Escapade 19- The End Cometh

Alas, the time has come for the bedtime story of my last three East Africa Trekking Adventures.  What a fabulous six weeks or so!!!!  The conclusion begins with my arrival in Kampala, Uganda after my brilliant decision to split my ten hour bus ride (which would have been actually 12 hours) into a two trip affair, with an overnight stay at a hotel in some long forgotten city.  Vivaciously awake, I checked into my hostel and called the whitewater rafting company to ensure that would be picking me up at 6:30 in the am.  With a confirmed reservation from the most reputable of companies, I decided to spend the rest of the day camped out at the backpacker’s hostel.  If you have never stayed at one, basically, it is a special brand of inexpensive hotel with a variety of amenities.  There are dorms and single and double room options of course, and almost inevitably, there will be an attached travel agency, a bar and internet access.  When entering such a place, one will find people scattered around, drinking coffee or beer, reading a book or checking through their Lonely Planet guidebook to see what inexpensive adventure appeals to them.  When approaching one of these backpackers, one must always be careful to follow carefully crafted protocols.  First, introduce yourself and where are you from.  I’m Robert from Texas.  Secondly, after receiving the same information in return, you must then begin to discuss where each person has traveled on this current trip and for how long.  I will be in Africa for five months.  I am traveling for the first six weeks, spending a week in Kampala for a workshop, and then volunteering in Nairobi for three months.  I am into my last week of travel.  I’ve been to Maasai Mara in Kenya, Zanzibar, Ngorogoro in Tanzania, around Kigale, Rwanda, visited gorillas in Musanze, spent several days in southern Uganda and now I’m going whitewater rafting on the Nile tomorrow.  After hearing about the other person’s trip, which again must include the amount of travel time, because most backpackers don’t travel for a week or two but for weeks and weeks and months and months, the two said backpackers will then discuss all the other places they have visited during their lives, comparing and contrasting and secretly preparing to visit some of the interesting places they other person has described.  A true backpacker begins to plan the next trip the day after the current trip begins.  After the long introductions, they will discuss where they are going in the next couple of days.  If the two hit it off and if they are going in similar directions, then there exists the possibility that they will travel together. 

With a two day trip already set for the next days, I went into my single room, enjoyed the music coming from the disco nearby for a few minutes and then prayed that the club would be shut down immediately for violating any fire code, so I could sleep and gather strength for the next day’s adventure.

I woke up early, packed my bags and dropped them off in the luggage room at the hostel.  Since backpackers go back and forth to various places, often returning to the same place, every hostel realizes that they must be able to hold luggage while backpackers take smaller trips around the area with only minimal luggage.  I would be spending the next night in a nearby city after the rafting and then I would return to Kampala the night after.  I just needed an overnight bag, not all of my stuff. 

I must admit that I was very excited.  I hadn’t rafted on rapids in several years, and I had a blast the last time in Costa Rica.  I boarded the bus with some of my compatriots, and we headed off, picking up rafters along the way.  In the bus, we all greeted each other and then privately decided who we  trusted to raft alongside.  I quickly decided I wanted to raft with a group of three Israelis (Israelis are cool and pretty tough) and a medical student from England.   Upon arrival, I then quickly gathered the five of us together along with a couple of nice Kenyans and we suited up for the trip.  The boats looked very seaworthy and all of our helmets and lifejackets fit perfectly, an excellent sign that my choice of the most reputable of companies had been a good one.  Our guide, a professional rafter from Canada, also instilled confidence.  He had been living in Africa for several months and was contracted for five more months as he saved up money to return to Canada.  An excellent guide, he led us through a brief training before hitting the rapids, explaining clearly that if we didn’t tip over during any of the rapids, he would tip us over at the end.   I appreciated his honestly….I’m not so sure the other rafters did.

The Nile is a completely different rafting animal than I had ever experienced.  The river is so wide that often that the rapids lie on only one side of the Nile, so that we could simply veer around the rapids if needed.  When I rafted in Costa Rica, the river was very much more narrow, and we simply had no choice but to go down every set rapids.

