On a remote Pacific island (19th of June 2014 )

Kingdom of Tonga.

Let’s start with a map.

Tonga is an archipelago located in the Pacific Ocean. It is surrounded by Fiji, Wallis et Futuna, Samoa and Niue.

Tongatapu, the main and biggest island, is 260 square kilometres. That’s where I had the chance to work as a woofer, in a village called Veitongo, 5 km from Nuku’alofa, the capital city.

The daily life at the farm will be related in another post. What I would like to share here is a  specific story of serendipity and “beatitude”.

In the middle of two weeks at the farm in Veitongo, I did a trip by myself to islands of the Haʻapai group.

I first spent a few days on Uoleva, in this little “fale” (bungalow), on the beach amongst coconut trees.

 Barefoot from dawn to dusk, following a natural rhythm of sleep and eating, I enjoyed the quietness of the place, the welcome of the locals and the beautiful surroundings. My main activities: swimming in the ocean and reading in a hammock!

Were given to me two of the most precious gifts of nowadays: time and silence.

I very especially appreciated the silence of the night. Indeed, it made a big difference with the barking of dogs and cock crows I was used to at the farm.

There was no village on this island, or school, or church. Only 3 guesthouses with families welcoming a handful of travellers. In total there were 9 permanent residents in the whole island, and currently on this side, 4 other tourists: an Argentinian couple and two women from Australia.

The sun was variable, we had several rainfalls and wind. But it didn’t matter a lot, given the fact that when you go and swim you are wet anyway! And I had a good book to dive into otherwise.

With my mask and snorkel, I went exploring the underwater world: rocks, corals and fish, and even continued the fauna exploration on the beach with hermit crabs and a big spider.

You might think after a few days it was boring. Well, it could have been… but it wasn’t.

A recurrent feeling I noticed in Tonga: every time I had the sensation that I had examined a spot from all angles, something unexpected happened and re-enchanted the place. This kind of surprise happened several times during my trip.

One day, when coming back to my “fale”, I felt like walking further.

After leaving my footprints on several hundred meters of beach, I discovered a small beach bar, its owner a guy from South Africa, as well as a Kiwi couple who was sailing with its own boat across this part of the Pacific Ocean for five months. They had used their dinghy to come to shore and have a drink at the local “Yacht Club”!

I didn’t expect to find a bar here in such a remote place! We talked and laughed a lot, we shared stories and discussed about what made us love life. As most of the New Zealanders I had met in their homeland during the previous months, they were super nice. They invited me to a barbecue on the beach the day after.

The picture below shows the sunset from the beach, with their sailing boat and a volcanic island in the background (whose name came out of my head).

That night Bruce and Chris also offered me a ride to Lifuka, the main island of the Ha’apai group (3 000 unhabitants). Returning to Lifuka was actually my initial plan but I couldn’t do that on my own because of the Sunday. In Tonga indeed, on Sundays everything is closed and there is no bus or boat or even flight service. Nothing outside of praying, eating and napping in family.

It was thus a great opportunity! Not only I would have the time explore more during the two days I had left before my ferry back to Tongatapu, but I could also enjoy sailing for a little while. I was delighted.

During these moments, I truly appreciated the beauty of travelling. My story was writing itself: I barely had time to imagine the future, it changed according to new parameters. At this moment, my wish was to keep “surfing” on this wave and to not interrupt this so rich and extraordinary lifestyle.

A few kilometers thus on the majestic blue boat.

Breathing at the bow, feeling all the cells of my body, remembering the present moment: I was on a sailing boat on the waters of the Pacific Ocean, from an island to another. This was priceless.

Back in Lifuka, in the afternoon.

First, that feeling of “what am I going to do now?”. On a Sunday as a tourist, indeed there was not much to do. Except walking around.

Never tired of walking, I went to both sides of the island (10 min to cross!). I wasn’t expecting anything more from the day. It was already awesome enough to sail from an island to another with new friends and share a fresh lunch with them!

Wandering around in the village, my only encounters at the beginning were dogs, chicken and pigs.

Then, suddenly and very softly, I heard voices. People were singing, all together, the sounds brought by the wind coming from the ocean.

I came closer. I stumbled upon a procession: men and women in traditional clothes, dignified and reverential. Children were all dressed in white.They were so much into their song and the meaning of it, it was very touching.

It was obviously a religious celebration. I didn’t want to interfere but someone waved his hand to signify that I could follow the group, which I did. This is typically the kind of event you feel shared as a traveller: on the one hand, you would like to see what’s happening and take pictures to pay homage to the beauty of the scene and be able to remember it, on the other hand you feel like staying in the scene and living it, because it is what matters most.

They stopped at a temporary place of worship. I put myself on the side. There, I managed to exchange a few words with one of the elders. He confirmed there was no problem for me to be here as well as for pictures.

Then they left, in procession again, still singing. They walked a few dozen metres and reached a church to continue the celebration inside. I sat quietly at the back of the church.

