Director: James Cameron
Starring: Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldana, Sigourney Weaver, Stephen Lang, Michelle Rodriguez, Giovanni Ribisi, Wes Studi

This short yet excellent review by Andy M who has just been to see it with Jinja.

Just watched Dances with Smurfs! It was good… as in, it wasn’t shite!

It was Dances with Wolves. Saying that I didn’t come out feeling I’d been ripped off!

All in all a good film.. Nothing too special apart from the CGI which was mind blowing, but all in all satisfying!

CGI 11/10
Story 7/10
Enjoyment 8/10
Predictability 100/10

If they could have watered down the cheese slightly at the end I’d have given it an 8, but on the whole it is a 7 from me.

I’m probably not giving the movie enough credit to be honest, Cameron has really but his soul into it. It looks beautiful.

It’s a pity the story was so predictable, but I am quite a grumpy old man when it comes to films these days! I expect perfection!

Whilst working here at Reuters, I was offered the opportunity to go and visit a correspondent in another East African country to see how they work. Ethiopia would have been great but flights were $500. Similarly, Tanzania would have given me the chance to sun myself on Zanzibar for a few days, but would have required at least four days travel by road; this I did not have time for. So I chose Uganda, the country where savannah and rainforest meet.

I started out early last Friday on the 12 hour bus trip to Jinja, a town not far from the Kenya/Uganda border, and known as the adventure capital of Uganda. I took the luxury bus service, which meant there were only three rather than four seats to a row, and was surprisingly comfy, despite the faint tinge of vomit that lingered in the air. Somehow, I managed to sleep all six hours or so to Kisumu, Kenya’s third largest city on the shores of Lake Victoria. Akamba, the bus company I travelled with, were a little vague on how long we were to spend there so I stayed onboard and ate my crisps and cookies instead of foraging for food elsewhere.

From here to the border, the scenery became greener and in my opinion, much more beautiful. When we reached the border everyone dismounted from the bus and headed towards the immigration post. There were no instructions on what we were to do or where we would be able to find the bus again, but everyone else seemed to know what to do so I just followed the crowds. After a little standing around and looking bemused, I managed to find my way through immigration post and back onto the bus.

After another few hours driving, we arrived in Jinja, but we were not dropped at the bus station as I thought we would be; rather we were abandoned at a petrol station on the outskirts of town. I had planned on getting a taxi to the Backpacker Explorers, my chosen dwelling place for the night, but there were no taxis to be seen…only a group of overly keen boda boda drivers vying for my business.

Boda bodas are motorbike taxis (or just bike taxis in more remote and underdeveloped areas) and the fatality statistics surrounding them don’t even bear thinking about. Needless to say, I had never intended on getting one, but now it seemed, I had no other choice. With my rucksack perched precariously on the handlebars, I tentatively climbed on and hoped for the best. I had never been on a motorbike before (“where do i hold on?”) and whizzing along severley dilapilated roads with no helmet to hand and clinging to the anorak of a strange Ugandan man was a somewhat brutal introduction to the experience. I found myself grinding my teeth together as I often subconsciously do when I find myself feeling anxious or stressed.

Foolishly I had not agreed on a fare beforehand and was massively and rather embarrassingly ripped-off. I was so relieved to be alive that I could barely be bothered to argue though and told the boda driver he was a very bad man, or something to that effect, before retreating to the hostel as fast I possibly could.

Once inside, I was relieved to meet my lovely dorm-mates — three British girls about to head off on a trek. After a delicious burger, a beer, and some travel-related chatting, we all headed off to bed in the lovely, spotlessly clean dorms.

I awoke the following morning feeling extremely excited and not a bit nervous about the day’s rafting that lay ahead. Somewhere between paying my tab at the bar and eating my breakfast however, misfortune struck and my purse was nabbed, either by the rude (and rather camp) barman, or by some sneaky backpackers. It wasn’t too much of an issue as it had only had a little money in, along with my Visa card, which I swiftly cancelled. I decided to deal with it later and just try and enjoy the day as there was really nothing I could do. Rather shameless behaviour though, taking advantage of someone who is innocently and sleepily enjoying their breakfast.

We were kitted up and loaded onto a truck, and it was only a short drive before we were deployed at our put-in place. I was teamed up with an American couple named Paine and Claire. Claire was Ugandan in origin and Paine was (how to put this nicely?) rather spherical in shape…at this time of year you could easily call it festively plump. I point this out not because I cared particularly, but because it had a rather adverse effect on my personal safety whilst rafting…as I shall soon describe.

So Claire, Paine and I were joined up with up with a hilarious Ugandan rafting guide called Peter and an old, long-haired kayak-bum called Steve. Steve was American and rather mellow and wore sunglasses all the time and said “duuuuude” a lot. He had also cycled to the Nile all the way from the Zambezi. He was an odd sort.

We set off paddling and were taught all the different techniques we would need throughout the day. I quickly replaced Claire at the front of the raft as I had been before and she was a bit nervous. This unfortunately meant that I was squished in the tapered end of the boat with Paine and everytime we had to get down I would be squished in a little hole underneath him and everytime the boat went over a rapid he would land on me…it was rather painful. Still, nothing could ruin my enjoyment of the day.

To put it simply, the rafting was awesome…we actually went down full-on waterfalls and grade 5 rapids with names like “Silverback” and “The Bad Place”. We only flipped twice and one of the times I was washed downstream and had to be tugged back to the boat by a safety kayaker. There were no major injuries, although one of the raft guides chipped his tooth, which weirdly enough was something I had been fearing for several days before rafting.

We got to swim down long stretches of the river (although some were too afraid of crocs…none to be seen) and the valley lining the river was incredibly beautiful so this was an absolute pleasure. Uganda is more colourful than Kenya, the trees and foliage is greener and more abundant, the earth is redder and the people mostly live in thatched bandas rather than corrungated iron huts.

I had an absolutely wonderful time rafting but if I were to go back again, I would definitely do the tandem-kayaking instead…much more thrilling. We took the truck back to Nile River Explorers Campsite, rather than the Backpacker hostel I had stayed at the night before.

Awaiting us was a barbeque and cold beers. Claire and Paine were returning to Kampala that evening so I found some new friends – a big group of Canadians who were all doing their medical electives in the hospital in Kampala. I had been assigned to a dorm with a very nice American boy who had come to stay for three months in order to kayak, but some of the Canadian girls invited to come and take the spare bed in their dorm which I thought would probably be a better idea overall. The dorms were slightly more rustic than at Backpackers – creaky bunks, some lizards and spiders etc, but perfectly fine for one night. The campsite also had a beautiful location, perched high above the Nile with perfect views from the bar verandah.

After showering, the bar was where I ended up spending most of the night. I’d heard the campsite was very much a party place so was all prepared to stay up late. I spent a lot of the night with medics but also met some of the resident long-term kayakers through Sam, the American boy I had avoided being dorm-mates with. Fortunately for me, I had not arrived by overland truck (woe betide the overlanders) and so was readily accepted amongst them. When the party reached the early hours and the chat-up lines got worse (“So, I own a lodge out east, you know”) I made a beeline for the dorm.

Unfortunately I also had to get up ridiculously early to head back to Jinja and report my purse theft to the police. After a delicious breakfast of egg and sausage role at Backpackers, I was escorted to the police station by a nice man called Alex who drove incredibly slowly. When I arrived and I explained the situation, they made it clear that they were unsure as to what I was doing there. I was taken into a room where sat a plain-clothed man at a desk. After explaining that I wanted a police report for my insurance, he set about slowly and meticulously hand-writing the details of the crime. As he did so I glanced around the room. On the wall there was a poster entitled: “How children can protect themselves from sexual abuse”. Good grief.

Fifteen minutes later, I was asked to sign the finished copy of the report. I began to read through it.

“Kethemine Colines, a white from the UK, of aged 21 years of old,” it began…

It would have to do, I thought. I could not spend another fifteen minutes waiting around. I scanned the rest of the semi-correct yarn the man (officer?) had spun and signed. He disappeared with it. Whilst I waited for him to return, a Norwegian girl arrived, also from the campsite, where she had had her camera stolen. She turned out to be one of the semi-resident kayakers and was absolutely lovely. I had met her boyfriend, an Australian guy, the evening before in the bar, and together they might have been the nicest people I met for the whole trip.

Sometime later that day I found myself back at the campsite with a crime reference and not enough time to do horse-riding as I had hoped. Fortunately, many of the kayakers were in the bar, lazing around, talking, reading and generally enjoying the view so I joined them for the afternoon.

