The Ritco bus up to Musanze was pretty painless, apart from being busy and encountering a few police road blocks and baggage checks. We ended up sat at opposite ends of the back row, me next to two annoying women who spent a lot of the time playing some Rwandan comedian on loudspeaker which I couldn't understand, and probably wouldn't have found amusing anyway. Dad fared better, making mates with a student called Pascale who even helped us with our bags when we got off. The baggage check was a bit odd: bus pulled over, everyone off, some peering into handbags etc, and a cursory glance into the luggage bins. Tina was bum out, with the skull thrust right into prime view, but the copper didn't bat an eyelid. As we moved north from Gisenyi, although only 60 odd km, you could notice the change. We were now heading up into the volcanic foothills, and there was the usual hyper intensive agriculture, but also cairns and rows of volcanic rock everywhere in the fields. These black coral esque formations gave the landscape a lunar feel, despite being a lush green. I then started to notice piles and piles of carrots on the side of the road, piled high and lashed down in the same way that the charcoal is. This region also seemed the poorest and busiest part of Rwanda as the towns were swarming with people, and it was pretty rundown. Bizarrely they were trying to sell me wheels of cheese at one bus stop, and I actually wish I'd got one. Rwandan cheese - how novel! We jumped off the bus before the official stop in the town Ruhengeri, as we were heading down to a campsite called Red Rocks in Nyakinama. I'd found them on the warmshowers.org app, and the guy Greg who runs it said we can camp for free. That was a real bonus as it would both make use of the camping stuff we'd been ferrying around, and save us some cash. It was a straight 7km downhill and we got there at about 5pm. Peterson, Gilbert and Peter were lovely, and immediately made us feel very welcome. We'd had the tour, being shown the gift shop, restaurant, banana beer pit, and 'club'. The latter caused some concern as Brian the yank said they're known for their parties, and the speakers were about as big as me. The place was also somewhat creepily decorated by Zulu the artist, with weird decaying figures meant to depict the evils of alcoholism, mixed with places that looked like they'd had a good going over with a paintball gun. Certainly not my cup of tea, but there we go. We put in our dinner order and met the only other guests - 3 Spanish girls from Galicia and Catalunya. It was nice to speak Spanish for a while as they were the first Spaniards I'd come across on the trip. They were leaving the next day so wanted a 'fiesta'. It soon turned out this meant going to the club about 10 metres from the campsite. Dad and I stayed up for a bit after dinner, plotting what to do with the bonus day and night following his diary-based senior moment. We decided we would do some more cycle touring and head out to Foyer de Charité on the South of Lake Ruhondo for an overnight stay, and come back on the Sunday morning before he flew late evening. It was a religious retreat so we had to check us pagans were allowed in, but that was easily taken care of by an email in very dodgy French, and a word perfect English version below. We were accepted in French so headed to the tents at about 9:30. The music was literally shaking the tents, but one could hardly ask for noise reduction before 10pm we reasoned. Dad asked for earplugs, which I gave him. I decided they were pretty pointless as, even if you couldn't hear the music, you could feel it. I think I actually fell asleep as when I came to at 11:30 he music had stopped. However, relief was shortlived as then some massive rock breaking pneumatic drill took over. It was destroying the local geology literally all night so suffice to say it wasn't a good night's rest. The next morning we weren't in a big rush as the Foyer was only about 20km away, so we had breakfast, and decided to hear to the local Fromagerie, to try and atone for my lack of window based cheese shopping the day before. It was a pleasant 10 minutes up the road along a dirt track, and whilst it became apparent it was a working cheesery, there were no English speakers (or French or Swahili to be honest) and certainly no tour of the facilities. We helped ourselves by peering through windows, opening doors and wondering round the farm yard. They had some very cute new piglets as well as the cows, but we were driven from there as soon as they fed mumma pig and all the surrounding animals started squeaking like hell. The saying 'Greedy as a pig' certainly came to mind. I still had to sort out Hilary bike logistics and had been texting Gerald the Ugandan guide we met on the trail about what to do. He suggested he could meet me and ride with me from the border, and to speak to a guy called Peterson at Red Rocks about getting it that far. He thought it would cost about a fiver to get it ridden up there. Seeing as we were staying at Red Rocks, and Peterson was now our best mate, that was extremely convenient. So, within about 10 minutes of returning from the fromagerie, also cheese less, I'd had everything squared away. We'd do our overnight trip and leave all our excess baggage here, coming back on Sunday when I would again stay the night after getting Dad on the bus to Kigali. It was nice to have everything sorted before our last lake-based bike foray, so I could now relax. We decided that rather than head 7km up into town on the tar road, and then cutting back down on another, we'd do what looked like a straightforward cut through. We set off about 10:30, and after a few minutes on the tar, we took the right hand dirt road. This promptly turned into a massive pile of earth and an unfinished bridge, but we persevered and were rewarded with a nicely graded, empty and wide dirt road. It was viciously uphill in places, and we basically climbed for the first 4km, but it was nice to be cycling something that I doubted any other muzungus had. The expected turn off never appeared, but I was fairly confident that such a 'major' road would spit us back onto the tar at some point. There were a lot of 'give me money' chants still, but I enjoyed a nice moment when I passed a group of kids all flying home made kites in the road. Seeing as they generally chase you anyway, I grabbed one of the kites off them and trailed it behind me up the hill for a while. Everyone, including myself, seemed to enjoy that, as well as find it amusing. My navigational confidence waned as the phone showed us both on a road that didn't exist, and heading in the opposite direction we wanted. We'd passed the grader in the last village and the road was now crap, and I went through a phase of annoyance, paranoia and asking a lot of locals the way. I didn't trust them especially, but one guy with decent French eventually explained the whole route to us, and he was bang on. We emerged onto buttery smooth, quick rolling tar about 20 minutes later, albeit a lot lower down than I was expecting. As we sat at the T-junction debating whether to go left or right, a huge procession of pikipikis streamed by, hooting and whooping, and weaving all over the place. It went on for a good 5 minutes, and continued as we pedalled along the road (to the left). It was obviously something political as they were all covered in and waving flags as they went. I just sh, they seemed to enjoy their politics a lot more than the English do! We got to the Foyer at about 2:30 and were shown round by one of the sisters. It was all in French but I got the gist of things: dinner at 6:30, be quiet in the praying zones, too far down to the lake to go now, hot showers, don't drink the tap water etc. The only awkward moment was when she gave Tina's balls a fondle as she walked past - naughty girl! That would cost her a few Hail Mary's, I'm sure, but made us laugh. It was very peaceful up there, and I enjoyed some good hammock time reading the kindle and listening to their singing. Unfortunately that was disturbed initially by those infernal Pied crows cawing in the trees. I spent about 5 minutes chucking stuff at them but they just did a loop and landed again. Bloody birds! Then a massive group of children appeared and I had to endure a barrage of 'Mzungu mzungu', lots of hissing at me, and general rabble rousing. I stoically ploughed on, ignoring them as best I could, but they wouldn't move on, so after 10 minutes I did the moving on: packing up the hammock and scurrying into the relative peace of the Foyer's lovely garden. It was 5pm anyway by then, so time to search, tactfully of course, for some beers. It took a while, and I think they went up to the village for them, but they did arrive eventually (as it beat me walking up to the village myself). Tepid as opposed to cold, but my heat tolerance for drinks has increased over the course of the trip, mostly through necessity. We enjoyed them sat on the wall overlooking Lake Ruhondo. Dinner was a veritable banquet, starting off with vegetable soup, and then professing to prodigious amounts of crispy roast potatoes, beef stew, cabbage and salad from the garden, rice and beans. And by this time the beers were cold as someone had put them in the freezer! For a while we dined to the sound of religious hymns, which was actually quite relaxing, but then the sound was sent to the dining hall rather - us two heathens dined separately, and with no music after a while. The Father of the place came in to say hello, and he was a nice friendly guy. After the massive main course we were served some disappointing pawpaw (but then all pawpaw is disappointing in my opinion). We stayed up a while chatting, mostly because we were too full to manage the walk back to the room, and then bed at 9ish I think. We'd ordered breakfast for 7:30 just to be on the safe side for getting back to town and making sure Dad got on the Ritco back to Kigali and caught his flight. He assured me he was flying today, and not tomorrow. Breakfast was decent, but not as impressive as dinner by a long shot, where the only let down was cheesy butter. The cycle back to Musanze was a pretty straightforward affair: back down the 12km of dirt roads, and then 3km uphill once you hit the tar. It was a shorted route, and we were only on 22km by the time we were back at Red Rocks. I say we, as we lost each other again. I'll put my hand up and say this time it was probably my fault, as rather than going with Dad to the cash point, I went looking for samoosas, and then got distracted by pharmacies as I tried to get more malaria tabs. We got everything organised for Dad's departure, had lunch, and then both pikipikied up to the bus station. It was a bit of a hurried goodbye as the bus was a bit to leave and there weren't many seats, but it was great having him out for the 10 days, and hopefully it hasn't put Dad off cycling for life! Dad's last Rwandan PikipikiMy plan for the next day, before heading into Uganda, was to do a circuit of Lake Burera and bushcamp, then meet Peterson with the bike at the border on Tuesday morning. However, aside from feeling a little lazy, when Peterson came and brought me some African Tea (chai) out of the blue, I decided that he was such a good bloke that I just had to cycle with him. I also quite wanted a taste of cycling with a local to mix things up a bit. Therefore, on Monday I just headed up to Kinigi to meet the Team Rwanda/Africa Rising guys at their compound and added a few more kms on for fun. Meeting Team Rwanda was quite interesting, although all the main guys were in America ready for the Tour of Oregon. I can't say they were particularly interested in me, but I guess cyclists become a bit boring if you deal with them everyday. I'd have liked to have done a training ride with some of them as I think it would have been interesting to see what kind of level they're at. Anyway, the only guy about was 5-time Tour De Rwanda winner Abraham, and he didn't fancy a race. What was most interesting was the blend of professional and African: you had 18 brand spanking Pinarellos with electronic Campagnolo group set, courtesy of President Kagame, and then these guys pitching up trying to break into the team with 10/15 carbon bikes bandaged up with carbon repair tape. The blend of African and modern was quite amusing - one guy had gone with the ride it until it breaks attitude and when the mechanic took a look at the bottom bracket, there were no bearings left at all, just dust! They have a big compound where the top guys live, and they must follow a strict regime and diet, so hopefully they'll start to see some results on the pro circuit. They get kudos from me for having their own veggie patch where they try and grow as much produce as they can. After Team Rwanda I decided to carry on up the hill, sans Abraham, to have a bit of a general explore. It was about another 10km up to the entrance to Volcanoes National Park, but at $1500 a permit, that would be as close to the gorillas as I was going to get! Still, it was a nice ride, and I soon came across a big lorry blocking the road, accompanied by lots of shouting. Something exciting was going on, clearly, so I approached accompanied by heavy use of my fancy two-tone bell. It turns out it was about 20/30 blokes loading huge Eucalyptus trunks onto said lorry, accompanied by a crowd of onlookers. I watched for a while, but then, seeing as I had nowhere to be, or a schedule at all, decided to park Tina and get involved. It had been a while since stevedoring on the Liemba and it would be good to get in some upper body exercise - keep the body guessing, you know. The system was basically a bit of shouting (1, 2, 3 in Nyerwanda I think as is ended in tatu, which is 3 in Swahili) and then we all shove together. These trees were about 10m and biblically heavy; I honestly don't know how they got the first end up into the truck. We were at the shove it further onto the truck stage, to join the other 14 they'd already loaded. There was a guy up top with some soapy water and a rag to help ease progress, but it was still bloody hard. They bloody loved me joining in, and it was photos all round once loading of that tree had completed. They even made me have a draught from the communal chibuku cup - gross! I pedaled off up the hill amidst much adulation, leaving them to their alcohol fueled heavy-lifting. After that I just minced about, cycling up to the entrance to Volcanoes National Park. It being Rwanda, entrance would have cost me $40 and seeing the gorillas another $1000 odd, so that was as close as I was going to get to our ape friends. On the way back through town I consoled myself with a visit to the Diane Fossey museum, which is all about her and gorillas. Quite interesting, and free! That pretty much concluded my last day in Rwanda, as the next day Tina, Hilary and I were off to the border and crossing into Uganda. Final thoughts on Rwanda: I've really enjoyed my time in the country, just as I thought I would. As I've mentioned already, I'm really impressed with what they've achieved and where they are now, considering the country was in absolute bits less than 25 years ago. Like any country, it has its problems, and in terms of the people I must say I wasn't a fan of the constant asking for money, and the hissing for attention tactic. Aside from that, I've found them to be very friendly and welcoming people. They also seem to have a bit more drive and purpose than a lot of the other places I've been, which I like. I think most people tend to think of Rwanda as quite a developed country, and it's both true that it has a good functioning infrastructure, and seems to have an efficiency about it that gives the impression that all is well. Yet whilst it's true that the roads are good, there's a cheap and efficient government run bus service, and a lot more tin roofs about than I'm used to, I was really shocked at how that contrasts with the water infrastructure. I'm not sure if it's just a case of what aid money and charities focus on in Rwanda, but I saw very few bush pumps and some people filling up the ubiquitous yellow 25l Jerry cans in some horrible, horrible looking streams. You can't go up a hill without seeing at least 20 locals battling up the slope, either carrying water on their heads, or pushing a heavily laden bike up there. That said, I did see a lot more buildings with gutters and rain water harvesting set up, and indeed the Rwandans seem a lot more in tune with waste management and environmental stewardship than the rest of Africa (not that that is particularly hard of course): when we looked around the tea and coffee places, they were making natural fertiliser and treating by product water. I've come to miss the bush pumps and the chatting to the locals when rehydrating, and buying bottled water now feels a bit like cheating. I've heard some people say that Rwanda lacks character, that's it's not proper Africa, and whilst I did find that they were too geeed up for posh tourism and too by the book for my mad bike touring tastes, I think they've shown tremendous character to rebuild after the tragedy of 1994. I absolutely loved the scenery in Rwanda, and actually took a perverse pleasure in the hilly terrain, but I do think I found the tourism scene a bit high end and out to get your dollars. That's probably just a symptom of the type of trip I'm on, and the contrast with the other places I've been. I met a few Mzungus on the Congo Nile Trail, and I described it to them as Africa for beginners really (which I think they set all happy with), but it lacked the edge and value of the other countries I've cycled through. Naturally, as a Mzungu, I soon started giving orders on what to do. And obviously, they didn't listen. TIA! And so into Uganda! Unfortunately Peterson was busy at Red Rocks so they found me a 'proper cyclist' replacement. His name was Yannick and he was a very slight 21 year old who they said trains with Team Rwanda. Uh oh. I was quite glad I'd slapped my camping gear on his Hilary, along with the other camping kit, and that the rear tyre was a bit soft. He was a nice enough guy, but certainly no Peterson. On the first climb (which is about 7km long, but not very steep) there was a bit of ability investigation going on I think. It wasn't a struggle really, but when he got his tyre pumped up I thought I might be in trouble. Those worries turned out to be misplaced as he spent the remaining 25km to the border trying (and mostly failing) to keep up. Sucker! I dropped him a few times and gave up waiting for him after a while, racing the waifs and strays that challenged me along the way. One guy on a decent Trek mountain bike gave a good account of himself, especially on the sections of the road they'd dug up, but he disappeared quite suddenly once back on the tar; it turns out he'd snapped a pedal trying to keep up. What a mug, and a solid victory for Tina