Euro Trip: Yesterday in Lisbon, today in Rome, and tomorrow in…

Stuck. I won’t go into the boring details of why but I was supposed to be back in Uganda already and instead have spent hours in hell arguing with Priceline (NEVER USE THESE PEOPLE) in Rome (and don’t joke with this “when in Rome” with me right now!). Now normally being in Rome might be interesting as it’s a world famous city but I unfortunately just lost my job (which I also will not going into here) and the timing is not great. I suppose it’s better than being stuck in the poorly timed city of Cairo, which is where I was supposed to be stuck, if I had stayed with the original horrible change of flight plan.

I never meant for this blog to be a pure travel blog although it seems it has sort of turned into that (Travel blogs are the worse, so annoying and assumingly self-important!) and now it’s too late to turn back. Before Rome I was on vacation with Maya in Portugal which was amazing. It’s a beautiful country with great Mediterranean beaches, mountains, city night life in Lisbon and Porto, and a good amount of culture. Canyoning might be the thing I need to get into after trying it there (amazing). We toured the whole country almost in one week, although didn’t see anything obviously with too much depth. Unlike Rome, people are friendlier to foreigners and don’t mind that you don’t speak their language. Plus it’s cheap compared to the rest of Europe.

Rome, in contrast, is incredibly expensive. Today I bought a milk shake that was 7 euros ($9.50). But it makes sense, like Paris, it’s a top global travel destination. Literally people are here from everywhere and it’s crazy how many languages are being spoken all around you constantly. Additionally, roses are sold all around you constantly (although it’s only the guys who buy for their ladies and sadly I’ve been alone when I’ve been in both Rome and Paris).  

“It was some castle, or was it a palace?”

A guy at a hostel told me this when describing an amazing site he say today. Also like Paris, you can’t walk in Rome without tripping over a statue or monument almost every block. I’ve lost track of the fountains, monuments, statues, castles, palaces, forts, walls, churches, and other famous and ancient things I’m supposed to be in awe of but none of which I know anything about. Most Americans who visit Europe remark how old everything is but Rome takes that to a new level. Certain attractions have blown my mind with their immense scale. So much of the city draws people interested in Ancient Rome (or the Vatican) and its crazy how integrated that side of things is with modern Rome. The coliseum, over 2000 years old, is also a subway stop that hundreds of thousands of the 3.5 million + citizens pass every day, probably with very little notice.

In Portugal we went to Sintra, just outside of Lisbon, which is sort of like a Disneyworld of attractions and museums, much like Balboa park in San Diego. They put it all in one place and it’s overwhelming. Similar to how I’m feeling with Rome, Sintra or this sort of thing is sensory overload. It’s too much information, and lot of the information you do get is about things and people you probably don’t care that much about or maybe have never heard of.  Palaces and churches can be nice, or we think they can be nice, but actually we think that because that’s what we are supposed to think and we can check it off some list of things to see. But it all sounds better in theory than practice actually.

All of this is to say that travel is exhausting and as I embark on a potential few months of unemployed travel I’ll need to get a strategy to make sure it stays fun and meaningful. Any tips?

Up North

On a recent business trip up North, two things happened in one time that made my day particulary memorable. The first going through a small village seeing a completely naked man hand and foot cuffed waddling around in no particular direction. The more surprising thing perhaps was the fact that no one even turned their heads as he walked around (like the same nonchalance I saw in Rwanda when no one really reacted to the vomit in the bus scene going to Bujumbura). I actually later realized that he was probably mentally ill and the town people had done that to him, which really isn't so funny and it reflects how poor services are for people with mental disabilities.

Later in the day I was on a bus that broke down several times. We would start-up and go some short distant and then the engine would fail. We were stopped for about an hour trying to fix it when a passenger lost patience. He somehow got a boda boda taxi to come find him (we were in the middle of nowhere so I’m not sure how he managed this) but as soon as he left the bus and jumped on the boda the engine failed. He started rolling backwards down the hill on the moto and it was just too hilarious to not burst out laughing.

Acholiland, as some people call it up here, is the home of the Acholi people. It’s not a place most or really any tourists go but it has its own particular charms. Like for example, the abundance of pork roasting joints or the way it can almost sound like singing when people greet each other with their common call and response. Or how for some reason people think when I say my name that it’s “Henry.”

