Month: July 2026

The previous day had been the best introduction to Bemaraha’s limestone landscape, but everyone we spoke to mentioned the same thing: “You’ll see the real Tsingy tomorrow.” Repeatedly being told the same thing created high expectations. Surprisingly, expectations were far too low.

We departed Bekopaka shortly after sunrise and traveled through patches of deciduous dry forest before arriving at the entrance of the Great Tsingy. Waiting for us was Taina, our Sakalava guide from the previous day’s boat tour, who would again lead us through one of Madagascar’s most unique protected areas.

Similar to many national parks, the Great Tsingy does not allow visitors to merely hike through its beauty. Visitors need to participate. From the start of our journey the path consisted of climbing, navigating narrow rock passageways, and walking on uneven limestone that seemed to intentionally punish each careless step.

Before viewing the vistas that make the Great Tsingy famous we were fully immersed in the landscape.

Hiking Through an Old Sea

It is difficult to understand the full nature of the Great Tsingy without first learning about its geologic history. This area was under a shallow tropical sea approximately 200 million years ago. The sea contained numerous corals, shellfish and other marine organisms which built up layers of sediment on the seafloor. These sediments accumulated layer by layer for millions of years until massive amounts of limestone formed.

Eventually, tectonic forces uplifted this massive amount of limestone above the sea level and allowed it to be eroded by rainfall which dissolved it in fractures and weak points in the rock.

As a result, the Great Tsingy is an example of tropical karst that ranks among the finest in the world.

During extreme periods of time, water carved the limestone into thousands of sharp pinnacles separated by deep canyons, dark caves and narrow ravines. In some cases, the stone pinnacles now stand at least 100 metres higher than the forest floor below and form an impassable labyrinth.

Each exposed edge appeared capable of cutting through boots, clothing or skin without much challenge. It quickly became obvious why significant portions of the reserve are generally off limits to visitors.

Our initial segment of trail took us into great cracks in the limestone itself. Tower walls flanked us on either side while tree roots searched for hidden moisture beneath narrow slits in the floor. We experienced a noticeable drop in temperature inside these shaded corridors which produced cool, moist microclimates compared to the arid environment outside.

At times our path became essentially nothing more than a series of ladders attached vertically to rock faces. Otherwise, steel cables assisted in helping visitors move through exposed sections where good balance was significantly more important than haste. The overall experience felt quite similar to traversing a via ferrata.

While not particularly difficult in technical terms, it did require absolute focus. Each handhold, foot-hold and movement needed constant consideration. Looking downward usually revealed narrow crevices vanishing into blackness below. Sometimes we emerged onto isolated forest platforms only to disappear into another complex network of limestone.

Transitions between sheltered corridors and viewpoints contributed greatly to the sense of drama and theatre associated with the landscape. Just when we thought we finally understood its size and scope, another section presented us with a new perspective.

Beyond the Pinnacle Landscape

Finally, the forest gave way to the ground beneath our feet. One last ladder placed us on a suspension bridge elevated high above the stone forest. The experience was indescribable. Endless gray-blue limestone pinnacle formations stretched toward the horizon forming unending wave patterns of jagged rock unlike any others we had previously seen. Rather than towering mountains or rugged cliffs, this landscape resembled an ocean suddenly frozen into solid rock.

The complete silence intensified the surreal quality of the stone maze. Aside from rare bird calls rising from the forest below, nothing interrupted the quietness. We stood there for several minutes simply staring.

There are places that encourage you to move forward in pursuit of your next view point. However, the Great Tsingy was an exception. It consistently forced us to slow down. No photograph seemed able to capture the total complexity of the sprawling landscape that existed beneath our feet.

Life Amongst the Limestone

For all its geological majesty, the Great Tsingy is certainly not devoid of life. The isolation has rendered this labyrinthine landscape one of Madagascar’s most exceptional evolutionary refuges. Rainforests exist in deep canyons where humid conditions prevail and yet lie mere metres away from dry deciduous woodlands subjected to intense tropical sunlight. Every conceivable ecosystem type seems to exist within this realm.