and I, although I did feel a bit guilty about being the cause of the mechanical mishap. I was quite pleased to see Yannick pitch up at the border both after me, and rimed with sweat. I can't see him making Team Rwanda if he can't hack my touring pace, but perhaps he will. If he does, I'll be sure to try out too! I disguised my skulls for the border and we sailed through. That left just 9km to Kisoro where Louis was due to get the bus to. We were later away from Red Rocks than anticipated due to the change of rider, but Louis' bus was making slow progress so no need to rush. We went into town so that I could draw some shillings - just the 500,000, no big deal - and sort a local sim so that I could get hold of Louis and Nkusi. Whilst sorting this it started to rain, which caused me much anxiety as I am firmly in the fair weather category of cyclist, despite undertaking such a long trip. Luckily it only lasted about 5 minutes and I could emerge relatively unscathed. After getting to a garage (good cover in case it rained again) I gave Yannick a tenner for cycling the bike over the border to me, and sent him on his way. I then told Nkusi I was waiting for him at the garage, and to come up and meet me. I got tucked into my first Ugandan beer in the meantime - a Club. Nkusi is a Ugandan guy I met on the Congo Nile Trail with Dad when he was guiding a Swiss chick in the other direction. We stopped and chatted for a while as they were the first guys we'd seen doing the trail. I took his number as I hoped he could help me with Hilary cross-border transportation. In the end I got it to Kisoro easily enough, but Nkusi wanted to meet us and show us around a bit. I escalated this into staying with him, and I'm glad I did given the poor options in Kisoro. He lives slightly out of town, conveniently towards Lake Bunyoni where we would head the day after. So we pedaled the 5km or so to his place, arriving at about 3pm probably. He's quite a figure in the community and is building a little heritage centre and tourist attraction which he showed me around and explained. Of even more interest was his permaculture garden which we spent quite a while discussing. He'd been trained by the US Peace Corps guys, and was now in charge of training locals in the practice. This was obviously a bit of a battle, but they had had a few bad years of rain, which I think makes them more receptive to trying new things. Hopefully it will catch on and become more popular. After that we cycled off to see a local landmark - the Kigesi Monument. This was very important historically as it was the hilltop site where the colonial powers met to determine the borders of Uganda, Congo and Urundi-Uanda. It was pretty cool to go and have a look at that as it's not something your average tourist has any idea about. In another interesting relic of Uganda's past, the original African despot, Idi Amin, also decided that he must have a base at this important site, and started to build a house there. He was deposed before he ever used it (although he was in power for a long time) and all that remains are two stones. After my history and culture lesson we went in search of cold beer. I came to the conclusion this wasn't really Ugandan culture as it proved basically impossible. It was now getting to about time to expect Louis, so I issued him with instructions of where to get off (before Kisoro) and what to look for. Whilst in search of cold beer, I came across a little metal shop. I knew from Dad that Hilary's handlebars were too low for comfortable long distance riding, and with Louis being rather tall, I decided to try and get some modifications done. They didn't have bar ends, or anything suitable for that really, but we fashioned a kind of extra set of handlebars out of scraps of metal. Louis arrived mid modification, and if he was horrified at seeing his bike being attacked with a welder before he'd even ridden it, he didn't show it. He picked up the £2 tab for the works and took her for a test ride whilst I ordered a Rolex (roll eggs - omelette inside a chapati) and continued the quest for cold beer. This ultimately proved futile so we headed home. We introduced Louis to Nkusi's mother, Hope, and I was put in charge of showing Louis around the heritage centre and garden. I don't think I butchered it too much, but I certainly couldn't remember the local pronunciation of their butter churning gourd, sleeping mat or spear. After that we focused on dinner - rabbit, which I'd met in its live state earlier in the afternoon - and helped by peeling potatoes and chopping up veg to go in the stew. All I can say that this would have been achieved much quicker if we'd had chopping boards, but there we go. We also struggled with fire heat control and basically didn't eat until almost 10pm. Given that I'd normally be asleep by then, it was a bit of a nasty shock. We were also planning to make an early start and try and get up to Churchill's View for sunrise, so we went to bed pretty much straight after dinner. We'd elected to share a bed inside rather than camp out in the garden, and whilst he certainly wasn't the type of Hazell bed companion I'm used to, all went well despite the tiny mosquito net dangling at face level. The morning was also cold with a very heavy dew, so we felt doubly vindicated for getting close and personal rather than cold and wet. Nkusi had very kindly sorted us breakfast so we got up to bananas and bread, which we supplemented with butter and Jan from my panniers, and drinking millet porridge. The latter I can only politely describe as an acquired taste, but good energy so I just about managed to slurp a cup down. Sunrise was always a tall ask, but we got away at about 7:45. We quickly discovered that Uganda is also hilly, and for the first 13km we were climbing some pretty solid hills. It looked like Louis, much like Dad, was in for a baptism of fire, but at least it was nice tar roads. That was until we got near to Churchill's View where we veered off onto some fantastically steep dirt road. I tackled as much of it as I could, but even Tina and I were reduced to pushing once. The shame, the shame! So Churchill view was where old Winston famously (in these parts at least) stood upon the top of a hill, and admiring the view, declared Uganda 'The Pearl of Africa'. The phrase has stuck and actually features in their National Anthem. The hill itself is 2500m high, and I'm sure on a fine day yields breathtaking views. On our visit it was just bloody cold and windy, so after a few photos and talking up the view, it was back down to the tar. It was here, after 15km, that we parted ways with Nkusi. He's an excellent guy and it was really great to stay with locals again and be shown around some of the stuff that just would have passed us by otherwise. A very auspicious start to Uganda, I must say. Louis and I were heading to Lake Bunyoni as it's supposed to be very beautiful and a popular spot for tourists. That would be about 70km and next up was passing through a forest reserve. It was Nyungwe NP esque in its altitude and vegetation, but not as large or impressive to be honest. There also seemed to be a lot of cattle grazing and tree cutting going on to be considered a proper reserve. Still, Uganda was serving up some spectacular views and nice (albeit hilly) riding. Nkusi had advised us to take the dirt road along the lake shore at Hiseselo, so after about 30km we duly turned off. It was certainly scenic, wiggling along the edge of the lake, but it was also rough and covered in a layer of deep dust, which made for tiring riding. The undulations were manageable until it came to a point where the road climbed up and away from the lake. This turned into a pretty brutal ascent which I didn't enjoy a whole bunch. Perhaps it's the wrong tactic but when riding with people on tour I tend to just ride at my own pace and then wait for them rather than shadow and chaperone: I wouldn't want some skinny bearded guy cajoling me up the hills because realistically it doesn't help. So, I just left Louis to it, and I think he was in a pretty unhappy place for most of that hill. I coined the phrase 'Gap yah nightmah' and had a bit of a chuckle about that. He'd stopped for fruit to get some more energy and texted me to ask what the plan was. 'Waiting for you at the top' was my deadpan reply. We were in it now, and had to just carry on. Admittedly it was a tough hill, and the bulldozer that had destroyed the top portion of the ascent certainly didn't help but there was nothing to be done really. We had a good rest at the top and luckily there was food at the next village so we had a good feed of matoke (big non sweet bananas) and beans, along with a soft drink. I'm not sure how restored Louis was feeling, but he bore it admirably I must say. It was then a pretty short, and thankfully mostly downhill, stint to our destination. There was a nice terrace up at the top of the hill, and I suggested a beer there. Louis initially refused - much like Dad's ordering of a Red Bull, a departure from character - but once I got tucked into mine he relented. We'd make a proper cycle tourist of him yet! After the beer we zoomed down to the lake and selected Edirisa as our campsite of choice. Had we known it was down an increasingly poor road, and up a few horrible little hills, it probably would have been a different matter. However, it was a community campsite so I felt that we were doing our little bit by staying there. The ones in town proper were either quite posh, or had big overlander trucks in - a crowd that's often full of wiffers, so best avoided. We had the place to ourselves, and with cold beers for £1 and direct access to the lake, it wasn't a bad place to be. We were there by 3 ish and after taking care of washing and bathing, it was time to relax. Louis was reading a very high brow 'Why does E=MC2' book whilst I engaged in some danger hammocking, spurning their safe ones and rigging mine up across the corner of the observation deck. Getting in was slightly dodgy, and not at all graceful, but worth it for the improved lake views and birdwatching opportunities. My precipitous hanging caused great consternation amongst the locals, with one of the camp staff reprimanding me for being reckless, and school children, about to embark to their kayak home, spent about 5 minutes gawking and squealing. I gave them the royal wave from my lofty position and wishes them bon voyage (their craft didn't look terribly lake-worthy). Aside from some good sunbird action, we also saw a couple of otters swimming about. If only I'd had my camera, but alas it had broken for good at the Foyer, and now resided, along with its charging cable, in a bit in Rwanda (Tina insists upon a strict no dead weight policy). We rewarded ourselves after a tough day's cycling by treating ourselves to crayfish for supper. Delicious, but a little light on the portion size. When asked how dinner was I informed them 'I enjoyed what little there was of it'. Given that this didn't prompt an offer of seconds, I can only assume the request for feedback was insincere. We were early to bed, with the whole campsite to ourselves, and then up and away by 8 in order to get to a chapati stall for our morning Rolex. We ordered 4 and took 2 for the road. After breakfast it was up and away from the lake, and then a long bumpy downhill dirt road into Kabale. Rolling back onto the blacktop at the t-junction was blissful, especially for Louis I think as his posterior is much younger and more tender than mine. I would point out here that I very kindly donated him a chamois for the trip, freshly laundered of course. In town we stopped for cash for Louis whilst I checked out the Supermarket. This panned out very well as they had ice cream, and although only 10am, a treat rare enough in Africa not be passed off. Louis was very optimistic that it would be flat after Kabale, and I, not wanting to crush his young and fragile spirit, played along. We had no specific place to get to, so I said we'd just ride and see how far we get. It was quite lumpy initially, with quite a big climb straight out of Kabale, but then it eased off. I don't know where we stopped for lunch, but it was quite convenient, with people swarming over to sell you everything. I do enjoy this kind of shopping, but it's best from the bus window as you are in more of a position of power and can simply shut the window when you've had enough. However, we were on the street and in the thick of it so a much more immersive experience: I took a Rolex straight off, as a good staple any time of the day, and then supplemented that with a 25p goat skewer. Following that I sent a guy off in search of bananas, and ordered some plain chapatis to wrap the bananas in (a good snack I've found). That concluded our market dining experience and we decided to have our banana chapati dessert up the road as we were a bit bored of having goat skewers waved in our faces by now. Thus far the Ugandan landscape had been quite Rwanda-esque, but as it flattened out a bit we came into cattle country. It was greenish, but had strong undertones of overuse and overgrazing that I saw in N Tanzania on my way to Rusumo. They were different cows though, and there were actually a lot of proper dairy cows (Friesan/Holstein) along with Milk SACCOS (cooperatives) dotted along the road. These were invariably spelt as 'Diary Shops' which made me chuckle - there must be a dyslexic sign painter in town. All that day we'd been following signs for NMO, and when we got there we'd done about 97km, so we decided that would do for the day. I still have no idea what the town is actually called, but after stopping at the petrol station for a cold drink, we decided we'd find somewhere nearby. A compressor and air gun bay caught my eye as Tina was rather dusty from the dirt roads and the derailleur etc was in need of a good clean. So I sauntered over there and for 25p (they asked for £1,25) I gave her a good blast with that. I must say it worked like a charm, and I was very pleased with myself (as was Tina I'm sure). Following that we turned our attention to a place to rest our weary bones for the night. Technically we wanted the turning before town tomorrow so we decided to check out the first hotel along our route. It looked very much on the posh side, but we had enough time for some failed attempts so decided to give it a go. We asked at reception if we might camp somewhere and we didn't get the immediate 'No' I was expecting: we had to talk to the manager Nelson. Funnily enough we also had a Nelson at Edirisa, but he was a bit of a moron, so we were hoping for better. He was a nice guy, but a bit of a ball-buster; saying not a problem, showing us round, and then coming to 'the price'. He hammed everything up too much and asked for 50,000 shillings. I cried foul and said that was a ridiculous fee and that we didn't really care if it was a fancy hotel or not. There was a lot of toing and froing but eventually I had him on the ropes: free to stay but we'd have dinner and beers at the restaurant to show our appreciation. However, victory was shortlived as I'd forgotten to get showers explicitly included. Here Nelson pretended that 'changed everything' and asked for 40,000 again. I pointed out that that was rather disingenuous as surely common sense dictated that two guys who'd been cycling all day would want a shower, especially if we were to dine in his fancy restaurant. In the end we agreed 20,000 and went down to use the staff showers. Following that, there was a lot of changing of minds about where we wanted to camp, and then where we were allowed to camp. In the end we settled down the bottom and were freshly scrubbed and ready for beers by 6. We had a chef come out and see us, and after trying to get us to take the USh200,000 platter, promised to go and out together a menu to suit our budget. He also said we could have rice pudding for dessert - something I got very excited about as oddly enough I'd been fantasising about a good rice pud recently. Anyway, he never came back, and it later transpired that he'd gone home, leaving us menu and rice pudding-less. We had pork fillet, mash and gravy which was quite pleasant, although the lack of suitable pudding left a bitter aftertaste. We were to bed early that night (as per usual) but I didn't sleep well due to screaming jackal and barking dogs issues. Regardless we were up pretty early and trying to scrounge some free breakfast by 8. We managed a couple of bananas (accompanied by a third surreptitiously slipped into my pocket) and a glass of pineapple choice. Tea we would have to be charged for, apparently. It was a decent place to stay, and I must say I enjoyed the haggle, but charging a couple of thirsty cyclists for a brew seemed a bit pathetic to me. We were on our way by about 8:45 when Louis committed a fatal error: trying to match my power on the hills. It was a rather nasty gradient up the hotel drive, and as he slipped away into the distance, I can only imagine he tried to try and close the gap. That's when I heard a frantic, panted shout of 'Mechanical, mechanical!'