Trekking Mt. Bisoke

We spent all day yesterday trekking up Mt. Bisoke, a 3711m volcano located in Rwanda's Volcano National Park. We set off at 8am, driving nearly 45 minutes from the park head quarters to the edge of the national park and the base of Rwanda's sencond hightest peak. Led by our guide, Jean-Pierre, and sandwiched between two rifle totting armed guards, we set off up a trail that we expected would take us no more than 5 hours to complete. The trail began as little more than a nature walk, cutting through local farms and lush, dense forest. An hour into the walk we reache the true base of the volcano and the once-home of Diane Fossey. "Now the hike begins," warned Jean-Pierre. "The next 3 hours will be uphill." And uphill they were. Ankle deep mud, rocks, and stinging nettles occupied my concentration as we climbed. As we got higher, the mist thickened, and the group grew more and more tired. The cold gripped my fingers, making it difficult to get a firm grasp on my walking stick. But we kept going My feet absolutely blackened by the wet mud, my nose dripping, my breath escaping me. About half way up, 4 people turned back overwhelmed by the intensity of the trek. Hunger began to set in, people's moods deteriorated, muscles began and cramp. "Only 40 more minutes," Jean-Pierre announced. A low grumble came from the other hikers. The promise of scaling a colcano, the beauty of its crater lake, and views of the DRC kept me going. Fatiguing my body felt incredible. My feet struggled to grip the muddy trail, my arms burned from incessant contraction as I pulled my body wp the path. But eventually, finally, and with utter relief, we finally made it to the top. The terrain changed quickly from wet, mist covered rainforest, to rocky, grass covered plains. Hungry and fatigued, but thrilled to have reached the summit, I broke out in a run towards the volcano's center and the crater lake tucked in its interior. I sat there, just on the edge of the volcano, engrossed by the stunning views and my proximity to the DRC, literally just a stone's throw away. After devouring a few odd snacks gathered from other hikers, (I didn't bring food with me as I expected the hike to last only a few hours and to return to town by lunch!) watching the clouds roll on and off the peak, and taking a few photos, our guide announced it was time to begin the descent if we were to make it off the volcano by nightfall. I had expected the trek down to be much more difficult than it was, however within minutes we were all covered in mud. My hands and feet were completely caked in black goop and sliding down the face of the mountain proved disatarous for my poor Chacos. The straps were tested to their limit and the soles of the shoes, that just a few days before underwent their fourth superglue job, came undone. Halfway down and with still two hours to go, I decided to finish the trek barefoot. The mud felt great squishing between my toes. Sometime between worrying about stepping barefoot on stinging nettles and swinging from the vines of a giant tree, Jean-Pierre hushed our conversations and pointed into the thick vegetation. "You hear that? Can you hear the gorilla's eating?" We watched in excitement, the rustling in the distance. And then he appeared. A silverback gorilla sitting peacefully, chomping on wild celery. Without a care in the world the gorilla glanced in our direction revealing the enormity of its head before going back to the mundane task of peeling his celery. Having not purchased the $500 permits to officially track the gorillas, we were told to keep moving and sternly reminded not to take photos. Fair enough. Another 100m down the trail and the rustling began again. Jean-Pierre pointed out into the thicket of grasses, vines, and trees, and a streak of silver lumbered away from us before finding the perfect place to sit and eat. Jean-Pierre explained that in this family group there are 27 members, 5 silverbacks, and we just encountered 2 of them! The sheer rush of excitement that pulsed through my body shot through onto my face in a wild-eyed smile that took a long time to fade. We observed the second silverback for a few minutes before we were ushered off and continued down the mountain. To be in the presence of such an amazing animal, such an elusive giant, but one that is gentle and exhibits such striking resembalences to us, especially when you look into their eyes, its no wonder individuals ahve gone to great lengths to save them. The feeling is indescribable.

We completed the hike by 3:30pm, a long, exciting, and unforgettable 7 hours later Kate managed to not once, but twice step into wet, juicy mounds of buffalo poop, covering her socks and sandals in the stuff Between my barefeet covered up to the ankles in thick, black mud, and hers in buffaloo poop, we were a mess. Luckily for us however, one of our fellow hikers offered to give us a ride to our next destination, Gisyeni, a lake-side town 150km away.

The ride to Gisyeni was uneventful and by 6pm we had expressed our gratitude to the Dutch man and his son, hopped on the back of motorcycles and rode the last 2km to a cheap local hotel. Tired, hungry, and in desperate hope of finding a hot shower, we were dropped at Auberge di Gisyeni, where the man at the reception adamently refused to let us stay in a single room. Too tired to argue for long, we conceeded to the more expensive double room, but when the toilet didin't flush and the shower didn't drain, and the stale stench of the room's last occupants permeated the sheets and walls, we were moved to that cheaper, single room we'd wanted to begin with. The room was clean, but the shower was frigid. A cold shower, a heaping plate from the restaurant's buffet, and a Primus later, we passed out on our soft bed, tucked snuggly into the green Shrek sheets. What an amazing day!