Madagascar giant couas wandered between branches while crested drongos shot through gaps in the canopy below. One red fronted brown lemur briefly gazed at us before disappearing into vegetation sprouting improbably amongst the rocks. Perhaps even more striking than the animals were the plants themselves.

Pachypodiums grew directly from narrow limestone crevices, their bulbous trunks store precious water during Madagascar’s lengthy dry seasons prior to producing delicate flowers that seemed incongruously situated amidst such unforgiving terrain.

Peeling bark trees twisted themselves into bizarre shapes due to shallow soils and perpetual exposure. Staggeringly large staghorn ferns clung precariously to cliff faces while strangler figs slowly encircled sections of limestone using fine root systems.

Survival here occurs through tenacity rather than profusion. All things appear tailored to use limited available resources as efficiently as possible.

At some point, Taina discreetly indicated a shaded crevice located beneath an overhanging cliff. From within that crevice a Bemaraha Sportive Lemur quietly regarded us from its daytime hiding place. This species is found nowhere else in existence on Earth. That gave us a reminder that although Bemaraha offers breathtaking scenery, it remains one of Madagascar’s centers of greatest endemism.

Leaving the Forest

Late afternoon we arrived back at Bekopaka exhausted physically and mentally overwhelmed. The Great Tsingy exceeded every expectation we had. Some landscapes are impressive because they are aesthetically pleasing. Other landscapes are inspiring because they possess incredible magnitude. Bemaraha was different.

It was inspiring because it seemed nearly impossible. Impossible that rain could carve stone into such intricately shaped forms solely through erosion processes, that forests and various animal life could thrive amidst jagged limestone barriers, that such an area remained largely unknown internationally until relatively recent times.

We left Bekopaka before sunrise on the following morning. A light fog hung above the Manambolo River while ferry operators slowly pulled a raft across the tranquil waters by hand. Fishermen quietly paddled their slender wooden pirogues through golden light near Bekopaka providing one final scene representing life along Madagascar’s rivers.

Across from Bekopaka our journey had hardly commenced when unexpected wildlife greeted us. A Giant Malagasy Chameleon rested unmoving atop a branch, while closer a Madagascar Spiny-Tailed Iguana basked on a tree trunk oblivious to our presence.

Short time thereafter the red dirt road reappeared beneath our tires and Bemaraha rapidly receded from sight behind us. Ahead lay Kirindy once more along with The Avenue of The Baobabs and ultimately our return journey to Madagascar’s central highlands. We sensed that perhaps our most impressive scenery was already behind us.

Luckily we were wrong. The island still had so much to show us.

Return Journey To Kirindy

Upon arrival at Kirindy by mid-afternoon we once again covered the same red dirt roads en-route to the forest. Just two days before, it showed us the entrance to one of Madagascar’s wildest regions. Today it seemed familiar and almost inviting after experiencing crazy limestone passages and crossing countless rivers on our previous journey.

Kirindy itself served as merely a brief fuel stop before continuing southward to Morondova. Or so we thought.

Once again Rado smiled and pointed toward a narrow dirt track winding through trees. He then stated, “Let’s take a quick peek.”

Only a few minutes passed before we were positioned underneath one of the most uniquely shaped baobabs we had seen thus far in Madagascar. Unlike perfectly straight giants lining the avenue, this tree twisted in upon itself before bifurcating into two interlocking trunks ascending upwards together. Locals sometimes call it “The Lovers Baobab”, due to their intertwining trunks appearing inseparable although they originate individually.

Setting aside that fact alone warranted our short deviation. There was something else behind that tree we hadn’t noticed before.

A family of Verreaux Sifakas had congregated beneath the baobab peacefully feeding in the shade of adjacent dry forest. No hurry, no additional observers. Infants rode on mothers’ stomachs while the younger lemurs played between branches before returning to their parents.

Rado explained that local personnel sometimes leave fruit near this portion of Kirindy Reserve allowing groups to frequent the edge of forest without becoming overly reliant on people. Possibly due to this familiarity or possibly simply due to peacefulness of the afternoon, the sifakas appeared unusually comfortable with us.