. He'd only gone and snapped poor Hilary's chain before getting to the end of the drive. Snapping chains is quite satisfying in a way, but not good for progress. Still, we can't really blame the young lad for wanting to keep up, can we?! Haha. I tried sticking one of my quick links in to remedy the issue, but the 8 and 9 speed widths didn't get on, so we decided the only solution was for him to push into town and visit the local mechanic. Not a disaster as it was only 1km away, and we were heading there for breakfast anyway. A couple of guys on bikes showed us the way, but he turned out not to be much of a mechanic: after trying to sell me a new single speed chain, he then found about 5 old links and started bartering the pin in with a ratchet. I took a look at the chain and one link was already broken, and after this faux pas he was firmly relegated to sub mechanic. I got out my chain breaker, picked the best link, popped that out and then joined it all back together (after correcting the way he threaded it through the derailleur. By this point we had a rather large crowd who were very impressed with the chain breaker, gasping and 'eeeee'-ing as I deftly deployed it. The mechanic didn't really further his cause much so when it came to negotiation he got USh1000 for the link and that was it. Mechanical issues no longer precipitate the dread that they used to early in the trip, and although this was a rather African bodge job, it only took 20 minutes and cost us 25p - not bad! We then set off for breakfast and were shown to a nice chapati place by the two that showed us to the mechanic. Here we ordered chapati and beans, along with some extra chapats for bananas later. We sat in his little dining room in the shade and washed it down with some African tea (although not the chai I was hoping for). We had a bit of a tiff about his chapati prices as 1000 is twice the normal 500. I conceded they were larger than average, but not twice the size. Anyway, my remonstrations fell on deaf ears (I suspect there was some tout commission built in along the line). We hit the road at 10, on what, naturally, turned out to be an extremely hot day. The road was decent enough, and quite quiet, but the real bonus was when we turned off for Ishaka after about 20km. This one was also brand new, pretty deserted, and largely downhill. There was one brute of a hill where we stopped for a banana chapat and cold drink, but otherwise we pretty much cruised the 35km into town. Ishaka wasn't up to much, and I selected the first eatery that I saw, in amongst all the other bride a brac and random stalls along the high street. It was called Lion's Den, like the meat joint of famous repute in Zim that I'd stopped in at, and although no biltong here, it did so a pretty decent goat and rice with juice. After concluding a satisfactory lunch we took a left, leaving the Kampala road. This resulted in a swift deterioration of the road, and we were now dodging plenty of potholes as well as speed bumps, matolas and boda bodas. However, we were soon in tea country which provided some nice looking scenery. In fact it took on a bit of a Rwandan sense of deja vu as the estate was owner by Macleod Russell, the same guys as the Pfunda Estate I toured with Dad, and following that we passed into a forest nature reserve. We stopped at a campsite in the forest to check it out, and although they didn't do food, it was cheap and you could track chimpanzees in the morning for $40. I was sorely tempted, but Louis rather less so, so we decided to push on another 20km to the recommended Crater Lakes. We didn't see any wildlife but it was a lovely climb and the descent through the reserve. The tar was wet ahead of us and we ran into the back of a rainstorm, which although a horrible shock for someone who's only been rained on 3 times in 3 months, it wasn't too bad. What was bad was Crater Lakes campsite. We pitched up there at 5ish with high hopes, which were soon cruelly dashed: it was empty, half building site and full of both cowshit and horrible fly type things. They wanted $10pp to camp - a princely sum for Uganda and one which we refused to pay. In the end we said we'd stay in a room for $20 - the same price as camping - and matey called his boss to check. 'Yes, that's fine, you can have a room for $40' came the reply. We told him we meant $20 for the room, not per person. To be fair he was a good lad and called Elisa down the road at Rift Valley Lodge who said she'd have us. Price was undisclosed at this stage, but the place was amazing, right on the edge of the plain overlooking Queen Elizabeth National Park below. It was a hell of a view and after some charming she agreed to letting us camp for free and we would have some beers and dinner at theirs. Again, we had the place to ourselves, and after a nice warm shower and pitching camp, we enjoyed some cold beers looking out over the plain towards Congo and the sunset. We could even dimly distinguish elephants below! Dinner was very nice and there was much back slapping on both our good luck and charming personalities. In the morning we only had 50km to do to get to Kasese where I'd been put in touch with a farming group called Joseph Initiative. The idea was to take a look around and stay there so we had a very chilled day basically cycling through a game park and trying to see some cool stuff without becoming animal fodder. The day started extremely well with a very nice breakfast but things soon began to deteriorate as Elisa handed us a bill of 40,000 for breakfast and 30,000 for camping. That was a nasty shock and we pointed out that she'd agreed to letting us camp for free. Apparently she hadn't, but we got away with it on the basis of us making our position extremely clear, and her failing to. Breakfast was a bit trickier as although we'd eaten it, we hadn't ordered it so thought it was a free treat. Here I meant to pay half price breakfast but my maths failed me and I said we'd pay 60,000 instead of the 50k. A bit annoying, but not bad value for the spot and good food. So after another round of the haggle dance, we were on our way at around 9. I'd lined up a farm tour in Kasese at with some guys called the Joseph Initiative so the plan was a chilled 50km to there, most of it through the National Park. We weren't quite sure what to expect from Queen Elizabeth, and whether we'd be allowed through: in theory it's Big 5, so cyclists would be fair game, so to speak, and you're also supposed to pay $40/person park fees to enter, but on the other hand it is a public road and the locals cycle it (usually a good sign). So, we set off, and after about 7km on an increasingly poor road, we were in the Park. No barrier or rangers or anything; just a flattened monitor to mark the collision of man and beast. We were in! It was a shame the rod was so awful as you basically had to concentrate on pothole dodging rather than admiring the scenery and looking for game. We came nice and close to some pretty big tuskers which was nice, and that took me back to my Botswana days (it was also very flat). After a bit longer we crossed the bridge (which interestingly formed part of an emergency bridge over the Thames during WWII) that separates Lakes George and Edward - this part of the world certainly isn't for the anarchists out there - and bizarrely we were in a little town just in the middle of the game park. It was pretty bizarre, and verging on the dump rather than picture-esque. I imagine if we needed water or some grub we'd have been grateful, but we were well prepared so wilderness would have been preferable. However, just after the town the battle of man and nature bore some monumental fruit in the form of four dead buffalo. This was big, big news for my roadkill page, and although very much one in the eye for the conservationists, very exciting indeed from my point of view. There was quite a crowd, and there were police everywhere with guns 'conducting investigations' so I was slightly worried about them letting me take photos. I started off erring on the surreptitious until me excitement got the better of me. I become increasingly animated and brazen, but they didn't seem to mind, which was fortunate, as to be denied the opportunity to document such a momentous find would have been a bitter disappointment. From asking around a bit, it seems a night bus smashed four buffalo, killing them, and then drove off. Then, to spice things up even more, some locals obviously chanced upon the carcasses and had two of them away for a bit of bush meat. Quite why they decapitated them but took the rest I'm not sure: I decided it was better either to take it all, and leave no evidence, or make things easier and just gut it etc there so less to carry. After that bit of excitement we came across a Spanish couple heading the other way on Mountain Bikes. We had a bit of a chin wag in a mixture of English and Spanish (Louis being a mathematician rather than a linguist) and they were quite nice, spending a month in Uganda focusing more on the off road stuff. On the back half of the park we saw plenty of live buffalo (a first for me), waterbuck, warthog, impala (obviously!) and a mongoose type thing. And then after that we crossed the equator! I'd passed 4000km a few days before, so it had been a long time coming, and I must say it was quite cool crossing over into the Northern Hemisphere. We took a few photos and then carried on to Kasese, about 10km away. Kasese was basically a massive dump full of petrol stations and not a lot else. I think the tone was probably set by another 'Fuck you' from a local kid on the approaches. A novel departure from the usual 'most welcome' indeed! It turns out that Joseph Initiative do have a farm, but it's miles away in Masindi. What they have in Kasese is a maize processing plant - drier and mill. We had a quick poke around there, and it was quite interesting, I must say. They buy locally in lots of no less than 2 tonnes (but you can bring as little as 50kg if you get it to the gate), and accept only within certain visual and moisture parameters, and then process it for export, either as kernels or flour. There's a very decent mark up on the flour side of things, and it made me chuckle that it's a German owned, for-profit company, but the mill had big USAID stickers all over it. There was clearly no farm or anywhere to camp so we said our goodbyes and just got going. That was around 3pm, and it looked like another 30km or so up to the crater lakes surrounding Fort Portal. We stopped to eat a delicious bowl of chapati, beans and avo at around 4:30, and it was a good job we did as it started to get pretty lumpy and hot. We were also expecting to be relaxing now, so it was a fairly grim afternoon all in all. We made a couple of abortive investigations about places to stay, but local consensus seemed to be Lodge Bella Vista. It was off the main road, and whoever we asked tended to point to the top of an ominously high hill. That afternoon was pretty draining, and I think the sweatiest I've ever been on tour. We ended up with 97km and 1100m of climbing in the bag, and despite breaking a rear spoke (number 4 now) on the last stretch of off-road we were soon very glad we'd stuck at it. The lodge had a campsite, so no need to go through the whole rigmarole of permission etc. We had the place to ourselves and it was $5 each to camp, overlooking a nice crater lake. After a nice warm shower and setting up camp we headed up for beers and ordered battered tilapia and chips for dinner. It was a handsome portion and good cooking so we were very pleased with the venue. We were also now well ahead of schedule and only 40km from Fort Portal. Consequently we decided to stay up late and have a pool challenge. Close run thing but I just edged the series. We then played one of the workers Mohamed a few times as he had the key so free games. Bonus! Our plan for the next day, rather than rushing up to Fort Portal, was to head to Lake Nkuruba, reputed to be the most scenic lake in these parts. That meant a short 25km on dirt, or up to FP and back down on the tar. We chose the scenic route and headed down into town at around 9. The plan was to have some breakfast, get my spoke fixed, and be on the road by 10. The mechanic, whilst much better than Hilary's one in NMO, was still very much of the village type. He didn't have any new spokes but that wasn't an issue as I carry a few on my chainstay. Quick Release skewers also seemed to mystify him so I took the wheel off and appraised him of the situation. Unfortunately it was a drive side spoke so that meant removing the cassette. I have the adaptor nut for this, but no chain whip to hold the cassette. He didn't help matters by repeatedly (literally 4 times) tightening it despite me saying UNDO. However, once the task at hand was clarified I was able to turn my attention to my beans and chapati, and he did a stirring job of putting it all back together and truing the wheel. We were all set by 10, and promptly turned off onto the dirt after just 300m of tar. They were actually really great dirt roads, and it was a very pleasant, although hilly, 20 odd km to Lake Nkuruba. Once there, we followed the signs for the community campsite and there met Sam. I knew there was supposed to be another option but he said it was 'very far' and had no power or anything. That he didn't have power either didn't seem to occur to him. Anyway, he was a bit of a salesman (classic) and it is supposed to support an orphanage so we agreed to stay. He then somehow got 50,000 off of us so he could fix us dinner (also had to be ordered then). Camping was cheap but we had to pay the same again in conservation fees he said. We wanted to go to the lake so seemed fair enough. This was when things started to get a bit weird. Sam followed us down, and even at one point started taking a piss mid conversation. He then came swimming, despite not being able to swim, and took pictures of us in the lake. I was pretty fed up of the weirdo by now, so when he asked if we could go back as he'd left reception unattended I just said that's your problem mate, we're staying here. To cap it all off, he shouted across the lake 'It's alright if I take your bike into town, yeh?'. This really riled me up, especially seeing as I had to shout NO at him about a billion times to which he'd just reply 'OK, thanks'. Once rid of Sam we didn't hang around long as Louis got attacked by a leech, it wasn't great weather, and there was nowhere to put the hammock. On the way back we came across the other campsite, literally 50m away, so we went in for a look. It was way nicer, and it turns out half the price as you don't pay conservation fees. That really annoyed me, so we headed back to our place, called Sam over, and gave him a right earful. He was a slippery chap, and even at one point mid-chastising he shoved his hand down his pants! He was a complete loony, but we succeeded in getting our 'conservation fees' refunded. It was only one night, so not the end of the world, but certainly annoying. It then started to rain, and seeing as our campsite was both crap and deserted, we headed over to the other one. We ordered African tea with avos and chapati to lessen our misery and then whilst waiting for it to turn up who should show up but Sam. He started off sitting on the next table along, but after a few minutes suddenly got up and basically sat on my lap. Bloody pest of a man! I put up with him for a little bit, but after him intently scrutinizing the menu I not so politely told him that we were still far from on friendly terms and that he should go away. I wasn't a fan of him anyway, and I certainly wasn't going to share my tea and chapati with him, and luckily he took the heavy hint and scuttled off into the rain. Good riddance! I was pretty sure I'd pay for my indiscretion if he was in charge of dinner, but there we go. When we came back to dine at 7, we found he'd snared another family so we didn't feel quite so stupid. Dinner was predictably rather poor, but I couldn't detect anything particularly nasty in there so perhaps I didn't upset him after all. We were finished eating by 7:45 - too early for bed even by our standards - so we headed back to the fancy campsite for a beer. There we threw in with Sam & Emily the Belgians we'd met earlier, and started playing some strange Belgian card game. I'm not much of a card player, but being lumped with Emily, who was considerably worse than me, meant we got a bit of a drubbing. That aside, a very pleasant evening and then back to a damp and dark campsite. From extensive guide book consultation the day before, we'd decided to head south to Bigodi Wetlands for a spot of bird watching (mostly my idea, obviously) but once we'd hit the tar and were heading south, when we passed a decent looking campsite we both decided that we were feeling pretty lazy so no harm in taking a look. I'd also very strangely woken up with a dead left leg. Nothing to do with the knee, purely muscular, so I wasn't too worried, but I was hobbling around a lot. That provided another excuse not to go for a bird walk, and when we got half price camping, two courses for the price of one, and a pineapple juice welcome drink, we decided that this spot would do just fine. Weirdly it was also a bloke that we'd seen yesterday at the other campsite. I think Ronald was his name, and he has a picture of me reclining in my hammock whilst his mate does the peace sign. So again, a bit of an odd bloke, but luckily a nice one who bent to my haggling will. After polishing off the juice, I persuaded Louis that we should dump the bags and cycle down through Kibale National Park and back up. It was another one of those you must pay to do anything, but there's a public road running through it. It was a long shot but there was a possibility of spotting some chimpanzees for free. Unfortunately all that we encountered were swarms of butterflies, way too many speed bumps, some mardy baboons and a troop of red tailed colobus. After getting back to camp following a largely disappointing game ride, I had just set up my hammock over the lake - no mean feat with my gammy leg - and gracefully ascended into its silky embrace, when it started blowing a gale. And then raining. It rained solidly from about 4pm until the next morning pretty much. Luckily Ronald/Howard took pity on us as we hadn't even set up our tents before the weather turned to crap, so he let us sleep in their safari tents rather. They also had a big fire going so it was nice to sit in front of that (the rain having mostly abated by now) and catch up with the family. Next morning we were up in the damp misty morning and away by 9ish. Only 20km stood between us and Fort Portal but we covered it at race pace so were still quite tired after getting into town. We'd been recommended to stay at the YES Hostel by a few people. Upon arrival it wasn't exactly clear why, but it did support an orphanage and whatnot so we checked in for camping. We then handed in basically all of our clothes for the laundry service and went back into town for some grub. Seeing as in Uganda the street food is so good, and cheap, we stick to that mostly, so we headed to Mpanga Market which we'd cycled past on the way in. After a restorative Rolex we delved into the market proper, picking some some giant avos for 25p each, and then some mangoes and pineapples for not much more. Weighed down with our healthy wares we then headed to Duchess, a recommended lunch spot in town. It was an expat joint, so a bit pricey, but the celebratory Tuskers upon reaching FP went down very nicely indeed. We got rained on on the way back to camp, and lost an avo to a speed bump, but the soaking wasn't too severe. After waiting out the rainstorm with a bit of table tennis (which I lost, and gave a generally pretty poor account of myself) we headed to the top of the road for some African Tea. Not the best chai I've had (Peterson's at Red Rocks still holds top spot) but not bad for the price. We dined at YES that night, and I opted for what I thought was the safe choice (compared to Louis' goat) of fish stew. It turned up over salted and undercooked, which irked me somewhat. When they took our plates away the waitress asked us how the food was, so I told her exactly what was wrong with it. She seemed rather taken aback at my frank appraisal, but she did ask. Somehow I doubt my constructive criticism ever made it back to the kitchen, but there we go. After dinner we had to endure about half an hour of quizzing by some Israeli girls, who although pleasant enough, asked stupid questions and didn't listen to the answers. We did our best to avoid then after that, although Louis was lucky enough to have them pitch their tents very close to him. Haha.