Evening eventually arrived and after a delicious tea of soup and chips, it was time for me to say goodbye and climb aboard the shuttle back to Kampala.

I wish I could have stayed longer there and reading my Lonely Planet guide made me wish that I gone to Uganda with a tent and a couple of months to spare. Alas, Kampala called, and it was time for me to stop being a backpacker and start being a journalist again…

Kampala was getting me down and to avoid the smog, dust, noise and smell of rotting cow horns, I made an impulsive decision to head to Jinja for the night. We decided to stay at an island called The Hairy Lemon, a place I heard spoken of many times. It is a small island about 60km upstream from Jinja and is famous for being very quiet, a great place to Kayak and having an excellent campsite. Paying heed to my inner princess I decided to sleep in a Banda ( a small, basic, concrete house ) rather than camp in a tent. Despite the positive inroads I have made in my relationship with a tent, I have decided that I will only sleep in a tent if there is no alternative. The Hairy Lemon is well known for its vegetarian food and coupled with the fact that I was longing for some silence, I thought this Lemon, hairy or not, would be just the ticket.

The drive was a little over 2 hours. Imagine this distance on a wide and smooth highway in the Shiny West and it could have taken 45 minutes. Much of the drive was pot holed or involved hurtling over rough speed bumps placed at foot long intervals. I spent most of the drive thankful that I was wearing a bra and singing Grease songs at the top of my lungs. I arrived hungry and excited for my mini break.

A small dug out canoe takes visitors from the bank to the island, a ride that is only minutes long, but makes the arrival seems quite romantic. The kids, like wild dogs let off a leash took off at some speed to run and explore the island. The family we were with, who shall for ever after be known as the Super Campers, unloaded their tents and marched up the hill to set up camp. ( They are ALL Trooper with no Princess in sight, hidden or otherwise.) These are friends who always carry snacks, always have the right gear, always have chairs to fold out and sit on. They put me to shame.

Anyway…. The afternoon passed well, despite the barely edible lunch. The vegetarians amongst us, who had, I presumed, been expected, were served food where the meat had quite obviously been pulled out. Husbands napped, wives read, children frolicked in the rapids, it was all calm, quiet and restorative.

Dinner was quite simply inedible. We dined, instead on chocolate and either coke or wine, ( age appropriate, if nothing else) and worried about where we could brush our teeth with no running water around. The toilets were all long drops (exactly as it sounds, it drops a long way down) and strangely, whereas they hadn’t bothered me in the slightest in Bunyoni, here I was irritated. I had left Kampala for some peace and quiet and I was finding the gag inducing toilets and lack of warm showers very annoying. Still, at least I wasn’t in a tent, I thought, as I prepared for bed to the sound of rain pounding the tin roof.

Sometime during the night I began to feel it. The stinging sensation that comes from being bitten by something very very mean. It was not a mosquito as there was no buzzing accompaniment, and mosquitos tend to drift away and then return to munch on a different place. I was being bitten from the top of my thigh, all the way down. In the morning I discovered a dozen large, swollen welts. I am convinced there was a large, hungry Safari Ant in my bed.

Eager not to appear too much like a Princess in front of the Super Campers, I tried hard to smile and laugh about the toilets and joke about how we could always shower at home, but inside I was fuming and dying to return to my little house. The very same house, that I had called boxy and was so intent to escape just 24 hours before.

As we came home, and how sweet home felt, I made a decision. I will not go anywhere for the weekend unless there are flushing toilets and warm showers. I will indulge my inner princess and no longer push her away in shame. I am what I am and I have the itchy thighs to prove it.

I wake up nice and early and look around my body for mosquito bites. None at all. Which is weird as I haven’t used any bugspray yet. I head out to the bar to grab a full english breakfast and when I return to the dorm a Swedish couple are getting ready to head into town. I don’t have a clue how to get in to town so they let me tag along. We flag a taxi which costs 500ugsh – about 15cent. All taxis into town head towards the dreaded taxi park, so you don’t even need to ask to go into town, just hop on and hop off. The Swedes head off to the bank to get money to buy a gorilla permit, and I head off to meet up with Bashir again. He rings me and says “Today I’m taking you to Jinja”. Pretty cool I say. Jinja is where the source of the river Nile is found so I’m glad to be seeing some touristy stuff so soon. He tells me to stay around the taxi park and wait for him as we’ll be getting a taxi from there to Jinja.

Being a mzungu and waiting around the taxi park is pretty interesting. You get all sorts coming up to you for a chat. Some are con men, others are genuine and just want to know what a mzungu is doing in Uganda. Some guy with a load of towels asked me for $1,000usd. I said no. He asks me again. I say no. He asks me again and again and again. I say no I’ve no money dude. He then lowers it to just $100, how nice of him. I tell him sorry I’ve no money on me today, maybe the next time and he stumbles off. Another guy in the back of a taxi was shouting “mzungu!” at me with a big smile, “how you doin?” …“I’m good!” I say and he hops out and introduces himself to me. His name is Mugabi and he’s a conductor. He’s originally from Rwanda. I tell him I want to go there and he lists out a load of things to do there, including all the names of the best nightclubs which I can’t remember for the life of me cos they’re all in French. We do small talk for a while until Bashir rings me and asks me where I am. I look around and see a maze of muck, dust, people and toyota hiaces… I don’t even try to give him directions and I pass the phone to Mugabi who he tells him the necessary details. Bashir arrives and once again I get a surprised person going “Wooow your uncle is not a mzunguuu!” We say adios to Mugabi and hop onto a taxi for Jinja.

Shtuck in a toyota hiace with 15 other people plus the driver and conductor in 25 degree heat sends the sweat rolling off my face. I buy a few bottles of water from the lads poking their heads in the window and off the bus goes. The journey takes about an hour, but by jaysus I thought it would never end. The driver was an absolute maniac, and what’s worse is that every other driver on the road is an absolute maniac. You don’t know what to expect, at any moment you could go round a blind bend to see two cars overtaking a truck side by side speeding towards you, or maybe two trucks overtaking a car with a poor fecker on a boda boda stuck in between them. The potholes are something to behold, some take up half the road, others are only about a meter wide and a foot or two deep. The driver doesn’t slow down for the potholes though he just maintains a constant speed of about 80mph and dodges them as if it was a computer game. The oncoming traffic is also dodging potholes at 80mph, sending them onto our side of the road, but it’s ok cos we’re on their side.

Sometimes the driver isn’t sharp enough and goes straight over a pothole, giving the bus a good solid rattle. The other passengers don’t seem to care at all, I can barely keep my eyes open. If the road is clear, the driver meanders all over the road, only moving aside for oncoming traffic at the last moment. A truck passed us which seemed to be driving diagonally, as in it was driving straight ahead but was pointing off to the left a few degrees. Tracking needs to be sorted out I’d say. Our driver overtakes a truck while I see another minibus overtaking the same truck on the inside, nearly sending a cyclist into a ditch. We both meet at the other side and squeeze nice and snug into the space ahead. After about half an hour I get kind of used to it all. If I die I die, at least I got to see a bit of Africa.

We travel along a road cut through a huge rainforest, it’s tarmacked so it’s not too bad. On either side of the road there is just seriously thick thick jungle, I try to peek in to the depths of it but you can’t see past a few meters. It’s my first time seeing some proper rainforest and I’m pretty stoked. I feel like I’m in the middle of nowhere. All of a sudden we pass this one guy, dressed in absolute tatters, standing around the bushes with a black bin bag on his head. He didn’t seem like a person who could be affording taxis. I’d love to know what he was at all the way out there but I suppose I’ll never know.

Once in Jinja we get a boda boda to the Nile. Entry fee for Bashir is 1,000, for Mr Mzungu it’s 10,000. Bashir tries to assure me that it isn’t racist to charge the white man extra. He says they’re not treating me as a white man, but a tourist. Hmmmm. I’d like to see what would happen if an Afro-American wanted to enter.

The source is a pretty chillaxed place. It’s got a restaurant, a few craft stalls raring to rip me off, and a load of boats which take you out to Monument Island, which is the official starting point of the river Nile. Pretty much all of Ugandas electricity is hydroelectrically sourced from the Nile. We ask a boatman to take us out to the island. 100,000ugsh he says – about €35. Bashir tells him something in Luganda which I guess meant “Shove that price up your hole”. We eventually settled on 30,000ugsh.