I volunteered to take a front seat, because I knew from experience that the front was just more fun (Although after lunch I switched seats with Tom, the medical student, because he wanted a turn there).  The rapids themselves were pretty good and we actually had a nice quiet relaxing ride in between the eight rapids.  I know you are wondering whether I feel out of the boat.  The answer is of course emphatically “No.”  When we hit the first rapid, the boat made the conscious decision to spit me out, but I didn’t fall. 

After a long day of rapids, and an excellent lunch in between, we came to the last rapids of the trip.    Bearing in mind our guide’s remarks about tipping us over no matter what, I had the sneaking suspicion that our boat would overturn on the last go around.  And sure enough, we tipped over spectacularly on the last series of rapids.  To this day, I am not sure whether our guide tipped us over intentionally (a review of the film proved inconclusive), but I do know this from previous experiences.  Tipping over is absolutely the best part of a rafting trip.  If I don’t tip over at some point, then the trip has not been a success, and our guide obviously agrees with my philosophy.

Along with the brilliant rafting expedition along the Nile, the company gave us all a free night’s stay in a dorm room at its campsite.  Well anything for free must be something worth taking!!  However in this case, I made the right call.  The campsite sits along a beautiful section of the Nile and had the warmest showers in all of East Africa.  Before hitting the sack, Tom and I quickly jumped on the back of a motorcycle and drove to the source of the Nile.  We arrived via a rented boat, just as the sun finished setting.  And there we stood looking in awe at the source of the most powerful river in the world.  Livingston and Stanley search for it.  Men have died for it.  How can I, a mere mortal, then even attempt to describe one of the most famous sites on earth.   Here goes…you know when someone goes underwater and a few air bubbles surface to the top of the water…that’s what it looks like.  It’s basically a little area of bubbles… that’s all that separates Lake Victoria from the Nile.  Not exactly thrilling, but we did stand next to a statue of Mohatma Gandhi in the dark.  When Gandhi died his ashes were spread over several of the great seas of the earth.  Who knew?

The next morning, Tom and I toured a few other places in the area, including a nice series of rapids farther down the Nile, before heading back to Kampala.  Tom is living the dream right now.  He works as part of his internship at a clinic in Kenya (in a small village),  However as soon as his shift ends on Friday, he jumps on a bus to a distant part of East Africa where he spends a 1&1/2-2 days sightseeing before catching a late Sunday series of buses home.  He needed to catch his bus at 5:30pm in Kampala to catch another bus somewhere else so that he would arrive at home at 5:00am, take a quick nap, wake up, shower and be at work by 9:00am.  Very impressive. 

I myself, spent the next day visiting sites in Kampala, including the Bugonda Parliament, the Kings Palace (where he doesn’t live), and the burial mounds of the last four kings (which actually burned down last year and is now about to be renovated).  I also hit a jam session at the National Theater before hitting the sack and heading out on a bus to Mbale the next day.

While in Mbale, I hiked up to three of the most beautiful waterfalls in Uganda (according to the Lonely Planet) in Siti, a nearby area.  It was here that I learned my small back pack is not waterproof.  The weather gods had smiled upon me during the entire trip.  Not too hot…not too cold…rain at night, dry during the day.  However, just as we (a guide, a Japanese student I met on the taxi on the way to Siti from Mbale and me) reached the farthest most point from where we started, the skies opened up.  Now to many this might seem like a problem, however not to me.  Hiking in the rain is a blast, especially when it’s essentially the last hike of the trip.  Walking back along the trail to the hotel where we started, holding a giant banana leaf over my head, I thought to myself…”Maybe I should put on this raincoat that’s in my back pack?”  Of course, I then thought to myself, “What a silly question!!  Hiking in the rain rocks!!!!”  I thought I would give freshly cleaned raincoat a break for the day, of course this was before I knew it was pretty drenched (in my “waterproof” backpack).

We arrived back at the hotel in Siti, and I stripped off my socks, shoes and shirt to let them dry outside with all the contents of my backpack and ate lunch with a towel wrapped around my upper body.   When hiking in Siti, you just need to go to one of the local hotels and ask for a guide.  Everyone has them on staff.  So even though we weren’t staying at the hotel, the owners were very understanding of our plight and let us dry out on site.  Of course we did pay for our lunch.  I actually paid for two lunches, because they brought my friend the wrong meal, which I agreed to eat along with mine.  Just in case you didn’t understand it the first time, I ate two meals at once.  And for my next death defying act……  Along the way, I ran into the three Israelis (from white water rafting), and I invited them to go with me to my next and last stop on my last and perhaps most exciting adventure of all.  I was going to the guesthouse very early the next morning (on Thursday), and they decided to meet me there on Friday afternoon for a bit of enlightenment.  What you may ask could be more exciting than a hike in the rain, a visit with gorillas, or a safari in Kenya?  The answer might be found at some point in the Jewish Herald Voice.  We will see.  So, stay tuned.

