Then for the long CHOGM weekend I ended up taking a rather impromptu trip with 5 others down to the southwestern region of Uganda just about an hour from the Rwanda border and not far from the DRC border as well. Thursday and Friday had been declared public holidays in honor of CHOGM and the Queen’s arrival, and many muzungus were intent on fleeing town as the central roads were closed off to the public, and the building traffic mayhem gripped the city. The funny thing is that as of Wednesday evening I was still unsure of exactly where, with whom, and for how long I’d be fleeing. An American girl, Ari, I had back in October through Judy and Lew, and her roommate were planning on taking the four day weekend to trek down to Lake Bunyonyi, which entailed a 7 hour bus ride (once the bus actually started moving of course—half the battle!). I had mentioned during a jog with some girls I met at the Hash that I was thinking of going to the Lake, and somehow, it all came together. They brought along another of their roommates and so in the end there were 6 (4 Americans, 1 Canadian, 1 Aussie) of us who by last-minute texting and emailing managed to coordinate enough to meet up at 7 am at a gas station near the bus park, coming from different directions.
We walked to the bus park and were immediately mobbed by a pack of bus hawkers all trying to get us on their bus, whether they were going to our destination of Kabale or not! We found our Horizon bus company and climbed on to secure 6 seats next to each other. Then the 2 hour wait began—we pulled out of the parking lot just after 9, but luckily with little traffic with which to contend. The bus ride was fairly uneventful—just the standard shoving-kebad/drinks/fried crickets, etc. in your face through the bus window—aside from the part where I almost got left. That’s right, a few hours into the bus ride, we pulled over at a rest stop and the other girls got out to use the restroom. Being my newly aware (paranoid?) self following theft incidents, I decided to stick around behind and keep an eye on all of our bags. There were spillover passengers who had not secured seats lurking in the isles and I just had an uneasy feeling. By the time one of the girls fought her way back onto the bus, the bus driver was getting antsy, but I had had to pee since we left the bus park—it was now or never. I ran off the bus and to the bathrooms which were of the hole in the floor variety and tried to pee as fast as I could, and then I heard the bus starting to honk. I flew out of the bathroom along with Ari and ran for my life. We made it of course, but not without getting more than a few chuckles from all of the Ugandans on the bus as we passed back to our seats. Look at those muzungus run!!!
We arrived in Kabale close to 4, found Ari’s friend who is working in Kabale at the moment, and then arranged a special hire to take us the final 20km or so to the Lake. Six of us crammed in (like that would ever happen in the US!) and we wound our way up the steep green hills that divided Kabale from the lake. The vistas were spectacular as tiered farmland came into view. Then we caught our first glimpse of the lake scattered with small islands. The taxi wound down the red dirt roads to the lake below and to our accommodation, Bunyonyi Overland Resort. Cottages and furnished tents were tucked into the hill and looked out on a sweeping view over the lake, islands, and manicured grounds. After giddily exploring our surroundings, we headed out for a boat ride—all six of us in one dugout wooden canoe with four paddles. Despite the fact that more than half of us had rowed crew, we ended up spending most of our half h
our on the water going in circles and couldn’t stop laughing. But we did manage to make it to shore, just in time to wait about one and a half hours for our food to arrive from the restaurant! Grrrr, African Time! Well, actually, they were cooking the pizzas that some had ordered one by one as they only had one oven (um?), but the food ended up being quite good. My crayfish (fresh from the lake below) masala was very good if not quite a Thanksgiving feast. After dinner we sat around the campfire with the other guests: some other American volunteers from Kampala, some Brits who had just winding down a three week trip through Uganda and Rwanda and were headed back to London on the Queen’s flight on Saturday (who knew she didn’t fly in her own private plane?), and an Israeli traveling on his own.The next day, after a hilarious breakfast where I was called, get this, “Not a good person,” by the waiter (I had ordered French Toast which I think we can all agree is dipped in egg and sweet—not so this one, just break dipped in a whole lotta egg) when I asked if my toast break could be on the house since I was still paying for the more expense French Toast that I was less than impressed with. Let’s just say that the concept of customer service has yet to surface in this country for the most part. And from all my days as a waitress, I learned to please the customer. Yeah, they just don’t care. When they say “I’m sorry” for something, it actually just means, “I’m sorry that happened to you or that you’re not happy” not that I will take any responsibility or try to make it better. But it’s up there with African time, so you just have to grit your teeth and bare it!
