Greenest place on Earth

I’ve been to some very green places but I don’t think anywhere can top Uganda. It was breathtakingly, beautifully green. When I was a child blue was my favorite color but over the last ten to fifteen years I’ve realized it’s green - few things give me the same sense of calm as being outdoors in a green place. So Uganda was pretty much perfection.

After our gorilla trek we were all parched and craving a combo of sugar and water - good old Coca Cola out of a glass bottle was in order. We wandered down to the small hut just a short distance from where we were parked and the woman was happy to serve us some cold fizzy drinks. Unfortunately our driver Jasper discovered that our front tire was dangerously low and when he changed it out for the spare, we found the spare to be low as well, so our adventures for the day were not over - we drove down into the village and we all piled out of the van while Jasper went off to attend to the tire. It began to sprinkle so the six of us huddled under the roof of a shop when we realized that we mzungus were a bit of an attraction. We had attracted some attention when six tall white people climbed out of the van but the local children were particularly fascinated. Their curiosity was endearing, a few of them peeking around corners and shouting “hellllooo”. One very confident little girl approached us and asked us our names. Before we knew it, the three children had turned to ten and the rain came down even harder. What started off as curious introductions turned into a longer term gathering facilitated by the rain. They couldn’t speak much English so I told them I’d sing them a song if they would sing one for us. I sang the “Isty Bitsy Spider” and they sang a song they must have learned in school about loving an education. It was very sweet - and quite long! Then we sang them “Old MacDonald” and they got a good laugh at all the mzungus making animal noises. 

The exhaustion of the day was creeping up on us and we were desperate to find a seat so we popped into a bar in the next building over. It was a tiny place and the beer was warm but it was dry and had stools to give our legs a rest and a friendly owner (see the photo gallery). We nursed our warm beers while the rain continued until finally the wheel was repaired and pumped back up (with what appeared to be a bike pump) and we were finally on our way. I had hoped we would arrive back at camp during the daylight so I could get a better idea of my surroundings but the rain continued, forcing us to take the longer route back and it was dark by the time we got to the boat.

We were all a little forlorn when we arrived at the boat and it was still raining. A good amount of water had to be bailed out of the bottom of the boat before we climbed in and the twenty minute boat ride felt like forever as the rain continued to drench us. I had ambitions of a shower to rid myself of the days sweat and grime and I was well aware that the solar heated shower would be cold at this point, but it still seemed feasible. However, this was my first experience showering at this camp and the charm of the open top shower with the magnificent view of the lake was lost when there was no place to keep a towel dry or hang anything without it getting soaked by the rain. I opted for a “shower” of baby wipes and a change into dry clothes - the heaviest layers I had with me. Our group met for dinner in the canteen but it wasn’t particularly festive as we were all chilled to the bone and exhausted so we had our meals and headed off to bed not long after.

I looked forward to a relaxing morning and planned to sleep in but three brazen little birds with the most obnoxious call kept that from happening. They seemed to enjoy perching on the deck outside my geo-dome and I tried to ignore them but they were LOUD! One of them hopped into the actual entryway of the hut and continued to call so I assumed it was time for me to get out of bed. (see photos of the bird with the orange belly) The sky was overcast but the sun was peeking through so I hung my still-wet clothes over the side of the deck and headed off to breakfast.

The dishes at the canteen were named with a sense of humor and as unadventurous as this particular dish sounded, I was in the mood for Homer’s Flapjacks. They were amazing - much thicker than any pancakes than I’ve ever had - almost 3/4” thick but crunchy and toasted on each side and fluffy inside. And the “European” coffee was almost overwhelmingly rich but the steamed milk perfected it. It was looking to be a fantastic day. Once the sun warmed up the water, I’d take a shower and maybe go for an adventure in a dugout canoe or hike to the village on the other side of the island.