The North has a distinctly different feel from the rest of Uganda. People don’t really eat the normal ever-so-popular banana based dish matoke. The roads are even worse and dustier. The Acholi’s don’t seem to be huge fans of the Buganda, the Kampala based dominant people. Sometimes I see something that I don’t see anywhere else in Uganda: NEW cars, even wrapped in the plastic still. I recently had the chance to ride in one and can elaborate a bit more.

I was actually in a very uncomfortable matato (bus taxi) on my way back up North recently on what should have been leg 1 of 3 with transfers and 8 hours of no leg room and three babies, chickens, and whatever else usually gets thrown onto your lap in a matato. We were several hours from any border but these new cars are so recognizable and really are only going to a few places; mostly South Sudan for government officials there. 1 hour into my trip, somehow our matato driver knowing my final destination, he was able to flag a driver down of one of these new cars and get him to agree to take me up North. There’s really only a few roads which go that way and again no cars that look like this so it makes some sense but is still pretty amazing. Mike, the driver, is a transporter, driving the +20 hours every week from Mombasa, a port city in Kenya, to Juba in landlocked South Sudan. Besides the interesting conversations with such a person, air conditioning, and ridiculous leg room comfort, one other bonus from the trip was a funny story. Mike pulled up beside another nice car blasting African music with a dancing--alone-driver and got him to pull over and literally trade the CD’s from each other’s stereos on the spot. The exchange made me smile.

I’ve also included some recent pics. from Acholiland here

The little girl who cries when I came close to her. This is where we keep the chickens

Fort Baker (also sometimes referred to as Fort Patiko) -a very old Arab slave fort

Arua falls, about an hour from Gulu

On the road with co-worker Dennis at the landing site in Panyimur

Going Native

This expression is used for white people going to 3^rd world (or sorry “Global South” for those politically correct readers) who live without 1^st World (“Global North”) amenities, eat the local food, adopt local customs, and live generally simpler lives. It’s offensive for a number of reasons but also, as it can be the case with offensive things, is somewhat hilarious. Think about your best friend, your father, really anyone, deciding to give up wireless internet, wearing some feathers or local dress, subsisting on a regular diet of cassava and strange local plants, and learning a language that may have clicks and other sounds that are so incredibly foreign you wouldn’t even be able to guess which side of the planet it’s coming from.

People talk about Peace Corps volunteers “going native” and moving to the bush. I am not in the Peace Corps but in my latest East Africa adventure, I find myself “going native.” Of course I’m being facetious but my new situation is quite different than what I’ve experienced up to this point. I am only a 7-8 min. walk from the main road and about 30 minutes of walking from the main city of Gulu population 150,000; however, I’m surrounded by huts (I myself am in a non-self-contained house), have no running (or hot) water, often have no electricity due to frequent outages, no Western bathroom, no gas stove (I’m going to buy one though), and there’s plenty of goats, animals, and small African children in my backyard.

As if I was in a movie, Mama Basil is my elderly lady roommate, one of my co-worker’s moms who speaks very little English and probably finds me very strange. We don’t interact too much (or haven’t yet I should say). For example, last night I went off to go see some live music in town as she sit in the dark with just a small candle listening to the radio. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about her later.

Mama Basil’s sister’s child also either lives there or is just always around (not sure which yet) and is terrified of me. It’s funny how small children here are either fascinated by white skin and want to touch you or can be terrified and run away in fright when you get within a few feet.

Layibi is actually a very peaceful and pretty place to live and I am happy to be living simpler, if only for a few months while I get into some more sales and field based work from Fenix.

Better grab an umbrella

I am back in the North of Uganda for work and enjoying myself. But it’s always music that triggers the strangeness of the situations I sometimes find myself in; whether it be an old forgotten Salt & Pepper hit, classic French hits in Rwanda, or something else. This time it was riding in the back of a cargo vehicle with local staff from several different NGO’s on our way to visit a very large SACCO (Savings and Credit Cooperative Organizations) when "Make it Rain" by Lil. Wayne came booming into my life. It’s been days since I've heard that one and I think my fellow passengers just enjoyed the beat and didn't try too hard to interpret the lyrics. I may have continued eating the raw cassava and sugar cane, chewing and spitting everywhere and making a mess in the car with this foreign group (as that’s how it is with those items), and not thinking anything odd about the moment, if it hadn't been for that song. It’s as if the out-of-place American gangster rap brings me back to the fact that me, as a White (Mazungu), am also totally out-of-place. 

When life gives you lemons

Make Kenya! Wait, that doesn't make any sense. Go to Kenya?

