Madagascar: Antsirabe’s Rice Fields – Madagascar’s Highlands

August 7, 2023
Madagascar
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🐖Rice Paddies, Wobbly Paths and a Pig on a Motorbike: A Day Near Antsirabe

The plan, as far as I’d understood it the night before over a slightly warm Three Horses Beer, was a simple one. We were heading to a village outside Antsirabe to walk through the rice fields and get a taste of rural Madagascar. Simple plans, in my experience, have a habit of turning into anything but, and this one did not disappoint.

Antsirabe itself is worth a word before I get going, because it isn’t quite what you’d expect from a town whose name roughly translates as “place of much salt.” It sits up on the central highland plateau at around 1,500 metres, which makes it noticeably cooler than the sweaty coast, and it was founded in 1872 by Norwegian Lutheran missionaries who, rather sensibly, worked out that the altitude and the mineral springs made it a pleasant spot to build a mission station. The French later got wind of the thermal waters and turned the place into a proper colonial spa town, all wide boulevards and faded grand hotels, the sort of relic you still see dotted about a country that spent sixty-odd years as a French colony before independence arrived in 1960. These days it’s better known for its fleets of brightly painted rickshaws, known locally as pousse-pousse, than for anyone taking the waters, but you can still feel the old spa-town bones under the surface if you squint a bit.

We were driven out of town and into the surrounding countryside, which gave us a good twenty minutes to sit back and enjoy the passing pastoral scenes, and Madagascar does not disappoint on that front. At one point we trundled past a motorbike with what I can only describe as a fully grown, live 300-kilogram pig strapped across the back of it, trotters up, entirely unbothered by the arrangement. I’ve seen a fair few things on my travels, but a pig commuting by motorbike was a new one on me. You would not see that on the North Circular, put it that way.

After about twenty kilometres our Madagascar guide, Zo, pulled the car over and deposited us, along with José — our guide for the day — at the side of the road in a small village. And that, as far as motorised transport went, was that.

🌾 Into the Rice Fields

From the village we ducked down some side alleys and came out, rather suddenly, onto a landscape that was entirely given over to rice. Rice, it turns out, is not just a crop in Madagascar, it’s practically a state of mind. It was brought over roughly two thousand years ago by Austronesian settlers who sailed in from somewhere around modern-day Borneo, which if you think about it for more than a second is a genuinely astonishing feat of seafaring, and they brought their rice-growing knowledge with them. The Malagasy word for rice, vary, is also more or less shorthand for “food” itself, and most people here eat it three times a day. Looking out over the endless green and gold terraces stretching off into the haze, you could quite believe it.

We picked up some trails along the edges of the paddies and ended up in the yard of a small farm, where a woman was hard at work while her children looked on — at her, and then, with considerably more interest, at us. José stopped here and gave us a proper rundown of village life and the rhythms of farming in these communities, which was every bit as useful as it sounds, and a good deal more interesting than I’m making it sound.

Not far from the farmhouse stood a family tomb. Zo had already given us the basic background the day before on ancestor exhumation, but José filled in the colour, and it was only really then that the scale of it sank in. What we were looking at was connected to famadihana — the “turning of the bones” — a custom mainly practised by the Merina and Betsileo peoples of the highlands, where every five to seven years a family will open up the tomb, bring out their ancestors’ remains, rewrap them in fresh silk shrouds called lamba mena, and then, and I do mean this literally, dance with them to a live band while the whole village turns up to join in. Zebu — the humped cattle you see absolutely everywhere in Madagascar and which function as a sort of walking bank account for their owners — get slaughtered for the occasion, rum flows, and it becomes less a solemn ritual and more the social event of the season. Culturally about as far removed from a Church of England funeral as it’s possible to get, but there was something rather lovely about a culture that treats death as an occasion for the whole community to have a knees-up rather than something to be quietly filed away.

🧗 The Paths From Hell (Beautiful, Mind You)

Now, the walk itself. On paper, “a stroll along paths between rice fields” sounds like the sort of gentle amble you’d do after a pub lunch. In practice, some of these paths were about fifteen centimetres wide, undulating like a fairground ride, with a drop of a good two metres into a paddy on either side. I have never in my life felt more like a gymnast on a balance beam, and I say that as a man who has never once been mistaken for an athlete of any description. There was a genuine and constant risk of going arse over tit into a field of mud, and I spent a fair chunk of the walk in a state of low-level panic that I did my best to disguise as quiet contemplation of the scenery.

And the scenery, credit where it’s due, really was rather special. We ambled along, swapping stories with José, learning bits and pieces about Malagasy farming practice, and barely saw another soul apart from the odd local going about their business and one other group of tourists sticking rigidly to the wider paths. I noticed they didn’t look terribly steady on their feet either, so at least I wasn’t alone in feeling like the whole exercise was a health and safety inspector’s nightmare.

🏫 A School With Half a Roof

Our last stop before lunch was a small school perched on a hillside overlooking the paddies below, and from a distance it looked positively idyllic. Up close it was rather more sobering. One building, absolutely rammed, with children more or less spilling out of the doorway. The teachers were kitted out in white lab coats, which gave them the look of men about to conduct a chemistry experiment rather than corral forty overexcited children, and corralling was very much what they were attempting, and failing, to do when we turned up.