After a leisurely breakfast I decided to wash a few of the really filthy items from the day before so they could dry in the sun. Just as I finished laying the clean items on the deck I heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder and I could see the rain advancing towards our island from across the lake, rippling the quiet surface with a wall of drops. I moved all of the damp clothes under the roof of my geo-dome, draping them over chairs and mosquito nets and made my way back to the canteen. Before I knew it, pea sized hail was pounding onto the metal roof of the canteen and it was astoundingly loud. A few other people were lingering about and we all exchanged worried glances. The hail turned to rain after about five minutes but the rain continued - for hours and hours. Lighting and thunder and a steady rain for almost six hours. I was disappointed that my shower was clearly not in the forecast but thankful that I hadn’t set off on one of my potential adventures. All in all it could have been far worse - my new British friends taught me a card game called Farmer’s Whit, which I’m now obsessed to play again, and we shared a few bottles of wine while we rode out the slow-moving storm in the canteen. After the exertion of the day before, there were worse ways to spend the day - at least the weather provided a valid excuse to be lazy and, despite the cold and dampness, enjoy the still beautiful panorama of Lake Bunyonyi. 

My clothes never fully dried and I needed an extra blanket that night since it was cold enough to see my breath, but the morning brought the return of sunshine and my little birdie wake-up call. I had the chance to have another leisurely breakfast, and can’t even pretend that I was able to ignore the call of Homer’s Flapjacks. I had my first opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the lake in the sunlight and thoroughly enjoyed the boat ride back to the mainland before we started the drive back to Kigali. I was still in complete awe of the magnificent verdant landscape of Uganda and feel compelled to return in the future. The border crossing was again somewhat lengthy, including a temperature screening (as a form of Ebola prevention) before being allowed into Rwanda. We had some misadventures finding my hotel in Kigali; I’ve rarely felt like four hours in a car is more harrying than flying (other than the four hours trips in traffic between DC and NYC) but I suppose it’s the dirt roads. By the time I got to my hotel I wanted to run from the vehicle. It might also have had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to shower since I left Madagascar. My baby wipes shower post-gorilla trekking didn’t really cut it. It was late afternoon by the time I arrived in Kigali so unfortunately I didn’t have the opportunity to see much of the city. I holed up in my hotel and took advantage of the hot shower and decent wifi and wondered what laid ahead of me - officially half-way through my trip. I was excited to have a bigger stretch of time in one place and with one group of students. I was curious about life in a more urban environment after so much time enjoying the natural beauty of these rural areas. I hoped for a unique home stay experience with a kind family and interesting volunteers. To be continued…

Mzungus in the Mist

First let me explain: mzungu means “white person” or “foreigner" in Swahili; our “mzungu-ness” became a common joke throughout the day of our gorilla trek which was often reinforced by the fact that we were as much of an attraction as the gorillas we came to see. The phrase “mzungus in the mist” was screen-printed on some of the t-shirts being sold by the locals after our trek - not the official shirts I’m sure, but priceless none-the-less. I arrived in Kigali, Rwanda around 6pm the day before my trek and met my driver at the airport. My driver John told me the trip to the camp on Lake Bunyonyi was about three hours, two hours to the border of Uganda and then another hour to camp. It was just getting dark when we drove through Kigali, and rush hour as well so traffic was slow moving but the streets were remarkably clean and the traffic signals were quite modern, with counters ticking off the seconds until the light changes. I’ve never seen a countdown clock on a traffic signal before, only for pedestrians, so I was a little surprised. It was certainly the opposite extreme from Nosy Komba, which had no roads to speak of. Once we were out of the city the roads quickly changed to curvy mountain roads with no lights and lots of blind turns. It was stressful driving and not particularly relaxing as a passenger either. I told John I was in no rush and only to drive as fast as he was comfortable because I sensed he was rushing. He slowed down and I could feel us both relax. It wasn’t as if he was driving crazy like my first taxi-brousse driver, but he seemed tense and I imagined he thought I was in a rush to get to camp. 