Chloe landed the next day, so our plan was to do one day of sightseeing around Fort Portal, and then get the morning bus down to Kampala on the 27th to meet Chloe and Lara (the next charitable owner of Hilary). As it turned out, we didn't really need a day exploring the Fort Portal area, and were left scraping the barrel somewhat. We decided to jump on the bikes and head out to Amabeere (breast in the local language) Caves. Mammary themed caves must be quite appealing to the male tourist, we reasoned. It was an easy, but sultry 10km out to the caves where, upon arrival, we were shocked by the price. After a long and only mildly successful haggle we departed for the caves with our fantastically named guide, Apollo. I'd noticed that the Ugandans are partial to a Greek mythological name or two, so Apollo wasn't particularly surprising. They also seem to have a penchant for sunglasses not seen in the other 8 countries I've come through. So, after waiting about 10 minutes for some pesky school children to get out of the way, we were shown to the main caves in all their underwhelming glory. I pity the woman whose breasts resemble these caves! The guiding and explanations were also somewhat lacking, but the dog nipple section of the next caves was a bit more apt. We were also showed some more alcoves/caves which then basically concluded the tour. Luckily there was no visitors book, or they would have been on the receiving end of another frank appraisal. Apollo redeemed himself somewhat by showing us a dirt road route back to Fort Portal via some more crater lakes (because we simply hadn't seen enough of those). This was where the most exciting incident of the day occurred: running down a dog! We were coming down a dirt track and there was a scruffy looking juvenile hound stood in the path. We were cycling 2 abreast and reluctant to check out momentum so I gave it a good trilling on my trusty Malawian two-tone bell, but the dog was either deaf or lazy and didn't take any notice whatsoever. Louis passed marginally in front, and obviously roused it from its standing stupour. To say it leapt sideways would exaggerate the speed of its movement, but anyhow it came my way and I ploughed straight into the dozy mutt. Cue a hell of a lot of yelping, whining and impromptu urination (on the part of the dog I hasten to add). He'd got his back leg trapped in the spokes of my front wheel, and it looked far from pleasant, but after a few seconds of freeing his leg he shot off through the hedge howling like a banshee. I must confess to being fairly amused as Tina claimed her largest victim yet, but now wasn't the time to hang around in case the locals got eggy with our reckless biking. We swiftly decided it was best just to leg it, so we zoomed off round the corner to avoid any Ugandan mob justice. I felt a bit bad about running down a dog, but it was extremely stupid in the first place so my empathy was limited by its own doziness. Such an encounter may go some way to explain why we'd seen so many dead mutts on the road. The rest of the cycle back, aside from a few glances in the wing mirror for the vigilante pursuit party, was uneventful. Back to the market for lunch, and then out to dinner out the fancy (ish) Moon Rocks Hotel to toast our successful trip up to Fort Portal. The next day we packed up early and headed to the bus stop to try and get the first bus down to Kampala. The bus stop proved a bit hard to find, but we got the timing spot on. Bikes in the underneath cabins, and just enough time to stock up on veggie samoosas and Rolexes before we rumbled out of the station at 9am. The first 60km were road works and a very poor surface, making us glad we'd not decided to cycle any of the 300km down to Kampala. The 5 hour bus journey was fairly uneventful, apart from some chap getting on dressed in a Father Christmas hat. Naturally this was paired with a morning jacket, shorts, long socks and boots. He took he prize for best, and most amusingly, dressed by an absolute mile. Probably the only other thing worth mentioning was the traveling pharmacy on the bus: some bloke started parading up and down the aisle selling everything from mysterious teeth something or other (which sold extremely well), to deep heat and aloe vera. The guy sat in between Louis and I seemed to take great delight in trying everything as it was free. Personally I didn't have the language skills to purchase any of the wares with confidence. We got off the bus at about 2 ish, and had about 15km to get to Lara's spot in Namagongo in the Eastern suburbs. We'd seen disgorged in the seething heart of the city (or it felt like it at least) and it was super super busy. The only other guy I'd spoken to about cycling in Kampala had been knocked off, twice. Whilst it was super busy, and there was little concept of giving cyclists room, I'm not sure how he came a cropper twice! It was easily the most hectic riding of the trip, but was actually good fun zooming inbetween the traffic and shouting at the boda boda guys. Traffic lights were particularly fun as most people ignored them, but we arrived unscathed and mildly exhilarated. After that taste of city riding we dumped the bikes and headed to the bar for some beers (classic) whilst we waited for the lovely Chloe to arrive and moan about the state of my beard! Haha. That concluded about 450km of riding from Kisoro to Fort Portal, and as I swap one Hazell for another I look forward to some time relaxing off the bike with the wife to be. Hopefully sharing a bed isn't quite such an awkward orooosition as with the future brother-in-law! He rode very well for a young lad, and I hope he enjoyed the Ugandan leg as much as I did.
0 Comments
Between Kigali and starting the Congo Nile Trail, the plan was to spend a night at Nyungwe National Park to break the journey up and try to see some special monkeys. The Nyungwe stopover was also the main reason for getting Dad to bring out camping stuff as, without a car, it's hard to do anything unless you stay right in the park. So, after both getting the Ritco bus to Huye, I set off on my way at 2pm after some intensive umming and aahing, abandoning Dad to his minibus with instructions on where to get off and how much to pay. Unfortunately the cycle turned into a bit of a saga, and I was still on the road at 7pm in the dark. The principal reason for this was that is was really, really hilly, and the campsite was 90km away rather than the expected 75. My plan was to cheat a bit to make things a bit easier and quicker anyway, and after I'd done about 5km, flying along carrying only my front handlebar bag, I came across a bakkie on the side of the road. Worth asking I thought. They were going my way, but stopping often as they were doing environmental surveys of sites for the impending road widening. Charles was the main guy who I chatted to along the way, discussing the quality of Chinese road building amongst other topics. It was frustrating progress and I often felt that my schedule was slipping so was a bit worried about getting there on time. I was getting a bit ansy, but glad I stuck with them as, even though it was probably no quicker than cycling, I disembarked at 35km with fresh legs. Naturally I got out at the top of a hill so I plunged straight into a descent. However, in Rwanda downhills swiftly turn into uphills so I was soon blowing quite hard. The rice paddy vallies had now given way to wheat and barley cultivation, so you had wonderful patches of gold on the terraces dotted amongst the ever present banana trees. After a while of that I moved into Eucalyptus forest with long climbs along shaded roads, with the sun streaming between the tress. Again, also very picturesque, and it made for delightful cycling. I was climbing and climbing and was now at the highest I'd been on the bike the whole trip - around 2500m. The air was thin and made things a bit harder going, but not horrendously so. After the Eucalyptus I came into tea country, with huge hillside terraces swathed in bright green. The scenery really was amazing, and after some more pedaling I was suddenly entering Nyungwe National Park. Nyungwe is a big patch of Afro-Montane Rainforest, getting about 2m of rainfall annually. It's been protected since colonial times, and although it's shrunk a lot in size, it's still a 50km stretch of pristine forest, and home to 13 species of primates - some of them endemic to the Albertine Rift Valley. I don't think Dad experienced it in quite the same way as he didn't have anything good to say about the minibus experience, but cycling through it was amazing. I soon happened upon my first monkey which was exciting. I don't really like monkeys as they're naughty little shits, but it was nice to see something other than a dreaded vervet (the principle reason I carry a catapult). This one was a blue or grey cheeked one and was quite chilled so took some pics. Not long after that I saw the black and white colobus monkeys which were also new to me, so quite exciting all in all. The road was excellent, although very hilly, and winding your way between huge trees and a riot of greenery was really amazing riding. Easily the most scenic day I'd had on the trip, and I felt very lucky to be cycling through it as that wasn't really the plan. There was very little traffic so I pretty much had the road to myself: apart from the whirr of Tina's tyres on the tar you could hear (but not see, unfortunately) birds all around. I was expecting about 20km in the park, and didn't enter it until about 5pm, so I was already on the back foot. It turned out to be more like 35km and I ended up riding both the sun down and the moon up. I deployed the bike balls and head torch for safe riding and, although on the chilly side, it was still a great experience. I got to camp at about 7, by which time it was pitch dark, to find a bit of a worried parent waiting for me. First time on the trip so a bit of a novelty! Luckily he'd booked us in and set up camp so I didn't have to worry about that. He'd butchered putting up the Coffin a bit, but an admirable effort all the same. Camping was $30, which is a bit pricey anyway, but when Dad told me there was no running water, and certainly no hot, it took on the aspect of a rip off. Moaning about things seemed to have no effect at all, and to be honest the price reflected the general trend of expensive and low standard accommodation in Rwanda. On the upside, there was an unexpected little restaurant that turned out a very respectable beef stew with veg and rice for £3. We washed that down with a warm Primus beer and I ordered a second plate of the same again. Oink oink! Senior moment number one occurred that evening too: 'I've got Mountain Rwanda 3G signal' said Dad. 'Errr, it's MTN, the name of the network provider, not because we're on a mountain'! Following that, the guy I'd moaned at a lot also very nicely made us a fire so we got another beer and sat about there for a while. It was definitely damp wood, which required frequent and energetic wafting to get flames, but I suppose in a Rainforest this was hardly surprising. It was quite brisk temperature wise, and in an ironic twist, it was Dad who was cold all night, not I, the whimpy tropic acclimatised one. I guess old bones feel the cold a bit more, eh! Unfortunately the ridiculous pricing in Nyungwe continued the next day. In Kigali the tourist guy had told us we could walk and do trails on our own for free, but upon arrival it became clear that this wasn't the case. All activities had to be guided, and even a walk was $40/person. This was extremely vexing as I was still cross about the crap state of the campsite, but we decided to just go for it and pay $80 for a walk. Then things got even more annoying as they made us wait until a designated start time and lumped us in with two chicks. They looked on the slow side so, deciding I didn't care if I offended them, I threw a mardy and said that, for the princely sum of $80, I expect our own guide so that we could go at our own pace etc. Initially they didn't understand, and then we moved onto 'standard policy' chat, but I would not be swayed. We decided to change route to another walk where we were the only ones. To be fair, the new guides were good lads, and let us do the trail we originally wanted to - at least until we were spotted and he lost his nerve. The guy was a bit of a wheeler dealer and was hawking admission to the USAID donated canopy walkway. It's an eye-watering $60/pp and only 160m long. He started off at $40 for both of us, but when I replied to his classic 'What do you want to pay?', with '$5 each' I think he lost heart. The walk was very cool, and the first time I'd been in a Rainforest. The scenery and vegetation is amazing, but it's also quite a frustrating experience as you basically can't see anything unless it's right on the path. We saw zero monkeys, and although we could hear lots of birds, saw very few of them. The walk was actually quite tiring too, but a nice experience overall. After a good lunch (just the one portion this time) we decided not to try and wring more value out of them by doing another walk, but to head off to Kamembe where the Congo Nile Trail starts and Dad's bike was being delivered. The first section was set to be complicated as we were in the middle of a rainforest, so the first plan of attack was to ask all the cars at Uwinka. There were quite a few unhelpful Mzungus and dead ends but I chanced my luck on a fortuner as he was getting ready to leave. Jackpot - he was going to Gisakura and could drop dad at the 'bus station' (more of a t junction). So we packed up frantically and sent Dad off with as much luggage as possible. I kept one pannier and my tent, but seeing as it was only 50km that wasn't an issue really. I was also quite happy to cycle the last third of the park given yesterday's experience. I saw lots of monkeys again, and the elusive Blue Turacao. The irony of getting the best game viewing for free on the main road wasn't lost on me, but there we go. I also saw a live snake and two dead ones - fodder for the roadkill album. Upon emerging from Nyungwe it was back to tea estates and more hills. I went through some fatigued patches but it wasn't too bad as the last few km into Kamembe were downhill. By the time I got to town Dad had got off the minibus and got a taxi down to the lake with the luggage, and checked us in to Hotel du Lac. It was nothing special, and we had to share a bed, but it had a hot(ish) shower and you could see Congo from the window across the river. Very exciting but probably close enough really. After washing up and devouring a lemon cake from La Gallette we headed over to Hotel des Chutes to collect Dad's $150 steed. This was a second hand Kasimbiri (named after an extinct volcano in N Rwanda) bike from Rwandan Adventures, and rather than hire her, we agreed that we would buy her outright for $150 and donate her at the end of the trail, in the spirit of my fundraising endeavours. The important difference over the Buffalo bike was that this lady had 24 gears: a vital point of difference in the hilly, and occasionally off road terrain of the CNT. At this point she was yet to be named, and whilst an attractive looking bike, she was certainly no Tina. The hotel didn't do, or at least include, breakfast, so we set off on empty stomachs at about 8 the next morning. Seeing as the first 30km were exactly what I did yesterday from Gisakura, I knew that we were in for: a real going over in the hills department. We were straight into it pretty much, and I think we climbed from kilometre one to ten or so. Dad took it pretty well, but I'm pretty sure the only thing keeping him going was ignorance (I chose not to divulge the true extent of what was coming up). We stopped in at a restaurant, but breakfast seemed to be meat and beans so we declined the offer and carried on. I knew it was important to keep him well fed, but just when you want bananas, there aren't any. I stopped at a few places, to no avail, but did pick up some form of foodstuff. Generally speaking in Africa, baked goods are pretty rubbish - fried bread and dry, flavourless cakes are prevalent. And to make matters worse, often they seem to taste of diesel. Not the kind of fuel I'm looking for! Anyway, I bought some cakes which actually weren't that bad on the scale of awful African baking. However, Dad, clearly used to fine English dining, was unimpressed. Fussy, fussy! After a while we began to see a lot of cows on pieces of string, and eventually we happened upon a very busy cattle market. I was there first and set off in search of bananas, enlisting the help of a local in the process. No banana vendors present, yet, I was told. Consequently I turned my attention to peanuts and bought up a whole pound's worth of those. Generally in Rwanda I've found they're much fairer to the Mzungu and tend not to hike the prices. The nuts were a steal, but when a banana vendor finally appeared she was not kind to us. The middle man probably didn't help, but 800 francs for a bunch of small ones was not a good price. I moaned a fair bit, but Brook senior needed feeding so I coughed up the extortionate fee. It's more annoying when you know you're getting mugged off, but there we go. After stopping the old man buying any cows - 'You're on holiday' I told him - it was onward. Seeing as we'd sent some stuff up on the ferry, by my standards I was travelling light, with just 2 rear panniers, but I suppose it was a bit of a horrible shock for Dad, especially seeing as he always overpacks. Selfie on the first hill of the trail. Before the smiles turned to grimaces! The road was lovely, pristine tar and there really wasn't much traffic. The scenery was also staggering, dipping up and down close to the lake, so all in all it was pretty spectacular riding, and I'd been very impressed with Rwanda so far. At one point we passed a school and we must have been mobbed by about 300 kids. It was biblical in a sense, and it was like parting the Red Sea for a good kilometre or so. Even I was a bit shocked by the amount of them, and I've cycled past a fair few schools on the trip now. Rather cheekily I sped up to leave Dad to take the majority of the hassle. All part of the experience, I reasoned. Shortly after that we stopped for lunch and indulged in a bit of a Rwandan buffet. It was another classic one plate, but pile it as high as you can, affair. Dad, being new to this, got a much smaller plate than a pro like myself. I think by lunch we'd done about 40km and I was originally aiming for Kilimbi Bay where there was accommodation marked. However, either we missed it, or it wasn't signposted. Rwanda is particularly difficult as every place has two, or even three, names. Anyway, we ended up having to head for Karengera, which I think is fair to say was a bit too far for Dad. I