The little island was pretty cool. There was a lump of black bin bags and sticks in a bush with smoke coming out of it and I asked “What’s that? Burning rubbish?” and the boatman tells me that it’s a fishermans house. There’s actually a guy inside there somewhere and I can hear him coughing and shpluttering. I take a few photos around the place and we go on the boat again for a trip around Lake Victoria. We go searching for Mountain Lizards in the reeds. They’re supposed to be like mini crocodiles or maybe caimans. They’re a bit shy today though and they stay under water.

We head back to the restaurant and get fish and chips and a bottle of Guinness. Once again my balance is “forgotten” but Bashir sorts that out. Fish was savage though, straight from the lake onto my plate.

So it’s time for the dreaded bus back to Kampala. The journey back was just a bit more crazy than before as it was lashing rain. We arrive back in Kampala and we both head our separate ways.

Back in the hostel I’m washing my clothes in the sink in the jacks and some Ugandan kid walks in and asks “What the hell are you doing man?” …. “Washing my clothes” I say… He tuts and walks over to me and says “That’s not how you wash clothes, let me show you Ugandan style!” And he does all my clothes for me. Sound. We hang em up and we start talking. He’s a young wannabe rap star called Sammo, he does an aul rap and it’s ok, not too bad. He plays in the National Theater every monday night. It’s a freestyle session which starts at 7pm and ends at midnight. There are drums and guitars and mics and the lot, just head up on stage and bust a few moves. I say I might head up for a gander. I ask him what he’s doing in and around the hostel grounds and he tells me that he knows the girls working at the front desk… that’s good enough security clearance for me I suppose. I ask him what’s the best nightclub around town and he says Ange Noir. I ask him what are the Ugandan women like and he says “they go crazy for the mzungus cos you got the money man”… I don’t know is that a good or bad thing but we’ll find out. He says he can come round tomorrow and we get a taxi into town to show me the clubs. I say yeah shur why not.

He fecks off somewhere and I head into bed. I get up about half an hour later to go for a slash in the jacks outside. As I’m walking over I see the young Sammo lad walking up a stairs to one of the rooms… dunno is he going cleaning it or robbing it, I’m too tired to care. Head back to bed after the slash.

13:50pm – London, Heathrow to Dubai now boarding! Twas the biggest feckin plane I’ve ever been on with an upstairs downstairs the whole lot. I’m shuffling along behind a group people all wearing the same orange “LOVE JESUS” t-shirt… dunno what they’re hoping for in Dubai. I walk miles down the plane (yah seriously miles) trying to find my seat. I pass some old Muslim guy praying to the seat in front of him. There are all sorts on this plane. Elvis, Mother Theresa the lot.

My seat is j70 or something like that, and I wonder what type of character I’m going to be sitting beside. A mad Arab, some big happy African businessman, those crazy jesus people… who knows? I reach my seat anyway and give a nod to the younglad sitting beside me. He has a certain go about him… a ceann… I ask him where he’s from and he goes “Carlow”. Can’t get away from the feckin Irish!!! He’s on his way to Dubai for a connection to Australia. We skit and howl for a while.

Takeoff time approaches. Our seats were right in front of the air hostess seat, which is facing us, so this nice black hostess sits in, and it’s kind of funny because there’s about one meter between us and we’re face to face. Where will I look? Up, left, right, down, oops! don’t look down, she’ll think you’re looking at her legs… well you are, but still… hmmm have a quick gander at this magazine… diddle dee doo… I eventually say well howzit goin? She’s from Zimbabwe, and I tell her I’m going traveling around East Africa, which she’s delighted about. We talk about her country, she tells me lots of places to go and things to see and blah de blah… After take off she heads off for a while and returns with a camera. She takes off her Emirates air hostess hat and asks me to put it on so she can take a photo! She takes a few snaps and gives me a polaroid copy. I must say I looked quite DASHING with that funky hat…

Not much else happened, chatted with the paddy beside me, slept a few hours, ate some pretty good Indian food or Dubai food whatever it was. Arrived in Dubai at about 12:30am local time… There’s an 8 hour stopover so I try to find a place to kip. I found a quiet enough bench after about an hour of wandering around. Took me a while to get to sleep…. The morning call to Allah woke me at about 5am. I suppose I shouldn’t have went to sleep outside the feckin prayer room, but it was the quietest shpot at the time. 10 minutes later and the morning call is still going strong so I pack up my €2 Shop travel pilla and head off to grab some free brekky in the special “Emirates Stopover” lounge. I finally board the plane to Entebbe at 8am.

Flight to Entebbe: Not much happened. Got to see a real desert out the window. It looked pretty hot. Sat beside two Chinese people… We stopped in Ethiopia to let a few people off, saw a huge black flying insect thing chasing our plane as we took off for the second time towards Entebbe.

Raid on Entebbe: Finally I arrive in Entebbe on Tuesday at 2:15pm after a solid lump of traveling. It’s pretty hot and humid… just as you’d expect in the Devils Petri Dish. Welcome to East Africa!

The sweat from the last 20 hours of traveling had turned into a sort of gel, and now hot and humid Entebbe has defrosted it. I’m a walking tub o’ absolute shweat. But that’s ok cos everyone else smells of shweat too. Up at the customs desk, they’re charging folk 50dollars here and there for entry into the country… the guy looks at my passport and says “Irish are OK” and waves me through. Sound.

Dinas brother Bashir (pronounced BashEEL) is waiting for me with a “SEAN COOKE” sign outside the door. I feel all cool and important. I should have worn my shades… This was all organized in the last 24hours. I rang my aunt Dina the night before and asked “hey throw us a few numbers of your relatives I might call in for a cup of tea some day”…. and now one day later her brother is here to pick me up. He’s 35 years old but looks much younger, at times he looks like Wesley Snipes. He’s about 5ft 5, he has one front tooth missing, he has a slow hearty laugh like “heh… heh….heh….heh”. He has a wife named Aisha and four kids called Bushuwa, Haji, Jab and Brehma. Can you tell who’s a boy or girl just from the name??? His family live back at his village Masaka, but he sticks around the city during the week. I thought he lived in Entebbe, the town we flew into, so I was looking forward to acclimatizing to the weather and culture and all that before hitting the crazy capital, but he tells me “Let’s go to Kampala”… which is the capital. I said “aren’t you supposed to show me a nice aul hotel here no? Dina told me you were going to show me”… and he goes “no…. we are going to Kampala!”

I was happy and terrified at the same time… From Kilsheelan to Kampala in 20 hours. I could suffer an overdose of mentalness….

I’m sweating buckets and need some water quick, but no, before I know it we’re in a taxi going 100mph down the road. The speed limit here is 100KMPH, but lots of people here drive old cars whose speedometers are still in MPH, so they just drive at 100MPH.

“Why are you driving so fast?”

“Look the speed limit is 100, and I’m driving at 100!!!”

“Yeah but that’s miles per hour…”

“No it’s 100 which is the speed limit, so I’m OK!!!”*

(*actual conversation)

I suppose it doesn’t really matter because if their cars speedometer is in kph, they just break the speed limit anyways. The drivers in Uganda are simply nuts. No two ways about it. They take a lot of risks, stupid risks, (like over taking two trucks on a blind bend up a hill with a dip… at night. No exaggeration by the way.) And don’t get me started about the potholes, you could pitch a tent in the smaller ones.

*NEWS UPDATE* – A minibus was crushed to bits on the Jinja road when an oncoming truck decided to overtake 9 vehicles at once. The truck didn’t make it to the front in time and smashed into a minibus killing everybody. 15 people in total. I saw them dragging the bodies out of the ditch on the news. The truck driver fled the scene. A few days prior, a military truck smashed into the same type of minibus killing nearly everybody. The military guys fled the scene. This sort of stuff happens a lot…

We’re on a good road though, Entebbe road. It has a few streetlights, and it’s the only one in the country with cats eyes. But it’s daytime so that doesn’t matter. I turn to Basir and tell him I’m roasht. He laughs “he….he…he…” and tells me it’s winter in Uganda. “Only” 25 degrees. He says he’s cold. He teaches me some Luganda, their local language. Oli otya jebale ko. Kaaaaaali! The word I’ll be most acquainted with is Mzungu, which means white man. He told me to expect to be called Mzungu at least a hundred times a day. It’s not a racist term, it just means “white dude” …. like “Hey mzungu you wanna buy this?” etc. There are t-shirts for sale around town which say “My name is not Mzungu!”