We arrived at the border of Rwanda and Uganda just after a large bus so the line for immigration was quite long, but at least it worked as a bit of a funnel, moderating the flow of traffic to the immigration office on the Ugandan border. That said, the border crossing probably took about an hour and we lost another hour as we changed time zones into Uganda. John was clearly more comfortable driving in Uganda, perhaps it was because he knew the road better, or he was driving on the left side of the road again or maybe it was driving on dirt roads or a combination of the above. We sped along the dirt roads and I have to admit, I was impressed not only with his driving but with the ability of the van, that had seemed ungainly when I first climbed in, to handle the rough roads. About four hours from leaving the airport, we pulled into a small lot and John advised that this is where I’d be taking the boat - I hadn’t even realized that the camp was on an island. So my bags and I were loaded onto a small skiff and we motored out into the lake. I also hadn’t realized how immense Lake Buyonyi was - in the darkness it was difficult to see much of anything besides the reflection of water, the darker shape of land masses, the sporadic twinkling of lights here and there and the vast starlight night sky. It was an exhilarating ride, motoring off to some unknown destination in complete darkness with this incredibly clear sky overhead. It was only about twenty minutes until we reached our island, where I was met, given the details of our 5:15 departure and headed off to bed. Part of me was thirsty for a beer after all my travels but I opted for water and a solid four hours of sleep.

I was back down at the dock by 5:15 the following morning and it was still dark. I encountered the five other groggy figures who would be the remainder of the group trekking together. It was another two hours over dirt roads to Bwindi - I was able to nod off for a bit but once the sun came up I was excited to see the beautiful land spreading in every direction. The mist was still heavy in the valleys but the hills and mountains were a vibrant green, with almost every stretch of space neatly cordoned off into fields, despite the incredibly steep incline. We passed the occasional local walking along the road, almost every person had a farming tool over their shoulder as they trudged along. Small packs of cows and goats were herded along the road and nearly every small child we passed would smile and wave excitedly, occasionally yelling “hellloooo” at the van of mzungus. As the sun rose higher and we came closer to our destination my companions awoke and I got to see who I’d be spending my day with. There were five others, all in their early thirties - a Dutch couple on their honeymoon and a group of three British guys. I was secretly thrilled to be around people closer to me in age.

We reached Bwindi around 8am and spent about an hour at the main area for an overview of the experience, do’s and don’ts and getting sorted into our groups. The maximum size for a group is eight people but we were lucky and the six of us were one group. My companions expressed their relief at not being stuck with some of the older folks - apparently their trip chimp trekking a few days earlier was slowed down considerably by the two older couples who were in their group. I hoped that I could keep up with everyone - they seemed quite fit and given they were predominantly guys, I estimated they might also be somewhat competitive. We were given the offer of using a porter, which I had been considering. There had been a few moments on the very easy hike tracking lemurs during which I had wished I didn’t have a backpack - more because of the obstruction it caused navigating through the forest and the brush than the additional weight. When the other woman in the group said that she was going to hire a porter I was relieved and decided to do the same. Little did I know just how wise that decision would be.

We were to trek to visit the Busingye group which required being driven a good thirty or so minutes from the orientation area, through a small village and then back up into the mountains. We met our porters at the starting point, mine was a tall, shy man who went by Steven. I felt a little awkward using a porter but during the introduction they explained that using porters was a positive way to contribute to the communities in the area. The gorillas could sometimes be destructive to crops when they came closer to the villages and in the past there had been issues with poaching. It is important that the villages understand the benefits of wildlife conservation and paying the locals as porters was one of the most direct ways to do so. Steven gave me a walking stick and our group set off up the road, following our guide, another Steven, and an armed guard. They explained that two guards went with each group in case we encountered other non-habituated animals, such as elephants and chimps, along our trek. The guards would fire into the air to frighten off the other animals. Apparently it was rare but possible. I’m guessing that animals are not the only thing that the guards were protecting us from. Two trackers had gone ahead early in the morning and would be in contact with our guide, instructing where to go in order to find the gorillas.

