Getting to Gabs

Nothing is simple in Africa—at least not transport-wise. Having had extensive experience with transportation in much of the southern part of the continent now, I have made attempts to take this into consideration and do my best to overcome it. It ain’t easy, let me tell you.

I spent a considerable amount of phone time calling a bus company based in Lusaka that runs several buses a week from Lusaka to Gaborone, stopping for pickup in Livingstone in the early hours of the morning. The office gave me the cell phone number of the bus driver, Tembo, whom I called and had me call back later in the afternoon. When I called back, I explained that I would like to be picked up in Livingstone and inquired as to the time and place I should be waiting. In front of the post office at 5aam I was told. I had heard from people at the hostel that the pick up time was as early as 3 or 4am, so just to be sure, I asked Tembo, “So definitely 5am, not 4am??” No, he assured me, 5am the bus would come by the post office and pick me up.

I arranged for one of the guards from the hostel to escort me out in the dark of the early morning to meet the bus at 5am. “Are you sure not 3 or 4am?” he asked me. No, I told him, the bus driver had assured me that 5am was the right time. I could barely sleep that night for fear of not waking up and missing the bus (and I don’t think the next one ran again until Sunday) and because I kept thinking I could hear the bus on the main street, and got up at 4:30 to gather my bags and find the guard. We walked out in the dark night down to the main street post office just two blocks away. The guard, George, asked a woman sitting on the bench whether the Gaborone bus had been by and was told yes—it was not even 5am yet. Furious Laura, take one. I called the bus driver’s cell and had George speak to him. Yes, the bus driver confirmed, he was on his way to Livingstone, on a bad road into town that would take about 30 minutes. So I sat on the bench with George and some other local bus people and waited. At 5:30, at George’s suggestion I placed another call to check on the progress. Furious Laura, take two. The bus was actually on the way to the border and would not be coming through town. WHAT??? Why the lies? So George helped me find a taxi, but it was not even 6am, and unless I wanted to pay the full price (the same cost as the price of the bus all the way to Gabs), I had to wait for 3 other people to share my taxi. Around 6:30, in the early morning light, we headed for the Zambia-Botswana border at the town of Kazungula. I arrived at immigration, called Tembo, and was told to hurry through and catch the bus. I passed through the Zambian side and raced for the ferry 200m away, where I could see a bus perched and many people waiting, it was about to depart. I made the ferry with not a moment to spare and we were shuttled over to the Botswana side to walk another 200m to immigration, got my (free!) 30-day entry permit, and finally boarded the long awaited bus around 8am.

When I finally met Tembo, I asked him with a bitter smile, why he had lied to me. In that impressive evasive way I’ve encountered too often here, he smiled a pleasant smile and chuckled a bit. I’ll explain all later. Of course, I never got an answer. But I did get him to cover my taxi ride to the border and deduct it from the price of my bus ticket. The bus ride was pretty uneventful aside from some fun giraffe and elephant spotting by the side of the rode driving through Chobe NP. At one point not far into Botswana we had to deboard the bus, take off all of our luggage, show all our shoes either wearing or in our suitcases, and dip them in some ambiguous sandy mixture in these pits in order to prevent bringing some sort of animal disease into Botswana—it was all very confusing. I’ve gotten very good at staring out the window however, and passed most of the day this way—the bush looked similar to Zambia (although I’m told this is unusual but there’s been a lot of rain recently), and reading Out of Africa.

I arrived in Gabs around 8pm, after a full day’s journey. I went to a local hotel who phone Kim for me, and she and her husband, Luke, came to pick me up, and with that simple change, the Rest & Relaxation began!! They took me to a marine party for new foreign service people briefly (I was looking good after my bus trip! Ha) and then home to their lovely abode, across the street from the house of the President of Botswana no less! I have my own bedroom and bathroom (tub & shower!), a full fridge (I haven’t been shy), and laundry facilities (washer & dryer! I don’t think anyone in the States can fully appreciate the excitement this instills. My clothes are streeeetched out). I’ve had the most chill days I’ve had in months: sleeping, reading, watching K&L play squash, driving around Gabs (there’s not much here really) visiting some pottery places, and cooking.

Today was a great day. We visited a game reserve that just about 20 minutes from their house and went on a two hour game drive that included a cheetah petting session. Yep, you read that correctly—CHEETAH PETTING! A group of 7 of us went into an enclosed compound where two rescued cheetahs live and were allowed to go one by one and kneel beside the cheetah and pet them on the head. They were big, but so cute and soft, and purred just like huge cats, which I guess they are! Can’t do that everywhere. Then we came home and had an afternoon of cooking and eating (my idea of a perfect day!). We made buttermilk pancakes with banana for breakfast, sage and gorgonzola risotto for lunch, and steak, scalloped potatoes, salad, and homemade chocolate-walnut ice cream for European-time dinner. It was insanely delicious. K&L have really been superb hosts, and I thank them for that, and for getting me back in (somewhat) working order. Now I’m trying to plan my onward journey to Cape Town, although it will be hard to leave the comforts of (someone else’s) home!