started asking around for somewhere to stay at around 3, but there was nothing about so we had to carry on. At about 4 we saw a very nice looking sign for Green Hills Lodge, so we took the dirt road up into what turned out to be Karengera. However, our triumph was shortlived: Green Hills was an absolute dive, with rooms under construction. It was that classic situation of 'You can't stay here', but getting an alternative out of the guy was like pulling teeth. He also walked incredibly slowly. Anyway, we took our plight to the street and a nice pikipiki man said that there was a school up the hill that had lodging. I was sceptical but followed him on the bike whilst Dad waddled up the dirt road. It turns out we'd stumbled upon the official Basecamp for the trail at Karengera, and the sign gave me confidence that we'd be ok. There was a bit of a wait and some checking and checking, but then we were shown to a lovely little missionary house on the site. Dad immediately collapsed on the spare bed whilst they got the room ready around him: Rwandan Hills 1 - Dad 0. He's not much of a napper, so he must have been wiped out as he was snoring away whilst I caught up on my travel journal. I left him be and woke him at 5 ish for Fanta sundowners on top of the huge school building overlooking the lake. It really was a cracking view, just a shame you had to walk all the way into town for beers. After a warm, yet refreshing soda, we walked down to town for some supper. We found a little bar on the main dirt drag and asked if they did food. I don't think they did really, but said that if we gave them 40 minutes (meaning around an hour normally) they could do us goat kebabs and fried bananas. That would do, so we placed our order, got a table set up on the verandah, and got some beers. There was also an excellent bakery (finally) next door, so we stocked up on lots of egg and meat samoosas, and some bananas for the next day. The food was really quite good, and the accomm was both nice and cheap, so I considered it a victory and a saved day. There's no easy way of doing 70km and 1600m of climbing on a bike really, so we hit the hay at around 8. Dad did pretty well I'd say, but we had another 50km to do the next day to get to Kibuye (half way on the trail). HILLY AS BALLS!!!!! (Note the duct tape post Ritco bus drive by) We got up pretty early and were on the road by 8, before it got too warm for the Pom. The first couple of hours were very pleasant (for me at least) with the road mostly in shade as the high escarpment cut out the low sun. The roads were pretty quiet, and apart from the odd vicious hoot from a Ritco bus, we got along fine. That was until a rogue Hilux came haring along: it came round my corner, tyres squealing and mostly on my side of the road, but then Dad and a group of kids (he was asking for another push I expect) were round the bend. Apparently he completely lost the back end and was careering towards them with the rear end fish tailing wildly. Dad dumped the bike and leapt off, and was understandably a bit shaken up. As a neutral observer I was allowed to appreciate the hilarity of the situation, envisaging him piling into the storm drain, terrified. Aside from that bit of excitement, it was business as usual: amazing, amazing scenery, friendly locals, photo stops, waiting for Dad to catch up etc. We also saw our first Mzungu trail cyclist: a Swiss girl doing it on the same bike as Dad with a guide. They were nice and friendly, so we had a bit of a chat with them. I couldn't see how they were going to do it in 5 days given they'd only managed 10km by 12 that day, but there we go. Shortly after meeting them we came across a Coffee Washing Station and asked to be shown around that. Unfortunately it wasn't laundry season, but it was still interesting to look around and see how it works: it's basically for taking the berry and then mucus off the bean via a series of machines. It's then graded using an elaborate swimming pool and canal type system. No coffee available, but I didn't really care as I don't drink the stuff. Luckily day 2 wasn't as hilly, or as long as the day before, but there were still some long descents down to the lakeshore, followed by brutal climbs back up to the watershed. We took our time that day, and got to Kibuye at about 2. We headed for the recommended Home St Jean, a RC hostel overlooking the Lake with its own little beach. We checked into a twin room, then sat on the terrace with some beers and had lunch. Very civilised indeed! After that we both did a bit of washing and then headed down to the beach. It was a lovely little garden-y type of thing, with lots of plants and birdlife, and we passed a very pleasant afternoon down there. I'd been very impressed with ze Germans' travel hammock so put an order in via Dad. We strung that up between 2 trees right on the shore, and after a bathe and wash in the lake, complete with bar of soap and lather, I took first dibs on the hammock (I'd been carrying it, after all). After a lovely afternoon relaxing and reading by the lake, we headed up to the terrace for sundowners. We met some American - Brian - who had done a lot of cycle touring and the CNT a few years ago. He made me quite worried about finding somewhere to stay at Masasa the next day, but he ended up annoying me a fair bit as he was one of those types that has an opinion on everything, but not much of one. We declined his suggestion of dinner together (but did take his advice on what to order at the hostel). We enjoyed some excellent sambaza starters (little fish called Kapenta in most of the other lake regions, and probably whitebait in UK) and fish kebabs, washed down with various exotic beers. We decided that, given our timescale, and the state of Dad's arse, that we would get the bus some of the way and then cycle some of the trail from the north. For that we decided an early start was best, so we were up at 6:30, having breakfast at 7, and into town by 8. The Ritco buses we were expecting didn't run a service up to Gisenyi, but one of the smaller buses (they're odd, a lot larger than your standard Toyota HiAce minibus, and not seen them anywhere else in Africa) could take us and the bikes on the back seat to Bumba for 9000 francs. However, it was only 18,000 all the way to Gisenyi, so we decided in the end to go all the way to the top and do an excursion heading south rather. The journey was fine, not too busy or cramped, albeit a bit dusty from the road works. I'd been in regular comms with Rwandan Adventures, who I'd sourced Hilary (since christened by Dad in honour of all the hills), and Katie suggested we get off the bus at Pfunda Tea Estate and then take a scenic route to their office to collect the bags we'd sent by the ferry etc. By this time the bus was pretty chokka, so it was with a slight tinge of awkwardness that I told the driver we were getting off here. It was going to be a pain, but we'd paid a fairly hefty fair, and it would free up space for more customers on the bus if we got out. In the end it was quite painless as Dad, being the spritely young chap he is, scrambled out the window and I passed him all the bags and Hilary (front wheel removed) out to him. Tina was too large for the window exit so came down the aisle upside down with me. We then put everything back together witnessed by an ever growing crowd, most of them gawking and pawing at my skulls. Tina is always the centre of attention, and my macabre adornments cause endless fascination, closely followed by the catapult. Pfunda Estate was on the CNT Map so we decided to ask for a tour. The security guard took a lot of persuading, and we had to use a different gate, albeit one right next door, to get in, which was all rather bizarre and didn't augur well. However, it turns out there was an official tour for $10. We had to hang around for about 10 minutes whilst they searched for the cashier, and then another 20 before our tour guide Fabian pitched up. We passed the time, not sipping on some free tea as you might expect, but watching and trying to photograph sunbirds flitting about amongst the flowers, and observing the various uniforms. All workers were adorned in overalls (or jumpsuits as the Yanks would call them) and funny little caps in all different colours. It was kind of like being in a rainbow themed prison to be honest, and then when Fabian arrived we found ourselves made to don ridiculous labcoats and caps. I don't even like tea, and didn't think much of being dressed as an absolute doucher for the duration, but there we go. Fabian wasn't much of a guide to be honest, and what could have been really interesting was concluded in about 20 minutes, without so much as a hint of a cuppa. We did learn a few things, such as the new leaves can be picked every 10-12 days in peak season, and they'll process something like 600 tonnes of leaves a day. It is then fermented for about 12 hours before being chopped and turned into an odd pea green playdough. It's then dried via a pretty awesome wood fired boiler and drier, and then mechanically graded according to size, the larger stuff being better apparently. The factory smelt very nice actually, and we both fancied a brew after the tour so we cycled round the corner to their tea shop. 50p a cup and powdered milk didn't make the best impression but it did the job on Dad who bought two lots of tea to take home. After tea and biccies (the saving grace) we headed for Rwandan Adventures. There were some pretty ropey directions, and some equally paranoid following of them, especially where hills were involved, but we actually got there fine in the end, via a cool dirt road short cut. Once there, at about 2ish, we set about getting some local advice and making a plan for doing some trail from the top end the following day. We ended up wangling their garden for camping purposes, which was very generous of Katie and convenient for us. The plan for the afternoon was to go to the hot springs, possibly for a massage, and then for a swim in the Lake. However, what ensued was the first argument of the holiday. Those who know my father know that he has a tendency to just wander off, so I guess it wasn't surprising when I got back from filling up my water bottle to find him gone. I, reasonably I considered, thought he must have got a head start to the springs, so set off after him. I went all the way to the hot springs, which was probably 3km away, and then turned around. I met some Aussies on fancy bikes (Rohloff hub and disc brakes) and talked to them for a while, and he still didn't appear. About 40 minutes later I came upon him just by our starting point. I was pretty hacked off with him by now and told him off. Of course he said he didn't leave, just going 'a few metres to check out the lodge'. I pointed out that he'd disappeared so naturally I assumed he was going towards what we agreed to do, and not the opposite direction. It's Mum who can't tell her left and rights, so he couldn't even use that as an excuse! We both cycled towards the springs in a huff, when I told him I didn't really want to go any more. It was probably the wrong choice as the bar we went to was not very good, and the water all oily so no good for swimming. On the plus side, after a beer and meagre serving of sambaza as a snack, we were on improving terms. We decided to check out the lodge opposite for a potential dinner venue, and this place was very nice indeed. It had a little craft shop, and Dad immediately took a liking to a goatskin rug. Shopping - Classic Dad! We were coming back for dinner and goatman was to bring more wares round for inspection. Dinner was excellent except Eric the waiter mugged us off a bit on the G&Ts: we decided to try Ugandan Waragi gin, and Eric came and made them at the table for us. However, rather ominously the bottle of gin remained. It turns out you have to buy the it by the bottle, all 350ml of it! It made for a few G&Ts too many to be honest, but we almost finished it. The next morning the woman next door observing our breaking up of the camp hissed at me (Rwandans have a horrible habit of doing this to get your attention, which I hate), and motioned that I should give her the bottle. That was pretty depressing as it was about 8 in the morning, and she had plenty of child caring to be getting on with rather than boozing. Her attitude may have explained why, on the way to sundowners last night, one of the kids shouted 'Hey Mzungu, fuck you!', and gave me the finger. This was the first Mzungu abuse (which I'd understood at least) on the whole trip, and I must admit I was pretty shocked. Naturally he received the exact same response in reply, which he found hilarious, and I admit I found myself chuckling about it a few minutes later. Cheeky bastard, eh! After packing up camp, doing my bit for stemming African alcoholism, and making porridge, we set off on our third day of the trail. We left at about 10 and the plan was to do about 40km of dirt roads down to Kinunu, overnight there, and get the local water taxi back early in the morning. The first 15km were quite tough, with poor roads meaning you couldn't really enjoy the cycling in my opinion: you had to constantly be on your brakes and weaving around dodging stuff. I'm more of a roadie at heart, so that's probably why I was longing for the nice sweeping tar descents rather than being bounced around at 12kph. It was also super busy, and constant 'Give me money' detracted somewhat from the experience. However, after that initial stretch, things opened up a bit more, both in terms of village/population spacing, and better, more undulating dirt road. Then it was a real pleasure to cruise along the edge of the lake, taking in the views and greeting the locals. I came to rename the CNT the Turkey Trail as there were so many of the birds around. We both tried gobbling at them - like father, like son I guess - but these ones don't respond to gobbling; a high pitched scream one of the herd boys showed me (yes, the turkeys are often accompanied by a herder) was what was needed. He found it utterly hilarious that my high pitched squealing went unanswered, and collapsed in a storm drain laughing. We dipped down into a fishing village with some rather rustic roads on both the descent and ascent, but funnily enough it was in another hilltop village where they were cooking sambaza over little charcoal braziers. Dad didn't want any, but I got 50ps worth served up in a banana leaf. The good thing about these little fish is that, apart from being delicious, they are easy to share. I dished out the remaining 20 odd to my audience. We renamed the Congo Nile Trail the Turkey Trail due to the amount of the birds we saw along the way. The descent down to the lakeshore at Kinunu was very rough again, and I noticed upon arrival that I had broken another spoke - the third of the trip. This was a bit surprising as I was traveling relatively light, with only one pannier on the back. Maybe they're all just getting a bit worn out after so much riding. My derailleur was definitely getting a bit ropey and skipping gears and jamming a lot too. There were two options for the night in Kinunu, and we picked the fancier Rushel lodge. It was rather large and empty, but I haggled us a decent deal on a room and breakfast, and it had a beach/lake front so job done. We rode all the way down to the waters edge and plunged straight in for a dip. It had been a tough, but spectacular 40km on dirt roads, with plenty of hills. Dad went off to order beers and I went for a full on Lake bathe and laundry session. I got roundly abused by the local boys across the water, but they all get butters in the lake so I decided I could too! Dad then fell asleep in the hammock mid beer, so I polished that off for him, and took a pic of him snoring. Dinner was an excellent repeat of sambaza to start, and then tilapia curry for me. Another early night followed - classic - as we had to be up at 5:30 for 5:50 breakfast in order to get the boat back to Gisenyi. As luck would have it, our very friendly waiter Lewis was also getting the boat, so after pancakes, chai and omelette by his own fair hand, we walked down to the lake with him. We boarded at 7, and enjoyed the 2,5 hours ride sat on the roof of the boat with our bikes. Apart from one rush of activity where we had to hastily don life jackets as the boat police were approaching, it was all very relaxing and an extremely pleasant way to get back to town. That was the Congo Nile trail concluded for us, and I think we'd done pretty well, all things considered. We'd missed out about a 40km section, most of which was roadworks, so couldn't lay claim to completing it all, but we'd mixed it up with some good long days on the bottom tar half, a bit of a bus ride, some dirt roads from the North, a tea estate and coffee washing tour, and a boat trip. Upon getting into Gisenyi we spent a few hours getting Tina repaired and serviced, and planning the remainder of the trip (Dad in a major senior moment, thought he was flying on the Saturday, not the Sunday night he actually was). The servicing was taken care of by the marvelous, no-hand track stand Marcel, with me peering over his shoulder and trying to feel useful/learn something. I tried to make Dad come up with a plan so that perhaps he would have more of a sense of timescale for the remainder of his holiday. We'd decided that, having bought Hilary for Dad, we'd try and get her into Uganda for Louis (the future brother in law) to ride for a few days, and then donate her to a friend's charity project in Kampala. Without being too boring, we decided to get another big Ritco bus up to Musanze as that helped me with bike logistics, and was also on the way for Dad's trip back to Kigali on SUNDAY. We'd do some exploring out of Musanze using the extra day and night. The whole bike into Uganda thing was still unresolved, but it was very useful to get Tina serviced and have a base at Rwandan Adventures to plan from and sort out some loose ends - so thanks very much to Katie who was a big help to us over the course of that week. I'd probably been a bit hard on Dad at times, particularly on the riding side of things, but it's sometimes quite tough to adjust your mindset from that of solitary speedy cyclist where you only have to think about yourself. It's funny as Dad said he was finding it very relaxing, not having to think about anything, whereas I found it a bit stressful making decisions for two, and trying to make sure he enjoyed himself. Overall I think we got the balance of things right, and I certainly hope he enjoyed the trip and experience. We'll see how soon he goes near a bike again I guess! Trail completed, and a very tired Dad. I'd also seen him buy a Red Bull the day before, so it's fair to say I tired him out! I finished his beer whilst he dozed - you snooze you lose!