Rather than taking photographs continuously we eventually found ourselves simply sitting on the ground observing them.

The sifaka was completely absorbed by eating fruit, concentrating on each piece with unbelievable intensity. The adults sat up straight as if contemplating something and watched us every now and then with their bright golden eyes before going back to whatever they were doing.

There wasn’t anything remotely spectacular happening. Nature has a way of making just as big of an impact sometimes, without using drama or grandiose events, it is all based upon how still you are willing to remain.

Eventually the sifakas wandered further into the woods jumping effortlessly from branch to branch until all we could see was a single large baobab standing alone in the harsh light of day against a very pale blue sky. It felt as though it was time to say good-bye to western Madagascar.

We then returned to our vehicle and finished off the last part of our trip to Morondava. As we continued down the widening road and saw some of the first buildings in town on the horizon, we once again spotted another familiar shape coming over the hill. This time, however, we weren’t in such a rush. We had said we would come back to see the sun go down.

Light filtered softly through the nearly leaf-less canopy, casting a warm, golden glow throughout the forest. The dry leaves that had cracked beneath our feet during the night now glistened with a rich ochre color against the reddish earth. Birds sang melodies replacing the nocturnal insect chorus that had accompanied us on our return to camp.

Unlike the dense rainforest of eastern Madagascar which conceals all but the most vibrant colours from view, Kirindy frequently shows off its wildlife for anyone who takes the time to stop and watch. During the previous evening’s darkness, some of the animals we saw today were hidden from sight. They now rest quietly in hollow trees, or move freely through the open woodland. However, our experience of perhaps the most memorable animal of the day started with something as simple as water.

The most precious resource

A small group of red-fronted brown lemurs had settled just outside the trees bordering our lodge, and were carefully watching each of our actions. Initially, we thought they were simply curious about us, but every time someone went to reach for a water bottle, the lemurs’ eyes followed the action.

Only later did we realize why they were so focused on them.

In August (near the end of the dry season) in western Madagascar, water is a rare commodity due to lack of rainfall for extended periods, many streams are dry, and access to clean water is limited in many ways. The lemurs have come to associate visitors who carry bottles with providing them with a vital resource that is scarce during this period. Noemí quietly held an empty snail shell filled with water and waited. There was no response.

For a few seconds the group of lemurs stood there watching. Then one cautious member descended, stopped and looked toward us before bending its head down to drink. A second lemur followed shortly thereafter. And a third. Within a minute or two, the shell had become the focal point of attention.

There was nothing sensational about the event, no loud cries, no rapid movement, only a number of parched creatures drinking a limited supply of water during one of the driest seasons of the year.

And even though the event lasted only two minutes, it was one of those quiet events that you will remember long after you forget the pictures you took. For a moment or two, it seemed that there was relatively little difference between us and the wildlife we were viewing.

A New Side of Kirindy

The forest rewarded us quickly again. A female fossa emerged only a short distance from where we were camping, representing a totally different type of interaction with this elusive creature than we experienced on the prior night. Rather than stalking silently in the dark, she walked casually beneath the morning sun, stopping periodically to survey her surroundings before moving along between trees.

In addition to being able to see her better because of her exposure to sunlight, we also gained greater appreciation for her physical stature. Long bodied and muscular with an extremely long tail, she was as agile moving through the trees as she was walking through the forest floor. Seeing two fossas within less than twelve hours was incredibly lucky. Many people visit Kirindy hoping to see one and fail. Our good fortune continued through out the remainder of the morning.

Verreaux’s sifakas ran easily from tree trunk to tree trunk using their distinctive sideways jumps which make them one of Madagascar’s most recognizable primate species. Sportive lemurs remained curled up inside hollow trees seemingly unaware of their surroundings illuminated by daylight. A sleeping Madagascar scops owl sat staring from inside another hollow tree. Even the vegetation offered visual interest. Large baobab fruits remained hanging from tall branches overhead while giant chameleons blended almost perfectly with their pale bark despite their considerable size.