Natural Wonder: Vic Falls

Victoria Falls has been worth it, believe it or not—even 60 hours of travel! I’m here during high water season, in fact perhaps the highest. The Falls are gushing with literally tons of water, and it’s a spectacular sight to see. I arrived late Monday night, around midnight, to Jollyboys Backpackers Lodge—one of the cleanest backpacker places I’ve seen that has a great casual atmosphere complete with a sunken pillow lounge and loft and landscaped pool and picnic tables near the bar. I had met a Zimbabwean, Paul, on the bus to Lusaka who helped me find a bus to Livingstone as he was heading in the same direction, and after we both checked into the 16 bed dorm and hung out with some of the other guests—Canadians, American, Brits.

The next day I was up early and ready to catch the free shuttle to the Falls which are about 10 km outside of Livingstone. Paul gave me a guide of the Zambian side of the Falls which he had been to once before, and it’s courtesy of him that I have all these photos of myself in front of the falls. I got soaked to the bone—it was like being in pouring rain as the mighty falls rained down on the slippery footbridge and path. I’m continually amazing by how laidback things are in Africa—never, I mean never, would such simple railings (or lack there of in some spots) be in place at such high risk areas. After hiking around the national park for a few hours, Paul headed to the Zimbabwean border and I headed back to Jollyboys to book a few extravagant activities—hey, I’m only in Vic Fall once (actually I already have plans for that not to be true!).

A friend had told me I must, absolutely MUST, go on a microlight above Vic Falls, a small motorized open-air hang-glider flown by a pilot, as it was “one of the 1000 things to do before you die” according to someone somewhere. They only fly when the weather conditions are fair enough, and in the morning or afternoon with light winds, so it being a lovely day, I went for it and booked for 4pm that day. I was picked up at the hostel and driven to the launch site where there were also helicopter rides available. After signing my life away (per usual), I was rushed outside to board a microlight craft that had just landed from a previous flight. I was introduced to Heiko, the pilot, and allowed a picture with my own camera in front of the craft before it was stored in a pouch on the plane’s side. Cameras aren’t allowed as you could drop it and it could fly back and get wedged in the propeller and well, that’d be the end of that. And to be honest, I was very grateful not to have a camera up there—I was holding on for dear life. A crew member belted me in, put a microphone (connected to the pilot’s) and a helmet on my head, and put down an eye visor. There was no time to be scared really, but had I thought about the whole setup a bit more, I definitely would have been. But all of a sudden, the propeller was revving, we were cruising along the grassy dirt runway, and then we were up, up, and UP. Within a few seconds we were climbing high above the treetops, gaining sweeping views of the Zambezi with Vic Fall’s mists thundering up in the distance. We climbed higher and higher, the wind building and rushing in my ears, and for a moment I looked down and panicked, especially when I noticed that the seatbelt looked like the one on an airplane with that metal flap—I mean really, who feels secure in that?! But then the sheer beauty and awe of my surroundings overcame me and we were heading for the falls, with the zigzagging gorges of Zimbabwe leading out through the green African bush to the horizon on all sides. I know I’ve said this before, but for this there really are not words.

My fifteen minute ride seemed suspended in time but of course in retrospect passed in a flash. We circled the falls again and hovered lower then headed back toward the launch site. Heiko let me take hold of the wing-bar and control the craft (well, not really of course!), but it was an awesome feeling to shift the bar and have the hanger change course. He also pointed out hippos and crocodiles far below. I know I had the biggest smile on my face, and it was still there when we came down for the smooth and light landing. I just couldn’t stop. Another woman had landed and I just started gushing to her. Although you can’t take pictures, there is a camera mounted far out on the tip of the left wing that takes photos of you against the backdrop of the falls. Of course I promised myself I wouldn’t buy them, but once I saw them of course I did! And here they are for your viewing pleasure. Just looking at them gives me the rush all over again. In short, I highly recommend it, the next time you’re in Vic Falls.

Tuesday night I hung out with some Australians at the hostel and took in the Zambia vs. Sudan football match that was part of the Africa Cup—Zambia won 3-0!

