Read the following passage and mark the letter A, B, C, or D on your answer sheet to indicate the correct answer to each of the questions from 36 to 42.
The first Europeans, arriving in 1630, thought Madagascar was an earthly paradise, the Garden of God. That pretty much sums it up: God's Garden. For who else would have thought to snip a piece from Africa and haul it almost 300 miles into the safety of the Indian Ocean? Species have survived in Madagascar that have long been lost elsewhere, like 80 per cent of the island's flora, or the 50 varieties of lemur. There may be no lions or elephants, but half the world's chameleons live here. At the heart of the island is Antananarivo, a city chiselled into the flanks of 12 sheer hills that nose out of the rice fields. It contains an interesting mix of cultures, with baguettes, rickshaws. cockfighting car races, old French cobbled streets. Once, spotted a travelling beautician with a bucket full of make-up.
Travelling around is no mean feat. The island is almost three times the size of Britain, with a third of its population. Expect to see no one for days. The east coast is packed with rainforest, the west with baobab trees, and the south is tinder-dry. The only way to get around is by plane, or in a car that likes the dirt. But if a handful of tourists a day is too many, fly north to the Montagne d'Ambre. From the air, Madagascar is more implausible than ever, a diorama of tiny forts, moon rock, volcanic cones, Savannahs, and then the sea. There's only one airport up here, Diego Suarez. It's cooler up in the hills. Here, the indigenous tribesmen know every click and squeak of the forest, and every flash of feathers. There are more than 1.200 plant species in the mountains, of which more than half are medicinal. One tree looks as if it sprouts fresh hankies. Another has flame-red flowers.
No trip to Madagascar is complete without time on the coast, particularly in the north and west. For the west coast, you must go by plane. Loaded with tomatoes and building materials, it feels like a flight to the end of the world, or perhaps the beginning. Below, the coast looks like Earth in the moments before life, virgin islands, powder-white sand and the Erand, wild bush. Here, the only place to stay is Anjajavy. As resorts go it's hardly obtrusive: much of it is built from the forest, although finished in Parisian style. There are more resorts on the north coast, as it has been a favourite for centuries. The sea's the colour of swimming pools, pebbled by the Nosy Islands. Travel is by speedboat, with an escort of dolphins. Resorts are mostly French, and often the only visitors are fish eagles or turtles. It's hard to imagine more omamental isles, with tiny hills and streams. It's not surprising that in 1904, a passing Russian warship simply abandoned the war and defected to paradise.
(Adapted from Get Ahead in FCE by Andrew Betsis and Lawrence Mamas)