By mid-morning it was time to begin our drive northward. Ahead lay one of Madagascar’s most remote (and famous) national parks.

The Road to Bekopaka

Distances in western Madagascar can be quite misleading. While Bekopaka lies only slightly over 200 km north of Kirindy, driving to get there consumes an entire day.

As we drove northward, the road rapidly deteriorated into countless kilometres of endless corrugated dirt trails which threw up enormous clouds of fine red dust with every passing vehicle that hung suspended in the still air for minutes afterward. We encountered numerous small Sakalava villages located sporadically along the way, consisting of homes constructed from wood and mud beneath scattered baobabs, and children waving enthusiastically as we passed by.

Unlike Madagascar’s eastern highland regions where rivers play a significant role in connecting many parts of the country, in western Madagascar rivers create obstacles. Our first major barrier was the Tsiribihina River. Instead of having a bridge over it, vehicles cross via a simple flat ferry that transports trucks, buses, motorcycles, livestock and pedestrians from one bank to another.

Everybody seemed relaxed. Drivers socialized under shaded areas while vendors sold food and drinks between waiting vehicles as if traffic congestion was simply an accepted part of daily routine. The crossing took only a few minutes, but it represented a psychological boundary beyond which traveling became distinctly more remote.

Once on the opposite side, we found ourselves joining an unusual convoy. Military vehicles took the lead, followed by a colourful procession of four-wheel drives from different tour operators, carrying travellers from all over the world. It felt almost like a small expedition setting off together into one of Madagascar’s most isolated regions.

The road to Bekopaka is among the country’s most challenging. The combination of rough tracks, seasonal isolation and virtually non-existent infrastructure makes every journey unpredictable. While incidents are uncommon, this is also one of the few areas where security is taken seriously, as some vehicles have occasionally been targeted by dahalo, bandits who prey on lone cars. Convoys, especially those accompanied by the military, are rarely disturbed, making the shared journey both a practical necessity and a reassuring presence.

As the kilometres passed, we experience another side of western Madagascar. We crossed village after village where children ran towards the road, waving enthusiastically and shouting “Bonbon! Bonbon!”, their cheerful request for sweets from passing travellers. In one particularly memorable village, dozens of children sat beneath the enormous canopy of a baobab, attending what served as their classroom while their teacher conducted the lesson in the open air.

Before leaving the last fuel stop, our guide Rado had suggested buying a few bags of sweets for moments like these, and as we slowly drove through the villages, we shared them with the children. Their smiles and laughter echoed long after the convoy had disappeared into the dust, providing a joyful contrast to the harshness of the landscape and a fitting end to a long but unforgettable day before finally reaching Bekopaka.

The Gorges of the Manambolo River

The morning after Taina was waiting for us with a tiny wooden pirogue. Our local Sakalava guide guided us into one of western Madagascar’s most visually stunning environments. Towering limestone cliffs dramatically rose on both sides of the river creating pale gray walls that mirrored perfectly into the stillness of the water below them.

White egrets hunted prey along muddy riverbanks while kingfishers darted between overhanging branches above us, and Nile crocodiles (yes! They reached the island long ago…) were basking silently on rocks along cliff faces using camouflage that was as successful as that of geckos we observed the day before.

For thousands of years, the Manambolo has provided passage for trade and cultural exchange, and hidden within its limestone walls are cave systems containing ancestral Sakalava tombs guarded by local customs and taboos. Stepping into these caves felt more like entering historic spaces than visiting archaeological sites, and understanding that these cliffs continue to represent important cultural landmarks in addition to natural ones added a distinct flavour to our pirogue ride that was significantly different from a typical boat tour.

First Glimpse at the Stone Forest

Our first contact with one of the world’s unique landscapes came from exploring Bemaraha National Park’s Small Tsingy. At first glance, the limestone appeared like anything else we had seen before, however, once we entered onto narrower trails, we realized how treacherous this environment is.