Nearly every car or truck has black smoke billowing out the exhaust and into your lungs. There’s naer an NCT to be seen for MILES in this country. Cars are driven to shite here and are fixed at the side of the road whenever the wheel or roof or whatever finally falls off. The pollution isn’t too bad when you’re driving fast, since you can just drive straight through the clouds of black smoke, but as you enter the city, and get yourself stuck in a Kampala Jam, that’s when your lungs are shown a thing or two about how to make a good phlegm. There is thick smoke and dust EVERYWHERE. Red dust. The roads are tarmac but they are red from the dust. Paths are concrete but they also have a nice red covering. Nearly every surface is covered in red dust. You walk around for 2 minutes and the soles of your feet are red. Wipe your face with a nice white tissue after a day in town and guess what?

So Basil has found me a nice hotel in the town, just for the first night. Our taxi makes it’s way through the streets as hundreds of boda boda motorbike taxis zip past us through the lines of traffic. The boda boda is the most dangerous form of transport in Uganda. A tiny motorbike, which costs a couple of hundred to buy, is driven at breakneck speeds through the city with anything up to three people on the back. Or a cupboard or armchair. I’ve even seen a photo of some guy carrying a cow on one. They drive up paths, the wrong way down roads, through junctions without looking, through the tiniest gaps between trucks, tippin and clattering off cars here and there, (wierdly enough they stop for red lights…) and all this while trying to keep their eyes open just enough to see while at the same time keeping them closed enough to keep the dust and smoke out. They really should use sunglasses or something. There is no right of way or rules of the road here. Sometimes the Police come out to direct traffic but for the most part it’s pretty chaotic. We pass a hotel called “Excellent Hotel”. That’s not my one though. Pity. Nearly every shop on the smaller streets is blashting out rap or reggaeton, but once we get onto the main Kampala Rd. it’s pretty decent. Still haven’t seen any white people/mzungus.

So we arrive at my hotel. Funnily enough it’s is painted the same colour as the dust found everywhere…. or is that actually a layer of dust and maybe it was originally painted white or something. I can’t tell. I say hello to the security guard with the shotgun as I walk in to the FOYER or whatever you call them. It’s actually a daycent hotel.

Right, €50 room booked, bags thrown in. It’s like 5pm. I tell Bashir I need to get a few things in the shop, mostly water. Can’t drink the tap water in this country unless tis boiled. So we saunter out of the hotel and walk down the street a bit. It’s not too bad, I’m getting stared at a bit, but no muggings or shootings like the papers would have you believe.

So I’m tipping away enjoying the sights and sounds but not the smoke and dust when Bashir calls me. I turn around and he’s sitting on a boda boda and he points at another one and tells me to hop on. Feckit I say, it’s now or never! Bashir shouts “Garden City” to my driver and we tear off like a rocket through the congested streets of Kampala. I’m hanging onto the driver for dear life and I look over at Bashir who’s just sitting there relaxed with his hands on his knees. I tried being cool and I put my hands on my knees like Bashir, but lasted about two seconds. I ended up holding onto the bar at the back which was like 50% cool, good enough. I want to blend in like the locals and I’m getting pretty close. Just need to work on my tan.

We approached a roundabout and I was like “Ah they have roundabouts here”… but the rules are a bit different. I’m still trying to figure it out but I think you just drive as fast as you can onto them and make sure not to indicate or look left or right.

So we arrive at Garden City about 5 minutes later, me white knuckled and full of adrenaline, Bashir cool as a cat. I give the driver 1,000Ugsh which is about 35cent.

Garden City seems to be where all the white expats go to shop. I am no longer the only Mzungu in town. It’s a nice place, it’s pretty much like any mall you’d find in a decent city. Bashir wants to introduce me to his old college friend Josef who works in the cinema upstairs, so we saunter up. We meet up with Josef and he turns out to be the soundest. He brings me up onto the roof so I can see the city and we talk about this that and the other. He was in art college with Bashir a few years ago and they shared a room. Josef is a bit of a party animal and he wants to know if I can get him any Mzungu ladies… I say I’ll see what I can do if he gets me some Ugandan ladies, and a free ticket into the cinema. We shake on it and he starts pointing to different ladies passing by and asks me “so what size ass do you like? This one? That one? How about that one over there?” He’s a good man. Not a great worker though. He’s supposed to be working in the cinema but he’s hanging around the shopping center with us, Warriors style.

So we say our goodbyes and I go shopping for some water with Bashir, then another boda boda ride back to the hotel. I say thanks to Bashir and he heads off, we arrange to meet up tomorrow so I can buy a phone and find some cheaper accommodation. The rest of the night was just spent chillaxing in the hotel room and drinking lots of water. Went to sleep at about 8pm.

Ok so now I get it. After 6 weeks of smelly and loud, very loud Kampala we finally climbed aboard the Beast and headed to Jinja. Jinja is the second biggest town in Uganda, it is about an hour and a half from Kampala and it sits on the mouth of the Nile. A backpacking industry has gathered on the banks of the Nile, offering world class river rafting, kayaking, horse back riding, Quad biking and for the people who do not envy those young overly imbibed 20 somethings, the gentle relaxation of a glass of wine beside an astonishing view. Within 20 minutes of leaving Kampala I was confronted with the colour green. Suddenly a land of green and plenty, gentle rolling hills of tea and sugar cane dotted with small villages and the bluest widest sky loomed ahead. This was a different Uganda.

I met my husband on the Red Sea but we fell in love on the Nile. Literally. We sailed a Feluka from Aswan to Luxor under a still giant moon. That was a gentle long Nile, not very wide, but teeming with life. We were constantly amazed at how small children swam and submerged themselves in the filthy water. The Nile was a water highway, filled with boats, large and small.

17 and a half years later we were back at the Nile, but this Nile was wide, mighty and wild. Its waters licked the red earth and strained to reach the green pastures. It groaned as it pressed against the Owen Dam, angry that is was refused entry to the wilder rapids beyond. Egrets and Cormorant birds flew from rock to rock while the Nile perch and Tilapia played deep below. It was marvelous to imagine that each drop of water would eventually spill into the Mediterranean 4132 miles away.

Our hotel was perched rather precariously on a cliff. We booked ourselves into a family Banda ( small house ) but once the infestation of cockroaches was revealed we stomped out with all the indignation that Trooper and Princess could muster. Cockroaches, I was brave about, but cockroaches inside the mosquito nets was a deal breaker. Once the flouncing and stomping ended we were directed by management to new quarters. We spent the night squeezed into a magical tent. All zipped up and tucked into bed; we could hear the roar of the Nile nearly a mile below. My outside shower faced an expanse of water that caressed two banks. It is a truly peaceful and happy place.

On the way back home, after a few hours spent swimming in the Nile, paddling on a raft and looking at some wild rapids known as Bujogali falls, it was a shock to the senses to hit the smog and congestion of Kampala streets. Just before the turn off to the spanking new high way that wraps around the Northern end of the city, a large truck sat on the Beast. The driver, realizing that he has just missed the turn, decided to reverse his truck to remedy the situation. Unfortunately for all concerned, he reversed straight into us until a chunk of truck was sitting on our bonnet. Poor Beast. As if it wasn’t ugly enough.

I have glimpsed the Pearl of Africa and I can’t wait to go back and explore. Find me the next long weekend and show me the way.

9/16/09: Nile River, Uganda

There have been days where I’ve woken up and thought, “Today’s going to be a really good day – a new episode of Survivor is on!”

Don’t get me wrong – those are really good days. This morning though, I woke up to the thought, “Today I’m going to white water raft the Nile.” And then I realized I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Our rafting expedition was hosted by Nile River Explorers (NRE). From what we had heard, they were one of the best on the river. On this particular day, there were three boats of six or seven people each. In addition, NRE always sends one safety boat and about four safety kayakers down the river.

Safety boat: A guy named Moses sits by himself atop a chair built into the eight-person raft. Moses is perhaps the most physically fit person I have laid eyes on. Think Terrell Owens, but smaller, quieter and with more muscles. I doubt he even works out away from work. Each day he takes this gigantic raft 20 miles down the river using two giant paddles that are attached to the boat. In comparison, I got tired doing one eighth of the work that he did (given the seven others in my boat helping me out).

The reason it is called the safety boat is because if you ride in this boat, you will be safe from the rapids. You don’t go around them – Moses takes you right through them just like the rest of the boats, but he doesn’t tip. Rumor has it that he lives up to his name and parts the rapid before going through it. Another rumor has it that he’s never flipped a boat with passengers in it.

Safety kayaks: Several kayakers go down the river ahead of the passenger rafts, then wait after each rapid to help any people who have fallen from their boat or lost their paddles or both. A couple of the NRE kayakers returned from the world championships in Sweden a week ago, and you could tell. They handled class 5 and 6 rapids as if they were in the kiddie pool.