After disembarking the Liemba at around 9:30, paying more port fees at immigration, and dodging a bag check with skulls cunningly disguised under Napoleon's wig and my floppy hat, I tagged onto the Germans and headed for their choice of accommodation: Aqua Lodge. After some poor navigation we were there quite swiftly, it being both unsignposted and spitting distance from the port. I left camping rate negotiation to them as it was their choice, but it was quite a nice spot right on the Lake. They were wiffing about so I just got some washing done, roped them into changing $20 into Tanzanian Shillings for me, and shot off into town. What a joy to be speeding along pannier free! She was a bit twitchy at first, but got the hang of it swiftly. Just like riding a bike really! I wanted to go and visit the Livingstone memorial up the road in Ujiji and also figure out the bus situation for the next day. I also decided in the end to make the effort and get a Tanzanian SIM. This was partly to try and instill some level of organisation and preparation for Dad coming out to Rwanda, and partly because I'd been out of comms for a few days. This turned out to be a real palava with registration needed and no less than 3 photos as well as signature, address and all sorts. After that I tackled the prodigious hill up into town and over into Ujiji. It's quite a pleasant town with a nice old railway station and lots of market stalls and tuktuks and KingLion motorbikes whizzing about. At the top of the hill I stopped at a bus ticket booking office. Uh oh - Saratoga had nothing going tomorrow. He then started blathering on about adventure and I was starting to get cross. 'Yes I was on an adventure already, and didn't want booking a bus to turn into one'. It transpires that there was another bus company called Adventure across the road. The guy in there, Dennis, was very nice and helpful, but seemed to just make problems. I showed him the bike and he said he wasn't sure it would fit. It was a bit like pulling teeth but I gathered it was a full on 60 seater coach. No roof rack but surely no issues getting Tina in the bins underneath. She's not that fat when bagless, after all. Dennis would not be moved, and asked me to come back at between 4-6 to test it out. I wasn't keen on this but I had to get away tomorrow so agreed I would swing by after the memorial visit. The ride to the memorial took on a rather Belgian hue with about 3km of pavé to tackle. I got there and the nice gateman came running over to let me in. 'Welcome, welcome. 20,000 entry'. £15?! Not a chance my friend. I just laughed at the guy and went into the compound. Let the games begin! The charade continued with the 'proper' admissions oke also asking for 20,000. I just flatly refused: I was keen to see the memorial and whatnot seeing as I'd been following in Livingstones's footsteps to some extent, but I'd also been to a few African museums now, none of which are worth more than about a quid entrance. The guy Dennis (one of them was called Dennis that day) looked crestfallen but not altogether surprised. 'How much do you want to pay then?' That's a dangerous question. 'Nothing' was the reply. The whole process took probably 15-20 minutes with a cross forming and in depth discussion about the morality of me having juju skulls on my bike. It was all good fun (or at least I enjoyed it) and they came down to 12, then 10, then 5. My best was 2000 and in the end we agreed I'd pay some more at the end 'if it was worth it'. Dennis obviously liked my style (or hadn't earned enough from the ticket cash), as he attached himself to me as tour guide and photographer. He was a decent oke, and definitely told me (or made up) some stuff I wouldn't have found out otherwise. For example, where the monument stood was actually bang on the lakeshore 150 odd years ago. It had since plummeted about 200m due to a navigable channel into the Congo river being dug, water extraction and tectonic plate shifts. It must be mostly due to the plates as it's an absolutely massive lake so even a fall of 1m is an unimaginable amount of water. He then told me that the Arab slavers planted Mango trees all along the slaving route to Bagamoyo on the East Coast as markers and providers of shade and food. The original tree that Livingstone and Stanley met under started to die in the 1920s and the Poms, aware of the historical significance of the site, took 4 cuttings from the tree and planted them around. 2 have survived and are now 93 years old (they're called Robert and Mugabe). Dennis encouraged me to scale one for a photo. Not sure why, but I enjoy a scramble so had a crack. That and the memorial itself, made of holy stone from Jerusalem (Livingstone was a man driven by an extraordinary religious zeal), was pretty much it. There was a distinctly sub par, even by African standards, 2 room museum. One of the rooms, the Tanzania one, was empty apart from a bit of rubble. I stood there just imagining so poor Mzungu losing the plot after paying 20,000 entrance fee. Based on that they got no more of my money, but I did bung Dennis another 2000 for showing me around. On the way back I tried catching up with a few people as I had a full 1GB of data to use in 24 hours. Despite being able to see, and indeed almost touch, the signal mast, I became increasingly enraged as it cut out every 30 seconds. Oh well, coverage has certainly made the trip a lot more civilised than even 10 years ago I suppose. After that I pitched up at Dennis no. 2's office. Surprise, surprise - no bus. There was another one across the road, a similar one I gathered, so after much hand wringing and ear bending I persuaded him to ask if we could try putting the bike in there as a trial and sort the matter once and for all. They opened the largest bin and it didn't look good. Balls! Dennis then made a few phone calls and it got to the point where they would definitely take me, but it would be 15,000 on top of the 20,000 for me. I didn't really have a choice as I had to get to Kigali in time to meet Brook senior, and I definitely wasn't going to make it by bike alone. So, I paid for my seat and took the ticket, with the balance to pay in the morning. Dennis said I must be there before 5 in order to get it packed in there, which would mean a 4am wake up and 10km cycling in the dark. Not ideal. We then walked over somewhere else for a reason I can't quite fathom, and whilst he was talking to someone else I noticed a nice looking Land Cruiser with a roof rack. So I sauntered over, stuck my head in the passenger side window and simply said 'Nyakanazi?' (where the dirt road ends and tar begins - hence my preferred destination). 'Hapana', (no) was the answer. 'Not today'. A glimmer of hope - so when are you going then? It turns out the guy Ibrahim was heading practically all the way to the Rwandan border the next morning. I'd have to pay for my ride; this is Africa after all. But even if more expensive than the bus, it was a later start, would be faster, and I could get dropped and start cycling whenever I wanted. I couldn't believe my luck. In fact, I didn't really until he showed up at 8 the next morning (he moved it back from 7 which worried me a bit). Dennis took it all rather well, recognising that it made a lot more sense for me, and probably the bus guys too. He refunded me my ticket and wouldn't even take me up on the offer of a free beer to say thanks very much for his help. I think he saw it more as his good deed for the day, but I must admit I had pangs of guilt at wasting so much of his time for no reward. I returned to camp feeling pretty smug with myself. It was my last night with the Germans, and probably high time seeing as when I came back they were 'jamming' on a eukelele and guitar sat on the beach by the lake. I think I'll leave it at that as they've basically done everything wrong for me in that scenario. I had a bath in the lake, Happy Gilmore caddy style, and then went off to Bangwe Beach for a solo dinner and some peace and quiet. I'd just ordered my food and a Kilimanjaro when one of the crew from the Liemba turned up. I donated half my beer and got the inside scoop of the company set up, liquidity, profitability and freight rates for the voyage. I shan't get too into that, but it was interesting stuff. Their break even is 24,000,000 shillings, and he thought they'd miss the next sailing as they're not allowed to depart with only one main engine (you can get away with it if it happens mid voyage). The guy is nice enough, but is a bit of a patronising sod - for example once I'd ordered my food he told me I should have eaten at where I was staying instead. Cheers then! - so I dashed off to hustle some pool instead. That went pretty well, and despite the distinct disadvantage of no local knowledge as far as both the run of the table, and the rules, are concerned, I was 4 wins for 0 losses at one point. I didn't take losing badly but I retired after that single loss as one of the locals looked pretty eggy that he didn't get to play because the Mzungu was winning everything. A brief goodbye to Mr Crewman and I was home by about 10. I'll be honest, that's pretty late for me, and the Germans weren't around so I thought they'd gone to bed already. It turns out they got back in at 11 ish, but I was far too snug, and nude, in my tent to get out and say goodbye. I was awake from 3am not feeling great and I was up and on my way into town in the dark. It gave me a chance for a maiden test of the bike balls Charlie got me for my birthday. I didn't get run over so I'll recommend them to anyone who is looking for a comedy bikelight that also saves lives. Waiting for Ibrahim to arrive I focused on using up my data before it expired by offlining google maps and the like. I also did a bit of breakfast shopping: jamless doughnuts and bananas from the street vendors. My ride pitched at 8 with 2 more passengers: Crispy, who was very nice, and his silent sister who didn't say anything for the first 3 hours. She was certainly an odd one, alternating between trying to sleep and using her 2 mobile phones. Her first words were Swahili, but given what ensued next, I can only imagine was, 'Quick, pass me a plastic bag, I'm about to chunder'. It's quite awkward sharing the back seat with an anonymous girl heaving into a plastic bag whilst crying a little bit. I alternated between offering unhelpful suggestions such as eating something or sitting in the front instead, and smirking with amusement. The lads in the front seemed very nonplussed about it. There was no stopping, or indeed slowing down, just a bit of fresh air for 5 minutes before it got too dusty. Luckily it didn't smell so the second time it happened I was able to just keep on chowing my chippati rather than get involved. I don't know whether Dennis (keeping with the theme) is normally a bad traveler, but her illness should be viewed in context: the road was an absolute shocker, and we tackled it at pace. I can't really excuse her sullen silence for the first half an hour as that was perfectly fine tar: maybe she knew what was coming, and steeling herself against it. Basically the road descended into absolute chaos with busses, lorries, cyclists, pedestrians and taxis all looming out of a dense red mist of dust. Just to add to the fun, it was also raining a little bit. I felt extremely glad to be ensconced in a Land Cruiser sealed away from all the dust and rain. The Germans were determined to at least try the dirt road, despite my (sound) advice to just not bother. I spared them a thought from time to time. Admittedly it was more along the lines of you're naive and stupid than I respect you for trying. You've got to pick your battles on an African cycle tour I think, and 300 odd km of terrible and busy dirt road isn't one of them I don't think. We stopped a couple of times in 4 hours but otherwise we just kept on going. Ibrahim was a jolly chap, and I enjoyed listening to their melodious Swahili from the back seat, picking up the odd word or phrase, but he wasn't messing around in the driving department. I wouldn't describe it as manic, but he certainly subscribed to the theory that if you're bigger then you hoot and them until they're out of your way. Often it was unnecessary, and some poor laden cyclist having a panic attack, and veering off of the road, was a common sight. Likewise pedestrians and motorbikes would often swerve or leap out of the way. It was the goats that I had the most respect for, blithely ignoring the beeping bravado. I found myself wondering what would have happened if Mr Cyclist had held his nerve and stuck to his line. He probably would have won out, but then I suppose no one wants to test the theory. No NHS out in the bush! I would describe it as a proper African road: awful condition, no real rules, a bit of construction going on, super busy, and a few crashes and breakdowns sprinkled along the route. At about 10:30 we started passing the buses that had left 2 hours before us. One had broken down, but as we overhauled the others, I felt very very lucky. Even motoring along on our express service we didn't get to Nyakanazi, where the tar starts again, until almost 2pm. I spent a lot of the time just watching and observing, enjoying the lack of effort needed to cover the distance, but also feeling a bit detached from the environment compared to riding a bike. We also chatted a bit, and covered both European and African politics to a large extent. I suggested they needed to get the President to visit Kigoma, and then he'd see first-hand how awful the road was, and do something about it. Crispy told me that he was in fact from around these parts, but said that they have an African saying for this type of thing, basically along the lines of 'You can't speak with your mouth full'. It essentially means the guy is gorging himself at the trough of power, and is thus too busy to do anything about it. It did make me chuckle, although the expectations, even from successful or educated members of the public, is depressingly low. Getting all crazy beating the trucks up the hills in Tanzania.The timing put a different complexion on things: whilst I didn't want a lift all the way to the border and ending up doing the 150km from Rusumo to Kigali too quickly, ending up killing time there, I wanted to get to within about 25km of the border by the end of the day. The road continued to be pretty atrocious, and in fact tar and potholes is sometimes worse than a more uniform bumpy dirt road. In the end I got dropped somewhere I can't remember the name of, at about 3:15 with 66km to go until the border. I'd like to have cycled more in Tanzania, but it seemed like the right compromise for getting some riding in, arriving in Kigali on time, and not cheating too much. I had the money chat with Ibrahim and we agreed on 30,000 for the trip. I think we were both happy with that as it gives him about £25 in his pocket as a bonus and it really helped me out. That it worked out cheaper than the bus was just the cherry on top. I was very fortunate to get that lift, so it just goes to show how far a bit of speculative canvassing can go. The guys drove off after a bit of a photoshoot, abandoning me to an ever increasing crowd of onlookers. I bought some peanuts off of the first kid on the scene, and went to the shop for 3 litres of water. From talking to Leo about his cycle across Tanzania, and from observing both the lack of bush pumps, and the amount of people collecting water from rivers in 25l drums and cycling off with them, I decided that I needed plenty of water to see me through. Buying that 3l took me up to 5 total. That's 5kg on the hills, but would be needed if I bush camped. I turned out to be correct in my prediction and quite a few people were after my mansi. Unfortunately I needed it as, even though I didn't set off until gone 3, it was hot and hilly. For that reason I took it fairly steady as my only objective was to get within striking distance of the border for a mid morning crossing. As I'm sure you can see from the pictures, the landscape has taken a real pounding. There were a few charcoal vendors knocking about, but not that many. Probably because there are basically no trees left to charcoal-ify. It was quite a depressing landscape, but also one which I was really glad I'd got out and cycled through: the people were all friendly and enthusiastic, and the landscape was actually quite striking in a lunar, post-apocalyptic kind of way. Gawking at the landscape and degradation kept me quite busy, when I wasn't weaving around potholes or saying hello to people. I was coming down a hill when a whole herd of cattle crossed the road. This was my first encounter of the Akergole cows famous in Rwanda. The best way to describe them would be tuskers as they have the most gigantic horns going. I got serious skull envy looking at the choicest animals. They do look a bit ungainly though as, although it may be down to the environment, there's not to them body or head wise, and then they have a whopping great set of horns up top. In the next hour I'd see a lot more of the beasts, and they looked like some giant hedgehog or ancient instrument of war bearing down on you along the road. Exciting stuff indeed! It was a bit earlier than I was expecting - about 5:30 - but I spotted a pleasant looking place with a banana plantation and bunting hung out. I assumed it was a school or somesuch, and decided to give it a go. After a lot of sign language and ropey Swahili, the security guard let me in after signing some register. Fancy place! I got down the bottom and encountered nuns - lots of them. I decided there and then that I'd probably found a place for the night. I spotted a couple of Mzungus, an old couple from New York called Sergio and Joanna, so approached them for permission. They explained that this was a new project for helping the elderly affected by the refugee crisis and the ensuing 'missing generation' and it was being inaugurated tomorrow. What a coincidence. However, they couldn't give me permission to camp as the hierarchy went up to a certain Sister Madiza, who wasn't about. The Yanks started getting on my nerves after a while but luckily Sister M then turned up. She was very very nice (as you'd expect I suppose) and practical too. She had to get approval from the AG or something like that, so set about calling her. I didn't follow too closely, but rather wolfed down the peanuts I'd bought earlier whilst my fate was being decided. After a bit longer I was in, providing I let them photograph my passport. Rather bizarre but naturally I agreed (as did Sister M on how handsome I was). I set up camp under a tree a way off, after raking out a nice spot. Whilst in the process a nice mik came over to chat. I was quite aware during the approval process that I wasn't on the most PC bike around, and there was an awkward moment when she asked what the bike balls were. 