Just one day after returning from Rwanda, I’m on a bus on my way to Kenya now because I screwed up and forgot that my Uganda Visa was expiring. Apparently it’s like $100/day fine for each day you are here after your Visa has expired, so with almost no notice I had to take off and leave for Kenya – the closest border (a mere “6” but actually 8 plus hour bus ride) from Kampala.

So I decided to make the best of it. I chose Eldoret, a town known for producing some of the world’s best runners as these Kenyans continually train at high altitude (above 6,000 ft.) and it’s also a popular hang gliding destination as it overlooks the Great African Rift valley. Furthermore, Wikipedia tells me there is a good cheese factory there.

Sitting next to me on the bus is Maku Anderson, a Ugandan man that appears to be around my age. He’s very chatty and friendly and he’s looking me up on facebook just minutes into our trip. We spent at least 15 minutes alone talking about the Rolex, a Ugandan classic –simply an egg and chapatti (the Ugandan equivalent of Nan bread) that’s pretty bomb. It also reminds that everywhere you go in the world, people love the egg/bread combination, just like my birdy-in-the-nest back home. You can normally find Rolex on the street in Uganda (in contrast to Rwanda where street food is sadly forbidden) for $.50 and it makes an excellent snack. But I also learned from Makuy about variations of the Rolex that I hadn’t previously known existed – such as the commando (with veggies), the Titantic (4 eggs with 4 chapati’s wrapped on one side and 4 on the other –it’s hard to imagine just how massive this is), and “for thugs” Maku say’s, the Sugar Rey – which is a Rolex made with spirits (usually whisky). This sounds disgusting to me.

We also got to the topic of woman where Maku teaches me: “Rwandaise woman are like tortoises – they are shier than Ugandans, and even if they hide their heads, watch out, they can still come out and bite.”  This is contrast of course to Ugandan woman, who, Maku informs me, “are more like ostriches. When the leopard comes to hunt them they may hide their necks in the bushes but they forget about the biggest part, their behinds, the meat, just sticking out there for the leopard.”

Update from Eldoret:

I didn’t find the cheese factory, but I did find some amazing hiking. Despite being described as somewhat of a tourist town, very few African towns are actually set up for tourism and Eldoret was no different. I left after just one day since the only buses back to Kampala were hellish night buses and I have work Monday. Considering the ride was 90% of the point, it was not such a horrible trip after all.

Friendly Africa

In a few days I will hit my six month mark here in Africa. Although I thought I was taking a job in Uganda, I’m still in Rwanda currently, and I've spent just over half of my time here. One stereotype of Africa that continues to amaze me in its correctness is the incredibly friendliness of Africans. I don’t think I am generalizing too much at this 

The road to Bumbogo is paved with dirt

Church building ceremony

point having been to Senegal, Uganda, Cameroon, Tanzania, Burundi, and Rwanda. There are points along this spectrum though – in Cameroon, perhaps the friendliest place I've ever been to on earth, if you even make eye contact with someone on more than two separate occasions, you have a significant chance of being invited over for dinner. In Rwanda people can be more reserved but I still meet random people all the time who want my phone number after barely meeting me. They actually do call sometimes (just to say “hi,” it’s very strange) so assuming you aren't giving them a fake number (I don’t judge people who do, it can get tiring here), you actually have to save their number. I have so many “random Jon,” “random Alex,” and “random George’s” in my phone I can’t even count; which all leads me to a story from last weekend.

Random Bosco had been calling me for months. I had met him several months back deep in the village on a work trip and he was persistent in his follow up.  Specifically, he wanted me to come to some ceremony in the village and each time I told him I couldn't come he would tell me how disappointed the whole village was…so I said to myself, “what the hell? I've got nothing going on this Saturday, might be interesting and different, why not?” Well it certainly was different…

Two buses, a one long moto ride, and about two hours later, I arrived in the thriving metropolis of Bumgogo. When Bosco said ceremony he wasn't joking, there were hundreds and hundreds of people, including local politicians and well-known public leaders. What Bosco didn't tell me was that the ceremony was for building a new huge church in town and they were undergoing a huge fundraising effort. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the singing, dancing, and not understanding 4 hours (that was all that I could take, the ceremony was not over) of Kinyarwanda speeches, but I also got put in a very uncomfortable position. First, I was expected to give a speech in French in front of this huge crowd of people (about what, I have no idea). Why; because I’m a small white Jewish kid with a shitty beard? Next, I was declared by the project leader to be the white ambassador to the village and this project (wait what, I agreed to that?). And Finally, I was expected to announce my financial commitment in front of everyone, after hearing two politicians who committed $770 and $384 (I had been contemplating whether I could get away with $10 before hearing that). I’m not even a Christian for CHRIST’S SAKE!!!