Rapids: Outside of America, rapids are ranked on a scale of 1-6 (we’ve heard Americans rank their rapids from 1-10). A class 1 rapid could perhaps be the ripples created from a duck swimming by. A class 6 rapid is a miniature version of Niagara Falls – tour rafts are not allowed to go over class 6 rapids for safety reasons. Class 7 rapids are suicide, so they don’t exist.

Our trip: After a light breakfast (Side note: I had an egg with three yolks in it! Three full yolks! But I didn’t have my camera with me so I couldn’t take a picture… (Side side note: I do not count a three-yolked egg as a new food, even though I’ve never had one)), we drove to our launching point and met our guides. I bet you didn’t remember how that last sentence began by the time you got to the end.

This particular 20-mile section of the Nile is set up perfectly for touristy rafters, as the first five miles are calm waters that set up nicely for lessons and practice flips, etc. Then spread out over the next 15 miles are the six big rapids. Remember Bujagali Falls from a two posts ago? That was the first and easiest class 5 of the day.

The actual details of the experience are quite dull, even though the experience itself was quite… not dull. Our raft only flipped once, and Zhou and I were the only two who survived the flip still hanging onto the raft. When we were done, we went back to the campsite and had a barbeque.

One detail worth mentioning though is that they are building a dam that will block the river where one of the big rapids is now. It’s sad to see that the river is losing its naturalness, but the Nile is definitely a good source of untapped power, so I suppose I understand the project. It’s supposed to be completed in a couple years, so soon you won’t be able to experience the river as we did today. Go now!

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Scrabble Picture: Even though we haven’t yet played a game of Scrabble, we still know how to spell. With any luck, pictures like these will be a running theme of ours.

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Picture of the Day: This may be the worst picture of the day yet, but please enjoy this particularly spectacular shot of our campsite in Jinja where we spent three nights.

During Silver Week, I went to Kanazawa. Kanazawa is often likened to Kyoto, in that it has many ‘old’ areas, and I did think it was quite similar to Kyoto, both in the old areas and also in the modern areas.  However, unlike Kyoto, there’s no English guidebook (which is the case for most cities in Japan, except Tokyo and Kyoto).  However, I did find some useful information on the Kanazawa Tourism website, and there was a large Tourist Information centre in the station, with some information in English.  Actually, the city was very well equipped for foreign tourists, and I was surprised to find a lot of English everywhere, so travellers shouldn’t be put off by the lack of guidebook.

Kanazawa is not a large city, but it has a number of interesting tourist attractions.  The top attractions are probably:

• Kenroku-en (garden)
• Chaya districts
• 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art
• Omi-cho Market
• Oyama Jinja (shrine)

I spent two nights in Kanazawa and could easily see all of these things with time to stop and taste the sushi! Kanazawa has a great bus system (much like Kyoto), which is pretty easy to use.  So I covered the city on foot and by bus (there’s no subway system, despite some very misleading entrances to the train station which look just like subway entrances!).

So, let’s look more closely at the tourist attractions of Kanazawa…

KENROKU-EN (Garden)

Kenroku-en is one of the most famous gardens in Japan, and when I told my friends and students I was going to Kanazawa, everyone replied with ‘are you going to Kenroku-en?’.  It’s a beautiful garden, and I imagine it’s even more beautiful in the spring cherry blossom season or the autumn coloured leaves season (I’ ve heard winter is also beautiful as it often snows).

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I was quite intrigued by the Dali-esque way many of the trees in the garden seemed to be propped up on crutches of some kind.

Prince Yamato Takeru

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Basho even wrote a haiku in Kanazawa in 1689.  あかあかと 日はつれなくも 秋 (あき) の風 (かぜ).  (Aka aka to. Hiwa tsure naku mo. Aki no kaze.)  I can’t begin to offer a good translation for this, but it something along the lines of “how brightly the sun shines, turning its back to the autumn wind”.  I think.  if you can offer a better translation, please leave me a comment!

CHAYA DISTRICTS

Kanazawa has three ‘Chaya Districts‘, or ‘teahouse districts’ which used to be places where you could go to be entertained by geisha.  They are: Higashi Chaya District, Nishi Chaya District and Kazue-machi Chaya District.  These days, they are mostly just tourist areas, but each Chaya District still some has operating teahouses, I believe.  I visited all three areas, and was quite impressed to see lots of old, well preserved buildings and interesting architecture.

Higashi Chaya District

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Nishi Chaya District

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Kazue-machi Chaya District

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I think my favourite of the three districts was probably Kazue-machi Chaya District.  This area is right by the river, and if you walk to the end of the teahouse area you can see an old wooden bridge, Naka-no Hashi, which I thought was pretty cool.

21st CENTURY MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART

The 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art in Kanazawa is another place which many people recommended to me.  As someone who is interested in modern art, it was high on my list of places to visit.  It was a very interesting building, with a lot going on to keep the eye entertained, but I have to say the downside was that you did have to line up for a long time to pay to enter most of the exhibits.  I walked around for quite a while enjoying the free stuff, though.  However, when I saw the huge line of people waiting to pay to go into the rest of the museum, I have to confess I gave up and left.  Had it been less crowded, I would have loved to have gone round the whole museum.

Still, I did see some interesting art…

Klangfeld Nr.3 fur Alina by Florian Claar

These were dotted about all around the outside of the museum, and they acted like ind of telephones.  If you made a sound into one, you could hear it out of a different one!

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This huge sculpture made from found items was hanging in the centre of the entrance to the gallery.

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Fabulous wallpaper!

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The Swimming Pool – Leandro Erlich

Unfortunately you couldn’t get to the underneath part without paying.

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The museum was really cool, and I think if I lived in Kanazawa I would make an effort to go back there on a quieter day and pay to see the rest of the exhibits.  But in the middle of Silver Week, there were just too many people there!

OMI-CHO MARKET

I don’t know how high Omi-cho Market is on other people’s lists of places to visit, but personally I love visiting Japanese food markets!  There are always so much interesting food to see!  This market was very similar to Kyoto’s Nishiki Market, which I also really enjoyed visiting (twice!).

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OYAMA JINJA (Shrine)

Oyama Jinja is a very unique-looking shrine.  Quoting Wikipedia “This gate is a peculiar mix of traditional Japanese, Chinese, and European religious architectural elements. The gate is 25 m high including the lightning rod. The third floor is particular famous for its Dutch stained-glass windows. It is said that the third floor was also used as a lighthouse.“.  I couldn’t help looking at the structure without thinking it looked like the answer to “what do you get when you cross a shrine with a church?”

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OTHER ATTRACTIONS

Of course, there are many other things to see and do in Kanazawa other than those I have listed above.  So here are some more of the highlights of my trip…

Samurai houses: As well as the Chaya Districts, Kanazawa is famous for its samurai district, Naga-machi Buke Yashiki District.  This is an area where Samurai and their families used to live, and is now just a tourist area including samurai museums.

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Castle Park: Kanazawa has an area called Kanazawa Castle Park, but I have to admit that I didn’t think much of their castle (even Nagoya Castle seemed better to me!).  It was very small, but the grounds were pretty, and it was conveniently located right by Kenroku-en, so it’s probably worth a visit.

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Numerous temples and shrines: Of course, Kanazawa has a number of temples and shrines, and the best of these can probably be found in the Utatsuyama Temple Area, the Kodatsuno Temple Area and the Teramachi Temple Area.  One of the most famous temples is known as the ‘ninja temple’ (or, ‘ninja-dera’), but its name is Myoryuji Temple.  Unfortunately it seems you have to be a bit of a ninja to get into this temple, as reservations or long waiting periods are required. I stopped by, but it was packed with would-be-ninjas who had obviously had the foresight to call ahead, and was told I could enter after about 5pm, which meant at least a 2 or 3 hour wait!  So I didn’t go inside.

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Kanazawa also has a Higashi Betsuin Temple (as do a number of other places in Japan, including Nagoya).

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Confectionery Museum: I happened to spot ‘confectionery museum’ on my English map and, although I had no idea really what I would find there, I had to go along and check it out.  I actually think it might be one of Kanazawa’a hidden gems!

The museum displays a number of Japanese sweets (wagashi), and shows a bit of the making process.  Quite a lot of the sweets on display are actually the real thing, and are made fresh!

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These are edible…

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And this…

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Even this!

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Well worth a visit, only a few hundred Yen to get in, and there’s a cafe in the sweet shop downstairs, which serves fantastic tea and wagashi!

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Rivers: Kanazawa has two main rivers running through it: Asanogawa and Saigawa.  Both are beautiful, and both are worth a visit if you like that kind of thing.  Personally, I can’t get enough of rivers, sea, water… so I loved photographing them both!