An Update on My Plans

I've decided against going to Burundi. Internet searches and local newspapers highlight violence that continues to grip both urban and rural parts of the country. And its not just violence between civilians and rebels, hutus and tutsis, but foreign aid workers are being targeted, especially in Bujumbura, the capital city. So instead, I'll cross back into Tanzania and travel south along the country's remot western cooridor towards Zambia and Malawi. I think I'll have about 3 weeks to see either or both of the countires before returning to Dar Es Salaam to visit Cathy and so some shopping, then head up to Babati to visit Morris and go on a safari, spend a week at the training camp in Mbulu, and if I have time, spend a few days on the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro before flying home on September 17. My time is really widdling down, but its amazing how much you can do, see, and experience in just a few weeks! But no more planning for the future, today Kate and I are looking forward to trekking the volcanoes and hopefully spotting some primates at Volcanes National Park just outside of Ruhengeri in north western Rwanda. This park is home to Rwanda's infamous mountain gorillas and although we don't have permits to track them, we're hoping an availability or two opens up so that we can see the magnificent animals.

Why are we so scared?

Hitch hiking has slapped me int he face with the realities of muzungus in Africa. Only once has a car driven by whites or with white passengers even slowed just the slightest bit to make sure we were ok, and never once have we been offered a ride. It's hard for me to comprehend why. Is it fear? Or indifference? Or lack of commraderie? I think it must be a little bit of all of those. But why? Are two American girls walking down a road in extremely rural Uganda a threat? Why wouldn't you stop if you saw two foreign girls sitting on top of their backpacks more than 20km from the next Rwandan village? I think the reactions we've encountered--fellow tourists and expats zooming by in their armoured vehicles, barely even daring to glace in our direction--speaks to the culture of fear that we as Americans, as westerners have grown accustomed to living in. Propoganda domiates our media. Terrorism. Guns. Suicide bombers. Civil war. Hate crimes. Murder. Gangs. National Security. Don't leave America because it's dangerous out there, shouts the media. And unfortunately, that fear is all too evident here. The vast majority of tourists I've encountered have been shocked and baffled that I'm traveling throughout the region as an independent traveler. Most come on organized tours, never leaving the percieved security of their private cars, their fellow travelers, or the hotels catering almost exclusively to foreigners. I get the feeling that far too many peopel come to Africa, to far off, exotic, and dangerous sounding places to snap photos of dirty kids, of people in traditional dress, and of wildlife just to impress people at home. It infuriates me that people come to Africa only to experience it from an arms length, from behind bullet-proof glass, and from the comfort of an eco-lodge or 5 star resort. We're safer here than we are at home. The people here are curious about us and want to have conversations with us. The local food is safe and delicious. Local transportation while it might not be the most comfortable, you'll never feel more connected to a country or have a greater sense of commraderie than when you're piled into a minivan with 25 people and their goats. Step outside of your box, leave your security blanket at home, and you'll be amazed at the world out there.

Hitch Hiking into Rwanda

THE UNFOLDING OF TODAY"S EVENTS....
1. Woke up early and ate leftover's from yesterday's lunch, boiled potatoes and beans, from my handy dandy frizbee as I watched the sunrise over Lake Bunyonyi.

2. Checked out of the resort and walked 3km up a very steep hill waiting for a ride into town. Finally, once we reached the top of the hill we got picked up by a sweet potato truck, crammed ourselves into the back with about 35 other passengers and rode down a very dusty road into Kabale.

3. Waited at the Celtel (my cell phone service provider)store for over an hour trying to get my cell phone credit activated, but with no success. Oh well, Celtel doesn't work in Rwanda anyways!

4. Walked through Kable towards the border twon of Kituna for 30 minutes before getting picked up by an incredibly nice, new, and modern Mercedes Benz big rig which took us to the Uganda-Rwanda border. That was probably the most comfortable ride I've had yet in Africa.

5. After crossing the border into Rwanda, Kate and I sat on the side of the road and wiated for a ride. Within minutes we were speaking French, Swahili, and English with a girl walking up the road to collect water. Between the 3 of us and 3 languages we could almost understand each other!

6. After a little begging, the driver of a petrol truck straight from 1960 agreed to give us a lift. Hesitant of the police checks up the road, hakuna matata, we assured him and off we went. 9km and nearly an hour later (yes, this was the slowest transport I've ever taken) I was told to lay down and hide from the police. I made myself as flat as possible in about 3 feet of space and hoped for the best. Even when the police opened the drivers door to look inside the cab, somehow they missed me, the muzungu laying diagonally in the front seat. We continued up the road at literally a snail's pace, Kate and I passing glances at each other indicating, "This is ridiculous, we could be walking faster than this!" Eventually, I asked the driver to pull over so that we could walk. A little surprised that we wanted to get out of the truck in absolutely the middle of nowhere, he let us out, and we waved goodbye to the cigarette smoking petrol truck driver. And yes, we did walk faster than the truck until gravity pulled the truck down the other side of the hill.

7. Dropped in the middle of nowhere, Kate and I walked and walked and walked up the steep road that snaked through beautifully green hills. Kids appeared from the hills. One turned into five, and five into ten. They followed us in curious hesitation, never getting with 3 feet of either of us. Their smiles were shy and reserved. Their timid behavior leads me to believe that they don't see too many muzungus here.

