NOSY BE
09-16 June 2026
Madagascar had long-since been on our list, remaining elusive thanks to the absence of cruise options that I’d imagined would make for quite an adventure circumnavigating the world’s 7th largest island. Chris broke the stalemate by booking us a week in Nosy Be for a little treat midway between our 50th birthdays – and a great reason to escape the middle of winter in Joburg. With only a 3.5 hour flight standing between us and paradise, we left the cold front behind us.
Landing in a charming rural airport, we were greeted by the guide from our prearranged transfer. Jessica was a delight. Although she spoke very good English, she humoured us with slow French as we navigated each step of the arrivals process, so we could put to practice all we had been learning on the Duolingo app. We didn’t have much time though since jump-the-queue was all part of the service and we slipped through the admin like a hot knife through butter. We were ushered into a luxury van, welcome complete with cool face-towels and ice-cold water to combat the mere minutes of humidity we had endured between exiting the airport and stepping into the waiting vehicle. Jessica explained that we were about 30 minutes from the hotel, depending on traffic.
‘Traffic’ was not what we were used to. Leaving the airport, we took (what we learned later was) the ring road that ran along the coast around the island. Although only a single lane in either direction, the tarmac was pristine and cars, vans, tuk-tuks, motorbikes and Zebu (ox) carts seemed at liberty to use whichever part of the road was free, irrespective of the direction they were going. A functional system by the looks of things, as we swove and veered through a few little towns with their tuckshop market stalls and humble homes lining the roads.
With the short flight and only losing an hour in time difference, we made it to the Royal Beach hotel mid-afternoon and were welcomed and inducted in good time to change into our swimmers and grab a lounger on the private beach in front of our resort. What a blessing to lie back in the last of the Tuesday sunshine and watch the sun slowly set over the sparkling sea!
Chris had booked us the full-board package as a no-mess-no-fuss option, so we further counted our blessings over sundowners in the open-air cocktail lounge before heading up to the buffet restaurant for a multi-course dinner of all sorts of delicious things.
WEDNESDAY
We had agreed that our first day would be dedicated to doing nothing, except book our excursions. There were some obvious choices like visiting neighbouring islands and seeing the lemurs which were now a household name, thanks to the memorable King Julian in the animated blockbuster classic movie,
Madagascar. Other plans proved to be a little more of a challenge, like organising a scuba dive outing and a hike up the volcano that Chris had read about in many travel reviews about must-do things in Madagascar but weren’t on the hotel’s excursion list. The travel desk did give us a QR code to contact a local dive company for details over WhatsApp.
We weren’t going to overthink it. With Thursday and Saturday excursions accounted for, we would figure the rest out later, in between back-to-back buffet meals and with hours and hours of lounger time to mull it over (or not). We idled, we swam, we observed a beach volleyball game, we smiled as the resort’s entertainment team engaged the local kids in a choreographed dance to a catchy song with a chorus that said “Royal Beach. Ca va?”… then we swam some more, we lunched, we sat, took a dip in the sea. It was great.
In the afternoon we took a stroll along the beach and happened upon a dive shop, Blue Wave Dives. We got all the info for the Friday dive we were after, with no context of the value of the ‘2 dives for 2 persons for €230’ on offer. No need to commit though because e-commerce was thriving on this little island and everywhere seemed to have a QR code and everything seemed to be negotiable on WhatsApp. So we hustled along, saying we would be in touch over text if needed.
Returning to our resort, we did a tour of the facilities – and there were plenty. Too hot to play tennis or volleyball, sauna or jacuzzi, we settled on 30 minutes in the airconditioned gym to move lunch and make space for another buffet dinner. It was quite refreshing to shift the cobwebs of a lazy day, with enough time to still have a leisurely sit-swim-sit session afterwards. We realised that “Royal Beach. Ca va?” was played a few times a day, to mark the start of various activities. The song would be played over the sound system that served the beachfront and all the animation team members would run to in front of the loungers and play out the choreographed dance, dotted out in front of the guests so everyone was entertained. Including the local kids, a few of whom would always join in the fun.