Walls of sharp rock surrounded us while massive tree roots stretched into narrow openings in search of buried soil beneath layers of stone. Every turn produced another passageway, another canyon or another maze created by millions of years of slow chemical dissolution of what was once a prehistoric coral reef beneath an ancient sea.

The Malagasy word tsingy is commonly translated as “the place where one cannot walk bare foot.” After only a few minutes of walking within this area we understood precisely why. The Small Tsingy is an excellent example of smaller formations present within Bemaraha National Park.

While far less expansive than the larger formations present further into Bemaraha, it demonstrates with clarity the intricate nature of this UNESCO World Heritage site, a harsh environment that supports life, an isolated habitat system that has led to evolution of species that do not exist anywhere else on Earth, and possibly one of the most complex ecosystems known.

It was difficult to envision anything more unusual than what we saw here. We would learn otherwise the day after when we explored the Great Tsingy de Bemaraha.

After days walking in the rainforests of Andasibe surrounded by tall ferns and moss covering the trunks, we took a short flight from Tana to Morondava, and the view from the plane windows showed us a completely different country. The deep greens were gone. Instead, dry river beds, sparse shrubs, and reddish-brown plains stretched into the hazy distance.

Western Madagascar lies within a rain shadow zone. Before reaching this region, the trade winds release their precipitation along the eastern edge of the escarpment. This is why the forests in this area are dry and deciduous rather than permanently wet. We could see the entire transformation from the plane!

Morondava felt slower, dustier, and a little more improvised when we arrived. Many tourists travel along the RN7 (the major highway leading south from the capital) through Ranomafana and Isalo. The road is rough, but paved and relatively predictable. West of this point, the pavement disappears and travel times become uncertain. Many people simply take a flight rather than risk the journey by road.

Madagascar was preparing for Presidential Elections. We could see everywhere campaign T-shirts, posters… while drivers and guides debated candidates during lunch conversations. Even the airport had that same political energy. Passengers queued outside under the hot sun before moving through security beneath flickering fluorescent lights, and yet the flight departed right on schedule.

The First Baobabs

Just outside the terminal, we met our guide, Rado. He would be with us for the next two weeks throughout the west and south of the country.

Before departing for Kirindy, we stopped at the famous Avenue of the Baobabs, perhaps one of the most photographed stretches of road in the country. I had seen photos of these trees for years, but seeing them in person was slightly different from what I had imagined. At first, I didn’t notice anything particularly special about the trees themselves. Instead, I noticed that this was still just a road. Zebu carts continued to pass through the dust, motorcycles disappeared into reddish clouds and children walked beneath some of the most bizarre trees on earth with no apparent interest on the trees.

During the dry season, the Baobabs lose their leaves to conserve water, so when we visited, only the trunks and branches were visible. Some of these trees still held large amounts of fruit. Baobab fruit has been used by Malagasy communities for hundreds of years in food, beverages, and traditional remedies.

Almost all of the trees lining both sides of the Avenue are adansonia grandidieri (also known as the African Baobab). Some are more than 1,000 years old. They develop horizontally before growing vertically. They first create a wide base to store enough water to survive extended droughts, and only later begin to rise upward. Nothing can prepare you for how massive these trees appear when viewed up close. In reality, they resemble enormous pillars with branches extending high above your head. Against a pale winter sky, they seemed almost like human-made structures rather than simple plants.

Rado suggested that we return after our departure for Bemaraha so that we could experience the trees at sunset. We were now ready to continue on to Kirindy, entering into the dry forest

It was really hot. The reserve is approximately sixty kilometers north of Morondava, however, by the time we reached Kirindy it was difficult to believe that we were still in Madagascar. The asphalt ended shortly after leaving the Avenue and turned into dusty dirt trails lined with baobabs and thorn scrub. We also encountered several villages along the way, where children would momentarily stop their games and greet us as we drove by.

Kirindy was the complete opposite of Andasibe, direct sunlight reached almost every part of the forest floor. Open canopy, branches devoid of leaves, and dry leaves blown by every breeze across red-colored sand covered the forest floor.

Initially, it appeared as though almost nothing lived in that environment, but we couldn’t be more wrong.