8. We finally made it to a tiny little town that had a few restaurants grilling bananas and goat brochettes (kababs) and serving beer. Having not eaten since breakfast, exhausted from kilometer after kilometer of uphill walking, and needing to pee, we collapsed at one of the 3 nearly identical restaurants lined up on the road. Manueuvering myself past the hanging goat carcass, around the BBQ, down a tiny alley into the back of the restaurant, I find the toilet--a mud hut sitting on the edge of a cliff over-looking the fertile valley below. It may have just been a hole in the ground, but the view from the squatting position was breath taking. Walking back to the restuarant, still distracted by the view and my rumbling stomach, I forgot about the goat carcass and ran into it. Yes, full on bumped into a fully skinned goat hanging upside down from the ceiling!

9. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to catch a ride the remaining 60km into Kigali, we ordered 2 giant Primus beers (720mL each!), a grilled banana and took our places on the side of the road. Again, one guy turned into five, which turned into ten. Within minutes, there is a semi-circle with a 3-foot buffer surrounding us. To keep things lively, I play a popular Nigerian song on my phone and soon enough we're dancing, laughing, and carving our names into the history of the town.

10. Vehicle after vehicle passed us, none willing to give us a lift. It was approaching dusk, so I gave us 20 more minutes to find a ride, otherwise we'd just pay the $2.50 fare and take a matatu (shared minibus taxi) into Kigali. But I was determined to make it all the way to Kigali for free. A Land Rover owned by the International Red Cross Society slowed as I flagged it down coming around a bend in the road. I pleaded our case and after momentary hesitation, he agreed. Yes, we're going to Kigali!

11. Turns out Rwanda is 1 hour behind the rest of East Africa, so when we arrived in Kigali it was just approaching 5pm, not 6. We got dropped in town and figuring we'd easily find a guest house in the sprawling capital city, we set off on foot to find a place to stay. Not once did we see a guest house, only a smattering of fully booked high-end hotels. Kigali's roads twist and turn over the hills that house the city and don't exactly offer the most inviting or navigable city grid. Lost, tired, and unsure of where to find accomodation, a woman finally suggests the One Love Hostel, puts us on motorbikes and off we go.

12. We arrive at the gates of the hostel, which is obviously set up for tourists, and cross our fingers that they have an available room. Turns out they did have a room available, but at $30 a night I had to push back the anxiety rising in my chest. The room is huge and grungy, easily another 10 people could fit in here with a few bunk beds. The water stained ceiling is flaking off and caving in in spots, and the dungeon-like feeling of the room is only bettered by 2 small windows. Famished, we head straight for the restaurant. We're told we have 2 to chose from, so we decide on the one closest to our room. Walking through a courtyard we're greeted by the squaks of caged parrots poking their heads through the tops of cages and by at least 12 cats. Dirty, mangy cats who have obviously been in their fair share of fights. The first restaurant is really just a bar, their food menu consisting of nothing more than local snacks--grilled bananas, meat brochettes, and a few other items that disguised themselves in the mystery of the French languauge. Hungrier for a little more than bananas, we walked through the hostel's compound, which by the way seems to be completely deserted, to find our second option. The outdoor restaurant is illuminated by a single light hanging from the branches of a tree. A group of young business men occupy one of the many otherwise vacant tables. The waitress speaks only French and the menu, written completely in French alludes even Kate who studied the language in school. After struggling through the menu's options, I order what I suspect is fish salad and Kate gets fried fish and chips. Surprisingly, this is exactly what is brought to us nearly 30 minutes later. The dim lighting makes actually seeing our food difficult, but as I bite into my salad, fresh rings of onion, shredded carrots, cabbage, and chunks of fried fish smothered in mayonaise, I'm happily surprised. Better than I had expected. Kate too digs into her fried fish, but after a few bites is completely repulsed by the awful odor coming from her plate. The middle of the fish literally smells like cat urine. Although my better judgement told me that the fish on my plate was likely once part of the the fish on Kate's plate, I found no funky odors coming form mine and continued to eat. The food tasted good and I was hungry. We both went to sleep, in the nearly abandoned, a little shady and bizarre hostel, fingers crossed that a good night's sleep wouldn't be interrupted by gastronomical urgencies.

Phew, what a day!

Rwanda!

We're going to Rwanda today! Rwanda is one of those countries that has always held a certain level of mystery and excitement for me, a place that my mom regards as one of the most beautiful places on earth, and a country with a culture unique to its own. Mention Rwanda and images of a horrific genocide are conjured, but that was nearly 15 years ago. Nobody talks of the enormous strides the country has made in uniting its people, of healing shattered communities, and bringing justice to the perpatrators. Why is it that people are still scared to visit Rwanda? Why are we still hanging on to a history that we chose to ingore in a country's darkest hour, but now, well over a decade later, we can't seem to let go of? I hope that me being there opens the hearts and minds of people at home to the true realities of this tiny East African country.