Asanogawa

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Asanogawa

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Saigawa

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Saigawa

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Gold: Gold leaf is one of the things Kanazawa is famous for.  Gold can be found all over the city, but I was most curious to find it in the food!  It’s in the ice cream:

And it’s even in the cake:

I kind of wish I had bought something with gold in it to try now!  I should have had the 99 ice cream, but I was a little freaked out by the idea of having gold in my food!  Haha!

Kanazawa Station: The station itself is pretty normal, but there is a very impressive gate outside the station, which I think is worth a mention and a photo:

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Another thing which really tickled me at Kanazawa station was this amazing water fountain which welcomed you to Kanazawa and… told the time!  I still can’t quite figure out how it told the time, but I thought it was really neat!

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I think Kanazawa made a good weekend break from Nagoya.  Using travel agents such as JTB, you can get good deals on trains, hotels etc. and it doesn’t take too long to get there (less than 3 hours by JR train).  I think 3 days in Kanazawa is enough though, and if I had had any more time I would have had to consider day trips to other nearby areas.  However, Kanazawa does seem to be a lively city with a lot going on.  I was excited to find that on the weekend I went they were having a jazz festival called Jazz Street.  I caught bits and pieces of jazz as I was walking around and would have liked to have sought out some more gigs to be honest.  Still, what I did see was excellent, especially チャンチキトルネド (Chanchiki Tornado), who I saw playing around the station area:

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My whole photo set can been viewed on Flickr.

9/15/09: Jinja, Uganda

I think I speak for everyone who was there when I say I have a new hero.

We had paid our 3,000 Uganda Shillings ($1.50) apiece to hike down to the first class 5 rapid that we will raft over tomorrow on the Nile. After a short trek from our campsite, we arrived at Bujagali Falls.

It’s a bit hard to tell from this picture, but this rapid is a mammoth. Trust me, it would make even Chuck Norris cry if he saw it. I think it once swallowed a blue whale. The guy next to me wet himself in sheer terror.

The rapid consists of two different harrowing sections about 15 feet apart from each other. There were about five of us standing around screaming when we noticed a long-necked bird near the top of the first rapid dive under to catch a fish. Seemed pretty daring so close to the rapid. When the bird came up with its back downstream it quickly drifted toward the upper monstrosity. In a split second, the bird was gone, swallowed by the rapid, never to be seen again.

Then we saw it again, head up, looking forward after the final whitecap of the top tier. If birds could talk, this one would have been in stunned silence. But there must have been a really pretty girl bird ashore, as he rode the current into the bottom, even more terrifying rapid. Whoosh – he was gone again.

Five seconds later he popped his head out, having slain the aqueous dragon. He floated to the next rock and climbed aboard for a rest.

Then a hunter shot him. (Ok, not really. Bad joke? Sorry.)

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Scrabble Picture: Zhou, in her wordgear shirt, standing in front of the Nile (of course in Color Accent mode)

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Pictures of the Day: The snap of the shudder is like the Siren song to Ugandan village children, as they flock from miles around to join the fun.

I took this photo with my Canon Power Shot during my trip to Uganda in 2007.  It was taken at an orphanage in the town of Jinja on the Lake Victoria coast called Amani Babies Home.  Each of the toddlers was being fed pineapple for a snack at little plastic tables.  Boys being boys, this guy had to show off his food.  The others quickly followed suit.

I love the brilliance of the primary colors and the simple universal expression on the boy’s face.

9/15/09: Jinja, Uganda

There are lots of things that go on each day that I want to write about but don’t, like:

• when I accidentally stepped on a flamingo skull at Lake Nakuru
• how Kevin decided he should be in charge of all of our important documents because I tend to lose things and then I tested him by stealing our passports from his bag in the airport at Nairobi but he didn’t notice
• how interesting it is to talk to people from other countries about what they do and what their lives are like and how they have a three-legged cat named Bosco
• how I love when the little kids wave to us when we’re riding on the truck and then break into these huge, delicious grins when we wave back

In 8^th grade, my civics teacher (Mr. Dale) once told us that the goal of life is to catch each moment as it passes. “There goes one right now. And another!” he said. For some reason, that really stuck with me. And I think that on this trip, I’m learning more and more how to catch each moment and savor it. I feel like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter, except I’m hoarding memories for later.

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Anyway, this morning we went to an AIDS orphanage, which was a pretty cool experience. The kids were really excited to see us (especially Kevin, whom they regarded as their own personal jungle gym) and as soon as we came into the gate, they swarmed us, grabbing our hands and dragging us out onto the playground. So I wish I could say that this was a life-changing experience and really opened my eyes and made me want to be a better person, but I think that would be a huge exaggeration. I had a lot of fun, yes, but going to the orphanage didn’t want to make me come back out to Uganda and spend the rest of my life volunteering. But what really did stick with me was one moment in particular. When we were leaving, the kids were getting their breakfasts in these little lunch pails. And as I walked out of the gate, this little girl, maybe all of four years old, took her slice of bread out of her pail, pulled off a piece and offered it to me. She. Offered her breakfast. To me. It’s one of those things that really hits you hard and totally unexpectedly. And that’s the moment I’ll remember from today.

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Puzzles for Postcards

“Against The Big Game It Wouldn’t Be Fair At All” Anagram:
In a Fair Fracas

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Picture of the Day: Two of the kids join in our volunteer work

9/14/09: Jinja, Uganda

Zhou and I have a long trip ahead of us, so we are closely monitoring what we spend. When the opportunity was brought up a couple days ago for us to join some of our group in white water rafting the Nile for $125 per person, we politely declined.

Today we reached the source of the Nile.

Here at our campsite in Jinja, the river sits in a valley surrounded by lush green forests. It’s much wider than I would have imagined, and I don’t know if it’s the body of water itself or the mystique of being at the Nile, but it has left me in awe each time I have peered at it from the edge of our campsite.

The Nile and its surrounding environment exemplify how much greener and wetter Uganda is than Kenya. Almost as soon as we crossed the border today, the landscape turned green, and the skies turned dark and ominous. Before we arrived at our destination in Jinja, they opened up, leaving a muddy, buggy, nasty campground to greet us.

As stereotypically “safari” as our first night in Lake Nakuru National Park was – the wide open campground under the starry sky, the threat of large, carnivorous animals – tonight will be our first real uncomfortable camping experience. It looks like it is going to rain again, so we will be trapped in our little tent. Geckos line the walls of the toilets, and there are bugs and spiders everywhere. It’s a far cry from our nice bed and air conditioning just less than a week ago.

But the beauty of our surrounding environment, the grandeur of the nearby river and even the thought of the monkeys we’ve seen playing in the trees make tonight one I can’t wait to experience.

And weather-permitting, in two days Zhou and I will be white water rafting down the longest river in the world.

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Picture of the Day: In Jinja, Jenga is a real man’s sport. Look at the sweet tower we have going here.

Yep, Utsunomiyadaily went to Tokyo to visit Yasukuni jinja. Full story here.

It’s all reenactment, he’s way too young to be an actual WW2 soldier.

A very serious patriot.

Playing WW2 dressup.

I spent Friday night and Saturday in Jinja, seeing (and swimming in) the source of the Nile. The current almost swept me into the rapids but as you can see, I am still alive – with photos! Click on the pic to see the slideshow.

Just got back from Puncak for 3 days vacation and it’s an enjoyable stride. However, I got the horror when I went back home and found out that my SMART telecom JUMP internet has slowed down. I only got 6 KB/s and I think I’ve been ripped off from my monthly payment of Rp. 192.000. Hffff, stupid ISP with their promise of 3.1 Mbps internet speed, give me back my money damn it. Anyway, I have to go to Surabaya today noon for an international conference held in Institut Teknologi Sepuluh November (ITS). Such hassle. BTW, here’s the wallpaper of the week for you.

Antes de cruzar a fronteira para a Uganda, atravessamos a linha do Equador. Percebi que ja tinha viajado um bocado, pois iniciei bem abaixo do tropico de Capricornio, alem disto, minha viagem estava sendo para o Nordeste e nao direto para o norte. Foi uma viagem bem tranquila. Pegamos um onibus executivo, bem melhor que os da Tanzania. Tinham so 3 poltronas por fileiras, tipo os nossos onibus leito, mas as comparacoes param por ai. A viagem passou super rapido, e fomos apreciando a bonita paisagem.

