Leaving Kenya was a sad affair, but it was time to continue on. We debated a flight to Kampala from Nairobi since we’d taken so many (uncomfortable) buses over the past couple of weeks. In the end though, it just made economic sense to go overland. As opposed to Asia where bus travel, and especially overnight buses, were quite comfortable, bus travel in Africa is the exact opposite. Whether it’s the buses themselves, which could best be described as hand-me-downs, or whether it’s the roads themselves, which are generally atrocious, we were not looking forward to the next 15+ hours.
Despite its’ length, the bus journey turned out fine. It’s worth noting that although most people, at least in the cities, speak good English, there is still a general unwillingness by bus drivers to offer up any communication or information whatsoever . Case in point is our arrival at the Kenya-Uganda border crossing at around 5am. As you would suspect, both Jen and I were fast asleep. I’m fairly certain if I hadn’t gotten up to go to the washroom, and inquired where we were, we would have easily slept our way over the border. After seeing the chaos at both country’s immigration offices, not only could we have slept our way across, we likely could have simply walked on through as well.
Kampala
We arrived in Kampala a mere two hours behind schedule but considering all the pointless delays we had, it could have been much worse. I don’t mind the fact that we have to stop and drop off cargo along the way. That makes sense. However, it is very frustrating when the people who are attempting to load and unload large and heavy packages are doing so one-handed, unwilling to put down their bottle of coke. (Can such behavior really be considered “a cultural difference” which must be tolerated? I’m still deciding.) Driving through the streets of Kampala, my first impression was that it was not at all what I expected. For whatever reason, Lonely Planet’s description gave me thoughts of Vientiane, Laos; a sleepy capital with a European influence. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure, the city was built on 5 hills, similar to Rome, but that’s where similarities end. This was an African city full of people, dust, traffic, and chaos.
Kampala was, to us at least, one of the more insane cities we’d experienced. We decided to stay at Aponye Hotel mostly because of the LP description; clean rooms, midrange prices, and free wi-fi. Yeah, they mentioned that it was in a busy part of town, but really, how busy could it be? Upon arrival, it was evident that we were staying smack in the import/export center of Kampala. If you could imagine it, they were buying and/or selling it. Our “street” was essentially one giant market/warehouse with loads of foot, car, and transport truck traffic. The most amazing thing, other than the fact that real business took place amid all the chaos, was how the goods were being loaded. Having been in Africa for awhile now, we’ve gotten used to seeing people transport goods on their heads. Usually it’s a jerry can of water or a basket of fruit. When we saw a guy carrying 3 huge color TV’s stacked, and balanced, on his head, we were blown away.
Our initial idea for Uganda was that, excluding safaris, Jen and I would try to do as much on our own as possible. After Kenya, where it seemed that much of what we did was through an organized trip, we were ready to try to go about things on our own. In my mind that meant first exploring Kampala’s sights, just the two of us. In reality we spent a total of 5 days in Kampala, and saw very few of the city’s actual “tourist sights”. That’s not to say that we didn’t have a great time in the city, experiencing a side of East Africa we had not seen before.
After the long journey, both Jen and I are were looking to recharge our batteries, and to get caught up on our blogs and photos. (I know, it is ironic that I’m writing this Kampala blog over a month late . . .) For the first couple of days, our plan was to find a good internet cafe and to check out a bit of the city. In other words, I surfed the net while Jen uploaded photos the first day, and the next day was spent checking out local shops and art galleries (as well as a casino and the “mall”). We did manage to book our gorilla safari for the next week, but other than that, we weren’t the most productive. After having spent 48 hours not doing anything enlightening, we decided that a little bit of culture was in order. Referring to our LP, we learned that every Tuesday night, the Kampala National Theatre hosted an evening of local, live music by a group called “Percussion Discussion Africa”.
As our taxi drove up to the entrance of the National Theatre, I was surprised to see that the place was pretty much empty. We asked a few people, but no one had any idea as to what, if anything, was taking place that evening. We were starting to think that once again we had been let down by an out of date guide book. (Sad that the June 2009 version is in fact, consistently, outdated.) This time though, it was not LP’s fault. As we began to walk around and explore the venue we realized that we were just extremely early, once again. (Still can’t get used to African time.) As the two of us stood and waited for the show to start, we happened upon a conversation with a local, named Rony, and his friend Hazel, who was from the UK but working in Kampala. Hazel also happened to play saxophone in the band, so actually had a good reason to be so early (unlike us).