Relaxing in Uganda

What a peaceful and relaxing place this is. After weeks of constantly moving, river rafting, hitchhiking, hippo watching, more hitchhiking, walking, walking, and more walking, both Kate and I were exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted that can be remedied with a good night's sleep, but an exhasution that takes a few days of utter relaxastion to cure. I spent most of the day yesterday doing the things I love most--getting lost in the hills that surround Lake Bunyonyi, making friends with school kids, devouring a new book, and swimming in the lake. I guess I didn't really sit still too much, but indulging in such activities was just the recharging relaxation I needed. Swimming in a fresh water lake in Africa is a rare occurance, as nearly all fresh water bodies of water on the continent are infested with bilharzia, a tiny parasite that wriggles its way into your skin and eventually into you liver, where it lays eggs and causes all sorts of serious trouble. So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to swim in one of Africa's only safe lakes and in Uganda's deepest lakes, despite the chilly weather. As the sunset, Kate and I sat around the campfire and talked about family and happiness, and I am so grateful to have the family I have. No matter how bad or dysfunctional your family may seem, it could always be worse. I am so blessed to have healthy and supportive parents (3 of them!) and a wonderful sister. There's no better feeling in the world than to know that I have strong and loving people surrounding me, who love me and who will do anything for me.

Rushing to Wait

And here we are again, in the same predicament we seem to find ourselves in just about everyday--rushing to wait. I woke up this morning to the shrill horns of buses and to music blasting from huge speakers just outside my hotel window. Good Morning Africa! But that's what you get for choosing a guest house just next to the bus stand. Aside from thumping music, I also had a strong feeling that we should get on the bus today for Kable, 8 hours south of here, rather than hanging around Fort Portal for an extra day. Leisurely I got dressed, washed, and packed up my things, as Kate lay in bed cursing the unwelcomed wake up call. I walked out to the buses waiting outside to inquire about a possible departure to Kable. "We're leaving momentarily, get on the bus, quick!" With Kate still back in the room I ran to hurry her along, grab my things, and hopefully find breakfast sometime before the impending departure. Kate was ready within minutes, and luckily the bus hadn't left. We grabbed breakfast from the hotel lobby and ran to the bus. Phew!, we made it. An hour later, we're still sitting on the bus waiting to leave. At least I was able to snag fried eggs and bread from the hotel!

Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi

The bus ride down to Kabale was a relatively uneventful 8 hours, except for the little girl who puked all over me just as we left town! We drove through Queen Elizabeth National Park and spotted storks, wildabeest, and plenty of bats. A Dutch woman died just last week after contracting a form of ebola from the bats down here, so I'm glad we just passed through! Sometime during the day, the ticket collector on the bus decided he wanted me to be his girlfriend and during one of the many stops along the way, presented me with a huge bunch of bananas. I declined his offer and enjoyed his gift of bananas, but his longing eyes were upon me the rest of the trip. Once we finally reached Kibale, the touts and motorcycles were aggressive and intimidating, not exactly the best way to start off after spending all day on a dusty bus. But once we grabbed our bags and escaped the onslaught of commotion, we were able to hitch a ride out to Lake Bunyonyi in the back of a pickup truck, a big rig, and then finally on the backs of motorcycles. Kabale and Lake Bunyonyi have been dubbed "The Switzerland of Africa," and although I've never been to Switzerland to compare, the terraced hills, pine forests, and high mountain lake could easily pursuade me to relax here for a few days. We're staying in a rustically charming tent-cabin overlooking the lake, and after a few beers around the campfire, I was lulled to sleep by the symphony of crickets and frogs. It's amazing what a world away you can travel in just a few hours.

Seeing myself in my parents

There's a quality in both my mom and dad that I was so embarassed by growing up, but grew to admire as I got older. A quality that I never saw in myself and never really expected to see. I was always too shy or self-conscious, too concerned about what other people thought about me. But my parents have always had the amazing ability to just talk to anyone, befriend anyone, engage anyone in conversation. At the grocery store, in line at the post office, in traffic on the freeway. I'd always duck my head in embarassment, roll my eyes in my annoyed teenage way. But now, its a quality I absolutely love about them. Why not talk to your fellow shoppers, or to the person sitting next to you on the park bench? We are all just people, plain and simple, and why not enjoy eachother's company? And finally, I've seen this same quality in myself. Kate made a comment a few days ago about my ability to befriend anyone, and I had one of those out of body moments when I was able to step back, out of my body to really see myself and the person I've become. And I really am a product of my mom and dad. I see more and more of them in me everyday. It's like my bond with them is tightening and strengthening, my love for them, my admiration and gratitude to them has increased immensely in recent months. I so look forward to getting to know each of them on a human level, not just as my mom and dad, but as human beings who have great knowledge and wisdom, who have stories to tell and who I am proud to be a part of. So mom and papa, this one is for you, for the wonderful years we've had, to the life you've given me, and to the many many years ahead that we'll get to share together. I love you both.

Hanging with Hippos

I woke early this morning to the melodious orchestra of the birds chirping, calling, and cooing over the canopy. The sounds were a welcomed announcement of morning after a night that had Lara and I clinging to each other in fear.

