This little guy (gal?), a Gray Bamboo Lemur, charmed me right away. Banana in hand, looking straight at me, little pink tongue sticking out – you can’t get much more photogenic than this.
Our encounter took place on Lemur Island, near Andasibe-Mantadia National Park on the eastern side of Madagascar. It’s a small preserve, home to a variety of rescued lemurs. It requires a canoe ride to reach it – about a 60 second canoe ride – so that adds to the entertainment value.
Many of the lemurs are habituated to humans and are easily persuaded to come check you out. The Common Brown Lemurs were the most social, while some were a little more reserved (like this guy and the Black and White Ruffed Lemur). This Gray Bamboo Lemur the only one we saw of its species on the whole trip.
You may wonder what he/she is doing in this photo. Seconds before, the guide smeared some more banana on the tree trunk, so the lemur is licking it off.
And here, the guide is offering him a fresh green bamboo shoot, which he spent a few seconds thoughtfully chewing on before deciding we humans weren’t that interesting anymore, and leaped away in small bounds from tree to tree.
Sun, alcohol, and stupidity – I believe I alluded to that in my last blog post so many months ago. I’ve got no excuses for being so incredibly absent from my blog, other than sheer laziness, and certainly no excuses for that alcohol.
It was a beautiful, but hot September in Madagascar. The day before, we had flown south from Antananarivo (Tana), the capital city, to a private, tiny dirt airstrip, in two tiny planes. That’s an experience requiring a lot of weighing – of everything and everyone. No, really, they weighed each person and divided us up between the two aircraft, with assigned seating so that everything was properly balanced. We were picked up by our mini-bus driver who’d left Tana two whole days before us in order to get there on time.
Our first full day excursion into Isalo National Park was a hike into Namaza Canyon, the first half of which didn’t have much shade until we reached a picnic area. Here, we had our one chance to see some Ringtails, the most famous lemur species. About half of us hiked the rest of the way into the canyon, our efforts rewarded with a beautiful little oasis.
While I definitely appreciated the shaded, cool atmosphere of our destination, I didn’t feel like I had gotten dehydrated on the way in. Or on our return trek. I drank plenty of water and never felt over-heated until near the very end, when my heart started beating really fast and I had the sudden urge to get back to the air-conditioned minibus. I pushed my way past a couple other people, probably a bit rudely, and hoofed it outta there.
Back in our beautiful stone chalet at the Relais de la Reine Hotel (one of two hotels who owns that dirt airstrip), my plan for a cool shower was aborted when I realized our laundry had not yet been returned. No clean clothes = no shower (why bother if I had nothing else to wear?) So, what did I do instead? Yep, you guessed it, I headed to the main building and the bar, and helped myself to a pint of Three Horses Beer, a local lager that is the country’s top-seller. I still didn’t feel dehydrated, but adding the alcohol, not to mention starting on a second pint, really wasn’t a good idea.
Abandoning the second beer at the dinner table, where I lasted for about five minutes before having to excuse myself, and ran to the little restroom just off the lobby to, you know, upchuck all that alcohol. (Apologies to the next woman who may have tried to use that facility.)
As I made my way back to the chalet, I paid little attention to the odd beauty of the orange glow dominating the darkened horizon, only momentarily wishing I had the energy to get my camera to capture the stunning landscape. Yes, the hotel was surrounded on three sides by grass fires that night. There were different opinions on the cause of the fires: either local farmers clearing land, local villagers unhappy with their percentage of the national park’s profits, or maybe cattle rustlers.
A couple of others in my tour group later shared some photos with me. I’ll try to arrange them here to give you a sense of what it was like. The thing that sticks in my mind the most is the number of hotel guests who were lounging outside, watching the fires, all seemingly unconcerned. It was odd to me because I remember the panic of wildfires here in Northern California (1991 Oakland Hills Fire, anybody??) It was surreal. I later learned there were a few worried people, primarily the owner of a private plane that was sitting at the airstrip. Most of the hotel staff was, in fact, out there keeping the flames away from the plane.
The rest of my night was not so entertaining. I got little sleep, running back and forth to the restroom. (I’ll spare you the details.) There were times where I felt so completely drained I didn’t think I had the strength to walk the few feet back to my bed, convinced I was going to drop to the floor at any second. My poor friend, and roomie, Bobbie, kept checking on me (as did our tour leader, Andre, who had what turned out to be the best remedy: charcoal tablets.)
I was completely useless the next day, staying sequestered in the chalet, while the others went on another hike (I missed the swimming hole!). Many thanks to the hotel staff who checked on me during the day and brought me soup and juice. They were all very kind. While I did recover enough to enjoy the second week of the trip, my appetite dropped drastically and I didn’t dare drink another beer until our very last night. I lost about five pounds. (I do NOT recommend this as a weight-loss strategy.)
As I said in my previous post, it’s possible this incident had something to do with my later illness, but who knows? It could’ve compromised my immune system, I suppose. Maybe breathing in smoke from the wildfires had something to do with setting off my asthma, but I’m thinking that would’ve had a more immediate effect rather than a delayed one. I’m just happy that it’s over with.