A Uganda e chamada de Perola da Africa, alem de diverssos outros apelidos. Local onde o turismo tem crescido consideravelmente, mas deve aumentar ainda mais. A estabilidade tem aumentado, mas ainda existem alguns graves problemas na fronteira com o Sudao. Dificil nao associarmos a Uganda ao louco do Idim Amim. Para quem nao lembra dele, vale ver o filme ” O ultimo rei da Escocia”, o qual fala da historia dele e da Uganda na epoca. Para se entender um pouco mais, a situacao do pais nao era melhor antes, e nem ficou melhor nos anos seguintes a esta ditadura. So perto dos anos 90 que veio a “estabilidade” economica, mas mesmo assim, o presidente que assumiu, e esta no poder ate hoje, e muito criticado.

Da fronteira seguimos sem paradas para a simpatica Jinja. Mais uma daquelas cidades que tentam lancar como meca dos esportes radicais, mas e meio forcado, puro marketing turistico. Uma cidade relativamente pequena, mas com uma boa estrutura. Muitos visitam esta cidade so para fazer Rafting (nivel 5) na  nascente do rio Nilo. Sim uma das nascentes do Nilo, o rio mais longo do mundo, e aqui. O Onibus nos deixou na estrada, pois seguia para a capital, Kampala. Pegamos 2 Boda-Bodas, que nada mais e que uma motocicleta com pequenas adaptacoes para levar passageiros e bagagem (ta bom, motoboy, hehe), e fomos para um hotel indicado. Nao sabiamos que no final de semana em questao estaria acontecendo a maior feira agropecuaria do pais, portanto tudo tava lotado. A Bibi ficou cuidando das mochilas enquanto eu dei uma volta para achar algum lugar para ficarmos. Acabei negociando numa mansao, adaptada a hotel, um super quarto. A Bibi ficou bem feliz, e de sobra, a noite teria um casamento muculmano no jardim, o qual participamos discretamente.

Hotel

Casamento

No outro dia fomos na tal fonte do rio Nilo, que aparentemente nao tem nada de especial, mas tudo mudou, quando sentamos numa pedra, ficamos conversando por horas tomando uma cerveja com o nome de ” Nile Special” ! Iamos passar na feira agropecuaria depois, mas ja era o ultimo dia e estavam desmontando tudo, alem do mais, como a Bibi e de Chapeco, ja ta cancada destas feiras…hehe (nao podia perder a piada..!!)

Nile Special!!!!!!! haha

Com o centro compacto, e um otimo lugar para passear, e existem alguns bons e baratos restaurantes. Ficamos um bom tempo no hotel tambem, onde fizemos alguns amigos que trabalhavam la. Deu vontade de ficar mais tempo, so por causa das pessoas. Ha, ia esquecendo, quando Gandi morreu, seu corpo foi cremado, e suas cinzas espalhadas por alguns lugares. Parte destas cinzas estao no templo Indu daqui. Alias, alem de templos, tem muito restaurante Indiano (comemos num bem gostoso), e Indianos tambem. No inicio da decada de 70, o Amin tava tao incomodado com os Asiaticos, que os expulsou do pais, so com as roupas do corpo. Ele “nacionalizou” o comercio, que grande parte era de Indianos e Chineses.

Pegamos um onibus para Kampala. Viagem tranquila, nem conversamos muito, ficamos so curtindo o visual. O motorista nao nos avisou para descer no local que tinhamos pedido, e acabamos no centrao. Um caos nunca visto antes, impressionante mesmo. E para piorar, nao tavam aceitando minha nota, pois tava com um selo raspado. Perdemos um tempinho nesta, mas logo pegamos um daladala para o Hotel que tinham nos recomendado. A Bibi foi indo na frente e minha moto estava lenta. Alguns Km depois, parou completamente. O motorista pediu para eu descer, deitou a moto chacoalhando, e me falou: “Agora chega ate o posto de gasolina”. Claro que no posto ele nao tinha dinheiro nem pra colocar combustivel. Dizem que nao colocqm combustivel para que a moto/carro nao sejam roubados, mas qcho que e poque sao quebrados mesmo.

Motoboy!!

Chegamos no hotel indicado, que era fora do centro. Tinha tentado ligar de Jinja, mas o numero tinha mudado. Resultado, tava lotado. O da frente era bem tranquilo, mas a Bibi nao quis ficar porque nao tinha banheiro no quarto. Acabamos indo procurar um outro hotel que nao encontramos, e seguimos de volta para o centao barulhento. Eu ja tava bem irritado nesta hora porque queria ter ficqdo ja no primeiro. Vimos mais um hotel, mas o custo benificio nao parecia ser dos melhores. Para encurtar a historia, dei uma colher de cha pra Bibi, que tava de TPM, e arrumei um hotel melhor (e caro!). Deu tempo de caminhar um pouco pelo caos  desta regiao ainda antes de dormir.

Kampala...

Dia seguinte fui dar entrada para meu visto da Etiopia, era melhor esperar em Kampala que em Nairobi sozinho. Vi que a parte de cima da cidade e totalmente diferente, pelo menos para este lado. Poucas quadras do caos do centrao, estao avenidas largas, com arvores floridas. Se afastando ainda mais comecam os bairros residenciais, com muitas casas bonitas e algumas mansoes. Kampala fica ao longo de sete colinas, portanto tem uma bela vista, e muda muito de uma regiao para outra. O visto ficaria para o dia seguinte, e voltei para pegar a Bibi e sair a pe pela cidade. Caminhamos bastante, e nos impressionamos com gigantescos passaros que sobrevoavam a cidade e faziam ninhos nas pracas. Como estavamos longe, voltamos de moto, passando pela parte nobre da cidade. Kampala estava surpreendendo bastante. Para fechar o dia, e comemorar que o visto estava encaminhado, fomos jantar num gostoso restaurante Etiope. Restaurante movimentado, comida boa, mas o mais legal foi ver a Bibi comer com as maos…

Passaros

Nao tem preco!!

Um dia pela manha, comecamos a conversar com o garcom, e a conversa se prolongou por horas. Falamos sobre o dia a dia, sobre cultura, e sobre a epoca do Amin, e claro. Achava que todos odiavam este homem que fez tantas barbaridades, mas descobri que alguns o defendem, dizendo que tem o outro lado da historia…

Bem, o Achi (garcom) foi mais uma daquelas pessoas que nos encantou. Combinamos de nos encontrar depois do expediente dele. Neste tempo saimos para conhecer mais a cidade e buscar o visto que deveria estar pronto. Deveria, mas nao estava. Vieram com aquela historia que brasileiros ganham o carimbo quando chegam no aeroporto. Tive que explicar (novamente) que iria por terra, e que nesta fronteira nao davam o visto (eu explicando para o consulado!). Tambem, porque alguem em sa consiencia iria encarar a dura e longa viagem pelo deserto do norte do Kenya/sul da Etiopia? Bem, o problema era meu, e acabaram emitindo o visto na hora mesmo. Ufa!

Tivemos que ligar para o Achi e remarcar para noite. Neste meio tempo corri para conseguir as passagens para Kabale. Inicialmente iamos no onibus do correio, que diziam que era mais seguro, mas como e pequeno e para o te,po todo, optamos por ir em um noturno, que vai mais rapido. No horario combinado o Achi apareceu no hotel (que ja nao era mais o mesmo do primeiro dia, mas acho que nao preciso entrar em detalhes,hehe). Saimos para um barzinho, mas estava muito barulhento. Acabamos num bar de um hotel, onde conversamos por algumas horas. O cara e de uma simpatia que nao existe, cheio de sonhos, trabalhador, mais uma daquelas historias de vida. Trabalha um monte, e no final do mes ganha USD35. E eu que me achava malandro quando em parte da viagem gastava so USD7 por dia. E o Achi com aquele sorrizao estampado, falando dos seus planos, de seus sonhos. Mesmo com toda a dificuldade, ele se deu ao trabalho de nos trazer lembrancas de Uganda. Algumas provavelmente de sua propria casa, outras talvez compradas. Prometemos que tentariamos ajudar de alguma maneira. Como a vida e dura! E como alguns, mesmo perdendo os pais, trabalhando um monte, nao desanimam, nem perdem a vontade de viver.

Achi

Ele ainda caminhou com a gente ate o hotel, onde arrumamos as coisa, e antes de sair dei a camisea do Brasil que tinha acabado de ganhar da mae/Clau. Logo saimos pois ja era perto da meia noite, e tinhamos que pegar o onibus.

I finally made it to Jinja yesterday and it was certainly worth the wait. A group of us piled into my housemate’s car to make the journey. It’s only about 80 kilometers from Kampala so one would think it shouldn’t take too long to get there. However, along Jinja road, traffic grinds to a halt in every village, as people slow down for the incredible amount of speed bumps.