While enjoying dinner and beers at the camp, we watched in anticipation as the black clouds rolled around the bend in the Nile, the wind whipped through the trees, and the lightening lit up the darkening sky in fantastic bolts of pinks and purples. The roar of thunder rumbled and roared in the distance growing ever louder as the storm moved slowly along the course of the river, snaking its way thorugh the thick green canopy and the horizon-hugging Blue Mountains. Wart hogs roamed freely throughout the camp looking for any morsel of food left by the constant turnover of campers. Out of the darken bushes just in front of us appeared what I though was another of the many warthogs that had been grazing past us all evening. That is one huge wart hog, I casually relay to the others sitting around the table. "Um, no, I think that's a hippo!" announced Kate. The hippo mozied on by us, not payin gus the slightest bit of attention even as hordes of people jumped out of their seats to photgraph the waltzing beast. I was captivated by the nonchalance nature of the animal best known for its deadly jaws and stampeding feet. Others didin't seem concerned of the hippo's wild nature as they followed it through the campsite and cornered it in a thicket of bushes. I sat waiting, just waiting to hear shrill screams of the pursuing kids, an overpowering roar of a threatened hippo casting a warning. Luckily that never happened. Eventually the commotion settled, people finished their dinners, and returned to their bandas to get ready for bed. Lara and I followed suit, but stopped just short of our tent when the hippo appeared again, grazing on the grass around our sleeping quarters. We looked at each other, eyes wide and filled with uncertainty and fear, we grasped for each others arms, something familiar and comforting before bursting out in nervous laughter. Raymond, one of the staff memebers, explained to us that our tent had been set up in the middle of a hippo trail, and that it was quite normal for hippos to graze around the tents at night. "Don't worry," he went on, "if you hear them at night, just don't make any noise. Don't scream, don't laugh, just play dead. They won't trample you if they think you are dead." Again, Lara and I looked at each other and nervous laughter spilled from our bodies. Of course, no problem, we rebutted, hakuna matata! Needless to say, Lara and I slept tucked tightly inside our individual sleep sheets, hugging each other on a small piece of foam pushed as far from the sides of the tent as possible...but no hippos were heard during the night, thank goodness!

Hitchhiking out to Murchison Falls National Park

We set out early this morning after a fried egg and toast breakfast, backpacks strapped to our backs, cameras in hand, and began walking. 89km to Murchison Falls National Park--no problem! The copper dirt road lined with maize and sugar cane fields, twisted and turned endlessly. We walked and walked, thumbs out, hoping to catch a ride with a passing vehicle. To pass time, I began singing "The Ants Go Marching" and only got to the 8th verse when a salt truck slowed down just enough for us to jump in. We bumped along in the back for about 10km before the turn off the the park came up on the left. Thanks for the lift! We continued on foot for a good hour, stopping to hand out stickers to kids and shake hands with villagers. Eventually a tractor came up behyind us and enthusiastically welcomed us on board. Within minutes, I found myself driving the thing. Waving, laughing, having a great time. I guess all that tractor driving up at my dad's has finally come in handy...they were impressed with how well I handled the 1906 British engine! We rode in the back of the tractor until it reached its farm, which lucky for us was only a 20 minute walk from the park entrance. Once we reached the park gate, I immediately made friends with Assaf, the park ranger, convinced him that I was a resident of Tanzania (thanks to my Swahili skills!), shared a peanut butter sandwich with him, and before long secured passes into the park for the much discounted resident price! The first rest camp inside the park however was another 50km down the road, and Assaf sternly warned us that if we walked "the animals will eat you!" Not wanting to risk my life with the beastly baboons patrolling the road, we sat and waited. I chatted iwht a few of the other staff that were hanging around, sharing peanut butter sandwiches and slices of mango. Eventually an SUV pulled up and a young Indian couple offered us a ride, although they only had room for one. Kate hopped in and enjoyed the cushioned front-seat luxury of an air-conditioned SUV. Lara and I on the other hand crammed ourselves into the back of a beat up Toyota Corolla packed to the brim with melons and eggs en route to an high-end lodge. Lara sat on my lap, I cradled a box of eggs in my arms and off we went. The three men up front drank beers and chewed on coffee beans as the beat of Africaized-Christian rock hammered through destroyed speakers. Wildabeest, warthogs, and baboons aparently sprinkled the road, but all I could see wat the number 11 on the back of Lara's bright orange t-shirt. When we arrived at the Red Chilli Rest Camp we were told that there were no more accomodations, but of course, we quickly made friends with a few of the guys who work here, and they've promised to find a place for us to stay. Hakuna Matata!

From Jinja to Kampala and on to Masindi

After 2 fun days at the Nile High Camp Site in Jinja, we left our little adventure paradise for Kampala in hopes of securing permits to see Uganda's gorillas. But our attempts to secure 3 of the very highly sought after permits were unsuccessful, so we changed our plans and have decided to head north rather than south. Not to worry though, we won't be going too far north where the Lords Resistance Army (LRA) continues to wreak havoc on rural communities with a decade long civil war, but close. We sat at the bus station for 4 hours waiting for a bus to leave for Masindi, and finally at 1pm it did. OUr goal is to get to Murchison Falls National Park which is tucked away in the far western part of Uganda, about as close to the border of the Democratic Republic of the Congo as you can get. Most people who come to the park, known for the Nile's biggest and most spectacular waterfalls, thousands of hippos, crocs, and bird life, not to mention lions and even giraffes!, do so on organized tours from Kampala. As such, public transport ends in Masindi, 85km from park headquarters. But being an independent traveler always looking for an adventure, I suggested to my travel companions that we do this one completely on our own. No hired vehicles, no tour operators. Hitchh hiking!