So now that it’s summer again, remember kids, don’t try this at home. Or on vacation.
A month ago today, I returned home from a two week vacation on the island nation of Madagascar (off the southeast coast of Africa), an amazingly beautiful yet harsh land. I promise more on the actual trip in future blog posts. Do you love lemurs as much as I do? (I got pictures to share!)
Tonight, as I sit here near the end of my “self-imposed exile” from the office, I want to write about breathing. Any asthmatics out there? Raise your hands! Try not to wheeze or cough — you might make your co-workers think you’ve brought some horrific disease from overseas to infect them all. Got your rescue inhaler handy at all times? Good.
I’ve been pretty fortunate when it comes to my asthma. I’ve never suffered an acute attack (like you see in movies) and I’ve never landed myself in the hospital because of it. But in the last 15 or so years, I’ve experienced about a half dozen asthma “events” (as my doctor calls them) where, for a number of days, my asthma is not under control. The typical remedy has been a round of prednisone. (Only once before have I needed a second round.) Aside from needing to attend doctors’ appointments, I’ve never before missed work because of it.
Now, in the past four weeks, I’ve used a little more than 100 hours of my sick leave (yep – you read that number right – fortunately I’ve not been sick much these last few years and was able to accumulate a decent balance to draw from). I’ll see the final total when I get back to work on Monday. Browsing the internet, I saw a statistic that said asthma is the fourth leading cause of absenteeism from work for adults. Wow. I have now joined those ranks. Never thought I would. But it’s quite difficult to work when one can’t breathe, isn’t it?
You’re probably asking what this has to do with Madagascar. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. It was one of the harder trips I’ve taken and I was sick in the middle of the trip although that had more to do with sun, alcohol, and stupidity (more on that next time). Maybe that day’s illness set up my immune system for the later failure. Maybe my subsequent drop in appetite for the rest of the trip had an effect on me.
But there I was, four weeks ago, dropping onto my sofa exhausted and jet-lagged after 36 hours of travel (Antananarivo to Johannesburg to New York to Oakland). I’d spent the majority of the day sitting in La Guardia Airport waiting for my delayed flight west…sneezing and coughing. (Thanks to whichever fellow traveler gave me their cold!) It didn’t seem like such a bad cold at first, but then I was pretty much half-conscious throughout the following day. So much so that when one of my cats accidentally punctured my finger with a claw, I did not wash it. (Here’s a tip: even if you’re half-dead and barely mobile, if you get a cat scratch, WASH THE WOUND.)
You can guess where this is headed. That was late Tuesday/early Wednesday. By Friday, my finger was infected and the seemingly mild cold had morphed into a racking chest cough (the kind that hurts, making you cringe). Oh, and yes, I did attempt to go to work – I managed to get through a couple half days – then went to the doctor. She loaded me up with prednisone, some nice cough syrup, and antibiotics for the finger (tests showed it was just a common form of streptococcus something or other that my cat had gifted me with).
While the finger healed and the worst of the cough eased over the next week, my asthma symptoms did not. Back to the doctors the next Friday. More prednisone, change in asthma medications. And, yes, I did try to go to work. But I have to confess my memory is a little fuzzy. I can’t remember if I made it 4 days the first week and only 1 day the next (or if that was reversed). Hmm. I also discovered that some of my co-workers were very unhappy and complaining to my supervisor. (Somebody is apparently convinced I brought the plague back from Madagascar and was spreading it around the office with my hacking & coughing.) People don’t seem to listen when you say “it’s just asthma.”
So when I ended up back at the doctor’s during the third week, I mentioned those concerns. My doctor had already checked with an infectious disease specialist in the event that I’d picked up “an uncommon bug” – they said there was nothing to worry about. By that time I was on my third antibiotic, so not only was it pointless to test me for anything, I had long ago ceased being potentially contagious. (Fourth antibiotic if you count the anti-malaria medication I was on during the trip.) My lung x-rays were clear and all the blood tests (checking things like my thyroid, kidneys, heart, etc.) all came up average. Nothing that explained the extreme fatigue I still felt and the continued stubbornness of my asthma refusing to be reined in. So…more prednisone and a home nebulizer.
When I floated the idea of another week off work (a whole week of nothing – not even trying to do a half day or anything – just resting and recuperating)…yeah…you guessed it. My supervisor and co-workers were more than enthusiastic. Maybe I should say they were very supportive. (Either they really want me to get better or they are truly tired of listening to me cough.)
With one more day to go, I can say it’s been a successful respite. I’m no longer gasping for air when I climb the stairs, No more wheezing and coughing. I still sometimes run out of air when I’m talking and get a little hoarse, but it’s definitely not as pronounced. I think I’ve finally gotten enough sleep too. I know the cats have certainly enjoyed this week. They’ve spent most of it piled on top of me. (Yes, even the one who scratched me.)