I loved my travel time here in Africa.  I met amazing people, saw fantastic sites, and even ate food once in a while.  I certainly could have traveled around for months and months without feeling weary, but I came here for a specific reason….to volunteer in Nairobi.  So even though this trek proved to be extra special, I felt then and now that the most special time of my five months in Africa would be coming up soon.  I would now return to Kampala after my Shabbat with the Abayudaya community (African Jews of Uganda) and begin my volunteer time with AJWS (American Jewish World Service) with a five day workshop.  There is nothing quite like traveling, and here in Africa, I would be able to combine two of my favorite things in the world, traveling and volunteering. 

Trekking around and volunteering in one place are two very different animals.  So, I will begin a new blog soon to detail some of my wonderful experiences as an AJWS volunteer.  I think today, I actually began to make the transformation from backpacker to Nairobite.  As I walked to catch a Matatu across town, one of the Matatu guys told me to go across the street to catch the one I needed.   As I walked away, he then asked me for some money for the information.  As a tourist, I might have actually given him some cash.  However, I just laughed it off and walked away…it’s actually his job to tell me where to go.  Then while on that very Matatu, I gave the handler 20 shillings as we drove along.  He then looked at me and said, “No, it’s 50 shillings,” to which I laughed and turned back around, knowing already the real cost of this trip.  I may still be a Muzungo, but I am not quite as much of one as when I started.

Escapade 18-Entering Uganda

Guilt…..I am Jewish and therefore guilt is a part of my biological network.  It’s in the DNA.  So much so that I feel guilty bargaining with a taxi driver, even when I know for a fact that he wants to overcharge me.  As I mentioned earlier, I love the various modes of transportation.  I will visit Mombassa (a city on the coast) in a few weeks by train, even though it will take 15 hours as opposed to 8 if I traveled by bus.  Why?  Because I haven’t once stepped onto a train in East Africa, and I do love riding on trains, and not just because they have bathrooms!!  However, bargaining for rides is one of my least favorite sports.  As I stand there waiting for a taxi, I prepare for the competition.  The cab driver has now offered to drive me to the park area for 1500 Shillings (about $20).  I then walk over to a group of shared taxi promoters and ask if they believe this is a fair price.  “Of course, good price,” they tell me.  I should feel reassured, but of course I am not, because I know that the taxi ride I took from the airport from one side of town to the other cost roughly the same price.  Are they trying to cheat me then?  Of course not.  It is simply the system in place.  Start with an outlandish price and hope the person settles for it, if not, then bargain.

The problem for me is that I am always the amateur competing against the professional.  I am never sure with what price I should begin to counter, and we all know that once that price is set, I can never go lower.  I counter in this case with 500 Shillings, which causes everyone to shake their heads as if the world has ended, plus the driver gives me a look that tells me he will not be able to feed his children that night because of my stinginess.  Now I know that a few extra dollars will not prevent me from retiring at 70, but it’s the principle.  If I don’t bargain, then I am not part of the system.  I am considered a naive Muzungo (foreigner).  So even though we are often talking about a very minimal amount of money to me, I must enter into these daily contests of bargaining skill.  I don’t ever plan to go pro, but I do hope one day to prove myself a gifted amateur.  Yesterday, I took a shared taxi ride (matatu) with an African friend at a cost of 20 shillings.  Today, alone, the cost soared to 40 shillings.  A professional could have bargained him down back to 20, but at 8:00am, this amateur isn’t mentally focused enough to enter into the game. 

After my amazing visit with the gorillas, I decided not to head on over to the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) and climb the volcano.  The price tag would end up being a whopping $700 for the two day trip.  So, I said adios to my two recent travel companions, placed my still we laundry into a sealable plastic bag and boarded a bus bound for a one hour trip to the Rwandan border.  It was time to visit Uganda.