We arrived in Masindi much later than we had anticipated, and our chances of hitching a ride into the park at sundown were slim, but we gave it a valiant go anyways. As the dark rain clouds moved in and the gusts of wind picked up every leaf, piece of trash, and dust particle not secured firmly to something, we conceded to stay the night in Masindi and resume our efforts in the morning. We found a small guest house to stay in just as the skies began to light up with bolts of lightening and the thunder echoed across the hills. And then the rain came. Bucket and buckets of rain poured from the skies, quickly turning the streets into rivers of mud. Just in the nick of time, we checked into a local guest house, dropped our bags, donned our ponchos, and took to the streets of Masindi, running from store front to store front in search of a restaurant and a little relief from the storm. Nobody else was stupid enough to take on the rain drenched streets, but waited patiently for the storm to pass huddled under any form of cover they could find. How ridiculous we must have looked--3 muzungus barreling down streets and alley ways, leaping over the instantly formed rivers and lakes, ponchos flapping in the wind! We eventually found a restaurant and bar and were warmly welcomed by the others who were seeking refuge there. Beers, matoke and beans, a few games of cards, and even American music videos in the background, all under an African rainstorm in the middle of rural Uganda. This is why I love traveling!

White Water Rafting on the Nile

I rafted the Nile! Yesterday, we spent all day on the Nile River, swimming, laughing, paddling, and conquering over 10 separate rapids. The rapids ranged from class 2 to class 5 and one even had a 10 foot vertical drop that we flew over in the raft and plummeted into the angry waters below. The river chewed us up and spit us out, capsizing the boat, hurling us over board, slamming us into rocks, but it was absolutely amazing! It was 7 hours of sheet adrenaline, punctuated by periods of calm that made time for diving and flipping off the side of the boat into the refreshing river. Towards the end of the day, we were overtaken by the rain clouds and got caught in the midst of a relentless African rainstorm. The sky blackened and released huge pellets of rain, turning the surface of the slow, calm river into a dramatic and energetic dancing water show. The rain intensified, continued, and didn't let up. The sky continued to darken and visibility was reduced to just meters. We paddled and paddled and paddled, partly in a vain attempt to escape the rain and partly just to stay warm. Exhausted and with no end in sight we took a break and jumped into the water to warm up. The river felt like a warm bath tub compared to the cold rain. With the thunderous raor of the next set of rapids growing louder, we struggled with shaky arms to pull ourselves back into the raft and prepared for the upcoming rush of adrenaline. We went over the rapids in pouring rain and even though it was only a class 3, the boast was slammed by a wall of water, flipping us over and throwing us into the water to tackle to rapids on our own. It was awesome. Banged up knees and bruised shins met us at the bottom, but I've never felt so alive, so aware of my present, my reality. I'm in Uganda, swimming down rapids in the Nile River, in the midst of a fantastic rainstorm. Eventually the rain clouds passed and the sun pushed away the cold that was taking hold on our exhausted bodies, as we mentally prepared and pumped ourselves up for the last rapid of the day, "The Bad Place."The name alone ignites a flame of fear in the pit of your stomach, but the anticipation and sense of accomplishment that comes with getting through such a massive, angry outflow of water subdues any lingering fear with pure, absolute excitement. "Stay to the right, if we go down on the left you'll be in a class 6, paddle hard and hold on tight!" These were Jeffery's last words to us as the water speed increased and the river dipped sharply downwards. Bring it on! One girl got thrown out and another got slapped in the face with her paddle, splitting her lip open. Half way down the rapids blood began pouring from her mouth, but she made it down to the bottom like a champ, never complaining once. In celebratory glee, I threw off my helmet and dove into the water, basking in the thrill of just having white-water rafter 22km down the Nile River!

Welcome to Uganda!

We crossed into Uganda today! After running through the streets of Nairobi to catch a 7am bus headed for Kampala, hastily downing a breakfast of 4 pieces of white bread and 1 small banana between the three of us, we settled into the roomy bus for a 12 hour bus ride to Jinja. The bus drove through north-western Kenya, through burnt and looted store fronts and destroyed villages. Small encampments of UNHCR (The UN refugee agency) makeshift tents lined the main road, evidence of the post-election violence that still continues today in this part of the country. Bus aside from refugee camps and looted villages, we spotted wild zebras, ostriches, elephants, and even camels as we drove through one of Kenya's many national parks. Once we crossed into Uganda the rain was fierce and unrelenting. Our final destination today is Jinja, a small town in south-eastern Uganda which is known for its adventure sports. Located at the source of the NIle River on Lake Victoria, we came here for the world-renowned river rafting and if I feel brave enough, maybe I'll even give bungy jumping a shot. (At this point, I had to stop writing in my journal because the months attracted to my headlamp became so intense that I couldn't see the paper anymore!) The guest house we found to stay at is located on a cliff over looking the Nile. Famished, we devoured plates of food and local beers (Nile Special) watching the setting sun turn the massive river into hues of pinks and purple. What a way to end 3 days of traveling!