On Wednesday morning, I was up early again to catch the shuttle, this time to attend a breakfast at Livingstone Island—another extravagant activity that just seemed too good to pass up. Only problem was that it was pouring rain by the time we started off for the island! The trips to the Island, where Dr. Livingstone first took in the magnificent sight of the Falls, is only accessed by a guided walk in low season, when you can literally walk across the top of the falls and swim in a pool suspended over the edge (see, how can I not go back some day!), or by trips run by the Royal Livingstone, a five-star hotel in the area. A group of 12 of us were shuttled out to the island in about 5 minutes by motorboat, then lead to the front edge near the falls where a lovely white tent was set up for a high-class breakfast. Despite the pouring rain, the Falls were not diminished in the least. If anything, I just felt nature’s awesome power—so much water everywhere! The guide led me and an older British couple out to the edge and pointed over a few rocks a few feet away—“that’s the edge”—um, yes, I can SEE that!!!! We looked off to the left to see the curve of the raging side falls. Then our guide led up over to the other side of the island where he escorted us one by one out to the edge so we could gaze on the face of the main falls. At one point I was instructed to put my arm around his shoulder and leap across a gush of water that flowed over the edge a few meters away instilling another adrenaline rush! He took some frame worthy photos, and then we headed back to towel off and dine on some of the most fantastic eggs benedict I’ve ever had with coffee, scones, and muffins all served with white china, linens, and silver. I felt quite special!

Upon returning to the hotel by motorboat, the rain was still coming down, so I relaxed in the very posh surroundings and gazing out over the Zambezi River. As the weather began to clear up, I headed for the Zimbabwean border, to get yet another view of the Falls from the bridge that spans the river and connects the two countries, add another stamp/country to my passport, and possibly do a gorge swing as had been recommended by the Zimbabwean. I didn’t manage to fit in the gorge swing (next time!) but one of Paul’s friend was able to give me a tour of Vic Falls (the name of the Zimbabwean town) and drive me out for a magnificent view of the Falls from afar.

I feel like I could spend another week here in Vic Falls with all the (pricey) things to do, but transport in Africa being was it is, it’s time for me to find my way to Gaborone, where I will be visiting an old friend from St. Martin’s who is now stationed in Botswana with the US Foreign Service. Wish me luck getting there, I’m sure I will need it.

The Long Journey

So after days of training and bussing my way down from Dar es Salaam into Zambia, I am nearing my destination: Victoria Falls in Livingstone, at the southern tip of Zambia. The train was an interesting experience to say the least. Mostly it was just long though! I arrived just a mere 20 minutes before the train was set to depart in typical African time fashion due to horrendous traffic (Dar is similar to Kampala in that lovely way!) and in a frantic attempt to change my remaining Tanzanian schillings to US dollars because I was told by a fellow traveler that TZ schillings would be useless after the Zambian border and it would impossible to change them. One thing that is great in some ways but also unfortunate about travelling in Africa is that the guide books are often so inadequate as Africa is still a relatively unexplored place compared to Asia, for example, and also countries are rapidly developing, unraveling, and the like. In one way this adds to the “adventure factor,” in another way, I just want some answers please!!!

I was in a second class compartment with 4 teenage Tanzanian girls and their chaperone (mother?), who were all incredibly sweet but shall we say talkative-- so that had me considering a switch to first class (the difference of about $15 from my $40 dollar ticket. First class was full but one passenger was set to disembark in a few hours time, so then I could switch. Then African time really started to takeover. The train remained stationary for three hours. Not off to a great start for the first night; it was looking like the estimates of a 40 hour train ride were wishful thinking to say the least. I had some beers (Kilimanjaro) with two South African guys and an American now living in Finland who were on their way to Malawi which was accessed via Mbeya just north of the Malawi border. I went back to my cabin and crawled up onto a middle bed and passed out in my clothes as it was dark and I couldn’t be bothered to find my things is the overcrowded cabin, after using an eastern style toilet with the train in motion mind you—not easy!

I woke up the next morning and had my provisions of bread, peanut butter, bananas, and mango juice that I had picked up before the train ride in case of no food, or really just food that would create stomach issues that might make a long train ride less enjoyable. I spent the rest of the day sitting in the first class lounge with large red comfy velvet chairs staring out the window at the lovely landscape and reading Out of Africa—how appropriate, huh? The Mbeya people were set to disembark at 1pm but we didn’t end up arriving until 9pm. And I was told that I could expect to arrive at 10 pm the following day as opposed to 10am as scheduled. Yikes! Everyone in my cabin had gotten off at Mbeya which made me happy until I was told by the conductor personally that it was unsafe for me to stay alone because northern Zambia was unsafe and people may try to break in an rob me. Great. So after a pathetic attempt to talk him into letting me move up to first class due to the delay, I was placed in a different second class compartment with a Tanzanian woman, Gati, who was on her way to Gabarone. She ended up being my saving grace.