I don’t believe in a god, but what was happening before my eyes was beyond religion. Seeing these strong Tongan men kneeling and singing with all their heart really touched me. I cried. It was a beautiful moment of grace, a singular moment when I felt smaller and bigger at the same time.

It didn’t last very long, but enough to forget time was passing. Time was flying somewhere (else), here we experienced eternity.

An old man told me that this was no ordinary Sunday. I didn’t get exactly what he explained afterwards, so I never totally understood the meaning of the ceremony.

A few organized group pictures with the kids. I was the only white person and the only tourist in this crowd. As the place is not a major tourist destination, they almost did not pay attention to me. I felt relieved not to be noticed.

I was lucky to experience something like this, nor expected or wanted, and so authentic.

It is incredible how you feel lighter when your heart is full.

I was full of gratitude, not only for this particular moment, but for my whole travels.

Thought I had enough joy and emotions for the day… Before coming back to my sleeping place, I looked for a good spot to watch the sunset. A beach would do.

Thus I sat there, in front of the ocean. Waves breaking on the reef about 200 meters from shore roared incessantly. They gave rise to ripples who came to lick the sand, more gently, a few meters away from my feet. The wind, the declining sun.

The Pacific Ocean has never been better named. Almost no waves.

A tiny butterfly came and flew around me for a second, then left.

That was how I finished my day.

Trusting a Stranger (28th of Apr. 2013)

Did your parents tell you not to follow someone you don’t know?

Well. Yet, that’s what I did in Madagascar in 2013…

Ambositra, in the centre of the country. I stop here, between Antsirabé and Fianarantsoa along the N7 road, because I have been told about the Safimaniry tribe, renowned for wood-carving.

I arrive on a Saturday, market day. Jumping off the taxi-brousse (van serving as collective transportation, typical from Madagascar), I first look for a place to stay for the night. Rather easy to find in low season. The hotel and its little garden are an oasis of peace and coolness in the middle of the tumult of the city centre. Great feeling after a few hours in a bus and a few minutes carrying my backpack under the sun. There, local guides show me their brochures with the possible excursions in the area. Tempting, but unfortunately  quite expensive. And there is not a single other fellow backpacker to share the costs…

My numb body and my desire to explore the city make me decide to go and walk around, before taking a decision.

So, up to the market!

Diving into the crowd, I make my way through the colourful and noisy stalls: juicy fruits & veggies, perfumed spices, chickens, ducks and gooses (NB: Madagascar also produces foie gras!). Almost everything can be bought and sold in this kind of market, even furnitures, fabrics, arts and crafts made of wood and raffia. The market seems to have no end…

While walking around, I am accosted by a guy, supposedly a guide, who suggests to show me a beautiful hike on the hill overhanging Ambositra. This is an itinerary I picked out from my guidebook earlier on, but I am not sure I could go by myself.

The trail is not very far from the city, therefore there is no real danger to follow him. Proposition accepted, after a little price negotiation (like always, in Madagascar ;-)).

And that’s how we go for a superb hike, with a beautiful panoramic view on the valley, mud houses, rice fields, mountains in the background. And even, funny animals spotted on the way: cameleon and “4 eyes” caterpillar.

While climbing up, we meet a lot of people, especially dozens of children, always saying “Vazahaaaaaaaa!” as soon as they see me. Vazaha is the Malagasy word to name white people; in kids’ mouth it is always very kind.

A discussion with children from another side of the hill sounds like this:

• Kids, from far, screaming: “hello Vazahaaa! What’s your name?”
• Me, answering, hands like a megaphone: “Na-tha-lie!”
• Kids, from far, screaming: “Naathaaaliiiiie!!… Naathaaaliiiie!!… Naathaaaliiie!! My name resonating again and again in the whole valley.

In Madagascar, as a white person, you get used to be noticed. Wherever you go, you are instantaneously surrounded by people who would like to serve you as a guide or sell you something. Truth to be told, sometimes it can be really bothering. But this time, being called by my first name, by many kids I can barely see, warms my heart. Big consequence for a simple and spontaneous behaviour. I feel noticed as a human being. This time, the relationship is not transaction-based, but human-based. Thanks kids.

In the countryside, kids are more often jokers, less “aggressive” than in cities, even if they also often ask for sweets or clothes.

That day, the people we meet on the way are very generous: I am offered hospitality for the night, not less than three times!

During what the 4-hour walk, the guy (I still don’t know if he is a real guide or not, but it doesn’t matter because he knows the way) suggests to organize a trip for me to one of the Safimaniry village, where some of his family members live. To follow him for the afternoon walk hasn’t been hard to decide. This time it is about going to a remote place with someone I don’t know from Adam, and spending the night in the village, with no guarantee whatsoever. What if he has bad intentions? What if he is interested in stealing my money or having sex with me?

I choose trust over suspicion.

The day after, at around 7 am, we take a taxi-brousse to reach the first step of the journey. This transportation mode is far less expensive than renting a four-wheel drive (what tourists usually do). The downside is that it takes us a looooong time to get to our destination: we stop many times, to exchange goods, to bring people, potatoes or chickens on board. And I am not talking about the comfort: in Mada, you share not only the ride but your seat as well, whether you want it or not! As an example, there are 17 of us in a 5-seat(+trunk)-vehicle (the picture below).