Arrival in Nairobi

It's been a long 2 days of travel, and after nearly 11 hours on the bus today, we've arrived in Nairobi. The bus was scheduled to leave at 10am, but when the bus was still practically empty at departure time, we waited, and waited, and waited for it to fill up. Finally at 11:30 we left Mombasa, and drove literally non-stop to Nairobi. We didn't stop once along the way, except to pick up and drop off passengers, which meant lunch was acquired hastily from roadside vendors--a boiled egg here, a mango there-- by the time we arrived in Nairobi at 8pm, we were famished. After finder a place to stay, we made a beeline for the cafe below the guest house. The food was good, hot, and filling, and entertainment was provided by a man so drunk that in the middle of eating, his head dropped into his plate of food, his unconscious body slid from his chair, and he laid passed out in the middle of the restaurant. Curious commotion ensued as the waitress kicked and jabbed at the man, and eventually after his lack of response, she dragged him out to the sidewalk, his head thumping down the stairs behind her. The customers went about their small talk, hardly taking notice, like this was some normal, everyday event. Lara, Kate, and I looked at each other in disbelief. 20 minutes later after finishing out meal, the man was still sprawled out on the sidewalk, people walked over him, stood around him gossiping and laughing with friends. It's like he wasn't even there, bizarre!

A Week on Lamu

This past week on Lamu has been phenomenal. From the bumpy bus ride to charging donkeys, from the exceptionally gorgeous homes we stayed in to partying the night way on a floating bar in the middle of the ocean, and of course, getting to know the house staff and cooks. Sammy, Tosha, and Stanley treated us like royalty. Every whim was catered to--outlandish, over the top meals prepared by Sammy, free flowing drinks at any time of the day, spa treatments overlooking the Arabian sea, and clean, comfortable rooms with hot water showers! Sally and Alice are a remarkable mother-daughter duo, with amazing family and friends surrounding them. Over 40 people flew out to Lamu from the UK and California to help celebrate their birthdays, that in and of itself speaks wonders of the type of people they are. Most days were spent lounging in the infinity pool overlooking the ocean, windsurfing in the Lamu channel, riding donkey's along the beach, and racing the local sail boats. I thought the week would putter along, that I'd be itching to leave by the end, but no, it was quite the opposite. Each day was filled with fun activities, one day rolling int the next always with anticipatory excitement at things to come. I spent a lot of my time in the kitchen getting to know our cook, Sammy who is a phenomenal chef whose talent goes unrecognized. Ginger lime pie, passion fruit custards, grilled snapper, and salads were prepared and served with awe-inspiring creativity. I hope I can recreate some of them at home! I in turn shared some of my favorites with them; spaghetti with spicy-roasted vegetable marinara, garlic bread, chocolate chip cookies, and for breakfast, banana bread and egg-in-a-hole-in-a-toast. Sammy, Tosha, and Stanley were shocked that we befriended them, but deeply grateful for the opportunity. Never before had guests held conversations with them, or listened to music with them, let alone prepare dinner for them or take interest in their lives. But I couldn't imagine it any other way. How could you possibly ignore the very people who make you vacation so luxurious and comfortable?

The Ride to Lamu

Kate survived her first night in Kenya, despite the head that to a new arrival can be unrelenting. Her misery in the heat was traded early the next morning for a long, adventurous bus ride out to Lamu. The first 5 hours were relatively smooth...the bus speeding down a tarmac road through fields of pineapple plantations and remote coastal villages. Across the aisle from Kate and I sat a mother who suffered from some form of mental illness. She swayed and rocked in her seat, agitated by people nuances, and the nagging of her embarrassed young daughter. Her eyes were wild and skittish, crusted over by a nasty looking infection. Her tattered dress revealed her emaciated chest, the bones of her rib cage poking through her paper thin skin. The woman's nerves were tested even further when we turned off the tarmac and onto a dirt road heading for the coast. The bus rattled to such an extreme extent that the seat just in front of the woman broke. The seat back fell back into her lap, along with the gentleman who was seated in it. Her patience was wearing very thin as she grimaced in frustration and discomfort, shaking her head, and glaring out the window, but she refused to switch seats and created quite an unnecessary commotion. We shook along for 3 hours, my butt and legs numb from the constant, intense vibrations. Kate put it perfectly..."The poop is about to be vibrated right out of my butt!" So true.

We eventually arrived in Lamu after an exhausting 8 hour bus journey, only to have no clue where to head next. Lamu isn't a big island, but all we knew was that we needed to get to Shela Beach, which turned out to be a 45 minute walk through the sand. With our packs on, our stomachs grumbling, and exhaustion setting in, we made the trek to the other side of the island. After what seemed an eternity, we arrived in the very posh Shela Beach and began asking every muzugu we saw if they knew Lara or Alice. After a handful of quizzical looks, one of the bar boys pointed us in the right direction. We found Lara in a gorgeous house, just set back from the beach in a beautiful garden setting. Let the luxury begin. This is going to be a great week!

Welcome Kate!