When we finally crossed the Tanzania-Zambia border, immigration just never came, not on the TZ side or the ZAM side. There was some rattling of the door in the night and I woke up terrified a few times, but all was fine. Customs came by but no immigration. We woke up the next morning when a nun came to share our compartment—a relief—and she was kind enough to keep an eye on my bags when I went to the first class lounge to read all day again and have my first Mosi (Zambian) beer. We finally arrived in Kapiri Mposhi—a small town a few hours north of the capital, Lusaka, thats main claim in the guide book is do whatever you can not to stay there. Immigration was closed however. Two strikes. Do we attempt to go to Lusaka and see immigration there or wait in Kapiri for fear of problems travelling in Zambia illegally. This ended up being true for the most part. We got a hotel room in Kapiri on the cheap and woke up the next day to visit the immigration office at the train station. Of course, after we finally managed to find the wandering immigration officer, theycompletely illogically blamed us for not getting our TZ and ZAM stamps. I was fuming inside. Also, my guide book was completely wrong and I had to pay $100 for a visa. I thought a transit visa was cheaper and had requested that, but when I found out it was the same price as a 3 year multiple entry visa, I of course wanted that. The woman said she couldn’t change it now that she had written it—WHY NOT? She’s the immigration officer for goodness sake! After calling headquarters on MY cell phone, they finally agreed to give in. Then they tried to make Gati buy them some sodas but she managed to get out of it because she had not Zambian money.

After our relative victory at the station, I got some Zambian money and Gati put me on a bus to Lusaka. I’m about to board the next and final bus to Livingstone—so I should finally be there tonight! I’m very ready for some downtime out of a moving vehicle.

Dar and Zanzibar

I sit typing this from the poolside of the Serena Hotel in Stone Town, Zanizibar. Boy, is this place divine. I’m adding this to my very long list (already, yikes) of places to which I mst retrn. But really, this place has it all, and in my short time here, only two and a half days, I’ve only been able to explore the tiniest slice of all this small island has to offer.

On the other hand, I would say that Dar is nothing to write home about really. It's a bustling East African city with a nicer than average setting on the water and some nice buildings and churches, so it may eclipse Kampala in that respect. I'm sure if I lived here for a bit I would grow to love many of it's quirks and lesser charms as I did in Kampala. But I decided that one night there was plenty and wanted to get to Zanzibar as soon as possible!

On Tuesday I arrived by ferry—that in and of itself is a huge feat because the port area in Dar is a fright. There are hawkers and hasslers everywhere, trying to persuade and swindle. I managed to race from my hostel, the YMCA, down to the port in about 15 minutes, raced to buy my ticket from the Seagull company and plopped by sweaty self down in a nice airconditioned space at the front of the ferry—next to a very nice young South African couple as luck would have it! They had met an American girl on the last ferry who is doing a Fulbright in Zanzibar and she met us at the ferry and took us to a clean, perfectly decent guesthouse with my own bathroom and room for $10--magnificent! We spent the afternoon drinking a beer at Mercury's, a bar on the beach near the port and watching the sunset, then had Swahili cuisine, octopus in mild coconut curry, at a local restaurant.

On Wednesday I got up nice and early for a Spice Tour in the villages outside Stone Town that was actually quite interesting as I never knew where cinnamon came from for example--the bark of a particular tree. We had a lunch of Swahili cuisine--another mild fish coconut curry--and then made our way to Mangwapani Beach. First I visited a slave cave where 200 slaves were held after the British baned slavery in the 1700s while the Portugese still tried to carry on the slave trade. Then it was time for some light and breezy beach time on the most beautiful beach I may have ever seen. It had the softest white sand, clear turquoise water, and palm trees alongside rocky outcropping. Spectacular.

I had a delicious dinner at the Forodhani Gardens, which had an amazing fish market where you can buy skewers of tuna, baracuda, kingfish, etc, calamari, squid, crab claws, puffed bread, rotis, fresh sugar cane juice (my new favorite thing!)--in other words, Laura's version of heaven.

Today I went snorkling on a morning trip through One Dive Agency here on the island. We did two dives: one at a great reef off the coast of Batwe Island, the other at Great Northern over a 120 year old shipwreak that had coral grown all over it. There were gorgeous yellow, blue, stripped fish, and even ones named after lions and crocodiles. Definitely looking forward to another change to snorkle again soon. Then this afternoon I wandered around Stone Town, i.e. got lost a lot. The small winding cobbled streets are shabby and in disarray and utteryly charming. There is a "jambo" (Swahili hello) waiting around every turn of course. This devotely Muslim island is full of partially or fully veiled woman in the heat of the day making for an interesting and sometime controversial mix with less sensitive tourists. (My knee length skirt and cap sleeve shirts have served me well.) There are also In any case, I could stay here for another month and not run out of things to do and see and enjoy, and I'm sorry to leave so soon--but as I say, I'll be back, fingers crossed!

I leave tomorrow on a morning ferry and then make my way to the Tazara train station in Dar for my 40 hour train ride to Kapiri Mposhi smack in the middle of Zambia. (Don't be jealous!) From there I will make my way down to Victoria Falls which may be the next time I'm on the internet. Here's hoping that my company on the train is as good as it has been on the island!

And She's Off!

That's right, the day has arrived! After a final weekend in Kampala doing my best to wrap things up and say goodbye, I leave town in just under 10 hours to begin my travels down to South Africa on my way to Australia.