The trackers leave at first light and return to the area the gorillas had been last seen on the prior day. They search for the “beds” in the area to see where the ground was imprinted from the gorilla’s night asleep and then followed their trail to find them. Even after a tour leaves, the trackers stay behind for a few hours so they have the best idea of where the gorillas may be on the following day. I had read how challenging gorilla trekking can be; it can take up to four or five hours to reach them, the terrain is steep and muddy and my research indicated hiking boots, long pants and long sleeves, rain gear and gloves were all highly recommended. 

Even the first ascent up a dirt road was steep and long enough to give me a sample of the kind of muscle burn I should expect for the remainder of the day. The three Brits charged along right behind the guide and I looked longingly at the other group we passed who had already stopped for a rest. I’m terrible at estimating distance so I can’t detail how long the road was but it felt never-ending and was a constant uphill climb. We stopped once along the way and again at the plateau where the road turned into a grassy hilltop with 360 degree panoramic views of the surrounding mountains and farmland. Uganda is impressively beautiful. We followed a trail that wound around the mountain with relatively minor ascents and descents for about an hour. It was good hiking, not easy but not grueling. There were a few challenging patches, muddy or with sheer rock faces that were difficult to scramble up. These spots were the beginning of my insight into the value of my porter as he would climb first, offer his hand and give me a good tug to me help get onto the rock. We reached a narrow path that cut away from the trail into the forest and our guide recommended putting on our gloves for the next portion. The next hour was even more difficult that the initial steep ascent as we literally climbed through the dense forest. We continued along the “path” the guide hacked through the brush, the ground at a constant angle, gravity working hard to encourage our slide away from the intended path. The footing was treacherous, the exact terrain difficult to see through the thick brush, holes and rocks hiding unexpectedly and vines working as both friend and enemy, sometimes helping to hold your footing, other times catching your foot unexpectedly. The descents were the worst, my knees always remind me of my age and previous injuries on the most simple of declines, but this was by far the most difficult hiking I had ever done. I suppose that’s why they call it trekking.

I felt better seeing that my companions were also struggling through the difficult terrain, our pace had slowed and everyone was sweating and breathing hard. We scrambled through countless masses of thorny branches that snagged our clothing and since we had all stripped down to t-shirts, occasionally caught our skin as well. Many of the trees in this area had an unusual spiky bark, I was thankful for the gardening gloves I brought because the trees were ideal to hold as I navigated the slick, angled ground cover. The porter and walking stick made for excellent additions to help improve the difficult conditions. Our guide told us we were getting close to the gorillas, which was good timing because I think we were all more than a little curious how much further this difficult stretch would continue. 

We stopped for a quick water break since nobody is allowed to eat or drink within close proximity of the gorillas and I felt my stomach rumble in a way that concerned me. I had some premonitions during the trek but I think now that we had stopped my body was making it’s intentions clear. As the rest of the group navigated the last few meters closer to the gorillas I desperately indicated my situation and the female porter helped me find a location. What a bad time for the runs :(. I’ll just say this, I was thankful I brought toilet paper and it was over quickly. I suppose it made the experience that much more “authentic”. 

Fortunately the rest of the group was too distracted to even notice so I rejoined them just as they came into full sight of a small baby gorilla and a large silverback. It was such an amazing experience, it’s difficult to even put into words. Sure, I’ve seen gorillas in the zoo before but here I was, standing in a temperate rainforest, within a group of ten wild gorillas. It was like being in an orchestra pit with gorillas on three sides, the baby was hanging from a tree feeding on leaves and tumbling around the vines, occasionally beating his little chest. He was endearing to watch. A silverback sat peacefully behind the tree, barely within sight, quietly monitoring the situation. Another youngster watched from the forest floor, laying on it’s back watching us upside down and then rolled onto it’s belly and watched us for a few minutes more before tumbling like a log down the hill a ways. We were within about fifteen feet of each of them - including a massive silverback on our right. He didn’t seem upset that we were there but he also didn’t want to be a part of it, unlike many of the others he was not curious about us and kept his face turned sideways. When a tracker moved closer to shift branches to improve our view he eventually lumbered off another five or so feet away, some of the youngsters, scrambling over to be closer to him. The maximum time allowed to remain with the gorillas is only one hour, which seemed to fly be as we took photos and just watched them, awestruck. I’m positive I had a huge grin on my face the entire time - I wish I could have stayed for hours. The adults were so calm and peaceful and the youngsters so playful and curious. It was simply amazing. 