As I finalized my visas stuff and exchanged my Rwandan Francs for Ugandan Shillings on the black market at a shamefully low rate, I wondered if my time in Uganda would prove to be a let down after the visit to the non-tourist lake and with the gorillas. 

Immediately after crossing the border, the differences between the two countries became apparent.  Although of similar terrain, Rwanda is obviously cleaner and has helmet wearing taxi drivers.  I promised my dad years ago that I would never ride on a motorcycle or scooter without a helmet, a promise I kept all of these years, up to the day I visited Uganda.   I would now need to break this promise and again become accustomed to bumpy roads and dirt in the air and….plastic bags.  You see, Rwanda has made the using of plastic bags a federal offense.  I didn’t realize this law existed at first, but after someone mentioned it to me, it became very obvious.  They just don’t have them anywhere, and people entering the country are searched to see if they carry this contraband.  I do think the let foreigners slid by on this rule though, as we are an even more prized commodity.  I even hear plastic bags are prized on the black market.

I bargained with the cab driver for a lift to the hotel.  He asked for 8,000 shillings, and I countered with 10,000.  I told you I wasn’t very good at it.

I decided to spend a few days in Misoro, a city right on the border between the two countries, because there are several national parks nearby, and I just felt like taking a few day trips instead of carrying my big backpack everywhere.

On my first full day, I headed for Gaheinga Park for a little golden monkey tracking time, which was very nice, but certainly paled in comparison to my visit with the gorilla family.  The monkeys are cute, but they don’t come very close to people.  They also hide behind trees, so great photos shots are rare.  I did like their cheeks though; they have big cheeks.  Still on the high from the gorillas, I should have probably skipped this tour, even though it was really nice.  One really interesting thing though, as I took out Lila Guben out for a photo in the forest (a little girl wants her stuffed horse to be taken around the world), the monkeys started gathering all around us, shaking as if agitated.  After a while, the guide came over and quickly hid Lila Guben from view, as the stuffed horse was creating this stir.  I bet when the other monkeys hear that these monkeys panicked over a stuffed toy they are going to ridiculed unmercifully.

The next day I organized two trips that I felt would be interesting.  I first visited with members of a Pigmy community.   I know the word pigmy comes with certain connotations, but these Pigmies did not fit my stereotypical beliefs.  Standing at the same height on average as the general population of Ugandans, the Pygmies really received a raw deal from the government.  (There are Pigmies who are smaller in size elsewhere).

Well known hunters and gatherers, the Pygmies completely shunned the modern world, choosing to live in caves and reject all modern modes of comforts.  However in 1991 upon realizing the financial benefits that might be reaped from Western tourists, the government announced that all Pygmies would be forced to leave their lands, because they were transforming them into national parks.  So these tribes of people moved onto lands nearby that had not been purchased by individuals or companies…in other words, the worst areas.  Now remember as Napolian Dynomite says, the Pygmies had no skills.  They couldn’t farm, read or write.  They didn’t even care to have access to medical facilities.  They then moved into this foreign futuristic world of computers, cars, iphones and books.  Twenty years later and they still haven’t acculturated, with most of them barely earning a living as they farm terribly hardend soil throughout the south of Uganda.   The Pygmies eventually turned to begging for clothing, food, money, a profession a large portion have now forced to enter.  As I walked around their tiny area, I really couldn’t tell the difference between the Pigmies and other Ugandans just by looking at them.  They wear blue jeans and t-shirts like everyone else; however, all of their clothes come from tourists and Ugandans who donate them after visits.  They live in homemade shacks and are often shunned by the rest of Ugandan society.  After completely my visit, I came upon another one of those surreal moments in time.

The entire tribe walked over to me, asked me to sit down, and then began to entertain me with song and dance, wishing me the best as I prepared to leave after a one hour visit.  They truly seemed to enjoy giving me this special sendoff, but I felt a little uncomfortable watching 25 children and adults dance just for me.  Who am I to deserve such a solo show?  In the pre-1991 era, the Pygmies danced after successful hunts.   Now forbidden to hunt at all in the parks, they have transformed these songs and dances into rituals of celebration.  In lieu of begging for extra cash, the tribes have taken to giving a free show to their visitors in hopes of garnering a little extra money beyond the required entrance fee.  Even though it felt odd to be sitting there, I honestly preferred donating money because of the show (which was very interesting).  