While my four months here have felt both very long yet very short at different times, it's a very surreal feeling to be departing my somewhat settled life here. But I've certainly had a good run in Uganda and I feel lucky for the experiences I've had, the places I've seen thus far, and most importantly, the people I've met here.

Here's to a continued adventure that is often challenging (especially now that I'm traveling solo) but is certainly never boring--except maybe 40 hours straight on a train (more on that to come I think...). As I bid a fond farewell to Katch the Sun, my internet haven in Bugolobi, I will do my best to keep my blog as updated as internet access across Africa will allow...Cheers!

Gorillas!

Were they incredible. Everyone inevitably asks (or at least those who know the price—full disclosure, it costs $500 for a permit to visit them), “Was it worth it?” I told a guy who asked us the night before we went, even if it’s not, I’ll still probably say it was, because come on, who wants to spend that much on anything other than spectacular. But the truth is, it really is one of those once in a lifetime experience (although more than one person I met was doing it twice in one week!). To be that close to such massive, gentle, human-like creatures, living and thriving in their natural environment is a unique gift.

Of course, we almost didn’t make it. After a month of scrambling to get the permits, which is not easy due to the holiday work schedule, internet and other communication issues, we secured them and were told by numerous people to report to the main wildlife authority office in Ruhengeri on Monday morning at 7am (of course never mind that our tickets said the office at Kinigi). So we showed up to sure enough have no one else there, only an office assistant who spoke bits of English and we were pretty convinced we would miss the trek which had us in a serious panic. After waiting ages (“soon, soon”) for the bodas to arrive to take us to the Kinigi office, we experience a terrifying 20 minute hair-raising (but beautiful) ride out to the national park of the Vulcans Mountains, and managed to just catch the last group that was leaving to visit the Umbano gorilla group. Boy were we lucky! We were sad because we had wanted to visit the Susa group (the one originally studied by Dian Fossey that is only accessed by a very rigorous 4-hour ascent into their mountain habitat), but that group had left early—but thank goodness, it was a blessing in disguise! I had put “excellent” for my physical fitness level on the questionnaire (I had run a half marathon less than a month beforehand after all), but not so!! I was STRUGGLING. We had a two hour ascent (with some slippery descents thrown in too) and I along with the rest of the group was huffing and puffing.

But then suddenly there was a SWOOSH through the trees, and a gorilla was clambering along a mere 10 feet away! (So much for the 7 meter rule of distance that is commonly held!)Our guide, and the two arm guards that were with us guided us along the steep lush terrain following the gorilla troop as they swung through the trees and tumbled along the ground. There was a huge male silverback, the head for the 9-member troop, and the was just a massive sight to behold emerging from a thick green curtain. A mother nursed a baby just a few feet away, and when the baby came wandering over to us, to pat at one guy’s leg and check out his tripod bag, the mother came hurtling towards us! I felt the rush of wind as I dodged out of the way. Three young ones frolicked at our feet and then swung from the limbs and play-fought with each other. We watched as they picked through and munched on bamboo. There is a strict limit of an hour visit with the gorillas, and of course it passed in no time at all as I knew it would. After a final view of the troop who now appeared to be set up for a meeting up in the jungle brush, we made our way down the slippery slopes into the beautiful farmlands below with the striking outline of the mountains looming all around.

As we drove out (we were lucky to bum a ride with a nice Australian couple to the site of the trek) little local children bombarded us with drawings of gorillas for a few 100 RFr. The hope is that much of the permit costs goes to the poor villages in the Park in order that they derive benefit from the tourists hiking on their land, and encourage them to conserve the forest habitat of the gorillas and not hunt and poach them. The contrasts, like many in Africa, are striking: wealthy tourists’ extravagant activities in the face of so much poverty. I hope that the Rwandan government, as well as the Ugandan and Congolese government and wildlife authority will continue to protect the gorillas of their country as well as their own citizens and use their huge funds for the greater good. I guess only time will tell.

Upon our late arrival and our sadness over missing the Susa group, one of the wildlife authority claimed that all the groups are amazing and which ever one we visited, we would later proclaim that one to be the best. He was right, as Umbano group is clearly the best! My visit to the gorilla instilled in me a great respect for these creatures, whom when you look in the eye, really seem like a not-so-distant relative after all.

Rwanda's Resort Town

Gisenyi is billed in Lonely Planet East Africa as a kind of Riviera of Rwanda, and while I definitely wouldn’t go that far, it ended up being a great place to spend a couple days. We woke up on Saturday morning and went for a walk all along the length of the road that runs along the lakeshore. It was quite strange the two very different faces of the town—one, your standard small East African town with a market, dirt roads, and small shops; the other, a very resort kind of place, with a grand palm-lined street, and even a very upscale Serena Lake Kivu hotel, with a gorgeous pool right on the white sand beach. The other thing about Gisenyi is that it’s right on the Rwanda/Democratic Republic of Congo border.

