©
Agatha Kadar
Madagascar Travel Guide
©
Agatha Kadar
My seat neighbour caught the bird that was clucking happily under the seat. A chicken in first class, that's something you notice. The girl got out of the rail car, holding the critter by the legs with its beak bobbing towards the ground. She started to let her chicken get some fresh air and move around, like we do for a dog who's excited about going for a ride. An hour later, the train wasn't ready to start up again, but the chicken had calmed down and settled back into his little square under one of the seats.
With our eyes on the train's water tank, we watch the comings and goings of a young boy, black with grease, with a small jerrycan in his hand. Two hours and the 300 litres in the tank signal the start of this surreal trip!
Upon leaving the Fianarantsoa train station, at full momentum, the train attracts all generations of people who line the roadsides waving enthusiastically.
The green locomotive gives off a writhing machine-like sound. Every yard travelled seems to be an accomplishment in logic: this train carcass, which was Swiss before being bought and nationalised by Madagascar, has a second life while stepping out into the rain forests of the east coast. The beast was created in 1930, near Zurich, and patched up, unpredictable, it has not yet seen its last journey.
Carried away by deceptive speed, here it stops its progress sharply to unload its supplies, pick up new ones and spit out a few passengers at the bend of a rice field or village.
The FCE train between Fianaranstoa and Manakara shatters any attempt at making expectations. 17 stops in just over 100 miles and maybe just as many stops in what the Malagasy call "in-between stations", a catch-all term meaning any inconvenient stop. These 100 miles, which appear scrawny on a map, can take 14 hours, 15 hours, or even longer if there are any technical problems or rock slides on the tracks. Breakdowns and surprises are included in the ticket fare.
In the middle of the rain forest
With the windows lowered, one can see spirals of smoke escaping under the ocean of greenery, giving away the presence of isolated hamlets between forests of ferns, thorny pandanus, proud bamboo blowguns and silver marshes. This ecosystem of an insolent botanical richness licks our locomotive and seems ready to fold up around us like a carnivorous plant.
Just before sunset, in a purplish light, the last little vendors forage around the train. A young girl offers her basket of pink berries, similar to little pearls. Her sister perfectly balanced a couple of langoustines on the top of her head. Cooked and flavoured in a broth, they end up being eaten by the Franco-Malagasy couple sharing my seat.
In humidity-saturated darkness, the train doesn't seem to be moving anymore. The tourists grumble in vain, while some Malagasy listen to music from a phone.
At midnight, a hand is placed on my shoulders. I wake up: our guide has come to get us in a 4x4 at one of the in-between stations two hours from Manakara. The train never did arrive to its destination.
