one sided victories going our way soon!

Adam employs an unbelievable 8500 people to plant and care for the Jatropha crops he has planted from scratch. Jatropha, he and his company believe will be the fuel of the future. Unparalleled diesel fuel yield from a tree that is hardier than a cactus and delivers over 35% oil from one seed pod. Considering my car back home is diesel powered and if you take into consideration to what extent I have gone to keep my adventures self propelled and unassisted it makes sense to most people why ill store Adam's number on my cell phone contact list. Space here does not allow me to explain the entire process so go onto the website and read the link we have added. Very very interesting. From the planting of these quick growing trees, to the crushing of the seed pods, to eventually pouring the diesel into your car and driving the kids to school. It’s all there. Personally I think humans are realising that they have been "too" for their own good in the last 50 years. Maybe we as a human race will show real intelligence in the next decade and actually do what that most scientist believe to be impossible; that of reversing the destruction we have caused on our planet.

And that brings me back to Madagascar and her beauty. Nothing and I mean nothing has changed as regards to the tourism possibilities here. On chatting to my friend, Harriet Joao from Yacht Gecko in Nosy Be, we both agreed how surreal it is to be in Madagascar, witnessing beauty wake up and go to sleep on a daily basis, while the rest of the world quivers to book a holiday here. Harriet is managing the exclusive group from SA that will be toured personally by here through some of Madagascar’s exotic (and safe) destinations before taking you to the beach where I started 8 months ago to see me land my kayak on the exact same spot I started. You obviously will be sipping your long island ice tea and nibbling on the crayfish thermidor while I tiredly stagger onto the beach in front of you.

Come see some history.

The world has changed dramatically. I am battling seas that are reminiscent of the east coast I negotiated at the end of last year - huge six metre swells and permanent head winds of over 25kms per hour. Strangely enough, it seems like years since I could safely budget five kilometres in a  day.

Actually what it has come down to, is that my entire regime and routine have been turned upside down. Many people ask what a day in my Madagascar life is like. Previously I would wake up just before sunrise, pack my tent and baggage away before setting off on what I considered stage one of a three stage day. Early morning conditions are usually favourable and this is where, in the first four or five hours, I try getting 60% of the budgeted distance out of the way, allowing me the opportunity to beach somewhere at lunchtime and have a drink of energy juice (lukewarm!) And possibly throw in a 20-30 minute nap. The afternoon would then, depending on the conditions, see me complete the remaining distance an hour before sunset. Should conditions become increasingly too difficult I would negotiate a settlement plan with myself. This settlement plan usually entails calculating the total distance I had hoped to do that day against how it would negatively affect the tomorrow’s budgeted distance. Secondly it includes how I plan, in the bad seas, to cover the remaining kilometres. Either I would try push with all I have to complete the day as soon as is possible, or I could go ‘mora mora’ (slowly, slowly) but subsequently may finish much later in the day. Hopefully, before sunset. This system has worked out for me with a varying degree of success, not always have I made the exact distance planned and sometimes I’d be paddling long after the sun has already set. The latter being a non-negotiable for most sea paddlers.

Now I find myself having only a three to four hour padding window in which to cover a reasonable distance with comfort. The headwinds combined with the huge swell decided this new pattern for me. Add a head-on current in the mix and, even with extreme effort, I literally and unintentionally am heading back up the coast of Madagascar.  Should the conditions allow, I now push on through the day. Stopping on land for a mid-day snooze has become near impossible too; cliffs run for a hundred kilometres in some places and with an unprotected beach the negotiating of a dangerous beach-landing is something I only want once a day.

The coast is stunningly beautiful, I often stop to marvel and remind myself where I am on the planet.

Congratulations to Paul Boyce who won the First Prize Adventure Pack in our recent website competition. My sponsors laid on a mélange of expensive toys for the prize winners and to them I am again very grateful. Check out the website and see again who these guys are that have helped get me this far around Madagascar.

As far as my final arrival date goes I can with some accuracy say it should be more towards the end of June. The adventure that the town of Tulear served up for me put a three to four week delay in my planning. It’s Vasti’s birthday next and I really had planned to have spent it with her in Madagascar.

For those who have work leave and the resources available I invite you again to join me at the finish line. The website www.africa365.co.za has detailed information on how to get yourself over to the ‘eighth’ continent.

“Yes, the sea you will have to worry about, but your real worry should be the cannibal villages en route. There are many in the deep South of Madagascar”.  This was the warning from Tananarive locals whom I met in the Fishermen’s village of Beheloka.

“Nah, criminals don’t exist”.