Prompted by the rendition that heralded the start of sundowner o’clock, we returned to our room for a quick shower before heading to the reception to meet the travel desk’s referred dive team. Listening patiently to their pitch, it all sounded heavenly and we were ready to sign… until we heard the price. They were a more than 100 Euros more expensive than the other company we had visited, for the same 2 dives at the same sites over the same duration for the excursion! AND they only took cash, which was a problem for us since we had waved off the opportunity to exchange forex at the airport, assuming we would be able to do it at the hotel. Which we could not. They didn’t accept credit cards to buy forex and would not exchange Rands. Fortunately the travel desk accepted credit cards for the excursion, but we would have to get a tuk-tuk into the nearest town (ominously named Hellville) to get the 1.5 million Madagascan Ariary (the equivalent of 320 Euros) for the dives. The additional cost and admin was a deal-breaker. We bid them farewell and scurried back to the first dive shop to secure our dives (able to pay digitally) before resuming our position at the same table we’d occupied at the cocktail bar the previous night. With the last minute hustle, we were famished by the time the buffet opened! … and grateful to have space for all the seafood and pasta dishes, as well as tender and juicy Zebu fillet with peppercorn sauce.
THURSDAY
Having failed magnificently at our upfront agreement about a one-day-on-one-day-off excursions policy – thanks to combining our predetermined must-do with FOMO at the travel desk – we found ourselves committed to a back-to-back itinerary. The first day was likely to be the most ambitious; the 3 Island Tour.
We were collected at 07h30 in a van, to be transported to the top of the island to join a group from our sister-hotel, the Royal Andilana. If our resort was at 7 o’clock on the south-west coast, they were 11 o’clock on the north-west, so the 30 minute transfer incidentally gave us a tour of Nosy Be’s west side. We got the lowdown from our guide on life as a Malagasy as we traced the ring road and passed through the little towns whose community and commerce organically spilled onto the tarmac.
Counterintuitively, once we met the rest of the group, we got on a boat to travel all the way back past the bottom of Nosy Be – right past our hotel – to get to Nosy Komba (5 o’clock off the south-east coast), which means “Island of Lemurs”. Stepping off the boat and onto the beach, we were welcomed by our tour guide and led through the village to the entrance of the nature reserve. We were briefed that although the lemurs were wild and free, they had become tame from the streams of tourists that visited the island. They could be expected to engage with us and the advice was to keep calm, stroke them if they let you and not to touch their tails.
The secret ingredient was banana. There were scores of lemurs sitting in the trees on either side of the stone path circuit that would take us through the park, watching us with their comical saucer-eyes. We were given small portions of banana to rub on our fingers. Raising a palm slowly in the direction of a lemur was like using The Force; it instantly garnered interest and then with no coaxing at all a little friend would leap from the tree onto your shoulder or head. They were very compliant to the strokes and photos… as long as you had a banana on offer. Their startlingly determined human-like little hands would pull your fingers toward them and hold them steady while they licked up their rewards. Once they were done, you could expect to be abandoned as the nimble creature resumed its position on its branch, smug at how well it had us trained. We had great fun posing with lemurs of all shapes and sizes as we made our way up the hill.
Next up was the snake experience where slithering boas were lifted from a large sunken stone enclosure such that we could drape one around our neck or allow it to twist and wind around our hands. Mildly assured that it was a safe activity “because boas are nocturnal”, it seemed like as good a time as any to tick this one off the list. The guide also advised us that they rotate the showpiece snakes on a monthly basis, depositing the outgoing demonstration reptile onto the far side of the island to go back to enjoying its life in the wild, to be replaced by a new captor for the following month. I’m not sure if that information was designed to calm any animal rights concerns we might have had, or to subtly insinuate that any wild snakes would prefer to be living their best lives well away from where we were!
