This adventure pales Part I into a speck from the point of view of planning. We
shall see how food, people, landscapes, fauna, cultural and other aspects fare
in comparison. Booking our permits to view Gorillas for 1 hour on a particular
day (depending on the mood of our ape cousins), meticulously
planning the Rwenzori trek inventory, agonising over logistics, figuring out
the most secure way of making payments, scouring forums and chat rooms on
various Ugandan attractions and dangers, including the most gruesome disease
that won’t kill you, Bilharzia. There was a great fear of
missing the flight and not actually fulfil what my buddy, Jase and myself had
spent 6 months preparing for.
DEPARTURE
The European winter was in full swing with ankle deep snow falling the night before the departure date. With my experience of trains breaking down from time to time on the way to Schiphol airport, I tried to get the Rotterdam train station early enough to have a choice of trains to allow me to arrive in Schiphol without sweating beads of anxiety. I had luck on my side, being tall, and despite there not being any emergency exit seats on the plane, with vital extra leg room, it turned out that I had a seat just behind this row. It seems that there was no bum for that coveted seat in front of me so I turned hope into action and hopped on that seat of gold before anyone behind me could get wise. While I was on that high, an old man on the opposite side of the aisle asked for the English language Turkish paper (obviously a frequent flyer!) that he didn't see at the entrance to the plane. The hostess whipped it up from the overhead cabin in the first class side, just on the other side of the curtain in front of me and then I asked for a copy too! So there I was sitting smug with a paper, leg room (with my feet literally sticking into first class) and an attentive air hostess! The only thing missing is a chit chat with Lionel Messi and Kobi Bryant, like on the ad!
DEPARTURE
The European winter was in full swing with ankle deep snow falling the night before the departure date. With my experience of trains breaking down from time to time on the way to Schiphol airport, I tried to get the Rotterdam train station early enough to have a choice of trains to allow me to arrive in Schiphol without sweating beads of anxiety. I had luck on my side, being tall, and despite there not being any emergency exit seats on the plane, with vital extra leg room, it turned out that I had a seat just behind this row. It seems that there was no bum for that coveted seat in front of me so I turned hope into action and hopped on that seat of gold before anyone behind me could get wise. While I was on that high, an old man on the opposite side of the aisle asked for the English language Turkish paper (obviously a frequent flyer!) that he didn't see at the entrance to the plane. The hostess whipped it up from the overhead cabin in the first class side, just on the other side of the curtain in front of me and then I asked for a copy too! So there I was sitting smug with a paper, leg room (with my feet literally sticking into first class) and an attentive air hostess! The only thing missing is a chit chat with Lionel Messi and Kobi Bryant, like on the ad!
From sub-zero in Rotterdam
to about 10 degrees in Istanbul, this stark contrast will probably diminish
when the experiences that await on the Rwenzori range begin. I stripped from my
winter jacket but my fleece beneath was too hot, as it seemed that the airport
air-conditioning was not working properly (maybe never does!). The layover was
not too long, with enough time to stretch the legs and get tempted by Turkish
delights. There are lots of sample platters in several duty free shops so you
can snack up whilst pretending to be interested in buying something. The plan
was to meet Jase at the gate for the flight to Entebbe via Kigali (he was
arriving from Manchester, England) and I began getting worried that he might
not make it as we were beginning to board. Luckily he made it on time, so the
sequel to Annapurna 07 was go, go, go!
ENTEBBE
Got a crappy seat in this
packed flight but at least I had an aisle seat! There was this poor Aussie
fellow to the left who was taller than me and clearly not at ease in his seat.
He had just endured a whole day flying from Melbourne to Istanbul. I was pretty
mashed up myself as I had a busy week at work. It was an odd time to start a 7
hour flight, at 6.40pm. This meant that we would land in Kigali at 1.30am then Entebbe at 4.20am. We were served an early dinner but as
soon as I dozed off (a rare event for me on a plane) they flipped the lights
back on for a 1am breakfast! The price one pays for the cheapest flight to
Uganda.
The Rolex: Chapati rolled over egg. A classic Ugandan street dish. Sometimes with cabbage or tomato thrown in. Courtesy of Awava blog
How to make a rolex. Courtesy of Peter Fella.
So it was all bloodshot
eyes on arrival in the famous Entebbe Airport. Some might say infamous. For it was here that the Raid on Entebbe took place. It is hardly a reassuring example of a secure airport but we are talking about 1976 in a Uganda under the charismatic buffoon of a dictator, Idi Amin. An Israeli team of commandos breached Uganda's airspace to rescue their citizens taken hostage by Palestinian freedom fighters on a plane that was forced to land in Entebbe.