Kirindy is one of the last remaining habitats of Western Madagascar’s dry forest ecosystem. Before deforestation significantly reduced this habitat, this type of forest dominated much of Madagascar’s landscape. Dry forest ecosystems operate according to cycles of abundance and drought. Trees lose their leaves during dry periods to reduce transpiration and remain dormant until rainfall returns. Every species present in this habitat has developed unique adaptations to cope with drought conditions, including reducing metabolic activity, retreating to sheltered locations, and other survival strategies.

Many decades of scientific research have focused on Kirindy, mainly due to its geographical isolation, which allows scientists to conduct comparative studies on evolutionary processes among the various species inhabiting this environment.

Night Walk at Kirindy

Once dusk began to fall, we left the lodge with our local guide to explore the forest.

Within minutes of sunset, the forest erupted into chaos, strange calls echoed through the trees, an intense wall of insect sounds filled our ears, and flashlights cast beams across branches searching for the glowing eyes of animals hidden in the darkness.

The guide located things that we likely would have overlooked had we attempted to find them on our own. Lemurs in Madagascar vary depending on location, season and time of the day. One of the most special ones is Berthe’s mouse lemur, one of the few left in the world and only found in Kirindy, perched delicately on a branch no thicker than my index finger… We saw as well several Sportive lemurs, appearing invisible until their eyes reflected the beam of a flashlight, and a Fork-marked lemur peered out from a tree cavity.

The reptiles displayed their own remarkable adaptations. Geckos possess scales that can be shed instantly when captured by predators, allowing them to regrow lost skin later. Chameleons proved surprisingly easy to locate at night, as their resting coloration is pale enough to distinguish them from the surrounding darkness.

Every twenty metres or so, our guide would stop again. Another pair of glowing eyes. Another animal we probably would never have discovered ourselves.

However, there was one creature we were all eager to encounter…

The Ghost of Kirindy

Before visiting Madagascar, there was one creature I wanted to see more than any lemur, the Fossa.

A mix between a cat and a dog, but different from all and totally unrelated to them. Fossas belong to a separate family of carnivorous mammals found exclusively in Madagascar. These predators descend from ancient mongoose-like creatures that reached Madagascar millions of years ago. Today, they represent Madagascar’s apex predator, hunting everything from small birds to lemur species.

Their bodies appear almost designed for this purpose, powerful legs, ankles capable of rotating nearly 180°, and tails almost equal in length to their bodies, all allowing them to maneuver quickly through tree branches.

Researchers have documented fossas descending tree trunks head-first, an ability shared by very few mammals.

Kirindy is considered one of Madagascar’s best locations for spotting them, but finding one is never guaranteed. Our guide told us that a few had been active recently in the area, nevertheless, we spent nearly two hours walking before finally accepting defeat and heading back empty-handed.

Close to the end of the route, he stopped walking and pointed upward, without saying a word. At first, nothing happened. Only bare branches disappearing into the darkness. Then, movement.

A young male fossa moved silently between the trees and paused briefly to scan his surroundings before continuing onward, with the confidence of a creature that owned the entire forest.

Nearby, a red-tailed sportive lemur missing one eye froze against a tree only a few meters away. An unsuspecting predator with an unsuspecting prey. Both occupying the same small section of forest, separated only by darkness and nothing else.

We didn’t know it then, but the fossa had already smelled and spotted him, and was preparing its attack. The lemur, alerted by the screams of some of his companions, reacted quickly and hid inside a hollow tree, prepared to wait there, if necessary, for the entire night.

The fossa waited for a while, lying on top of a trunk, which allowed me to take some great (but really difficult to take) photos, but eventually it grew impatient.

The encounter lasted barely a couple of minutes… but it remained with me ever since as a reminder that nature does not always follow our expectations. Often, the greatest moments happen when two creatures simply continue their evening routines, completely unaware of the handful of people watching them from the shadows.

On our return journey to camp beneath an incredibly star-filled sky, Kirindy once again looked completely different from how it had appeared only hours earlier.

Still, the forest had new surprises awaiting us the morning after.