The tour was concluded with a visit to the tortoise enclosure where we were introduced to the 3 giant inhabitants – George Bush (the youngster at 45 years old), Pablo Escobar (70 from the Galápagos Islands) and Caroline of Monaco (90 from Seychelles). They were huge, in no hurry and, so we were told, enjoyed a tickle on their wrinkled necks, so it seemed rude not to oblige. It was very sweet the way the tortoises leaned into the tickling. I suppose with their shape, it’s possible it was just solving an itch they couldn’t reach to scratch, but happy to help nonetheless.
Returning to the boat, it was a short hop to Nosy Tanikely (6 o’clock), which was declared an underwater national park in 2010. We had been given fins and masks at the beginning of the trip and now was the time to put them to use. Shedding our shirts, we jumped off the back of the boat and into the crystal waters, so clear that we could see all the way to the seabed below. We flicked our flippers and spied on the sea life for a half hour or so before being transported to the shore to relax in the shade of the palm trees with complimentary refreshments.
Last stop was all the way at the top again, to the private beach at Nosy Sakatia (10 o’clock) for a fish braai for lunch. We were amazed at how different each island had been, this one known for its emerald green water and giant turtles. There was a large thatched area right on the beach with laid bench-tables awaiting our group. Our hosts had pre-prepared the food anticipating our 2pm arrival and accompanying appetite from the busy morning so we got stuck in right away.
As luck would have it, we were seated with the only other South Africans (or English speakers for that matter) on the tour, and we were soon swapping stories about our respective resorts, travel experiences around the world, life back home and aspirations for the remainder of our trip. With the local brew, Two Horses, flowing and the hosts daring us to try the variety of local rums that they had for us, it was a very festive couple of hours in paradise before the hop back to our mainland to retrace our footsteps back home for sundowners and an unneeded but still much-anticipated indulgent buffet!
FRIDAY
Another early start to be in the breakfast buffet queue bang-on 7am such that we could pop along the beachfront to meet our Blue Wave dive team for the morning’s excursion. The chaps from the shop were there, as promised, ready and awaiting our arrival. We were assigned to Marco, with the other dive master attending to the 3 Italian ladies that completed our group.
Onboard the open speedboat, it was a 20 minute hop to Tanikely Island to dive in the reserve. Marco shared that our first dive would be on the east side of the island, then an hour to rest with drinks and biscuits on the beach followed by a complimentary dive on the other side of the west island so we could compare the reefs. He also gave us a refresher briefing on all our equipment and the hand signals we would need to use to communicate with him underwater – a welcomed reminder since we’d last dived in Malta in 2018!
Since the sea colour at the beach in front of our hotel was the same blue-green as the India Ocean we see at home, I had assumed that the underwater experience would be a bit thick and murky. Not so! On taking our giant-step off the boat we plunged into crystal clear water with visibility easily 40 metres or more. Being relatively shallow (around 16 metres for most of the dive), you could see the seabed from the surface and already, hovering just below where underwater starts, we were treated to a spectacular of bright and shiny fish going about their business.
Being a reserve, the reef was largely unspoilt and had lots going on, with most of coral was earthy tones rather than the stereotypical rainbow of bright colours you might expect. However, the neutral background just made the fish population even more prominent. I have no idea what I saw but it was lots of different fish of all shapes, sizes and colours everywhere all the time. Like swimming in a fish tank! We even saw a shark (that luckily wanted nothing to do with us), stalked a couple of turtles (who moved so gracefully it was like their front legs were wings in the water) and I tried to join a huge shoal of yellow fish (but was shunned like an ugly duckling).
The diving was an absolute must-do and by far the best morning we had had on the island. Controversially, I enjoyed it more than our excursion at Great Barrier Reef even. Although the coral was less interesting, the warm, calm water + abundance of sea life + the small group (even though there were other boats doing other dives, it felt like the 5 of us were the only people in the ocean) + the clear-as-glass visibility + the simplicity of the logistics put the overall experience head and shoulders above the rest.