I have to admit, after a month of traveling in East Africa, I’d become quite skeptical of random locals trying to chat us up. I mean, I guess we’re interesting enough, but I’ve learned that most people don’t really care that much about getting to know us. In most cases, general conversation has always lead to the “Can you sponsor me to move to Canada?” question. (When I think about it though, I’d also be skeptical of any Joe who just walked up to me on the street at home, intent on striking up a conversation and “getting to know me” for no apparent reason.) As it turns out though, Rony was just a genuinely friendly guy. For the next couple of hours, we enjoyed a few beers and some great music, courtesy of Hazel and the band, Percussion Discussion.
For those of you who know me, it takes a lot to get me on the dance floor, and when I say a lot, I mean a lot of alcohol. In this case, all it took was some great, upbeat music and some persuasion on Rony’s part to get me grooving. I was so into it that I didn’t even notice when Rony went and sat back down, leaving me to dance by myself. In normal circumstances, I would welcome the appearance of a female dancer stepping in to save me from my loneliness and lack of dance moves. However, in this case, the female was one of the band’s dancers and there was absolutely no way I was going to try to dance with her. I’ve never seen such jiggle of the “junk” in my life and while I’m no “white boy”, I’m sure seeing me up there with her only strengthened the stereotype that “white boys can’t dance”.
During our entire stay in Kenya, I don’t think Jen and I were ever out at night past 9pm, partly due to safety concerns and partly to general tiredness from full days. So after the show, when Rony and Hazel asked us to join them for drinks, I was a bit weary at first. But, after little convincing, we were off to “Stake Out”. Not having planned for a night out, Jen and I stood out (more than usual). While the rest of the patrons were geared up for the a night out at the bar, Jen and I looked as if we were ready for safari, backpacks and all. When I first heard the name of the place, I thought “Steak Out” and figured the place would be more of a restaurant than a bar. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was an open-air concept with a couple of bars and lounge areas, as well as a dance floor. For the most part it was standing room only because the place was absolutely packed. Turns out Jen and I had hooked up with somewhat of a “playa” in Rony because the guy knew pretty much everyone. As such, we met all types of people, from some of Uganda’s bigger hip-hop stars to some really nice locals and expats. In particular, both Jen and I got along very well with Angela, a Kampala local who we’d end up spending more time with during our stay.
Considering it was a Tuesday night, I figured the party would break up as we hit the 2am mark. In Kampala, apparently that is not how things work. Note also that we weren’t hanging out with university kids or part-timers; these people held regular nine-to-five jobs. The sad thing is that these guys were more eager to continue the night than we unemployed travelers were. By this time though, after enough “Nile Special” (beer) to forget all about our embarrassing attire, Jen and I were definitely keen as well. I guess the Tuesday routine in Kampala is Stake Out to start the night out, then off to “Silk” for some real clubbing. YIKES! The club was pretty much what I expected . . . dark, crowded, and a lot of really good dancers. And dance we did! For the life of me, I can’t remember the last time I danced so much and had so much fun doing it. It was probably the fact that if you weren’t dancing, you were either in the washroom or on your way out. You couldn’t avoid it if you tried.
With all that dancing and drinking it was easy to see where the night went and Jen and I stumbled into our room around 5am that morning. I think Jen was feeling a bit homesick because she got the idea that it was a great time to call her sister Karrie, back in Calgary. In terms of time zones, it was a great time to call as it was around 9:00 pm for Karrie. However, for Jen, perhaps not. Let’s just say that it’s a good thing skype long distance is so cheap. I’m sure she passed out within 5 minutes of conversation.
As you would suspect, the next day was spent doing not much. While we weren’t extremely hungover or anything, we were definitely tired. While we did have the option to join our new friends for another night out (where they get energy, I’ve not idea . . .), neither of us was in the mood for a repeat performance. The next day, fully rehydrated and feeling a bit guilty for having not yet explored the city, we set off to see some of the main sites. We decided to concentrate our efforts within the city center and visited a few of the notable mosques (National Mosque and Kibuli Mosque), and Parliament House.
While the mosques were interesting enough, our transport was the real experience. The simplest way to describe traffic in Kampala is utter chaos; the streets are literally filled with taxi buses and taxi motorbikes, called boda bodas. Apparently by this point we were feeling quite comfortable in Kampala. When we’d first arrived, we both said that there was no way we’d ever get on the back of a boda boda. Well, four days later we found ourselves holding on for dear life, and quickly realized we should have listened to our instincts. These guys do not know the meaning of stop because to them everything is simply an obstacle to weave by or squeeze through. My guy even hit the back of a bus, but thankfully at a slow enough speed that there was no damage to the vehicles, or to me. Problem is that in certain situations there really is no other affordable transportation options. Boda bodas are quick, cheap, and convenient in a city with huge traffic issues. We eventually learned that the boda drivers assume you want to arrive at your destination as quickly as possible, which to them requires fast, scary, and risky driving. Simply asking them to take their time and go slowly provides a bit of a safer ride. A bit.