I was now lugging around my winter jacket and fleece, items that will be absolutely useless until we go above about 4,000m in altitude on the Rwenzori trek. In my stupor I queued up with everyone else at passport control before noticing the very empty East African Community desk. The immigration officer took his sweet time with my passport whilst discussing some visas with a colleague. He asked me to fill in my address during my stay on the immigration form, and I was doing this he accepted some Canadians to come to his desk. I didn't care too much as I was fumbling through my paperwork though most would not be happy with being shunted aside in this way. I could eavesdrop into the visa capers of this couple that seemed to have problems renewing them. There was some chatter about the fine details of visas beyond 3 month stays. The officer finally asked what the purpose of their visit was. The man answered, '' To spread the good word!''. Aha - missionaries.
Raid on Entebbe: A digital reenactment. Courtesy of Greatwhite Dopey.
I was now lugging around my winter jacket and fleece, items that will be absolutely useless until we go above about 4,000m in altitude on the Rwenzori trek. In my stupor I queued up with everyone else at passport control before noticing the very empty East African Community desk. The immigration officer took his sweet time with my passport whilst discussing some visas with a colleague. He asked me to fill in my address during my stay on the immigration form, and I was doing this he accepted some Canadians to come to his desk. I didn't care too much as I was fumbling through my paperwork though most would not be happy with being shunted aside in this way. I could eavesdrop into the visa capers of this couple that seemed to have problems renewing them. There was some chatter about the fine details of visas beyond 3 month stays. The officer finally asked what the purpose of their visit was. The man answered, '' To spread the good word!''. Aha - missionaries.
Idi Amin at a Ugandan air force parade ( 9 minute clip). From a movie documentary: General Idi Amin Dada: A Self Portrait. Courtesy of Bladesman123.
KAMPALA
Leaving the airport was smooth, our (on time!...not ''This Is Africa'' time - T.I.A.) airport transfer driver, Elias, was there on time to take us first to the Nkuringo Walking Safaris office to finalise arrangements for our trek with them and one of the main showcases of the trip, gorilla tracking. He would then drop us at the Red Chilli Hideaway Hostel in Kampala later on. It was about 5am and the sun had not yet risen. The Entebbe road heading to Kampala was quiet with the exception of early risers heading to work and quite a few athletes taking advantage of the cool air before the sun comes out to scorch the earth. We decided to trying get some cash from an ATM before arriving at the hostel. The driver selected a Stanbic Bank just past the city centre. The maximum withdrawal limit is USh 700,000 ($265) but the darn thing could only give us USh 250,000 ($95)!! We were pretty low on the learning curve and we would discover more later in the day. A red haze became apparent at this point and by the time we arrived at Red Chili, the sun was up.
There was time for micro-napping at the hostel and tucking into B.A.B (big a$$ breakfast with all the items you dream about the moment before waking up with a nasty hunger pang) before thinking about heading into Kampala to run preparatory errands. It is very easy to get transportation. Just walk onto any major road and there is a boda boda (or just simply boda) rider within seconds slowing down as they approach you soliciting their services. The name derives from bicycle transportation that has been and remains instrumental in ferrying passengers and cargo across the Uganda – Kenya border. The name evolved towards any bicycle and motorcycle public transportation in East Africa. I observed that they tended to hang around for a while then if the potential customer has no interest they gracefully carried on. These gentle hustlers make Kenyan tradesmen look like vultures. We decided to skimp it out and grab the taxi instead costing less than a dollar! It is a public minivan, that is known in Kenya as a matatu. That name comes from numerous (ma) estate wagons that used to cost just 3 (tatu) cents at some point in colonial Kenya, long before 1963. In Tanzania, they call them dala dala. Probably a corruption of the word dollar.
Speaking of which, the 2012 Olympic Marathon Champion, Stephen Kiprotich is still thirsty for more, as observed on this Kampala billboard.
Downtown the ATM capers
continued. We must have tried all the different banks that Uganda has to offer
but Stanbic, that we had bitterly baptised 'Stanbitch', turned out to be our
only banking friend. They were the only ones who could give us $95 max, the
daily limit! Our ATM hopping seemed to
guide us through some notable capital city landmarks like the parliament
buildings, the Sheraton hotel (and it's non-public park) that has had its name changed as many times as the regime since independence in 1962, and the independence monument. At one roundabout we came across what initially looked like a subterranean shopping mall but turned to
be a couple of bars on one end and dozens of ladies cooking along the passage
way! One young man said we couldn't continue through but one of these nice
ladies overruled him and let us through. It was nice to discover an underground scene but I guess to do our whistle stop tour of the city we had to miss out on other interesting spots.
We emerged near the entrance to the parliament buildings that had some tape cordoning off a patch of grass. We shrugged our shoulders, skipped over the tape and ambled across. That drew the attention of a guard who beckoned us over. Uh-oh, I thought...this is going to be awkward. Before my bribe radar could switch on, we decided to ask him how to get to a particular Stanbitch (Stanbic, I mean) to continue playing with the ATM slot machines. He politely and authoritatively gave us a vague idea (less vague than before) of how to get there. He must be spending too much time with politicians.