We had lots to review and reminisce over our lunch on return and ensuing afternoon on the loungers watching Beach TV as the land-creatures moved about in front of us, and joining in for the chorus of “Royal Beach. Ca va?” like locals. We might never have budged had it not been for a lady from the Animation team recruiting us for a game of pétanque in the sandy courtyard. Chris and I were split into separate teams and although unable to directly communicate with any of our team mates or competitors – a mix of Italian and Scandinavian – we all muddled through a highly enjoyable couple of hours lightly moderated by our multilingual hosts.
By now we had questioned guides about the composition of tourists and we surprised to learn that South African guests were few and far between – madness with a 3.5 hour direct flight on Airlink every Tuesday. We had anticipated flexing our French throughout the Nosy Be adventure since Madagascar is a former French colony and the schools still educate in French first-language. Yet, more than 80% of the tourists are Italians. So the hospitality crew mostly spoke Italian, responded to French and struggled a bit with English (or our accents perhaps). The upside of course was that the buffet became a cultural melting pot, rich with fresh seafood and traditional Malagasy recipes, paired with the freshest Frenchest breads and partnered with at least 1 pizza and 3 different pasta dishes on offer on every buffet. The chefs were Italian so we had some of the best pasta of our lifetime!
SATURDAY
With the days becoming a bit of a blur, we hit the breakfast buffet with vengeance and fury to be at the reception at 07h30 for whatever the day had in store for us. Our guide reminded us that we’d booked the full-day tour to Iranja Island. And so off we set, driving up to the sister-hotel again to pick up the rest of the group and depart by boat from there.
Having no recollection of mention of such, the very long (90 minute) boat ride took us a bit by surprise. At least the journey was kindly punctuated by a pod of dolphins, for whom we stopped and watched them gently lazing in and out of the water all around our boat. This was an especially big win for me since I have tried all sorts of whale-watching and dolphin-related excursions all around the world and regularly fail to see anything at all!
As we pulled into the natural port at Iranja, we were welcomed by several turtles. With the graceful shelled friends easily visible through the translucent water, the skipper slowed and approached the shore very cautiously so that we could enjoy watching our new companions as they glided along beside us and popped up intermittently for a photo opp. We had arrived at our destination, which was a gorgeous paradise of luminous turquoise ocean that became crystal clear as it met the soft dazzling white sand.
First order of business was to walk the sandbar for which Iranja is famous. This was a natural sandbank that connects the main island to its small neighbouring isle when the tide is low. A generous beach at the point of departure, the sandbank sticks out like a golden tongue that soon tapers to no more than a couple of metres wide, with a lapping shoreline on both sides. At several points an ambitious mini-swell would rise up the beach on the one side and pass over the little sandbank to join the sea on the other side, lapping water around our ankles on its way. The entire length was just over a kilometre and deposited us on the deserted beach of the small island that would be entirely independent most of each day. We took a few photos and started the return journey quick-smart lest we be stranded!
We got back in time to join the guide who was taking a handful of our group on a short walk to another beach on the other side of the island. This took us through the town that was hosting us – a few neat rows of bamboo style huts – to emerge on the other side at a beach even more beautiful than the last. The sand was whiter and the sea was brighter. A few A-frame glamping huts but nobody in sight… until we got there.
It was such a relief that everywhere we’d gone, our guides had assured us that our belongings could be left safely while we explored or swam. Madagascar is an impoverished nation with incredibly high unemployment and distressingly low education. The government doesn’t pay for schooling, nor is it mandatory; many parents simply can’t afford it so kids of all ages spend their days hanging out and playing soccer at the beach, as we had seen at our resort. Nonetheless, the appreciation for the prosperity brought by the tourist industry was enough to keep petty crime in check. And we were able to dump our belongings – including cell phones and valuables – exposed and easily accessible on our towels on the formerly-deserted beach and paddle around in the warm and welcoming waters without a care in the world.