We spent a good few minutes chatting with the staff and pupils, who were absolutely delighted to have someone new to practise their English on, and fair play to them, their English put my schoolboy French to shame. The building itself had been put up by the community, while the state’s contribution was to pay the teachers a salary that, by all accounts, doesn’t come close to a living wage — which goes a long way to explaining why so few people fancy teaching as a career out here. A second classroom had been started nearby to cope with the growing number of children, but the money had run out before the roof went on. José reckoned it would take about $300 to finish it off, which struck us both as an implausibly small sum for something that mattered so much. We spent a fair bit of the walk afterwards quietly doing sums in our heads about whether we could just pay for the roof ourselves.

We climbed the hill above the school for a proper look at that missing roof, and from the summit the view opened right out — a full 360 degrees across a valley entirely given over to rice, in every stage of cultivation you could imagine, from flooded seedbeds to fields ready for harvest.

🍍 Lunch, Pineapple, and Narrower, Higher, Steeper Paths

It was a genuinely lovely day, not too hot, and José found us a shady spot for lunch, which he and his wife had put together. The undoubted star of the show was a pineapple, sliced up on the spot, so fresh and sweet it barely resembled the sad, woody specimens you get shrink-wrapped in a British supermarket. It disappeared in about four minutes flat.

Refuelled, we carried on along the paddy paths, which had apparently spent the lunch break plotting against us, because they now seemed narrower, higher and steeper than before. Perverse as it sounds, we were loving every wobbly minute of it.

⛪ Back Into the Village, With a Storm on Its Heels

Eventually the paths widened out again and stopped threatening to deposit us face-first into a paddy, and the last leg of the walk took us back up into the village, past a pretty little church on a hill with a genuinely magical view down over a lake. In the distance, storm clouds were starting to build, which made it rather fortunate that Zo was there waiting to run us back to Antsirabe before the heavens opened.

It was market day, and the village had gone from sleepy to properly bustling since we’d first arrived that morning, so it took a while to nose the car through the crowds and traffic. We ended up stuck behind a car with a rooftop full of cages absolutely crammed with chickens, ducks and assorted poultry, with a good few more chickens and the odd turkey rattling about in the boot. I dread to think what the inside of that car sounded like. I can only assume the driver had gone permanently deaf, or had simply made his peace with it.

🤔 Reflections

Looking back on it, this was one of those days that sounds unremarkable when you list it out — a walk, a farm, a school, some lunch — and yet somehow adds up to a great deal more than the sum of its parts. I came away with a much better sense of how central rice is to daily life here, not just as a crop but as something close to an identity, and the glimpse into famadihana did more to explain Malagasy attitudes to family and death than any guidebook paragraph ever could.

The school stuck with me longest, if I’m honest. Three hundred dollars is nothing back home — most of us have spent more than that on a slightly better telly — and yet it stood between those children and a finished classroom. It’s the sort of thing that makes you feel faintly ridiculous about some of what you fuss over at home.

And then there were those paths. Fifteen centimetres of wobbly mud between me and an unscheduled swim in a rice paddy, with my dignity the main casualty either way. I moaned about them the whole way round, in the finest tradition of a Englishman abroad, and I’d happily do the whole lot again tomorrow.

The Best Time to Visit Madagascar

🌴 Best Time to Visit Madagascar by Season

Madagascar’s climate is shaped by its size, topography, and position in the southern hemisphere, meaning seasons vary significantly between the east coast, west coast, and central highlands. Understanding these regional differences is key to planning the ideal trip.

☀️ The Dry Season: May to October

The dry season is widely regarded as the best time to visit Madagascar for most travellers. Running from May through to October, this period brings clear skies, lower humidity, and cooler temperatures that make exploring rainforests, national parks, and coastal areas far more comfortable.

May and June mark the start of the dry season and are particularly pleasant — temperatures are mild, the landscape is lush from the preceding rains, and crowds remain relatively manageable. By July and August, which coincide with European school holidays, visitor numbers peak, especially in popular destinations such as Nosy Be, Isalo National Park, and the Avenue of the Baobabs. These months offer superb wildlife watching: lemur activity is high, baobab sunsets are spectacular, and humpback whale viewing off the west and south-west coasts reaches its prime between July and September.

September and October round out the dry season beautifully. The heat begins to build towards October, particularly in the south and west, but conditions remain ideal for trekking, diving, and exploring the spiny desert. Wildlife remains active, and orchid blooms begin to emerge in the highland areas.

On the east coast, the dry season offers relief from the region’s typically high rainfall, though brief showers can still occur. This is one of the best windows for visiting Masoala Peninsula and Ranomafana National Park without the risk of prolonged downpours.

What to pack: Lightweight long-sleeved shirts, breathable trousers, a light fleece or layer for highland evenings, waterproof hiking boots, wide-brimmed hat, high-SPF sunscreen, insect repellent with DEET, polarised sunglasses, a reusable water bottle, and binoculars for wildlife spotting.