By this time it was mid afternoon and the sun was pelting us with ultra-hot rays which usually stirs a bit of thirst. We decided to indulge in some Bell beer that was apparently ice cold when served but lukewarm by the time the froth hit the bottom. Never mind, we were getting distracted by some giant storks perched on a tree on the Kampala - Jinja Road. These amazing, lanky-legged birds can stand still in limited space, with 3 storks sharing a branch at times. They are such a common feature here that nobody pays attention to their looming shadows and wide wing span.
In front of the Independence Monument
We emerged near the entrance to the parliament buildings that had some tape cordoning off a patch of grass. We shrugged our shoulders, skipped over the tape and ambled across. That drew the attention of a guard who beckoned us over. Uh-oh, I thought...this is going to be awkward. Before my bribe radar could switch on, we decided to ask him how to get to a particular Stanbitch (Stanbic, I mean) to continue playing with the ATM slot machines. He politely and authoritatively gave us a vague idea (less vague than before) of how to get there. He must be spending too much time with politicians.
By this time it was mid afternoon and the sun was pelting us with ultra-hot rays which usually stirs a bit of thirst. We decided to indulge in some Bell beer that was apparently ice cold when served but lukewarm by the time the froth hit the bottom. Never mind, we were getting distracted by some giant storks perched on a tree on the Kampala - Jinja Road. These amazing, lanky-legged birds can stand still in limited space, with 3 storks sharing a branch at times. They are such a common feature here that nobody pays attention to their looming shadows and wide wing span.
Thirst quenched, we were
now on a quest to get gumboots in anticipation of the Rwenzori bogs. We made
our way to the Garden City Mall near the enormous Uganda City Golf Course, another big green area that is non-public. Right next to it a large
complex of garden restaurants: Centenary Park. We discovered the best beer for our
palate, Nile Special but a horrible encounter with dry, hard, over salty,
overcooked roast goat plus a glimpse to one of the slowest waitering
performances I have ever seen. I mostly observed the waitering staff by the bar
having a chat and the chef emerging to check the open air barbecue grill at
very big intervals. No wonder my meat tasted like salted wood! On the plus
side, the ugali was sublime and the waitress very polite. The DJ at this spot
must have a multi-personality disorder playing Kenny G cheesy jazz, dirty southern US
crunk hip-hop then back to Kenny G, and so on.
...meaning, we are here to stay. Embargo or no embargo!
The sun had by now set and we
decided it was safer to get a taxi. We had assumed that the taxi driver knew
how to get to the Red Chili Hideaway after we gave him directions. Within
minutes, peering into the unlit streets, I realised that we must have taken the
wrong turning somewhere. I asked the driver to double back a bit to a major
junction and take another street. We still couldn't recognise the same
buildings and roadside features we saw in the day. The driver was gracious
enough to ask passers-by for directions but the feedback he was getting kept us
going in loops and at one point heading back towards the capital. A normally 30
minute drive took us an hour. I didn't feel much anxiety as I felt remarkably
safer in Kampala at night than in Nairobi; the taxi driver was calm and not
abusive at all, and at the end, after apologising, he admitted that he used to
drive taxi's, left the job for a while before coming back. We concluded with happy handshakes and
''nice time''!
I suddenly had a recollection of a rather nasty taxi ride experience I had in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where the driver at first declared that the destination, Urqiza (a surburb) was too far away. I showed him a map of the city to convince him that it is not that far ( for crying out loud, what madman passes on a lucrative piece of business). He refused to look at it and arose my suspicions that he cannot read maps or has literacy issues. He agreed then sped off like Schumacher on steroids. It was Sunday lunchtime and I was heading off to a friend's place for a barbecue. He wove through traffic like he was on the back end of bank heist. Looking at his sullen face, he looked like he perhaps was having problems at home but I was more concerned for my personal safety than giving him chill out advice at over 100 kph. We almost got lost, and he threatened to drop me off in the middle of some barrio. Well, in the end I lived to tell the tale of irritation, paranoia, arguments and finally throwing the bare minimum of the fare at the driver in disgust.
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Click here for the Kampala photo album.
I suddenly had a recollection of a rather nasty taxi ride experience I had in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where the driver at first declared that the destination, Urqiza (a surburb) was too far away. I showed him a map of the city to convince him that it is not that far ( for crying out loud, what madman passes on a lucrative piece of business). He refused to look at it and arose my suspicions that he cannot read maps or has literacy issues. He agreed then sped off like Schumacher on steroids. It was Sunday lunchtime and I was heading off to a friend's place for a barbecue. He wove through traffic like he was on the back end of bank heist. Looking at his sullen face, he looked like he perhaps was having problems at home but I was more concerned for my personal safety than giving him chill out advice at over 100 kph. We almost got lost, and he threatened to drop me off in the middle of some barrio. Well, in the end I lived to tell the tale of irritation, paranoia, arguments and finally throwing the bare minimum of the fare at the driver in disgust.
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Click here for the Kampala photo album.
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