'Oh, just a light in case I have to ride in the dark', I replied breezily. Close call that one. There was no water or anywhere to shower so it was basically bush camping with a security guard at hand (3 in fact). The nuns did give me a bottle of water and some cake things which was good of them. Dinner sorted! I didn't sleep well that night either but not sure why. There was a lot of mooing of cows going on, possibly explained by the hyena calls. I was quite surprised to hear the whoooop and manic cackle of hyena as the environment seemed pretty barren and lifeless. But it was nice to listen to them as I'd not heard any since Botswana I don't think. No lion though luckily - I felt that would have tested the mettle of the night guards a bit too much. I got up early ish to a pretty dull and grey morning. I made a load of porridge which I struggled down over about half an hour. I also had a sore throat again, which was either due to all the dust yesterday, or that cold/flu coming back. Not great but nothing to be done. I was on my bike and on the way out at 8:55 when Sister M turned up with her bakkie full of nuns. After a few photos and her asking for my details I set off. I'm sure she'll be kept quite busy praying for my soul if she starts following the blog! If Rwanda is the land of 1000 hills, then Tanzania is the land of 999. It was a tough 27km to the border, with almost 500m of climbing along the way. I was crossing at Rusumo Falls, a place where international press gathered during the 1994 genocide, and reported seeing bodies swept over the falls at the rate of about 2 a minute. A sobering entrance to Rwanda, and reminder of the horrific recent history of the country. That said, I looked forward to seeing what they'd achieved in the intervening years. The border was nice and easy, and with an East African Tourist Visa under my belt, that would be my last one, as long as I didn't decide to nip over into the Congo. I was a bit concerned for my skulls at the border as I thought Rwandan officials would be the least likely to let me off or make a plan. Thus, rather than being let through, some man (or woman - hard to tell) with a gun summoned me over for a bag search. A bit of a gulp (back skull was just draped over with my trusty proteas hat) and out with the high school French. What exactly are you hoping to find?, and I've been all the way up to here without any searching going on. I showed him/her how boring my front right pannier was and was let through. Phew! I then sorted out a sim, ate some grub, and set off into Rwanda. True to form, it was an uphill away from the border post. Classic. A lorry passed me with a cyclist hanging onto the back. However, I was neither brave nor tired enough to try that out at the moment. On the ascent I accrued various cyclists as I went. They were mostly taxi guys as the ones laden with bananas or rice or maize (or anything - I've seen live goats, about 20 chickens draped over the handlebars, a fridge, crates of used bottles, and milk churns) were pushing rather than cycling. We chatted a bit in a mix of broken Swahili, English (on their part only, obviously) and French, and I was told off for going too fast by some of them. However, aside from the fact that Tina and I ride to our own pace, we had places to be as we had to make Kigali by tomorrow and I wanted to get sub 100km away today. They gradually fell away during the climb, and I found that in general, depending how much they're carrying, they'll draft or pass you on the downhills and fall off on the (rare) flat sections and uphill. Don't get me wrong, if I slapped it into top gear and churned away, they'd not be able to keep up on the descents. But, given the amount of hills I preferred to chill on the downhills and save myself. Having crossed the bridge/border into Rwanda, there was a palpable change. For starters, customs had an X-Ray scanner for the trucks, and then more generally there were actual bins around. It was busy again, with lots of people about, and we were also back in aid 'Mzungu, give me money territory' so it had nuances of Malawi. But I'd say it was Malawi on something like Ritilin, or some other performing or concentration enhancing drug: there was a sense of purpose and intention lacking elsewhere on the continent. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the shift change I had thought might be apparent. There were still a lot of bars, loud music, rubbish and people not appearing to do much, but my general sense of things was that this was a population out to improve their lot, rather than live with it. I also found that here the kids like to chase you a lot more; something that gets a bit awkward on the old hills as sometimes it's tough to shake them. I started dishing out high fives so that they felt they had achieved something and would then desist with the pursuit. Nice friendly people though, I must say. It came across as a very pleasant Africa to me, and I found the sense of purpose and optimism encouraging. The roads were also good, especially compared to Tanzania, and the roadside food was plentiful and decent. Nothing not to like really - except the hills. And boy was it hilly: I was in for over a mile of vertical ascent after a day of just 104km. It was relentless riding in a way, where you either had to work hard on the uphills or concentrate on the downhills. There were occasional flat sections along valley floors but otherwise it was up and down. The countryside had a vague sense of SE Asia to it, and I was surprised to come across a lot of rice paddies and flooded paddy fields. Otherwise the banana tree ruled, and I found myself wondering what the landscape looked like before introduction from S America. A lot of the trees were fast growing non-indigenous types such as Eucalyptus and Pine, and whilst this was a shame, at least they recognised the land-pressure and deforestation issue and had tackled it pretty effectively. The pine-shaded roads also made for pleasant shaded riding, which although in overcast conditions, was still quite warm. We're now officially equatorial, and I was actually expecting more of a riot of greenery. However, I'm not complaining as greenery means rain, which I don't like whilst cycling. That first day in Rwanda I went through good patches and bad. After a hilly 25km to the border, I felt very frustrated, not to mention knackered, after 2 hours and only about 30km done in Rwanda. I stopped for lunch at a buffet type place where you pay per plate. They'd pulled the usual trick of supplying rather small plates, but I followed the local example of going high to compensate for the lack of circumference. I cautiously shuffled back to my table, spilling beans and chips as I went. After demolishing the and washing it down with a Stoney Ginger Beer I settled my tab (£1,60) and got underway. The feed helped me no end, and a good job too as I soon found myself on a rather gargantuan climb. I enjoy a good hill so just plonked Tina in the granny ring and spun up the hill, enjoying the sites (and overtaking). I'm not exactly sure but it was about 300m in one whack. By the time I got to the top I was a sweaty mess so I treated myself to an apple juice and a few cakes whilst I cooled off. In terms of Rwandan sophistication, it was a mixed bag: I'd passed some guys undertaking what looked like a full engine rebuild on a truck on the side of the road - I guess you could say this was primitive, but also argue that they were fixing it rather than just dismantling the vehicle - I also saw another lorry where the guy had his charcoal burner out. You're clearly in for the long haul if that's the case I decided. I couldn't decide whether to vilage camp or not that night, but after no shower the night before, I decided a nice lodge with a warm shower and clean sheets was a better idea. Boy did Rwanda disappoint in those stakes! The place I was directed to was cheap, at only £5 a night, but it really was dive to be honest. In the end, seeing as they couldn't provide a mozzie net, I got the Coffin out and slept in the garden for £3 instead. The bucket shower in a dark and stinky outside bathroom was not what I'd been looking forward to, and in an ironic twist, it was Tina who got a room for the night whilst I camped in the garden. She's living the African Dream that one! It wasn't a great night's sleep but I was up and on the road by about 8:45. After struggling with the porridge yesterday I made do with 3 hard boiled eggs and a packet of party biscuits, with a promise to stop for something more within the hour. I pulled in at a supermarket and scored some meat and egg samoosas and some chippatis and bananas. More excellent scenery and friendly people ensued with lots of friendly waves and bikers coming along for a chat and/or a race. I was only too happy to oblige on both counts. The country is very very hilly, and after a few lumps and bumps for the first 40km I then enjoyed a lovely descent down into the valley floor. The hillsides are mostly cloaked in banana trees (they account for about 30% of productive land apparently), with a bit of terracing, but the valleys are where it's really going on, with a patchwork of rice and other crops creating a lovely mosaic effect. Having zoomed down quite a long way, I was rather worried that a gargantuan climb back out of the valley would appear before Kigali. However, that wasn't the case luckily and I got to the city with only about 800m of ascent. Before getting to the city proper, on one of the descents I decided to put my 'hold your ground' theory to the test. There was a lot of honking but nothing coming the other way, and whilst all the other cyclists around me bailed I tucked myself over but didn't drop off the shoulder. The next minute I'd lost my wing mirror: the bastard had knocked it off! It was a big green Ritco coach, and he got the treatment, not that he cared I expect. Thus, I was a bit nervous going into Kigali as, even though the roads are decent, it's busy with trucks, cars, buses, taxis and pikipikis (motorbike taxis). I'd reattached my mirror so now dived off onto the rough tar when I thought I had to. I found it quite a confusing city, ranged over several hills and valleys, and although perhaps lacking the character and history of some other African cities, first impressions were good. I wish I could say the same for the hostel: I'd heard it was a bit of a meccah in Kigali, but I found it run down and overpriced to be honest. I got to the hostel at around 2:30, and with Dad landing at 8:30 I thought about taking a nap. However, instead I went and took Tina to the car wash for a good scrub after 300km of dusty roads on top of a Land Cruiser. While she was in the spa I went to the supermarket for some food and water (as the hostel was more than doubling the price of a bottle, the cheeky sods). There I found a lion bar, a lion branded beer called 'Turbo King' and some sausage rolls. They went down nicely after the samoosas and ice cream I'd enjoyed about 15km before Kigali. After that I got invited for some beers with some ladies going on one of those overlanding truck holidays. They were a nice enough bunch, and after a few of those I jumped on a pikipiki to the airport. They're slightly worrisome drivers, but for £1,50 fare you can't complain too much. Brook Snr emerged at about 9:15 and I decided to get him straight into things by chucking him on a mototaxi back to the hostel too. Haha. We then had a beer and thrashed out a bit of an itinerary (I'd since found him a bike, with gears and panniers to be delivered to the start of the Congo Nile Trail). We decided one day in Kigali would cover things so we made a fairly early start, heading out on foot, and to spend more time on cycling and more nature based activities. Hopefully this was a decisions that he wouldn't regret too much! First stop was a pretty mediocre craft market (silly idea) and after being ushered into every single stall and repeatedly refusing the same old handcrafts, we pikipikied to the Genocide Memorial. Obviously this wasn't going to be a lighthearted affair given the subject matter, but I thought it was vital that we go in order to get a better understanding of Rwanda's history. We spent a few hours there and it was a very well organised and sensitively handled. I knew a bit about it from having read some books about African history: how Hutu and Tutsi was never an issue or racial divide until the Belgians came in and categorised everyone by wealth (cattle ownership, obviously) and nose shape and size, and then the racial division was exploited until it festered and caused divisions. What did surprise me was how much the writing was on the wall - the Hutu government set up a youth militia, preached a genocidal rhetoric and basically allowed small massacres or pogroms to happen under its watch. The genocide in April 1994 wasn't a coincidence, but rather the culmination of a long planned extermination of the minority Tutsi. What was also horrendously disappointing was the reaction, or rather complete lack of action, from the UN and Colonial powers. In fact, France was responsible for a lot of military aid to the government and then did nothing as it was put into grisly action. One really struggles to comprehend humanity and how we're capable of such things, and in fact you lose face in the human race as you read about the atrocities committed: the children's room was particularly horrific. I really don't know how you start to come back from such a awful massacre and rebuild the country. They'd murdered over a million of their countrymen (the Kigali monument had 259,000 people in mass graves there) and whole communities had just been wiped out. Friends turned on friends, and even family on family. And this wasn't some sterile, distant extermination such as the Jewish gas chambers: this was brutal, visceral, hand-to-hand extermination, with machetes, clubs and blunt objects doing most of the killing. I just don't know how you go from battering infants and children to death to trying to sort everything out and start again. They set up what sounds like a very effective community courts system where you can confess and ask for forgiveness, or go to prison. The volume of cases they dealt with was outstanding, and I think it was quite successful, but it must have been an extremely complex and stressful business. After such a sobering experience we then went into the centre of town to explore a bit, and it's back to business as usual. What these guys have managed to put behind them, and how much they've achieved since, is really, really amazing I think. Well done Rwanda! We had a very civilised French lunch with beer, followed by patisserie and ice cream, which I was very pleased with indeed. After that we got pretty lost due to poor nav skills on my part, sorted Dad out a local sim and went to the extremely well camouflaged tourism office for some maps and general info. That pretty much took care of the day with just enough time for some sundowners on the top floor of a fancy hotel and then a pikipiki back to the hostel. I'd given up trying to find somewhere showing the final Lions test as the Africans don't like rugby so even if they have DSTV they're lacking Supersport 1, and we needed to get underway in order to get down to Nyungwe National Park in the SW corner of Rwanda. Rwanda is very civilised compared to some of the other countries I've been through, and from a bit of asking around, they were big coaches to Huye from Nybagogo Bus station every half hour. The bus station was only about 5km away so I sent Dad and his two rucksacks by pikipiki and cycled Tina laden. I decided to look past the fact that they were Ritco buses - the guys who claimed my wing mirror. The bus rank was seething with people, and we had to navigate the usual mess of touts, hawkers, baggage and buses. But underneath the chaos it was actually pretty straightforward, and we were booked on a bus within 10 minutes, with the bus due to arrive in 20. I had to buy a ticket for Tina too, but an all in price of £5,50 seemed reasonable, especially considering I didn't have to mess around haggling or dismantle her at all. Miraculously the bus arrived on time and we were all loaded and ready to go within about 10 minutes. Normally African buses go when they're full, and not before, so I was rather surprised when it started pulling off without us. We scrambled on and we pulled out of the station at 10:15. It was a very fancy, and empty coach, with USB charge points in the seat. I informed Dad that this was not a normal experience as far as public transport goes on the continent, and that he should in no way get used to it! Sure enough, after 3 hours to Huye we were dropped at the bus station, and it soon became clear that it was going to be very complicated to get both of us, all our luggage, and Tina to Nyungwe National Park. The highlight was definitely coming across a local in a 'Vote for Pedro' jumper, but in the end (after lengthy discussions and negotiations with various parties) I decided to pack Dad into a minibus with all the luggage whilst I undertook some light touring, aiming to meet him at the Uwinka campsite in the park. I'd been really keen on getting the Liemba Ferry up Lake Tanganyika since the very early stages of planning the trip, even before the Kariba ferry was on my radar so it was supposed to be my only nautical treat, and a chance for some free miles and a bit of a rest. I'd also not heard great things about cycling in Tanzania so was looking for a novel way of minimising the distance between Malawi and Rwanda. The Liemba, with its long and chequered history of passenger liner, German warship, scuttled wreck, English rescue project and passenger liner once more. It is now run by the Tanzanian government and is the oldest (over 100 years) commercial passenger and freight service in the world. Quite the accolade, and impressive if not a little off putting! The fly in the ointment of engaging the services of such a quirky vessel was the organisational aspect of things. I'd tried some extensive googling on her, but apart from finding out where she sailed to and from, and some bits and pieces about her history I was none the wiser as to whether she was a) actually working and b) when she left if indeed the old bird was. During my many hours in the saddle, when not musing over the meaning of life or waving at locals, I would sometimes turn my mind to the Liemba. Depending on how rambunctious I was feeling I would oscillate between giving up and playing it safe or just going all in and hoping for the best. The crux of the matter was this: Mpulungu, the Zambian starting point of the Liemba's journey was about 300km off the route, kms that could be out towards northerly progress through Tanzania by land. Seeing as, depending on road condition and terrain, I would quite easily turn my nose up at only a 30km detour, this was quite a serious undertaking. I would often consult African 'fundis' on the ferry but always came up with a blank. And when I had access to a computer and good internet I would often attack the issue with renewed fervour. I emailed port agents in Tanzania and posh lodges on the lake, and to no avail, but eventually I gleaned that she runs on a fortnightly schedule, leaving Kigoma Southbound on a Wednesday and turning