We were planning on going to the Source of the Nile, which is an area that overlooks the point where the Nile flows out of Lake Victoria. However, upon our arrival, we learned that the Source was closed due to a large agricultural fair. Fortunately, a friend of one of the people I went with lives in Jinja and called a friend to see if we could go to his land a few miles out of Jinja.

To get to the land, we had to drive off the main road onto an eight foot wide dirt road, much of which was muddy since it had rained early, past mud houses and waving children. When we got to his property, we were welcomed by six dogs barking at the gate, two of which came up to my waist.

Once we got on the property, we realized that it was truly overlooking the Nile. At the edge of the property was a steep hill, about a 100 foot drop down to the water, with a path down. After we ate some lunch in an elevated banda overlooking the river, I ventured down the path with four of the six dogs in tow. I can’t really do the view justice so be sure to check out the pictures.

I’ve planned to go to Jinja twice before but ended up not going for one reason or another. However, tomorrow, it’s finally the day. Jinja is about 80k east of Kampala and is known as the “Source of the Nile” since it is where the Nile flows out of Lake Victoria.

I’ll have more up about it tomorrow and should hopefully have some good pictures.

After crashing hard from the safari at Queen Elizabeth, I woke up early the next morning to catch a boda to hop on a bus to go white water rafting in Jinja. After being fitted with a life jacket and safety helmet, we were off to the Nile River. I could not have imagined Moses floating down this river but then again it was in Egypt, not Uganda.

There were seven of us in the raft including our guide Paolo. Paolo is on the Uganda kayak team and when I asked him how long he has been a guide on the Nile, he said “I watched the video this morning and this is my first time”. I jokingly laughed and thought ‘what the heck’. I have never rafted on Class 5 rapids before and with rapid names like “Silverback, the Widow Maker, Ribcage, the Dead Dutchman and 50/50”, I was definitely in for the ride of my life. Paolo was amazing as a guide and instructor. He did everything to joke with us, make us feel comfortable and help us understand the boat and how to hold our paddles so we wouldn’t hit our fellow rafters. He also made sure that when (not if) we fell in to not freak out and let the river take you. That wasn’t really comforting but there were also ten kayakers as safety back-up to come up next to you when you did fall. I tumbled hard on our only spill of the day. It was incredible. The scene was like in slow motion. The wave came from the right and I felt and saw the three rafters on the right side of the boat go over my head as I got sucked underneath the raft. I hung onto the paddle (Paolo told us to try to hang on to the paddles if possible) and couldn’t tell if I was up or down. I was under-water for about five seconds and then all of a sudden the river spit me back up and I floated right next to the safety kayak. I love my life jacket!

There were some peaceful moments on the river (it took 6.5 hours to do the one day trip) and I took the time to reflect on some important lessons in the water. You have to trust your guide and the people rafting with you. They want you to live just as much as they do. The guide is not to be a killjoy but to ensure you have a fun and safe time. So when he says ‘down’, you all jump into the center of the boat and when he says ‘lean right’, you all lean to the right of the boat. You cannot be a lone ranger on the raft. You cannot do your own thing. And you have to paddle in unison, otherwise it sucks going in circles. But the thing I saw as a correlation between the guide and our relationship with God is that what he says is final. I never questioned the guide’s competence or ability to get us down the Nile. He never promised we wouldn’t fall in the water. But he gave us instructions on how to navigate it when we did fall. Similarly, I shouldn’t question God as my guide when He knows what is best for me. I can easily forget sometimes that God has my best interest for His glory and His fame. He doesn’t do it my way but steers me in the right direction. He doesn’t guarantee success or that I won’t get wet, but gives me instruction to survive it.

So next time you get the chance to raft on Class 5 Rapids – do it. If you’re in Uganda, go to Nile River Explorers. They were fun and professional and fed us beer and barbeque at the end of the trip. Not a bad way to end the day.

Eesh, I feel awfully wonky this evening. However a very good day has been had (excepting of course unique timekeeping which resulted in massive delays). A friend took me out to a village outside Jinja because he wanted to introduce me to some people he though might make good subjects for photographs. He was right, and I spent a fascinating afternoon variously learning how to gamble, trying local millet hooch (which could account for the wonkiness), watching Nigerian cinema in a big shed, talking to a soldier-turned-dope dealer who is a raving fan of Manchester United, and explaining how to use a medium format camera and how to differentiate the sexes of Guinea Fowl. Just another afternoon. The good news is that I seem to have amazing access to a fascinating place and as a result hopefully the project I am going to work on. The bad news is that the only internet cafe fast enough to upload images in the 6mb+ range has given my camera a virus, so digital images are looking iffy at the moment. Utterly infuriating. I still have some more to upload from the child labour work (which is still ongoing, but my co-worker is in Rwanda right now) but as for new stuff, I’m really not sure.
I had the most glorious ride home this evening, just as the sun was setting I took a boda-boda back from Mafubia to Jinja, riding west through the choking diesel fumes being spewed by the matatus and buses. The driver was not scared of the accelerator, so we shot through the traffic while the wind dragged tears from my eyes as I blinked furiously to clear them of dust. Now it’s time for a lie-down, not so?

Wow, it’s a sunny Sunday in Jinja town. We’ve just been to church at the Enkabi centre, which was a nice service (note to St Marys below, Monmouth: more drums please) and we’re about to head off to the house at Buyala for lunch. Yesterday we rode in an ambulance driven by somebody who was evidently either an extremely experienced or inexperienced driver because he hammered the poor bus, lead-footed, over ruts you could stash a cow in, while 8 of us bounced around in the back and the doctor used my Opinel to chop up sugar cane.
The reason for the ambulance ride was to visit the community centre at Buyala that Father Picavet has set up, where there was a health clinic for the afternoon. It’s a grand building, sitting in a cleared patch bordered on three sides by Father’s trees and on the fourth by a huge field of sugar cane. Salim, one of Francis David’s friends, walked us up to a nearby village where we wandered and tested our Luganda (Oli otya? Burugi!) on the children who carried jackfruit on their heads and played grandmothers footsteps with us up and down the lane. I shot a lot of photos and sooner or later I will find that most mythical of beasts, a computer which will allow me to upload them. Until then it’s a thousands words I’m afraid.

PS the title refers to the motorcycles which are used as taxis. I was going to write about them but this keyboard has other ideas. Maybe tomorrow.

So here it is at last, the start of the blog. We’re in Jinja after a gruelling journey through three continents in two days, starting with Gatwick, where we barely slept, and considered buying a whole roast chicken from the Marks and Spencers. Why on earth they sell whole chickens there I am not sure, but they do.
We flew out towards Dubai and arrived just as the sun set. As we left the airport a smiling gentlemen (not wearing the regulation white plastic flip flops and flowing robe) politely collared me, hauled me into a corner and proceeded to demolish my luggage, including flipping through every page of every book, opening each film canister and eyeing extremely suspiciously the cable release for my Hasselblad. He even dusted the insides of my pockets out onto a table for special examination. Fortunately I had nothing stronger than some Dutch cheese secreted about my person and finally he had to release me into the sweltering 35 degree Dubai night. We rented a taxi and drove through the whole city, stopping outside 7-star hotel palaces which made the casual observer feel a little like a sane dwarf in the kingdom of a lunatic giant. The skyscrapers, all dark, stand like a forest and the roads weave in and out tracking unbelievable routes through flyovers and undersea tunnels. The Burj Al Arab and the Atlantis hotel are just staggering and everywhere you look the night shift of construction workers crawl all over the bones of new, even more giant buildings. All in all it was a deeply unsettling city, a sweating world of smart cars and long robes where people live in air conditioned houses, work in air conditioned offices, travel in tightly sealed air conditioned cars and even, should they be so unthinkably poor as to need to catch a bus, wait in sealed, air conditioned bus stops.
The flight to Entebbe was delayed in Addis when people refused to leave the plane, and then again when some oxygen masks fell from one of the ceiling panels, prompting a shaven-headed and unduly angry yoof to bang on about how it wasn’t safe, yo, just fixin it wiv gaffer tape and he didn’t wanna go down wiv the plane, yeah?
From Entebbe to Jinja was a pleasant journey during which I dozed and finally we got to Father Picavet’s and were met by Bob and Richard, and the good padre joined us shortly after. The house is brilliant, the town lively and today while we were driving with Bob to some places of interest all of the children would wave and shout ‘Jambo Mzunga!’ which translates as ‘hello white boy!’ Pictures will follow…