While the others started on a hike, Jen, Jenny, Anna, and I went for a brisk swim in the cool lake and amused ourselves to no end with silly jumps of the diving board thoroughly documented by Jen. Apparently Lake Bunyonyi is the deepest lake in Uganda, and so it was very nice to swim without having to encounter the lake’s bottom. Then we took off on our hike up the steep dirt paths cutting through the lush green tiered farmland. We were winded (i.e. out of shape) from the 45 min hike, but found rewards at the top with a stunning view and a restaurant that served the best food in all of Uganda (seriously and it had a trampoline!) that had been recommended by some other guests we had run into on the way. We feasted, quite literally, BLTs, vegetable crepes, tomato and cheese salads, and then stuck by an impressive, powerful, and swift onset of a whiteout storm; we descended on the dessert menu. After the best couple hours ever, we slid down the hill (trying not to do so on our behinds mo
stly successfully and checked out of rooms. Then we waited for the motorboat that was coming to fetch us and take us to our Friday night accommodation, Boonya Amagara, a retreat on Ishabira Island in the middle of the lake. The clouds continued to roll in and dumped another massive treat of rain. We waited another hour, called, and the motor boat arrived and we began our very damp trip across the water to our lodge. When we arrived we were shown to our room—a dormitory with seven beds (Ari’s friend has joined us, lucky him with 6 girls) situated in the upper area of a little makeshift library. It was a great little setup and we checked out the bookshelves and got dry and settled before making our way up the slope for some warm tea and dinner. 
The next morning we hiked around the island and took in more glorious views and many pictures before sitting down for the best/only brunch I’ve had since leaving NYC! I had an enormous rolex (omlette in chapatti) with guacamole and mashed potatoes and heaps of pineapple, banana, and passion fruit salad. Divine. Ahh, but sure enough, the clouds began to roll in. We had arranged a motorboat ride for 1pm so that we could get back to Kabale, have some warm showers (those had been lacking) and be prepared to catch an early bus to get back to Kampala on Sunday. After an issue with our motor, another boat was called, and pretty soon it was 2pm and we were all cowering in our boat, heading into the eye of a very black storm over the water, no life jackets required of course. (Thanks, Mom, for making me bring that monstrously huge poncho because I was one of the driest onboard! And everyone else took lots of embarrassing pictures to prove it.) Taxis met our boat in a remarkable turn of efficiency and we made it back to Kabale and a very cute hostel where Ari’s friend is staying long-term. We stocked up at the bakery and supermarket, took hot showers, bargained at the market for Congolese fabric, and dined at the Little Ritz Restaurant Kabale. But the night was young, just 10pm and it was time to hit Club Mix & Match just across the street from our hostel—I mean how could I pass up a big night out in Kabale? Despite our impending early wake-up call (4:45am) to enjoy some small-town nightlife.
Then three hours later we were up, well Jenny and I, that is, who had agreed to be scouts in the search for the bus that would leave the soonest. It literally found us—in the dark as we walked down the main road to the bus park—two huge buses pulled up in our path just as boda drivers do so assertively. We asked if the bus was leaving at 5am as scheduled, even though it was nearly empty, or if it was waiting to fill up. And this is where they lied to us, flat-out. “Yes we are leaving just now, at 5,” the ticket man said. Jenny and I explained we had 4 other friends who could be here in minutes as well, and they said we could go pick them up. Thus began the longest bus pickup experience of my life—and I have ridden many a sketchy bus (hello, Chinatown NY). After one earlier stop, we picked up the other girls, and then proceeded to drive up and down the length of the main street for two hours stopping to pick up random people and their sacks of potatoes, etc. As the sky lighted to dusky blue, it was well past six and I was getting angrier and angrier. I asked the ticket man when we were leaving just after a huge crowd of people boarded, reminding him that he had promised us a 5am departure. “We were just waiting for those people, now we are leaving,” he smiled blankly. We left at 7:15. That’s all I’ll say about that—I slept off most of my anger and woke to hawkers peddling bags of friend crickets and even live bright green cicadas, yum! It really was such an unexpectedly fun weekend with new friends, and all the hilarity that I’ve come to fear and expected in this curious country!
Then three hours later we were up, well Jenny and I, that is, who had agreed to be scouts in the search for the bus that would leave the soonest. It literally found us—in the dark as we walked down the main road to the bus park—two huge buses pulled up in our path just as boda drivers do so assertively. We asked if the bus was leaving at 5am as scheduled, even though it was nearly empty, or if it was waiting to fill up. And this is where they lied to us, flat-out. “Yes we are leaving just now, at 5,” the ticket man said. Jenny and I explained we had 4 other friends who could be here in minutes as well, and they said we could go pick them up. Thus began the longest bus pickup experience of my life—and I have ridden many a sketchy bus (hello, Chinatown NY). After one earlier stop, we picked up the other girls, and then proceeded to drive up and down the length of the main street for two hours stopping to pick up random people and their sacks of potatoes, etc. As the sky lighted to dusky blue, it was well past six and I was getting angrier and angrier. I asked the ticket man when we were leaving just after a huge crowd of people boarded, reminding him that he had promised us a 5am departure. “We were just waiting for those people, now we are leaving,” he smiled blankly. We left at 7:15. That’s all I’ll say about that—I slept off most of my anger and woke to hawkers peddling bags of friend crickets and even live bright green cicadas, yum! It really was such an unexpectedly fun weekend with new friends, and all the hilarity that I’ve come to fear and expected in this curious country!
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