I extracted myself from the situation by saying I would talk to friends in Kigali see, what we could come up with, and that I’d get back them (figuring in the back of my head that maybe I could pawn this off on some Christian NGO who helps people in Africa build churches).

I felt pretty stupid for not having clarified about what this ceremony was or not questioning why Bosco was so zealous about recruiting me. People assume because you are white here you have money. To some extent that may be true given the standard-of-living differences, but being a student, volunteer, or low-wage worker doesn’t seem to factor into the equation ever. And I’m obviously too trustworthy. Africans may be friendlier than other people, but sometimes there’s something behind it.

Gettin' Around

Traveling in East Africa is remarkably fairly easy. While inter-African flights in most places are still expensive, buses get you most places if you have the time. Rwanda and Burundi are so small that getting around within and between the countries usually involves less than 6 hours going most places. The prices are super cheap generally speaking and the list of cool places is relatively known (at least among the Ex-Pat community). Visas are usually not too bad (except Tanzania where they gouge you for $100) and I've heard as a Resident you can get a multi-country pass for cheap. The East African Community is smart in forming a union and increasing economic inter-activity in a way I didn't see in West Africa.

I love "other important town" of which there are like 8 in Rwanda

Getting on a plane here is often like this where you are randomly in front of a bunch of planes with no direction and could easily end up in the completely wrong place

For travel here, you just have to put up with very tight spaces on buses, blaringly loud radio in a language you don’t understand (or if you are less lucky terribly dubbed movies), and usually uncomfortably hot temperatures with incredibly frustrating people reaching over your shoulder every time you try to open a window. Seriously, this happens every trip, it’s like Africans are immune to cold (and when I say cold I mean 65 F and above with a nice cool breeze). Roads are not surprisingly horrible and bumpy, unless you are in Rwanda, which is an exceptional East African country for a variety of reasons.

Two weeks ago I traveled to Bujumbura, one of my top 5 favorite sounding African capital names (slightly behind Ouagadougou, pronounced “wagudugu,” Antananarivo and Yamoussoukro, but slightly ahead of Tripoli, Windhoek, and Djibouti –the Capital of none other than Djibouti), in Burundi, to visit the famous beaches of Lake Tanganyika. They do not let down, the lake seems like an ocean it’s so big, the beaches are sandy and the water is warm. It’s amazing to see the beach culture also transported there with pick-up volleyball games happening and I even saw someone kite boarding.

Mount Meru in the foreground, Kilimanjaro in the background

Lucy the crazy female chimp at our hotel in Bujumbura

My Kiwi friend and roommate Johanna plays with Lucy

Some Burundian friends and Rwandans that went down as well for the weekend

Nightfalls on Bujumbura (downtown in the background)

It was also amazing getting a hug from Lucy the enormous and aggressive female chimpanzee the owner keeps at Pinnacle 19, the hotel I stayed at. But the highlight of the trip might have been on the way there on the bus. Next to me sat an African man continuously chowing down samosa’s (later we reportedly heard people were keeping tabs and it was more than 10)! When you enter Burundi from Rwanda the road gets super windy and mountain-e. It didn't help that the bus driver was driving like a mad man (you can guess where this is going by now). I feel so fortunate that this passenger turned to his right (and not me on his left) to projectile vomit everywhere hitting no fewer than three people. The reaction was my favorite part: the bus did not stop, no one yelled (as they would for sure in the States), and besides a few sighs, the people covered in this man’s vomit mostly just laughed; as in: “look how many samosa’s you ate, you idiot, you vomited, hahahahaha.” They wiped themselves down the best they could as the man continued to vomit and went on with life. It wasn't just that these passengers were all remarkably calm, I would go as far as saying this incident was an ice breaker and stimulated good conversation. TIA – This Is Africa, as they say…

Insect with crazy natural wholes in it's wings at Mt. Kabuye, the tallest mountain (doesn't include volcanoes which are much higher) in rwanda, about 2700 meters

Our unofficial African child soldier entourage that came to meet us at the top of the mountain 

Walking right through your village to get down, "excuse us, don't mind us, coming through"

Finally last week, a trip to Lake Kivu to Gisenyi (bordering Goma of the DRC but much more peaceful)