🌧️ The Wet Season: November to April

The wet season runs from November to April and brings heavy rainfall, high humidity, and cyclone risk — particularly along the north and east coasts. While this period is not generally recommended for first-time visitors or those seeking comfortable overland travel, it has its own rewards for the prepared and adventurous traveller.

November sees the gradual return of rains, though the first weeks can still offer bright spells, especially in the west and south. Temperatures climb sharply, and the landscape begins to transform dramatically as vegetation bursts into life. For wildlife enthusiasts, November and December are remarkable months — chameleons, frogs, and insects are at their most abundant and active, and newly born lemur young cling to their mothers in the forest.

December through February marks the height of the wet season. Rainfall is heaviest on the east coast and in the north. Cyclones are a genuine risk from January to March, and some roads — particularly in remote areas — become impassable. Many lodges and camps in the north close or reduce services during this period. However, the west and south remain drier and more accessible than the rest of the island, meaning destinations such as Tulear, Ifaty, and Morondava can still offer rewarding visits.

March and April see rainfall begin to ease, though conditions remain warm and humid. April in particular is a transitional month — a preview of the dry season to come — and can offer excellent birding as migratory species begin to depart.

What to pack: Quick-dry clothing, a packable waterproof jacket, waterproof trousers or over-trousers, waterproof dry bags for electronics and documents, rubber-soled sandals or waterproof trail shoes, insect repellent, anti-malarial medication (consult a travel health clinic), oral rehydration salts, a lightweight compact umbrella, and extra sealable plastic bags for camera protection.

🌸 Shoulder Seasons: April to May and October to November

The shoulder months sit on either side of the dry season and represent excellent windows for those seeking to avoid the peak-season crowds whilst still enjoying largely favourable conditions.

April to May offers the transition from wet to dry, with the landscape at its greenest and most dramatic. Roads are clearing, lodges are reopening, and wildlife remains active following the breeding season. This is one of the finest periods for birdwatching, as resident species are in full breeding plumage and the last migratory visitors linger before departing.

October to November is similarly rewarding. The dry season’s lingering calm combines with the first bursts of new growth, and many animals are engaged in pre-breeding activity. The whale-watching season is drawing to a close, but lemurs, chameleons, and reptiles are particularly visible. Temperatures are warm but not yet oppressively hot, and the south and west are especially appealing.

Accommodation availability is generally better during shoulder months, and prices are often lower than at the July–August peak. Roads are in reasonable condition, and most national parks and reserves are fully operational.

What to pack (April–May): Layers for variable temperatures, light rain jacket, hiking boots with grip for muddy trails, quick-dry clothing, insect repellent, sunscreen, a wide hat, and a compact umbrella for lingering showers. What to pack (Oct–Nov): Light breathable clothing, sun protection, reef-safe sunscreen if visiting coastal areas, insect repellent, a light cardigan for highland evenings, and a dry bag for boat excursions or early whale-watching trips.

🐋 Wildlife and Regional Highlights by Season

Madagascar’s wildlife calendar adds another layer to seasonal planning. Humpback whales migrate through Sainte Marie and the south-west coast from July to September, making these months unmissable for marine enthusiasts. Lemur species such as the indri and sifaka are best observed from May to October when their territorial calls echo most frequently through the forest. Chameleons and frogs, by contrast, are far easier to find during the wet season from November to April when they are breeding and highly active.

The south and west — including Isalo, the Tsingy de Bemaraha, and the Avenue of the Baobabs — are at their finest in the dry season. The east coast and its rainforests, including Masoala and Ranomafana, are accessible year-round but are most manageable from May to October. The highlands around Andasibe and Fianarantsoa offer rewarding visits throughout the dry season, with pleasantly cool evenings that make them a refreshing contrast to the coastal heat.

🌟 Overall Best Time to Visit Madagascar

If there is one window that stands above all others, it is July to September. The dry season is in full effect, rainfall is at its lowest, and the island’s finest experiences converge: humpback whales breach off the west coast, lemurs call across national parks full of crisp highland air, and the Avenue of the Baobabs glows at dusk under cloudless skies. Temperatures are cooler than much of the year — particularly refreshing in the highlands — and infrastructure is fully operational. For those who find July and August too busy or expensive, June and September offer almost identical conditions with noticeably fewer crowds. Travellers seeking great value, lush scenery, and exceptional wildlife who are willing to accept some unpredictability will find April and May a compelling alternative — the shoulder season at its best. Madagascar rewards careful planning, and whatever time of year you visit, it remains one of the world’s most extraordinary destinations.

Where to stay in Antsiribe

Couleur Café

Set in Antsirabe, 500 metres from Antsirabe Train Station, Couleur Café offers accommodation with a garden, free private parking, a shared lounge and a terrace. 18 km from Lac Tritriva and 1.1 km from Cathedral Antsirabe, the property features a restaurant and a bar. The accommodation provides a 24-hour front desk, airport transfers, a concierge service and free WiFi.

Featuring a private bathroom with a shower and a hairdryer, rooms at the hotel also provide guests with a garden view. The units will provide guests with a wardrobe and a kettle.