By Evan Quarnstrom
As we neared the edge of a barrier reef four miles off the coast, me and six other surfers watched the horizon in awe as seemingly perfect left handers imploded in the distance. The Kiwi boat captain, Blair, broke the silence with his uniquely consistent brand of humor. “Well, there’s no one out, again, boys,” he sarcastically chuckled. Blair has called Madagascar home for fifteen years and was poking fun at the fact that crowds are essentially nonexistent on this stretch of coast, or most of the country.
Madagascar is still one of surfing’s frontiers – and certainly because it’s far from anything that remotely resembles a surf industry, let alone finding a bar of wax. Surfing in one of the world’s poorest countries presents unique challenges, but the benefits are summed up as a slogan on Blair’s website: “Perfect waves no crowds”.
The dreamy waves of Madagascar were first pioneered by neighboring surfers from South Africa and Reunion in the 80s. Forty years later, surfing in Madagascar isn’t exactly a secret, but at the same time, not that much has changed. You can still surf most of those waves pioneered forty years ago by yourself. A surf trip to Madagascar requires a special kind of person willing to put up with a relatively rough, no frills experience in exchange for good surf and no crowds.
Touching down in Tulear
My plane touched down on a dusty, empty airport runway in the city of Tulear. There is only one flight a week from Reunion to Tulear, so when the cash-padded French tourists arrive on Monday mornings, many-a-locals wait at the airport – drivers, guides, vendors, baggage handlers, and beggars – hoping to get piece of the pie from the small plane load of vazahas (the Malagasy word for foreigners) entering the country.
Tulear can be described as organized chaos – streets choked with weaving bike traffic and bustling markets. Despite sitting on an idyllic stretch of coast, the town’s muddy, polluted beaches are essentially unusable for leisure. It’s hard to imagine that a surfing paradise can be found anywhere within a thousand miles. But as you hop on the boat taxi, head south, and distance yourself from the city, a whole new side of Madagascar comes into view.
Crystal clear lagoons appear within the protection of expansive coral reefs. Dolphins frolic as flocks of pink flamingos soar overhead. And the best part: Scattered throughout the coastline, island chains, and barrier reefs are a treasure trove of waves, from slabs to reef passes to friendly A-frames.
My destination was the small village of Anakao. As you head south of Tulear on the boat taxi, steep cliffs give way to an endless expanse of flat sand dunes covered with arid desert shrubs. Anakao, situated on this coastal plain, is a small town of about 5,000 that consists of makeshift structures – houses, restaurants, and even a few discos – alongside a beach lined with traditional fishing canoes on which the villagers depend for subsistence.
Forging his own path: Meet Max
Blair and his team have provided equipment and training to seven local junior surfers – four girls and three boys – who are catching on quickly and already winning national titles. And while most of the village youth aren’t lucky enough to have access to boat trips to the outer reefs, dozens of kids can be seen playing in the shorebreak, surfing on yellowed, tattered boards, or even simply riding hand-shaped planks of wood.
I grew particularly fond of one of the Malagasy surf guides, Max Manapototra, who embodies the ethos of surfing in Madagascar. Max, 31, became a black sheep in his family for deciding to be a surfer, but has gone on to help found the country’s first surfing federation and become a surf guide for Blair. He exemplifies the innate stoke of surfing in Madagascar, but also the struggle and reality of being a surfer in one of the world’s poorest countries.
Max told me of his childhood, growing up one of eight children in the southern Madagascar city of Fort Dauphin. His family didn’t have much, but he recalls his childhood as happy with supportive parents that wanted the best for him. Max realized he was different from the rest of his family. As he was passing the beach on his way to school every morning, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the surfers in the water.
“Every day I would see the local guys surfing,” Max told me. “I started to get curious about surfing, thinking that it must be cool. I wanted to try, but I didn’t know how to swim, so every day I went to the beach to teach myself how to swim, starting in the knee-high water.”
Max eventually mastered swimming and used his fluent French to his advantage, befriending one of the Reunion surfers on the beach who was able to lend him a board. He was hooked from the start and committed to becoming a surfer, even dropping out of high school to dedicate his life to the sport.
His mom, who was already weary of the beach bum, weed-smoking stereotype of surfers, eventually had enough of Max’s pursuit of surfing. She moved the entire family hundreds of miles away to Antananrivo, the nation’s mountainous, landlocked capital, to obligate Max to refocus on his studies.
While Max did indeed finish high school, and even started a university program, over the course of the ten years he spent far from the ocean, he never forgot about his passion for surfing. In 2017 the itch for the ocean was too much to overcome, he put his university studies on hold and headed to Madagascar’s surfing paradise, Tulear. That’s where he met Blair and got involved in surf guiding, proving to his mother that he can make a living from the sport. Max went on to India for six months to become an ISA certified surf coach.
“I learned a lot in India, like how to deal with people you don’t understand,” he told me. “I was shocked about the culture, the religions. That experience inspired me to travel to other countries.”
While Max’s family still encourages him to return to his university studies, now they are more understanding and supportive of his decision to be a surfer. Max’s $200 per month salary is more than many make in a country where poverty abounds, but he explained that it’s not enough to get ahead in life, especially if he ever has to support a family.
And being a Malagasy surfer provides a whole other set of challenges. First off, the only surf gear in the country – boards, leashes, wax, etc. – is that which has been left behind by visiting surfers. For his entire life Max has been surfing whatever board he can get his hands on, even if it’s not his ideal dimensions. He tries to make a coat of wax last one or two years since he never knows when the next bar will appear.
Despite all the challenges that Madagascar surfing faces, Max is optimistic.
“I am not sure how long it will be, but I am pretty positive we have a bright future,” he said.
The beginnings of a surf culture are starting to take shape in the country. In 2021 Madagascar held its first ever surfing national championship. It was the first time that surfers from all corners of the country were able to meet in person. Max was the head judge.
“The whole idea is to inspire the young surfers,” said Max, who is now the technical director of the Madagascar’s surfing federation. “They need to know that they can travel around the world for surfing, and they can get educated. By doing this they will meet people and learn from them.”
In spite of recent milestones, the biggest hurdle that still remains, according to Max, is the lack of surfboards. He told me stories of teaching 74 kids to surf in his hometown with only eight boards to share between them. Now Max is brainstorming ways they can train local shapers and source local materials to make low-cost boards that Malagasy surfers can afford.
A small contribution to the future
I’ve seen the positive impact that surfing can have in many countries around the world, but I departed from Anakao particularly touched by the magic of surfing that is taking root – the stoke of kids riding wooden planks, leaders like Max trying to forge a better future for the sport, and even foreigners like Blair who are making surf tourism possible on the edge of the planet.
Surfing in Madagascar reminds me a lot of the history of the island itself. The island, isolated for hundreds of millions of years, evolved marvelously unique flora and fauna. Now the seed first left by foreign surfers more than four decades ago is starting to bloom, but with its own unique Malagasy style. The Malagasy people have a gold mine of waves sitting at their doorstep, it’s just a matter of accessibility.
Max was off guiding a surf trip at the time of my departure, but I sent him a going away message with an image of one of my favored old surfboards inside its bag along with a tube of epoxy resin, resting on a wooden rack. “It was a pleasure to have met you, man I hope you can get some more waves on that thing before it dies.”
The board was a relatively small gift for me, but for a person who otherwise wouldn’t ever have a chance to surf, it can make a world’s difference. Surfing can change the course of a life, just as it changed mine. It was the least I could do for a place, and people, who brought me so much joy. It was just a small contribution to the future that the Malagasy surfers are working so hard to create.