The next prompt was an hour or so later, where the guide would be taking those interested up a trail to the lighthouse at the top of the island. Game for everything, we towelled off and followed the group. The middle of the island was a stark contrast to what we had seen so far. We were shaded by a canopy of trees as we climbed the steps, lined on either side with local tapestries and paintings up for sale. The local ladies did good takings from our Italian companions, who were keen on the tablecloths with embroidered turtles, the wooden hand-carved Madagascan Airlines airplanes for the bambinos and more than a fridge magnet or two changing hands. We of course continued to save a fortune since we hadn’t drawn currency at the airport.
Our return back to beach camp revealed that it was time for lunch. Everyone was seated at long bench tables under the thatched shelter while drinks were distributed and then a feast was served from the buffet table. An impressive spread to have prepared in such humble surroundings! Calamari salad, pickled veg, chicken casserole, grilled fish and a tomato pasta dish for those looking for something less authentic.
Fat and happy, we were given an hour of free time to relax and enjoy before embarking on the return journey. Having caught more than our fair share of sun for the day, we stayed put in the shelter to continue being entertained by the local band that had serenaded us through lunch. Very nice having nowhere to be and nothing to do for a change!
Our turtle friends put in another appearance to wish us farewell as we left their bay to speed across the ocean back to Nosy Be.
SUNDAY
Our tour director had noticed our anguish at the repeated early starts the previous few days and proactively took pity on us, scheduling our hiking day to begin at 8. The extra half hour slumber was well appreciated – and there was even time for our traditional hot chocolate with marshmallows before heading down to breakfast.
Dab hands at the buffet by now, we worked through the row of bowls, platters and chafing dishes like a very focused duo of locusts. We were, in fact, early to arrive at the entrance to meet our guide. Who, to our surprise, led us down the street on foot where, to our great delight, there was a tuk-tuk waiting for us. We had it on our To Do list to take a ride in one at some point during the trip (just so we could say we did), but were running out of time and opportunity so this was a wonderful windfall.
We three (Chris, me and the guide) squeezed into the single back seat and were soon buzzing along the West coast of Nosy Be, veering, swerving and tooting like all the others competing for our stretch of tar. It might have been more terrifying (or thrilling) if we were going any faster, but thankfully there were no downhills on this sea level road to see us clock the 40KPH mark!
We were deposited at a town square of sorts. (According to the Strava map at the end of the day, called Dzamandzar). Skirted by more of the tuckshop stall market shops, there was little to indicate that the dusty patch was of consequence had the guide not told us that this area would be a hive of activity as Sunday morning trading unfolded and would be the place-to-be in the afternoon as it hosted Kickboxing competitions every Sunday afternoon at 3pm. He led us across the area and onto a very dodgy looking pathway that had our Saffa Spidey-senses instinctively make us clutch our valuables closer to us… forgetting for a moment that this was Nosy Be.
A highly unlikely starting point to the hike, but apparently it was. We traipsed through the ‘suburbs’ with scores of small children greeting us enthusiastically in a collection of languages, their parents eying us cautiously and the many many dogs ignoring us completely as they carried on living their best lives, snoozing to escape the already-rising temperatures. With little to no expectation for the day, we took on the chin the dilapidated defunct sugarcane factory that was presented as our first site of interest. Par for the course since we were walking along a path that was once a train track, with the abandoned train cars slowly rusting like a decomposing carcass.
As we moved along the trail, out of the town and into the beautiful countryside, our guide shared stories with us about the area and the people. He told us about the layout of the island, explained the differences in the dialects and the distinctions between the people from the South and those from the North. He shared similar sentiments to the previous guides about how the Malagasy government continued to fail its people, ignoring the poverty and providing no social welfare to uplift its constituents. Along the way, he also pointed out countless trees and bushes, telling us what could and couldn’t be eaten, when things bloomed and fruited, what could be processed or sold and what served medicinal purposes.
As we left the town behind us, the trail was shared with many local people going about their daily business. There were ladies moving along with loads of who knows what all on their heads.
Men shepherding zebu, small barefoot children and good dogs up the uneven path from who know where to who knows where. Inhabitants of the remote huts lifting pausing their graft to greet us as we passed. We even popped in for an impromptu visit where we were invited to see a cat nursing her two tiny little kittens, one of whom had flaked to nap on a nearby bunch of bananas. You certainly don’t see that everyday.