We walked down the lovely lakeshore road and ended up face to face with the DRC. So naturally we decided we must cross into it—for that all important stamp in the passport of course! (I’m not going to deny it!) So we made plans to go back to the church, pack our bags, and maybe stay in the DRC that night. But actually I was also interested in seeing Goma, the small town just on the DRC side of the border, which lies at the base of a huge volcano that erupted in 2002. Not many people were killed because there was adequate warning, but the town itself was devastated and it’s still extremely evident today. We went to the immigration office at the border, bought our $35 visa and crossed into the DRC. We walked along a dusty road wondering where the town actually began. Also, all the hotels were booked because there was a big peace conference going on that weekend and so we agreed to return to our church in Rwanda after seeing the city.

Well, easier said than done. We were walking and walking and there wasn’t much to see. Where’s the lava I kept asking? We found ourselves on a street with some shops and went in to buy a croissant, and as luck would have it, that’s where our day took a positive turn. The person who helped us ended up being the owner of the shop and he gave us the croissant for free (love it!) but even better, he lent us his driver for the day to take us around and see the sights of Goma. Not that there’s all that much per se, but the city is actually very big and spreadout and would have taken us ages to walk around. And the lave and view of the volcano was on the other side of town. Willy our driver was so kind and pleasant and even escorted us into the large market (not sure how many muzungus ever make it there!) and helped us buy some Congolese fabric.
The black dried lava was a striking sight and piled very deep. People were using it to build fences around their small houses and plots. We passed some UN peace-keepers, saw some of the universities in town, and some of the upscale hotels on the lake. Then Willy dropped us back at the border and we went for a quick Primus before rushing back to make the 6pm border closing. That night was another quiet one in Gisenyi, but the next morning we got up and made our way back to the beautiful beach at the Serena hotel. After some DRC imported croissants on the beach and coffee, we took a drive along the coast to the Primus brewery which is located there. Unfortunately it was closed to visits on weekends, but we saw it from the outside, and then stopped in at a beautiful, peaceful little resort with a private beach and had some beers and a swim. We went back to the Serena for some more beach time and then headed back to town to catch our bus to Ruhengeri, the base town for the gorilla trekking.

So tomorrow’s the big day and an early wake up call. Can’t wait!

Land of a Thousand Hills

To be sure that the new year starts on a high note, a friend and I planned a trip down to Rwanda to encounter the mountain gorillas. You may have never heard of this, but if you are a muzungu living in East Africa, you hear about it all the time—one of those amazing, life changing experiences you must do. But you’ll also have to pay for it, with a long travel and a hefty price tag—but it is still supposedly worth it. With these hopes, and the added bonus of trekking in Rwanda as an excuse to explore another new country, we headed back for yet another attempt at an overnight bus.

Our bus misfortunes of Tuesday night may have turned out for the better. I went home got a good night’s sleep to recover from New Year’s, and woke up to what has to be considered a very productive day in Kampala: applied to yet another business school and reserved my plane ticket outta here for Monday, January 14th (eeek!). Ariella and I boarded the 1am bus that was due to arrive in Kigali 10 hours later at 9am local time, because Rwanda is one hour ahead of Uganda, and settled in the back of the bus next to some other muzungus who were visiting their peace corps brother and his friend. We had three seats for the two of us and were feeling pretty good about the coming ride, especially following our luck in Sipi Falls.

Nevertheless, we barely slept a wink—well, I of course slept some, because frankly I sleep anywhere anyhow, but it was definitely rough going. The roads may have been paved, but that is often not preferable to dirt roads considering potholes that are magnified in the back of the bus. But it was that of lose our “spacious” seating and move up to a more unpleasant smelling section of the bus. Then there was the immigration point. At 6:30, we rolled up to the Uganda-Rwanda border and made to get off the bus in the misty cool morning air to stand in line at the small concrete immigration office. Just one catch though: It didn’t open until 7am. This would of course been too much too coordinate--good think we had been driving along the roads at wild, breakneck speed!
The office finally opened around 7:15am and after trying to sneak some photos of our lovely surroundings, we were checked through to the Rwanda side! We walked along a dusty nomansland for about half a kilometer and then arrived at the Rwanda side where we were asked if we knew about the Ebola problem of recent in Uganda (how could we not) and check through. Check one more stamp in the passport!!

The bus resumed its crazed pace and we wound through the brilliant green hills towards Kigali, just one and a half hours south of the border. Upon arrival we walked up the very long slope up to the city center as we had no Rwanda francs yet in our possession. We checked into a cheap hotel after bargaining it to half the price and then headed to the ORTPN (Rwanda Office of National Parks) and our travel agency to check on our gorilla permits and see if we could move the date of our intended gorilla trekking from Monday to an earlier date. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were all fully booked, so we resigned ourselves to having a few extra days to tour Rwanda, and went over to our tour company to complain about their poor customer service and try to get back our commission on the gorilla permits that should have been booked for a sooner date. (We succeeded--the bargaining and bartering thing really gets easier with practice!) and then set off to enjoy a lunch of bread, cheese, and croissants. One of the good things the French left behind here.