“Nah, cannibals don’t exist anymore, that is no more than a dramatized folklore  still doing the rounds now, isn’t it?” I reply trying to convince myself that my belief in that ‘seeing is believing’, only then I will believe such a far-fetching tale.

I have heard, but also from my one experience I can tell you, that the Dezo tribe down south, are a far tougher bunch than the rest of Madagascar’s people I have met to date.  But I still don’t think any have had any inclination to eat me.  To add to this, I thumb to believe that 99 % of Malagasies live under the fear of Fady and fairy tales.  ‘Fady’ meaning a cultural superstition and fairy tales exactly that, stories about fairies!  An example of a Fady, that certain people live in fear of, is related to wolves. If an Aye-Aye Lemur comes into the village at night, then someone in that village will die.  If a woman witnesses the slaughter of a turtle she will bring bad luck to her family or bear no more children. And then one Fady that affects me directly is the belief that if a white man touches your child on the head, the child could go crazy or suffer under some prolonged illness.  The chief of a village would be the only one who can expel the demons during a lengthy ceremony, and obviously at some cost.  As regards the fairy tales, geez! I’ve stumbled across many although the mermaid one still perplexes me.  Each person who has now told me that they saw a mermaid has nearly convinced me that they exist, so convincing they have been. Okay, as a kid I also saw the movie Splash and with nearly every surf session for a year after, wished that Darryl Hannah would pop out of the water. It didn’t happen. Show me a photo or something that will convince me without any doubt.  I mean even the Loch Ness monster advocates have had me near to enrolling to ‘Save the Loch Ness Society’.  I just want proof to believe a fairy tale.

The last few days of paddling have literally been cases of a daily running of the gauntlet. When I set off in the morning at sun rise, I have no option to continue on route to the days planned destination.  With the swell pounding the rocky shore to my left I have no option of bailing out of the days plan.  My approach to the town of Itampolo being a good example.  The morning started roughly with a southerly wind blowing in my face from 7am.  This early morning wind predicted only one thing, stronger wind later on. I had 45kms planned and by 9am almost was willing to make a dangerous rock landing, instead of continuing at 3-4km per hour.  Fortunately the wind dropped for about four hours to give me that break I desperately needed.  I arrived at my safe landing spot 13 hours later.  All part of the fun I guess.

Coming back to the cannibal issue, I have decided that any walking away I do from new village friends on route will always be done in reverse.  I’m not going to up my level of risk, whatever that may be, by sauntering away with my hind quarters invitingly bouncing away in my wetsuit pants.

As I write this I am literally a handful of kilometres from Madagascar’s southerly tip, Cap St Marie, the weather has made it impossible to launch my little five metre kayak into the five metre swells. I feel though, as I wait here in the village of Lavanono for the fourth day straight now, that I am strangely enough being taunted, rather than being tested. The sea is re-affirming its dominance and reminding me of where I fit into the food chain once I am in her domain.

Lavanono is pretty enough though to have helped me manage the boredom, whilst also giving me the opportunity to service the kayak. A kayak that needs some serious and devoted TLC. The surfing spot here is legendary, offering rides of up to a kilometre in length on good days. A huge pity though to hear stories dating back to the early 90’s (when you would have expected some resistance) of Japanese expats using dynamite to blow chunks of the reef away to allow easier access to the beach for pirogue-going fisherman. Check out www.africa365.co.za to see what the small hotel owner, Gigi, has got up to in this place. Some stunning surfing pics! Gigi though, did remind me that he is not looking for huge bus loads of dread-locked surfers to invade the village. His focus is conservation first and thereafter, safety. The village cannot handle 50 surfers at one time and secondly, where I find myself now, it is deep into the Malagasy wilderness. No chance of medical care or emergency evacuation if you accidentally make too close an acquaintance with the jagged and razor-sharp reef. It made me think a bit more about where I found myself while on this journey around Madagascar; I have certainly been in way more isolated and alone places than this. Eish! Sometimes I need to go blindly and foolishly just as I have, or else this journey would remain forever on the never been done before list.

I have had a rather painful, yet nostalgic, few moments recently. Growing up in Zululand, part of my upbringing was to run in the thorns, known in Afrikaans as dubbeltjies. The legend goes as far back as King Shala’s days where part of his soldiers training required them to be able to run over fields of these thorns without batting an eyelid, not easy. My first morning here in Lavanono had me investigate the little village, barefoot! Yip, you can just imagine me confidently waltzing down the sandy track in search of a cup of coffee and stopping every few metres to remove the thorns that had embedded themselves into my eight-month water-soaked, soft under soles. Oh la la! It only got worse as I stubbornly continued, while gradually attracting a vocal but supportive audience. Similar to running over a hot coal scenario, I expect. This time my stubbornness did not see me through, because I had eventually walked myself into the thickest area of these thorns. To try balance on the one foot to allow the extracting of the dubbeltjies from the other, became impossible. And futile, as anywhere I put the just cleared foot down was immediately back into another batch of thorns. Chatter from the crowd turned into laughter and eventually one of the hardened, and wiser village elders walked over to me and handed me his sandals to use for my humble escape. Did I mention he walked to me and away, barefoot? Yip, one of King Shaka’s boys for sure.