So…when I return to work next Monday, if you hear me cough, “it’s just asthma, people” Sheesh. Let me breathe.
(Maybe they should add “No heavy lifting” at the bottom of that sign, eh?) It happened on Day 10 of our African safari, leaving me in excruciating pain for the last five days of my vacation. There I was, preparing to check out of the David Livingstone Safari Lodge Spa in Livingstone, Zambia, before moving on to Mfuwe Lodge in the South Luangwa National Park. If you’ve traveled as part of a group, you know the drill: place your luggage near your door (outside or inside) for the porters to collect. My backpack was all ready and sitting on a chair. I picked it up, twisted to the left, and bent over to place the backpack on the floor. Pop! (Yes, I actually heard – and felt – a pop.) There went one of the discs in my back. Those of you who’ve suffered a herniated disc (aka bulging disc) know the pain, right? Wow. Never experienced that before.
I somehow made it through the day and the short airplane ride to Mfuwe, and even through the night, but only with the last of the painkillers that were supposed to be for my migraines. (I wouldn’t be able to lay on my back or on my left side for the next several weeks.) At first, though, I didn’t think it was too bad and went through a whole day of bumpy jeep rides that just made it worse. By the next morning, I couldn’t bear it any more and inquired with the lodge staff about acquiring more pain killers. Good news: there were volunteer doctors who serviced the area lodges; bad news: it would cost $200 for the “house” call (because the doctor must actually examine you in person). I balked at that, but realized if I was going to enjoy any more bumpy safari jeeps, I’d need more pills. So there went $200 of my spending money.
The doc’s name was Janet (yep – another Janet!) and if I remember right, she was also from California. She and her husband were on a six-month rotation where a medical charity pays for the trip to Africa in exchange for the doctors providing care to the local villagers and also to tourists. She diagnosed a herniated lumbar 4-5 disc (an MRI after I got home changed that to lumbar 2-3). And she gave me pain killers! Yippee. I can say that I most definitely would not have survived those very long plane rides back home to California without them.
But before you begin to think this is all about the pills, no, this is about the most wonderful service provided by the staff at Mfuwe Lodge. While the rest of the group went off on a jeep ride, I tried to find a comfortable spot out in the common area just in case more elephants came wandering through. The staff got me water and some crackers to snack on so the pain killers wouldn’t upset my stomach. And then…the Vervet Monkeys who had free run of the lodge got very interested in my crackers. They tried to steal my crackers.
I was positive I had his name written down in my trip notes, but I can’t find it. But here he is, my hero! He got out his slingshot and nobly defended me and my crackers. And he was a good shot too! I feel terrible that I can’t find his name – but I did give him a thank you hug before we checked out.
And before I forget, many thanks to Mike and his wife Pat, fellow members of my tour group, who gave me Pat’s orthopedic seat cushion to make my trip home more bearable.
Just kidding! There’s no trains or automobiles in this blog post. There’s barely even an airplane (well, two airplanes).
As our plucky little group packed our belongings to leave our first campsite in the Okavango Delta (Botswana) en route to Zimbabwe, the usual questions arose. (Usual, at least, for Americans familiar with our airport security). Are there restrictions on liquids? Will we have to take off our shoes? What about electronics? Andre, our tour leader, told us not to worry because there was no security.
As it turned out, there wasn’t even an airport. There was one “building” with fire extinguishers
and one sign. (That’s my friend Bobbie reading it.)
There was just an airstrip, a lonely little windsock indicating wind direction, and us waiting for our two airplanes that began as teeny dots in the sky and grew to be, well, somewhat bigger dots once they were on the ground. Would you like to fly in one of these?
Because there’s no airport staff either, that’s our guides Josh and Mike (and Andre, not seen in this picture) loading our luggage. On the right, you can see some of the gals walking to the other plane.
Before this, the smallest plane I’ve been on was a 20 (maybe 25) seater over the Gulf of Mexico between Cozumel and Cancun. The size of this plane? Here’s an inside shot. (The backs of those two heads closest to me? That’s Wendy [aka Windy] on the left and Andre on the right.) Guess which row I’m taking this photo from? Yep, the back row!
When you’re on a safari, or other wildlife-centered trip, you can spend lots of time in jeeps on bumpy roads searching for the animals.
But, then, sometimes you don’t have to. Because they come to you….maybe joining you for lunch….
Or you discover another visitor enjoying the open-air deck of the chalet next door. (Actually, this is why we were told to close and lock [yes, lock] the doors because the baboons know how to open them and they love helping themselves to anything that looks like fun…your camera, your shirt, your bra….) We saw one young guy scampering off with what looked like a turquoise pair of shorts, or maybe a skirt.
And then there are the neighbors who “serenade” you at night. These guys and gals congregated in the lagoon at the far end of the lodge property, just outside Wendy’s chalet. (Remember Wendy aka Windy?) The hippos in this photo are looking very chill, but Wendy said their grunting was quite loud at bedtime. Sleeping was a bit difficult, but having a herd of hungry, hungry hippos munching on the grasses just yards away was worth it.