However, in the afternoon, upon a visit to the very somber yet tastefully done Genocide Memorial Museum, we were faced with many of the horrors that the French and Whites in general had helped to perpetrate or at least stand back and allowed to happen. There is a downstairs room down in the round with detailed history taking the visitor through the history of the genocide and its deep-seated origins rooted in events long before event of 1994. There were also rooms within the outside history walk—one with glass cases filled with skulls and femur bones of a few victims, one room lined with faded family photos of the victims that loved ones had left clipped up as a memorial to their lost lives. Upstairs was an exhibit on other genocides of recent history—the Holocaust, Bosnia, and others. So many thousands of numbers killed in each, it was hard not to become numb to the figures.

The last wing of the exhibit revisited the individual grief and sorrow and incomprehensible tragedy of the genocide. Several rooms contained large portraits of child victims of the genocide, with just a few facts below their name and age: their personality, favorite food, best friends, how they died, last word to their mother. Utterly heartbreaking. Outside, mass graves of unknown victims are lined with landscaped gardens.

After a worthwhile but tough afternoon, we met some friends for some beers (Primus, the Rwanda beer of choice) and some pizza at a restaurant overlooking the night skyline of Kigali, and were practically sleeping in our pizzas by 9pm! The highlight of the evening was actually our journey to dinner. We ran into the muzungus from the bus who were also looking for bodas to head to the same restaurant—ha, Lonely Planet followers! So we hailed six bodas with some effort, and cruised through the city—until they all got lost min you. Hilarious, so all six of us had to pull over while they asked directions from some passerbys, and even started bickering a bit. Quite a sight I think we were!

The next day, we hired a taxi to take us to see the churches of Nyamata and Ntarama, two of the nearby towns that were completely devastated by the genocide. They have been left as rough memorials to the thousand of victims who perished there after seeking refuge in a place of God. I felt particularly drawn to these churches because I have been reading a very powerful journalistic record of survivors' accounts in a book called Into the Quick of Life, which details these two villages and the killings that happened there. These churches were much rawer than the Genocide Museum, with no history outlined (save the brief information from the local guides)but many grenade holes, bloodied old clothing and heaps of skulls, pelvises, leg bones laid out in cases in areas below the church floor or in makeshift brick red coffins—120 so far filled with the remains of thirty people each. Staggering figures: 5,000 killed in one church in one day, 10,000 in the other. The brutality of the killers is seen in the bullet holes in the tin roof of the Ntarama church, that upon first viewing in the sunlight look like stars in a night sky. The rough wooden benches line the churches where so many died. There really are no words.

We had our driver, Bosco, take us to catch our bus to Gisenyi, a resort town on the north of Lake Kivu that was about a 3 hour drive from Kigali.
We had to get out of Kigali as it was just too expensive! I know this is the New York girl talking, but after Uganda, Rwanda was a real blow—different currency and not in a good way. However, in a most unlike Uganda move, the 1pm bus was full! People planning ahead—unheard of! And as we are now Uganda locals, we don’t feel we should need to either. But apparently in Rwanda you do! So we booked ourselves on a four o’clock mini bus and made way for the Hotel Mille Collines—the hotel in central Kigali that is featured in the movie, Hotel Rwanda. We had some coffee and more Primus poolside and then headed back to board our bus. We were pleasantly surprised by a newish mini bus that had spacious headroom (not to be taken for granted, my friend!) and then took in the spectacular winding views at the bus left the city behind and entered the thousand hills with a tapestry of various green farmland terracing the hills.

We arrived just after dark to find our planned budget accommodation booked! So much for planning ahead, clearly a theme! But we found a clean Spartan room in a Presbyterian Church! We’re here for two nights to relax before heading to Ruhengeri just an hour or so east to gorilla trek on Monday!

Oh, I also fell in a ditch last night—seriously. We had just gotten off the bus on the main street in Gisenyi and were walking down the dirty road searching for the auberge (that was then fully booked) in the pitch black that’s that overtakes all small towns in East Africa within 15 minutes of sunset, save the gleaming distant light of the Kobil gas station. And then next thing I know, I was in a ditch, scrambling, sputtering, cursing, reaching up for Ari’s hand and a kind gentleman who stopped to help pull me up and out. Thing is I clearly was just looking straight ahead, not down as one absolutely must. Apparently according to Ari I even paused for a moment searching the ground just ahead of me before I stepped forward and down! I was definitely shaken—although I think I gave the whole town a laugh (“did you see the muzungu fall in a ditch?!), but it certainly added some excitement to an otherwise very quiet night.

New Year's Eve Crasher

Apparently I’ve gotten quite good at crashing New Year’s Eve parties as this was the second year in a row that I managed to attend a very enjoyable evening that put my usual New Year’s Eve-inspired grumpiness on the back burner.