Our total trip was about five hours, four hours of intense trekking and one hour with the gorillas. It was absolutely worth it but spending that hour with them is definitely something you earn. Our guide confirmed that we moved pretty quickly as a group; there were others groups with some older folks that didn’t complete their trek until almost two hours after we had returned to our starting point, essentially because their pace was slower and they stopped for longer breaks. I felt for them as the rain began - we heard the thunder rolling in shortly after we left the gorillas which kept us moving just as quickly as we had from the start. It drizzled a bit but we made it back well before the rain began. Our adventures continued but that’s for another post.

Veloma Madagascar

To be posted much later as I leave wifi for a few days…

I’m waiting for my flight to Kigali, Rwanda to depart, and I’m sad to leave this beautiful country but excited to get to the mainland. When I began planning this trip ten weeks in Africa felt like a good chunk of time, but now that I’m almost halfway through I feel like it’s not enough. The timing is not right for something longer, but I sincerely hope that at some point Russ and I will be able to travel abroad for three months or longer. I won’t go on a rant about the insanity of the conservative vacation policies in the U.S., I know I’m preaching to the choir, but it really is one of the main reasons I’ve met so few Americans during my travels. The amount of time needed to travel farther distances and spend any meaningful amount of time there makes it virtually impossible for a typical American to travel without just hitting the highlights. That was the jist of our trip to Vietnam and Thailand last year, how could we see more than just a few cities and day trips in two weeks? Especially given the challenging and time consuming nature of travel in the third world. I feel so fortunate to have more time on this trip, but even now, I feel as if I’m only scratching below the surface.

After spending time in Tana and Andasibe I’m glad that I was able to see a different aspect of Madagascar. Nosy Komba was such a magical place that it was hard to fully appreciate the reality of Malagasy life. The pristine water, reefs and marine life, the lush flora and magnificent views from every angle - it was hypnotizing. It was difficult to contemplate being unhappy there, even though I’m certain that there are many people who are, who feel trapped by their circumstances and cannot fathom how to change them. But after seeing more of Madagascar I do believe that those who live on Nosy Komba are luckier than most. Opportunities are certainly limited and island life is not easy, requiring trips to Nosy Be for supplies, without electricity and living in huts or shacks that could easily be demolished in a single storm. But drinking water from the mountain is clean and abundant, natural resources from the sea and the island provide food, crime is nonexistent and the air is clean. 

My observations in Antananarivo and en route to Andasibe proved very different. I spent one full day in Tana and glad I hadn’t planned for more. The chaos of the city is overwhelming, even to a former New Yorker. The traffic and congestion is shocking and given that I’d estimate less than 2% of vehicles to be new enough to pass emissions by U.S. standards, the air pollution is sickening, literally and figuratively. I started my day with a taxi to the Rova, the former palace of the early rulers of Madagascar. The palace burned in a fire in 1995 but the exterior which was made of stone still stands as do most of the tombs. It is located on the highest hill in the city and from the grounds you can take in the sprawl of Tana in every direction. I was immediately greeted by one of the freelance guides who insisted that I need only pay him if I am satisfied at the end of my tour. I was impressed by his English and let him and his partner show me around the grounds. They were quite knowledgeable about the history of the palace and the early rulers and were curious about America and my thoughts about my travels in Madagascar. They pointed out the area below one side of the grounds, just 30 or 40 meters below was a slum of shacks, squatters they told me. The shacks were not dissimilar to many of the shacks in the village of Ampangorina but here they were in a city, with no access to water or beaches, or forests. We discussed the education in Tana and the large difference in the education available in private schools versus public schools. I informed them we had that challenge in the U.S. as well, but I’m certain that our public schools do not compare to ours. They indicated that the average class in a public school was 70 to 80 children, which is not terribly surprising given that the tiny village of Ampangorina could have almost 40 students when attendance was good. They showed me the inside of a room used for entertaining guests and explained the nuances of meeting royalty: how to enter the room, where you would be seated based on your status and so forth. We discussed religion, both of the men were Protestant, but understood agnosticism when they asked me about my beliefs. I enjoyed my time with them and was happy to pay them well for my tour and wish them well. 