round in Mpulungu on a Friday. Further electronic rummaging put the Friday's as 2nd and 4th of the month. Seeing as I had Sam with me 10/24 June that worked quite nicely for the 30th June sailing. In the end I decided that I would really regret it if I didn't at least try and catch her. And so, when Sam and I parted ways on 23rd June it was Mpulungu that I was aiming for, and by the latest 29th June. I had to cover about 550km in a week so nothing to stress about really, but a deadline is still enough to make you a bit nervous when cycle touring. I've covered the cycle to Mpulungu already so I shan't bore you with those details again. I only want to say that even once there and waiting I wasn't terribly optimistic. Hopeful would probably sum up my attitude best as the old African adage 'Believe it when you see it', seemed particularly relevant to an ancient old ferry that gave only the most basic of schedules. I wasn't so much worried about it not running anymore as it's the only service of its kind, and a vital trade link up and down the lake (It used to sail all the way up to Bujumbura, Burundi but now stops at Kigoma due to security situation there), but if it was late or broken down, wasted time would be a disappointment. The Swiss/Germans must have been feeling very Mediterranean when researching as they turned up a week too early, and if that had been me I'd have been pretty bleak about it. Anyway, aside from getting there a bit early, things had gone very well and as Frisia approached I was both quite excited and grimly pessimistic. No one in Mpulungu had any idea when she'd arrive: indeed most people just laughed at you when asked. Not the best sign, but the Liemba plays by her own rules, much like Tina and I, so we respect and understand that. In my mind I'd decided that she would arrive at about 4pm, so when at 2:30 the gate guy at Nkupi came and told me that the Liemba was about to come past I thought it was a good omen. Early?! Impossible! I dashed down to the waterfront bar to ogle and photograph her. She's an elegant looking ship, I must say, with angles and a profile you just don't see anymore. An antique beauty. The other 4 bike wiffers suddenly tuned into their nationalities and had set off for the harbour within 20 minutes of her revival. I decided I knew better, and loitered about camp reading my kindle and talking to Merino. He's a good lad and a really like him. He said he used to have a girlfriend called Tina and I said 'I reckon she was also black' *laughs* then followed it with 'Did she have balls too, like my Tina does?' *mega LOLs bent double*. Merino you dirty old dog! In the end I decided to play it safe and headed down about 4 - no point missing her after all this effort! I also gathered there was a fair bit of admin to take care of in the port. Some American guy had turned up at the bar that afternoon and got my haggling juices flowing - he reckoned if you were smart you could get a 1st class fare for $20 rather than $100. Now, the guy was a bit of an idiot: he picked on some poor chick who'd obviously had a serious make up shocker with a greenish facial hue due to poor foundation application repeatedly shouting at her 'why is your face (expletive) green?!', and even asking others the question too, who were luckily polite enough to stay out of it. If he'd been a bit funnier or subtle about it - maybe leading with are you jealous of someone, or a hulk reference - if would have been OK, but he went in for the classic shouty Yank tactic. I knocked his foul smelling energy drink on the floor in revenge. Anyway, I was now plotting my discount tactics as I pedaled to the port. The other lot had fallen at the first hurdle and were stopped at some police checkpoint right inside the port. I left my bike with them and some guy started chirpsing me about searching my bags. I told him I'd got this far without a bag search and I wasn't going to start emptying my panniers to satisfy his ego. I then promptly stalked off towards the ferry before he started moaning even more. I surveyed the scene first. Organised chaos would probably best describe it. People absolutely everywhere with an endless stream coming on and off the boat, an bit of a market on the side, some fancy bits of equipment parked to the side, and a crappy old tracked crane sitting in a prodigious pool of oil doing all the work. Most of the cargo being unloaded was kapenta in 220kg boxes (the African version of whitebait) and it was interesting to hear that a lot of it was going to Western DRC. I pointed out that the W shore of the lake was DRC, but apparently the roads are so bad it's easier to go all the way across Zambia and then North. There seemed to be no control or protocol in terms of boarding so I just wandered on and headed for the bridge. It became clear quite quickly that the Liemba was built back in a time of a much shorter population as I cracked my head on the first staircase. This would become an extremely painful theme of the trip. On the bridge I found Yusuf, the First Mate and introduced myself. After a lengthy handshake he took my hand and took my to Captain Titus. We shared some chit chat and whatnot but I got stonewalled on the discount front, saying it was government property and couldn't adjust the fares. Booooooring! I was then handed to the ticket officer and this oke was even harder work. I tried the whole 'I'm not fussed about a receipt or ticket', but again I got nowhere. Oh well, worth a try, and Yusuf was a nice guy. So, a full $100 first class fare paid I went back to sort everything else out. The boat was chokker but it turns out a lot of them just want to get on the boat for some kind of kudos, and then disembark before she leaves. On the back deck there were a few locals with very fancy cameras which made me double take. It turns out they'll take a photo of you on the boat and print it out for K10. Quite bizarre but I've seen it in other places too. I even ran into my mate Boniface again who had a picture taken too. Once off the boat I did immigration on my way past, and got stamped out. We were leaving on the Liemba! I then went to get Tina and found a rather unofficial looking chap 'from the Parks & Wildlife board'. I'd bagged up the skull before I left camp, but the carrier bags in this part of the world are somewhat translucent and I was now being interrogated about it. I was asked what it was and then told that it was 'concerning'. I went for him pretty hard and wasn't in much of a mood for his petty bureaucracy. I just told him what it was, that it was from SA, not Zambia, and that I'd cycled all the way here with no issues. I suppose I knew this day was coming and he was still being a wiffer so I played my trump card - my curio and treatment certificate from SA. Boy did he moan about that - no date stamp and some other boring stuff. To be fair I'd not even filled in what type of animal it was from but whatever excuse he came up with I just said 'So what' or 'Don't be ridiculous'. I obviously gave him a good mauling as he ended rather pathetically with a 'Someone yesterday stole some lion's teeth and I'm looking for them'. I spared him the indignity of asking if he actually meant lion's paw rather than teeth as I was quite happy to have sent him packing without too much trouble and kept my juju intact. However, it was then onto the next saga - police bag search. I huffed and puffed a fair bit but dialed down the derisiveness as these were proper officials. We stared the dance with a passport check and whilst he was fannying around I got his name and started worming him a bit. All he really wanted to have a look at was my first aid kit. I handed over the plastic bag full of various bits and pieces and it soon became clear he was looking for drugs. I'd heard they were a bit funny about anti histamine and couldn't remember if I had any or not. He asked me about some pills and I had no idea what they were so I just told him they were for Mzungu tummy and feigned taking a stressful dump. That seemed to do the trick and I was given the all clear. Victor was actually a good guy and we chatted for a bit before I decided it was time to get on the vessel and relax. But as I set off with Tina I was called back again, I ignored it for a bit but they got quite ansy so returned. This time it was to pay port fees of about 80p. What a convoluted process it all was! Anyway, I got on the Liemba and found the bed attendant, who showed me to my room. It wasn't a bad little cabin - double bunk with a fan, wardrobe, desk and sink. I dumped my stuff in there and promptly hit my head on the light fitting. That would happen many more times, mostly when I first got up. We hung around quite a while waiting for customs clearance but got underway at about 7:15. I have no idea if that was on schedule or not, because they don't tell you, but I think it was a bit on the late side. Once underway I went to the canteen for fish and rice, and then bought a beer and took it out to the foc'scle to enjoy. It was a well stocked bar with all the traditional Tanzanian beers such as Safari, Serengeti and Kilimanjaro that I remembered from our last Hazell holiday to that part of the world, plus a new one called Balimi. I selected Safari as it seemed appropriate (means journey in Swahili) and it was good, if not a little too warm. I'd increasingly not really hung out with the Germans as I came to the conclusion that they're a bit of a strange and boring bunch. Nice enough, but they just seem to sit around (and talk in German) so most of the time I just decide not to bother with them. I noticed Tanzanian immigration officials on board so I asked them if I could get my visa squared away before arriving in Kigoma to save some time and hassle. No problem said Aden the official, so that was all relatively painless (but painfully slow). I helped out the other lot by giving them the forms to fill in and advising them to do it here. The first stop out of 17 (yes, 17!) was in a couple of hours. I stayed up until we arrived at about 9:30 and then went to bed. Apparently we were in port for 5 hours as the shoreside crane broke down and it had to be done by the old on board derrick. It can only handle 2,5 tons so slow going. All this passed me by as I was sleeping quite soundly, but when I got up in the morning I did think that the hold was looking rather full. She is a 1 hold/1 hatch lady that can take about 250mt of cargo. Having said that, I'm pretty sure they'd exceeded that even after the first few stops. I'd be interested in getting hold of a tally clerk and seeing what his totals are! It turns out the Germans stayed up until 5 watching the loading (what did I say about them being boring). I asked if they'd also been boozing. Negative. They certainly didn't have bang tidy cycling bodies like yours truly so it's not like it was a health decision. Not sure I could sit there watching a crane for 8 hours or whatever, especially with no liquid sustenance. After a spell finishing off Dorian Gray on the bow (good book) I went for a general poke around the vessel. At this point it wasn't that busy so I checked out the cheap seats in 3rd class and then headed up to the bridge to greet all my new mates up there. I spoke to John the Chief Engineer for quite a while. She's twin engine and twin prop, powered by BMW engines, with Caterpillar generators. The boat struck me as pretty up together for her age, but I'm sure she keeps John pretty busy! The Liemba is classed (like an MOT or roadworthy for a car) by Lloyds but one wonders if she'd pass a proper inspection rather than an African Lakes Official one. After a brief tour I met the two Mzungus in the next door cabin who embarked during the night. More Germans, called Leo and Katja, but a very interesting couple: Katja was working here for an NGO in Kagera region, Tanzania, trying to teach the smallholders sustainable agriculture, and they'd both cycled from Asia to Germany twice! It was great to find some more interesting and gregarious travelers to talk to and we chatted for quite a few hours and took lunch together in the canteen. After lunch we stopped in Kipili, which actually had a proper pier and everything. It looked like a longish stop so I got off and had a wonder around, talking to some locals there and taking some land based snaps of the Liemba. There was a lorry there with bags of rice on and some bikes so I chatted to them a bit. They wanted me to do some work (obviously) so I obliged. Apparently these bags were rice, and 100kg a go. It didn't look large enough to be 100 so I was reckoning on about 50kg or so. Mother of God it was heavy. Luckily I didn't have far to go, just getting it from the truck to the cargo net. I staggered over there, cursing like a sailor, to much laughter from onlookers. Conclusion: comfortably 100kg! To console myself I decided to do something I was good at rode one of their bikes around for a bit. I then got back on the Liemba and was invited into the hold for a bit of stevedoring. 'Why not', I thought; it'll be more interesting than just watching and waiting for them to finish. I think the oke was a bit shocked when I actually jumped down in there shook off my slops and started helping out. Seeing as they're 100kgs you mostly work in pairs, moving the bags from where the derrick dumps them, 20 at a time, in the central hatch, out to the edges. My lack of Swahili meant a few coordination issues initially, but it's definitely not rocket science so we got the hang of it. An upbringing of child labour lumping around bags of cattle feed and shoveling grain bins means I'm quite the worker and they ended up pretty impressed with me I think. After that cargo was done I scurried back to my first class cabin to pick up my kindle and crack on with Fitzgerald's 'Tender is the Night'. The white, erudite stevedore working rice cargo in deepest, darkest Africa. There's a Hollywood script there somewhere, I'm sure! In the evening I went back for another stint with my boys, headlamp and all, and then after braving the loos for a shower, had dinner with the Germans. When they started ordering coffee (or in fact hot water so that they could make their own) I mumbled my excuses, grabbed a beer from the bar and headed up to the roof to type up some blog. It was slightly chillsome so after an hour I headed to my cabin and bed, hitting my head again in the process. Getting up Sunday morning the ship was noticeably busier. There had been a couple of stops in the night and now where there was space to relax or walk, there was now sleeping bodies, goats and other miscellaneous cargo. I sought refuge on the bridge with my mate Titus, and I stayed there for a few hours surveying the pandemonium below. I'd heard a lot of banging in the morning (and I think not much moving) and it turns out we're an engine down. Naughty Man B&W! I later caught Chief Engineer John in the bar when we were still running at 7-8 knots instead of 10. I went down to the engine room to see if I could lend a hand or impart some expertise but it turns out they're quite a lot larger, noisier and more complicated than a Land Rover. As I said earlier, the Liemba makes 17 stops along the way, with 4 official ports, only one of which is in Zambia. The total trip distance is about 572km, and that's not even to the top of the Lake! It's largely a coastal voyage due to the amount of stops she makes, so being able to see the shore most of the time is quite reassuring seeing as she's bloody old, June and July are supposedly the roughest months, and I highly doubt there is an evacuation drill or indeed enough life jackets on board to go around. That said, the waters still run deep - up to 500m in places. In the scheme of maximum depth of 1600m for the lake, it's not much, but certainly enough to drown in. After my engine tour I caught up with my travel journal in the VIP cabin as I'd made friends with the sales rep the day before. As the boat filled with every stop even the gangways became clogged with slumbering bodies. I came to feel pretty guilty moving people out of the way to get into my first class cabin but there we go. The hatch cover was put on and this created a new surface for sleeping, drying fish and rice, and general cargo storage. It was quite a jolly affair, with Yusuf playing music through the PA system to the guys on the main deck. Against the background of Tanzanian hip hop (I'm guessing here) and chatter, you could hear the occasional wail of the goats and crow of a cockerel. For the afternoon stop at around 4 I'd decided that it was finally time to fully immerse myself in the lake by leaping off the bow. So I got the GoPro out and fought my way to the front. I then made the mistake of peering over and getting put off. There was also a large audience which did and didn't help matters. Anyway, after explaining what I was doing I then leapt off. Very fun indeed. I then swam about a bit and waved at the all before clambering back in via a trailing fender. I was going to have another go dressed as Napoleon but I'd had enough of the gawking! After that it was back up to the bridge for more chit chat and kindle reading. Then soon enough it was time for a Serengeti sundowner. I finally managed to get the Germans involved: well 2 of them had beers, one a Fanta, whilst the last didn't have anything and sat facing the opposite way. Classic!
The Liemba was absolutely packed to the rafters now, quite possibly beyond the Plimsoll line, so dinner took about an hour to come, compared to 5 minutes on the first night. I then retired to the top roof deck for a bit of stargazing and caught Yusuf on his ciggy break. Boy does that man like to talk but a very nice man. I had to set him straight on his perceived virtues of one Colonel Gadaffi, but otherwise we mostly agreed on African politics and it's history. The penultimate stop was at about 10:30 and we got to Kigoma at about 2am Monday morning. But because they're a thrifty bunch and don't want to pay the stevedores over time or extra port fees, we waited outside the port and didn't dock until 8:30am. I snuck up to the bridge again to say thanks and goodbye and even blagged the honour of the last foghorn blast of the journey - letting all of Kigoma know that we are coming to berth now. I'm not sure it would have come as surprise as we'd been sitting there for hours, but boy did I enjoy giving them all a good deafening. It's a hell of a mess with people pouring off and dragging bits of cargo (and probably ship) with them, so I waited for about another hour until it had all died down. All in all it was an absolutely fantastic experience, and I really really enjoyed the ride. Even if it hadn't been an awesome, and not to mention a quintenessential African experience, it was 570km of easy mileage so also worth it in that respect. I wholeheartedly recommend jumping on her for a slow chug up or down the Lake (up you'll see mostly rice and maize, and south it'll be mostly palm oil and construction material). She's a charming old thing and it definitely gets chalked up as a trip highlight. |
AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
Categories |