I think most people will agree (or at least from my anecdotal polling I concur) that New Year’s is a troublesome holiday. You have to spend too much time and money and anxiety trying to figure out the best way to cap off one year and ring in your best year yet. With all the real or imagined pressure caused by the inevitable “What are you doing for New Year’s?” you feel you must live up to expectations, even if that simply means you buy a ticket to attend a bar you’d go to on any Saturday night but with a measly toast of cheap champagne. Ugh.

I’ve had some pretty terrific New Year’s with friends where we just hung out, drank our own cheap champagne and went to the bars after the doorman had retired for the evening. But last year, I was able to attend the wedding of a family friend in the form of a lively party at a gorgeous townhouse on Capitol Hill along with two friends from high school and my parents. We didn’t really know anyone there, but we had a great time dancing, mingling, toasting with champagne. It ended up being a terrific evening. So, how could I live up to that for 2008. Well, crash another party of course!

As of yesterday morning, I had one option of attending a fancy-dress party (American speak: formal) that would inevitably make its way to Bubbles, the infamous bar where I’ve spent too many a night as it is. I wasn’t very keen (more Brit speak) on ringing in the New Year there, so when another option arouse, after some hesitation, I went for it. My friend was attending a party in Entebbe in an attempt to escape Kampala and have an evening that wouldn’t be just another Saturday night. So in a last minute change of plans, I ran home from the internet café, packed my bag with a bathing suit, and head to her house to share the ride she was bumming. After an hour or so drive, we arrived at the most beautiful grassy slope of land right on the edge of the expansive Lake Victoria. The land was owned by a couple, who were building a casual lodge on the land with 6 cottages and a main lodge area, and it was also the wife’s 40th birthday in just a few days so they had gone all out.

The main lodge, which looked out over the water at the property’s edge and the grassy expanse with plenty of trees and a bonfire set up, was set with lots of tables with yellow gerber daises. We relaxed with drinks from the open bar tent and watched the sunset. I had also called two other friends who were looking for a New Year’s out of the ordinary, so they arrived just after dark (impressive that they found it on all the dirt roads) and were quite pleased with the scene at which they arrived! Paper bags glowed with candles lighting paths around the land, the bonfire had been started, and soft light lit the main tents. We dropped our bags in the roomy canvas tent that the four of us were to sleep in, a luxury considering my last tent experience. Then we returned to the main lodge for a delicious catered dinner complete with grilled steaks and a whole roasted pig (they have about 20 pigs on the property kept behind an electric fence so I think it was quite fresh).

We wandered over to the bonfire and back to the tent for drinks, soon it was approaching midnight and time for the countdown and fireworks. Somehow the couple had management to obtain permission to be one of the four places in the Kampala area to shoot off fireworks—the others being large hotels! We counted down around the bonfire and then the husband released a range of fireworks over the water. But it didn’t stop there—everyone was asked to write on a piece of paper what they’d like to be rid of from 2007. (I wrote the GMAT on mine!) We threw them onto at raft covered in petrol, and it was pushed off the shore into the lake. After a hilarious but failed attempt to light it from afar with flaming arrows shot from a large bow, the husband swam out and threw a light on it (and quickly swam away) and it slowly covered in flamed. Goodbye 2007! Then the dancing began in the main lodge, followed by more bonfire time, and a late night swim in the lake. We finally returned to our tent to sleep a few hours.

We awoke to another beautiful day with bright blue skies stretching over the lake and green hills. We were served breakfast eggs, bacon and bread, coffee and tea, over by the lodge, then went for another swim, and lounged in the sun and shade until lunch. Another terrific spread was laid out with Indian food cooked by one of the guests. Other guests had arrived just for the day, including my cousins and adorable little Ben. He and the other children ran around having the best time—I can’t even imagine the joy of being a kid there.

Then it was time for The Highland Games. The husband is Scottish and so they had a contest among anyone

who could handle such intense activity on New Year’s day, which ended up being only young men really, to throw a huge log, hammer, and spear the farthest. It was an impressive sight which we took in from our comfy seats in the shade! After yet another swim it was time to head back to Kampala.

Ari and I were set to catch an overnight bus to Rwanda that night for gorilla trekking plans later in the week. So after arriving home, I went for a quick run (new year’s resolution in full effect!) and packed up my bags, but upon arriving at the bus office, it was closed with a big sign saying no bus would be leaving that night. Due to riots in Kenya over the recent elections, Uganda’s western border with Kenya has been shut resulting in a fuel shortage because no trucks can cross the border. Not good news, but luckily I’ve gotten much better at dealing with these travel snafus. Nothing had been lost or stolen after all, including our lives, so it could be so much worse. We made plans to get a much needed good night’s rest and reconvene in the morning.

Wish me luck…another year, another set of adventures!