After our day of sightseeing, we decided to head to Jinja the next morning. Jinja, just a couple hours drive from Kampala, is famous for the Source of the Nile River and consequently, white water rafting. While we still hadn’t decided if we were going to raft or not, there were plenty of other activities to make the trip to Jinja worthwhile.
Well, so much for the best laid plans. As we sat in the 1000 Cups Coffee House, having a cool drink and relaxing from the day, who did we see but Angela from a couple nights ago. As we sat and chatted, she mentioned that she was meeting Lisa, an ex-pat we had also met on Tuesday, for dinner and some drinks. Here we go again. After dinner, we returned to Stake Out and as it was before, the place was packed. It was a great time, and just the beginning of another long night. Afterwards, we headed off to a small, local club not too far from our hotel. While this place was nothing like the Silk Club, it was much smaller, it proved to be just as fun. Again, Jen and I found ourselves dancing to the wee hours of the morning, in our “safari” outfits. This time around, the night out definitely took its toll. Let’s me just say that Jen was feeling pretty rough. When drinking water causes the room to spin, you can pretty much rule out any travel that day. Instead, we went for breakfast and postponed Jinja one more day.
Jinja
We arrived in Jinja with no real plans but the idea of white water rafting was nagging in the back of my mind. I’d never been rafting before, and honestly never had a desire to. But, other travelers we’d met had raved about this experience. In the end, I decided that I had to do it; conquer my fear. (Jen was very persuasive as well) I mean, c’mon, it’s the freaking Nile!
We ended up booking the rafting out two days, deciding that we would do some mountain biking first to check out the town and its surrounding areas (and sweat out what remained of way too many Nile Specials). We chose a trail that would take us through some of the local villages to Bujagali Falls, which is not actually a waterfall but a series of large rapids. Seeing these rapids up close and knowing that we’d be rafting over them tomorrow made me seriously nervous. As ridiculous and insane as these rapids looked, they were only considered class 4 rapids. Tomorrow’s course included a bunch of these as well as some class 3 and some class 5. Double YIKES!
At the time of booking, the guy at Adrift, the rafting company, told us that the day of our trip we would have the choice of going on either the “mild” or “wild” raft tour. This gave me some solace as I tried to sleep the night before. When we arrived at the launch camp the next day, we soon realized that the determination of whether the ride is “mild” or “wild” depends on whether or not the majority of the people on the boat want to flip or not. This was not exactly the options I’d anticipated. Not being one to cause a fuss, I knew I was in for “wild” day. To our surprise, we actually recognized another fellow rafter that day. Hazel (the saxophone player) was there along with her visiting brother and his girlfriend.
As we sat and chatted, the anticipation was killing me. While driving to the launch site, I had successfully psyched myself up to the point where I was more excited than nervous. Now, with all the waiting and sitting around (African time again . . .), the nerves were starting to set back in. Eventually though, we suited up and there was no turning back. Our boat consisted of Jen and I, along with Hazel and her group, and our guide Joffrey. Right away, Joffrey worked on getting us ready for the rapids. This included general instructions, but most importantly for me, he got us in the water. Being that the chances of our raft flipping over were high, Joffrey told us what to do in that situation and proceeded to flip us over so we could see what it’d be like. Turns out flipping wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was actually fun. After that, I was pretty excited for the rest of the day.
I don’t remember all the rapids that we hit that day but there were some definite standouts. The Bujagali falls were the first big rapids and they turned out to be less scary than they appeared. As we approached the first class 5, Joffrey warned there was a 50-50 chance that we would flip over (he said this at each rapid actually) so we were all prepared for the worse as we approached. It all happened so fast. Just as quickly as we entered the rapids, we were going over. All I remember is holding on to the rope and looking down at Jen as I flipped over her, then all of a sudden there was water. But just as quickly as it happened, it was over and we were all floating safely in the water, making our way back to our capsized raft. The second to last rapid of the day involved us going over a 10-15 foot drop (i.e. a waterfall) backwards. This one was fun and I remember both Jen and I looking at each other smiling as we made our way over the fall. It was a total rush. I really can’t do it justice so check out the photo gallery http://gallery.me.com/adamschen to see the pics. We also have a video which is pretty cool, but you’ll have to wait until we get home for that.
The day was capped off perfectly with some well deserved cold beers and tasty barbeque skewers. Then, Jen and I boarded the bus to take us back to Kampala. Yes we were returning to Kampala, but this time there would be no impromptu nights of drinking as we were heading out on our gorilla tracking safari the next day. After having such an amazing time in Kenya, I was wondering whether or not the rest of East Africa could compare. So far so good.
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