I had decided to follow L.P.’s recommended walking tour of Tana - it doesn’t hurt that I was already at the highest point so I could take a stroll down the hills, exploring the various neighborhoods on my way back to the hotel. My guides advised me to put my purse and camera inside my backpack for my walk so I heeded their advise and was probably slightly paranoid but better to be extra vigilant then not. Beside a few small children who followed me for a while begging for change, most people would offer a smile. I saw a group of men running hill repeats on the steepest section of road I walked and I had to give them credit, it was a brutal hill to run up and down. It was perfect weather and I was fortunate that the roads I traveled were not too heavy with vehicle traffic so the walk was pretty spectacular. Each turn of the road led to magnificent views of the city and I was able to get a good flavor of life in the upper and middle class areas of Tana. I was able to navigate fairly well from my recollection of the drive but at a certain point when I knew I was fairly close to my hotel I got a little lost. I saw a restaurant that looked promising for lunch and had what might have been the best caesar salad ever, and of course got directions. I was correct in that I was only a few blocks from my hotel. I wandered around the market area near my hotel for a while; you could find just about anything. Most of the vendors lining the street sold clothing or household goods or cellphones but I passed shops for electronics, furniture, beauty supplies and so on. The sidewalks and streets teemed with people and after a while I just wanted to relax and enjoy some quiet so I returned to the hotel.

Sakamanga might be the most interesting hotel I’ve ever stayed at; it came highly recommended by L.P. and I made my reservation well in advance because it is nearly always full. Their property is like a maze, with interesting hallways, corridors and a beautiful garden around a pool nobody swam in. The walls are decorated with all kinds of tools, objects, art and artifacts so no matter where you are, you feel like you’re in a museum. The rooms were lovely, I stayed three nights- it was supposed to be one night before and after my trip to Andasibe but I opted to extend my first visit so I could spend time in Tana. I had a different room each night and they were each as unique as the hotel itself. The last night I was even upgraded to the suite on the top floor since another guest needed to extend in the room I had reserved. I didn’t have a view but the suite was as large as a good sized apartment and had a bath and a shower and a hairdryer! I dried my hair just for the hell of it - it’s probably the only chance I’ll have to do so in Africa. The restaurant at Sakamanga has been busy every night I’ve gone - which was essentially every night I’ve stayed there. There was a highly recommended upscale French restaurant across town I was curious to try but after my first dinner at the Saka I decided there was little point in hiring a taxi each way (since walking at night is quite dangerous in Tana) to go across town when I could just pop into the restaurant for some fantastic food. The food was fantastic, I really enjoyed the opportunity to drink a little wine and the service was impeccable.

What about my return trip to Tana? Did I take the taxi brousse again? You bet I did. I opted for a taxi to Moramonga again because I realized that the local taxi brousse routes were a little less … shall we say organized? Essentially the taxi stops virtually anywhere along the route to pick up or drop off and the limit to the number of people they will pick up is pretty endless. All the vans that I had seen people climbing in and out the back doors were on local routes and those people who I had seen hanging out the back door as the van bumped along? They were normal passengers, just squeezing their way in. So I was content to take my taxi to the Moramonga station and then hop on a taxi brousse back to Tana. This time around it was like a deluxe ride! The van had a small aisle which provided reasonable legroom, headrests that were actually high enough to prevent whiplash should a crash occur AND the music was played at a normal ambient level. So I guess it’s luck of the draw. I’m fairly certain I’ll be taking similar transportation in Tanzania and curious to see how it compares.