At around 10 am, we arrive in the first village, Antoetra. Naively, I think that we are going to link directly with the hiking. Error! Mada is a country where everything is done mora mora, which means slowly (similar concept as pole pole for those who know Kiswahili).

We sit down, drink tea, go and visit the family. Some relatives of Landry, the guide, live in this village. Amongst them, some are students who can speak French; it is nice to have this opportunity to communicate directly with them. I realize that Landry probably doesn’t often have the opportunity to come here, given the price of the transport. I feel sincerely happy that he can take advantage of our deal, not only financially.

Villagers give me a warm welcome; they haven’t seen a tourist here for about a month. We finally leave the village at around 12.30, after a traditional dish: rice with cooked leaves, cooked and eaten in the house of the parents themselves.

A trek through the mountains is on the menu of the afternoon.

We walk for hours, unfortunately the weather is not with us. A lot of rain is pouring on our back. Because of the clouds, the view remains entirely masked. Even at the top (1 800m), I can’t see anything. Fortunately, it clears up a bit when we go down to the village, and thus I can see the Safimaniry village of Sakaivo, our destination:

A few minutes later we are there. So far away from everything else, but it doesn’t matter. At that moment this tiny village is the centre of my world.

I am shown a room to leave my bag. Inside it is very dark, but beautiful, because wood-carved everywhere, from walls to shutters.

Within a second, heads of children appear at every open window. Curious eyes are staring at me. Questioning silently. There is beauty and magic in these moments. Encounter. Two worlds.

Women have their hair tightly braided, topped with a hat. They are beautiful. I am offered to braid mine. Accepted: a way to thank them for welcoming me and to connect with them. I find myself in the house of the village chief, surrounded by women and children, busy on my hair. Children are playing and whispering. The smell of wood fire fills the room; the sun is showing up via slanting rays passing through the carved wooden window.

Then, I officially meet the son of the village chief, the chief himself being caught by inter-villages meetings. He welcomes me in the community. I give him the coffee and sugar I have brought for them, as well as two T-shirts, for the chief and for the Landry’s brother, who is the one offering me the evening meal and the bed.

I also meet older people while visiting the village. A woman kindly invites me into her house. I acknowledge and accept willingly (never say no to another opportunity to learn more!). Unfortunately my eyes start to cry a few minutes later because of the excess of smoke inside the house; in spite of my efforts, I have to leave after a few minutes later.

The night falls quickly. It is time to go to sleep.

In my bedroom I discover two sumptuous traditional chairs as well as a splendid chest, all carved.  I wash myself with wipes, then slip into my sleeping bag. Staring at the ceiling and much beyond, I try to appreciate the moment and to remember the present: in a wooden house in a village in the heart of Madagascar, 6 hours of taxi-brousse & walk away from the first city…

The day after, the alarm clock of my phone wakes me up at 5.30. At 5.50 I am up, my legs like a spring, ready to start the walk back to Ambositra and climbing up the mountain. We agreed on leaving at 6 am, in order for me to be able to catch another taxi-brousse to Fianarantsoa the same day.

Error again: mora mora! Time is a different concept in Africa. Talking, drinking tea and eating rice is again on the agenda…

We leave at 7.30.

I understand the need to stay a bit with our host. Nonetheless, I am feeling a bit worried. First because I have a connection to make in Ambositra (for security reasons transports have to be planned during the day; leaving late means either missing the last taxi-brousse or arriving at night), and second the weather changed and is bad again. At 6 am the sky was wall to wall blue, the fog of the previous day totally erased and I was so energized! At 7.30, blue has turned to grey and the scenery is behind the clouds again 😦

On the way back, the guide walks far behind me. I pause, several times, to wait for him. At a moment, as he is not showing up, I return to meet him. He was crouching on the side of the path. Perplexed, I am wondering what can be happening. In fact, he has diarrhea… That takes the biscuit! My stomach is perfectly fine and his, the local one, has reluctant to the local food!

In spite of this misfortune, we finally manage to arrive in time to Ambositra (photo taken between Antoetra and Ambositra).

I retrieve my big backpack at the hotel and go back to the bus station in a record time. My plan is to reach Fianarantsoa in the evening in order to catch the train of the day after. As the train is not a daily regular one, I prefer not to miss that one!

Finally, in the afternoon of the same day, the sun and its warmth are back, my credit card also (for a short moment I couldn’t find it, and it is an importance piece of plastic because the whole trip depends on it!). In the taxi-brousse, with Malagasy music and sweets to enjoy, as well as, through the window, caress of the wind and absolutely gorgeous sceneries all around, I am so happy!

I am very tight on a half-seat, my body is not comfortable, but I don’t care. My mind is. Thanks to this guy I randomly met in the street, I have just lived an amazing authentic experience. Now that I am on the road again, I am feeling light and trustful, totally ready for the surprises of the next step.