Madagascar

But this was no time to dwell on thoughts of the homeland, for on this morning my companion, Prof. Henri Humbert, of the University of Algiers, and I were to leave Majunga, the west-coast "metropolis" of Madagascar, and start on a 1,300-mile plant hunt into the vast region to the south of the island.

There are no travel agencies in Madagascar. One simply moves when and where he can, and that leisurely. One day is as good as another to the Malagash, and to think of anyone's being in a rush is beyond his power of imagination.

Therefore it meant nothing to the easy-going natives of Majunga that our boat from France had landed us here just fifteen minutes too late to catch the little coastwise boat which we had hoped to take to Tulear. Another mail-boat would leave in six weeks; so, according to Malagash philosophy, the situation wasn't hopeless at all. If we didn't care to wait, of course we must figure out other plans for ourselves.

Our figuring was complicated by the fact that I spoke almost no French and my companion no English. Thus, throughout the trip, we were often forced to employ German, Spanish, Malagash, and even Latin-languages strange and unfamiliar to us both, yet frequently clearer than either of our native tongues.

We found that by starting from Tananarive, the capital city, some 400 miles to the southeast of us, we could strike automobile roads leading on to the south. Thus our expedition, sponsored by the University of Algiers, the Arnold Arboretum, and the United States Department of Agriculture, could gain access to the great virgin region lying between Tulear on the west coast and Fort Dauphin on the east.

In this region, richly endowed yet grimly fortified by Nature, we hoped to make our real discoveries. The section was known to abound in valuable forms of vegetation, yet into much of it no plant collector had ever set foot. Was it any wonder that we were eager to see what was in store for us?

But getting to the capital city was by no means as simple as it sounded. We were en route six days. Three of these we spent, crowded and uncomfortable, aboard frail river craft, which meandered slowly up the brick-red waters of the Betsibok; to the nearest bus terminal.

Throughout this part of our trip the best we could do was to trust that our tiny, overloaded boats would not be wrecked on one of the numerous snags in the river, for the water all along was teeming with crocodiles, ranging from cunning little fellows a couple of feet long to monsters of 16 or 18 feet.

The next three days by bus were scarcely less fatiguing than the water trip and equally interesting. The natives still looked upon this bus with a combination of wonder and fear. The driver had only to sound his horn to send frightened pedestrians scurrying in every direction. Once out of harm's way, they would swing around and join in a whole-hearted laugh.

Our way lay through mountainous country. The hills, once covered by splendid forests, were now brown and barren save where grass had sprung up, as if attempting to hide the all-too-evident traces of the destruction wrought by man.

The desolation of the mountains was relieved by numerous stream valleys, where…"