Hopefully I will be in the water tomorrow to round this famous southerly point, one that has claimed many an ancient vessel. Incidentally on the southern stretch I have passed over ship wrecks that lie a kilometre below the ocean to as little as one metre on exposed reefs. A modern day treasure hunters fantasy.

It has been a stunning week for me; mostly. To have rounded a cape, feared for centuries by seamen the world over, on a tiny little five metre kayak is something I rightly have reason to be proud of. The problem though is that I type this article on my cellphone from a bat, rat and flea infested prison cell at Mbovombe police station.

I’m not blowing a trumpet of any kind about this latest obstacle conquered, but there are very few people who really understand the physical conditions and risks I daily endure. Many individuals have received grand adulation for way less; I mean being a contestant in the Big Brother house by default earns you millions of adoring fans. So just for the record, there is no applause out at sea.

The most southerly point of Madagascar is known as Cap St Marie where the limestone mountain drops at a perpendicular angle into the never ending crash of huge waves at its base. It is truly one of the most stunning sites I've had on this 9 month journey thus far. Yes, I felt somewhat outside myself as I bobbed around here at the mercy of the huge five meter swells, also somewhat spiritual while taking stock of how far I'd actually come. Geez, I felt like a million bucks as I craned my neck upwards to see the towering orangey yellow cliffs and boulders above me. The memories of the other three 'points' - east, north and west - flooded back, and again I had that invisible beam of motivation and inspiration hit me square on. An out of body experience, out at sea. I made a video diary here and cannot remember what I said in it, except for telling the camera to go to Google Earth and see where I find myself right now. They will not believe that I'm out there all alone, unaided and on the smallest sea going vessel used by man.

The very, very, very big downer though is that I've been arrested… again. I’ll spare the details of how it all unfolded but essentially an intoxicated mayor and his brigade chief had little else to do but harass me this Saturday afternoon and demand my passport. As many know I was robbed at gunpoint in Tulear last month and had items stolen, including the copies of my passport. I have a document from the police there explaining this in detail. The mayor (of this 20 hut village) and his entourage were not interested in hearing my story and had me taken to the town of Mbovombe and jailed for two nights in a filthy police cell.  The charge was terrorism/mercenary activity. Can you imagine the mentality that was employed in eventually jailing me? I can't begin. Swolen feet, strapped wrists, a kayak, 10 month history in Madagascar and the assurance from the embassy staff that I am in fact legit and secondly doing work for Madagascar tourism while here. I think tourism Madagascar will excuse me for not jumping up and down to get a positive message out. Spend an hour with me in this cell with the lights off and feel how the bats crawl over you while rats scurry around at your bare feet. Did I mention the fleas jumping around in your pants and shirt at the same time, feeding off you? Not pleasant, especially for a guy trying at every attempt to show the world the positive side of a misjudged continent.  Check in on www.africa365.co.za to see what has happened in the time being. My expedition manager updates the site and Facebook links daily.

A special moment I had this week though included a 2-metre hammerhead shark experience that will be difficult to forget. In slightly murky water approximately 2.5 kilometres out to sea, and an hour into my paddling day, this grey shark just popped out of the water two metre from my kayak. It was moving in the same direction as me and just a tad slower. Firstly I could not make out what shark it was but after I stopped paddling and just glided alongside it we moved to within one meter of each other. By now I could see its eyes clearly on the edge of its hammer-shaped head and how the lines of differing shades of grey run along its body. It was feeding I think and was not at all concerned at my presence.  Only when I tried to take a picture, making a noise with my graphite Orka paddle against the camera, did it calmly veer away from the kayak. Energised is a better way to describe what most will refer to as fear after encountering a shark of any kind.

In a few days I’ll be in Fort Dauphin, find the many South African guys working there and hopefully see the Bulls beat the Chiefs at Loftus. Gee I miss rugby big time. Among all the other things I've taken for granted of course. Like a warm bed that is not at ground level, not shared with wild creatures, not in a room without windows and not unsympathetically signposted with the words PRISON. Taking things for granted I was!