Once we were cleared of the last signs of urban(ish) life, the climb so far had been mostly dirt track through fields of grasses and rice paddies – dry and waiting for the rainy season to produce the staple food on which the local people depended. Then, about an hour in, the trail narrowed as we entered a jungle of sort and needed to negotiate a twisty route of sharp ups and steep downs. This proved to be the way down to the river with the waterfalls. A gentle trickle in this hot, dry season, we were told this same river would rage at the beginning of the year and spit gushes of water off the edge of the rocks into the pools below. Either which way, it was nice to cool off with a splash of cool water!
Crossing the ravine meant using a cable bridge that bounced and swayed as we stepped. Not the kind of excitement you want from a bridge-crossing! But we had a nice reward for reaching the other side as our guide had picked ripe yellow bananas from a nearby tree so we were able to take a moment to enjoy fruit so fresh it put our suburban farm-to-table smugness to shame. With new pep in our step, we navigated the Antsamamavaka circuit down into the volcanic crater (last eruption was 12000 years ago so we felt pretty safe), pausing where the foliage curtains opened to allow spectacular views of 2 of the island’s 12 lakes.
On arrival at the lake, we were astounded to see two ladies tirelessly working a paddy field in the midday heat. Our guide explained that the water table fed the rice from below even during the hottest seasons and the local people had to work very hard to maintain and harvest the fields to keep food on the table. They also had no running water so would need to use buckets to source fresh supply on the return journey home for the day. To make matters worse, the lakes were known to be home to crocodiles which was prohibitive to a relaxing swim to wash away the toil. That really is a tough day’s work compared to my office job, which I will try to remember when I’m about to complain!
We were offered a trek to see another lake, but were very hot and sweaty by this stage so opted to cut to the finale instead. This saw us climb back up the other side of the crater to emerge at Mont Passot, 329m above sea level that allowed 360 degrees panoramic views of the islands and all of its lakes. But, as luck would have it, there was a cloudburst – microclimate incident, we presumed – as we arrived at the entrance to the reserve so instead of further clammy climbing, we got an ice cold Fanta and thanked our lucky stars for the tuk-tuk that was ready and waiting to take us back down the mountain.
The ride back was filled with giddy chatter about all the things we had seen. But just when you think you’ve seen it all… you stop at a Nosy Be petrol station. A hut on the side of the road where you buy petrol in 2 litre soft drink bottles! Record-breaking pitstop turnaround time too. Minutes later we were dragging our tired feet into the resort and straight to the main swimming pool. It was bliss to jump straight in and lounge around in the cool water before tucking into a hearty Zebu burger for lunch.
Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon was spent doing very very very little. There were amazing 4-poster outdoor beds facing the sea, so we grabbed a shady one and observed. Tapping our feet to the now-familiar Royal Beach song, the laughter of the kids bobbing in the waves, the rhythmic thud of the volleyball game, the clinking of bottomless beers and pétanque balls. Aaaaah. The sweet sounds of resort-life.
MONDAY
For a day that we called our ‘do nothing’ day, we were quite busy. We could have been a montage for all the things you could do at the resort. A no-alarm start to the day, with hot chocolate with marshmallows. Then a multi-course breakfast fit for a king, at our usual table overlooking the ocean. Then back to the luxurious room to watch the last couple of episodes of the series we’d brought along for the holiday and been too busy to watch.
Mid-morning burst to visit the airconditioned wellness centre for a run on the treadmill to work up an appetite for a too-soon lunch. But first to catch a breath for an hour testing the resort’s other big and beautiful pool at the back of the gardens which we had all to ourselves while everyone else was excursioning and beaching. And then of course a fish n chips lunch to reward a morning well done and to prepare for an afternoon of sloth, on the beach until the tide came in and the lapping waves licked the legs of the loungers alerting us that it was time to retire to the 4-poster to watch the golden sunset one last time to our favourite soundtrack. Royal Beach, ca va bien!