Kate has arrived! It's so good to see her, but the poor girl is absolutely exhausted, and drained after 3 flights, and 24 hours of traveling from London. I realized today when she arrived what a different reality I am living in, how different "normal" has become for me. I wrote her just the other day telling her not to worry about anything, that I'd be at the airport to pick her up, and that I had a great place for us to stay. Patrick and Jon's home where I have been staying is a one-room apartment, no bigger than 300 square feet. It's located on the 2nd floor of a mechanic shop in an industrial part of town. Junk cars clog the streets, men covered in grease and oil pour from every shop, and the roads are little more than puddles of mud and piles of dirt. In the US, no one would ever live in such a place, but here in Kenya, in Africa, it's normal. There is a single toilet and shower for the 4 families that live here. Food is cooked and clothes are washed in the central common area. Kate was shocked, anxious, and concerned, and it never even crossed my mind that for someone arriving in Africa for the first time, straight from the realities of life in the US, that this would be a little intimidating. A squat toilet that doesn't flush, sleeping in a small, hot, stuffy room with 2 strangers, and all in a part of town that to an unaccustomed eye looks shady and dangerous. I guess splurging for a hotel room for her first night would have eased the transition a bit. Sorry Kate! Welcome to Africa!

Hanging out in Mombasa

Happy 232nd Birthday America! Being in Kenya I'm missing the quintessential 4th of July celebratry fireworks, but today is a great day nevertheless. I've been staying in Mombsas with Patrick and his cousin, Jon since I arrived here on Wednesday. Patrick is a couch surfer and both of them have been great hosts! They are incredibly easy to talk to and the conversations we've had have been awesome--US politics, soul searching, African history, what it takes to be truly happy, beer-- you know, the usual!

Also staying here is Jeremy, a 23 year old guy from France who left home in October to embark on a 3 year hitch-hiking stint around the world. I only wish my mom was here to give him some advice! He started in Europe, passed through the middle east, crossed on to the African continent via Egypt, and is making his way south until he reaches South Africa. He'll sail to South America from Cape Town, explore the Americas and then sail once again to the South Pacific, stop over in Asia, travel overland to India, and then make his way home. Amazing! Jeremy and I have spent the past few days hanging out and sharing travel stories. Sunday he leaves for Uganda, and tomorrow I leave for Lamu. Kate arrives in less than 2 hours, which is exciting beyond belief. I've been anticipating her arrival for months and I can't believe its down to just mere hours now. She more than makes up for the lack of fireworks!

Moving on to Mombasa

I spent the majority of today on a bus from Dar Es Salaam to Mombasa, and most of my hour doing one of my favorite travel activities--drifting off into my own thoughts, gazing at the passing scenery, and just being alone, relishing in the relative anominity that the bus provides me. Cathy uploaded lots of East African Bongo Flava music for me, so I finally had some new tunes to bop my head to and nap my feet to. But it was when Kenny Chesney's "Don't Blink" came on that the memories of the past 8 months flooded my thoughts and the realization that this journey is coming to an end brought tears and an intense sadness. To say that this journey, this experience has been life changing, while it holds truth, doesn't do it justice. I've become the person I always wanted to be, I've learned to truly and deeply love myself, and I have found total happiness. This is a time of my life that no one can ever take from me, and no one can ever duplicate this experience. It is unique to me, and only me. I have shared my days with many wonderful people, some who simply passed through my life, others who have become close, dear friends. But I've learned something from each of them, and am forever grateful. Soon the freedom and adventure of a carefree life of traveling will end, to be replaced by a new chapter, one that promises to be full of lessons and new experiences too, just of a different sort. I have learned the value of being selfish, I have fallen in love and mended a broken heart, and I have found my niche with the girls of Team 100. The three things I hoped to accomplish this year. It's such a satisfying feeling to have come so far.

Getting My Hair Did...

Cathy and I spent all day in town, an exhausting, hot, and event filled day...but let me skip to the best art. We're in the dala dala headed home, and Cathy suggests we stop by the salon to get our hair washed. Having not washed my hair in at least a few days, I happily agreed to have someone else do it for me. The women in the salon were all hoots and giggles when I walked in with Cathy, and when they found out I wanted my hair washed (and as I later found out, styled too!) they turned up the thigh-slappin', laughter inducing excitement that much more. After having my head scrubbed nearly raw, I was seated in the styling chair. She started by blow drying my hair, which by the way has gotten really long, into a big puff of hair madness. This is going to be interesting, I said to myself, wondering what the heck I had gotten myself into. Once my frizzed out hair was dry, she worked a palmful of goop into my roots, making me look like a wet poodle. Cute. And then the styling began. I wanted to just get up and say that my hair looked nice the way it was, and not dig myself deeper towards the disaster I could see looming, but I didn't have the courage to disappoint. They were all having so much fun watching the production. My hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, gel was plastered to the top of my head reminiscent of the Mexican girls in high school whose hair always seemed to be permanently stuck in place, and funky lines were parted into the sides of my head. "I make your head into pineapple!" boasted Mama Zima. And that she did. She proceeded to twist and spike my hair into a horrible rendition of prom hair gone bad. But the women beamed in approval and Cathy gushed at how beautiful I looked. I smiled and pretended to love it too, secretly counting the hours until I could take it out. And more than a little horrified at the prospect of having to be seen in public like this. The second the bus tires begin to roll tomorrow, these bobby pins are coming out and I'm wrapping my overly gelled head in the security of a scarf! I think was was my first, and last visit to an African beauty salon!