I spent the afternoon looking for pythons in the nearby lake area with a guide…with no success, which was really a shame, because I love snakes.   The rainy season arrived early this year, which apparently caused the snakes to go into hiding (so I was told-I can’t be sure, but we did seem to spend a lot of time looking in the bushes).  The trip ended with a nice a quiet lazy boat ride around the lake.  We owned the lake at that moment as no other boat could be seen anywhere.   The day before the guide guided a group of 35 rowdy foreigners around the lake, and I appreciated the fact that he suggested it might be better if I went the day after the large group. 

I planned to head up to Kampala the next day,  that is until I realized I had been misinformed.  I had been told that a trip to the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest would take six hours, which was sorta true.  Bwinidi is a big place, and it would take six hours to reach one particular section, but there was another closer entrance only one and a half hours away by motorcycle.  I didn’t want to miss it while I was there, because a visit is considered one of the highlights of any trip to Uganda.

My tuchas barely survived the ride there or back.  Yes, it turned out to be a relatively short trip, but man was it bumpy….the entire time.  These motorcycle drivers truly are gifted though.  I don’t understand how they can so easily go up and down rocky hills and trenches, but they do it somehow.  We drove by some truly spectacular scenery on the way there, green mountains in every direction.  I was looking forward to a nice short walk around the forest, because my legs wobbled along the path up to the registration center after stepping off the motorcycle.  My driver could hardly contain his laughter.  But come on, it was one and a half straight hours along that bumpy road…without a helmet (which will not happen again, because riding on a motorcycle is forbidden when working with AJWS).

A short one hour hike morphed into a four hour intense, muddy trek through the forest, as our guide needed every inch of his machete to create paths through the impenetrable forest.   It was actually quite brilliant.  I love muddy hikes through impenetrable forests.  I actually had a chance to buy a gorilla trekking ticket at half price at Bwindi, but I believed it wouldn’t be able to compare to my visit in Rwanda. 

Before setting off on my trek with my guide and guard, a family of four came and attempted to return their gorilla tickets for a 50% refund with no success.  Refunds are only given if a person might be infected with an ailment that might infect the gorillas.  I could have easily offered to buy one of them for $250 or less but decided against it.

After the long, long, long and painful ride back on the motorcycle, I showered and headed for the ten hour bus trip to Kampala.  Have I mentioned I am not a fan of buses?  In my youth, I would have sucked it up and just taken the overnight bus, arrived at 5:00am in Kampala, gone site seeing that day and then crashed that night.  As a mature adult, I instead chose a more mature course of action.  I split up the ride into two parts, stepping off the bus in a town in the middle of nowhere at 11:00pm and heading to a hotel for a good night’s sleep…then waking up at 8:00am and catching a 9:00am bus.  A smooth move for me, as I had a date with some white water rapids on the Nile the next day, and I wanted to be scarred silly while wide awake and refreshed .    

I AM GOING TO TRY AND UPLOAD PICTURES TO FACEBOOK NOW THAT I HAVE ACCESS TO MY LAPTOP.

Escapade 17- It's Time for Gorillas in the Mist

The tip tends to be one the more difficult challenges of traveling in developing countries.  In the U.S., a set tip structure has been set up for me personally, and I like it.  I pay 15-20% at a restaurant for the waitstaff or for a cab ride.  I give the bellhop a little cash in Vegas, and I put a little cash in the bottle at a fast food joining.  However in countries without a tipping system, the challenges prove enormous.  First of all, should I tip at all?  As an American, am I disturbing the established culture by giving extra money to people who don't expect it and who look at me like the crazy American I am when I refuse the extra change coming my way.  Also, if I do decide to tip, how much should I give for a $2 meal or a 50 cent cab ride. 

I, personally, have decided that I love to tip in developing countries.  I enjoy helping out people by giving them a little extra cash in their pockets when they do a good job.  Yet, I think that I perhaps enjoy tipping for another more selfish reason.  I like being a big shot.  Let's face it.  When I tip someone 50-100% of the price initially paid, I become an object of reverence.  The extra cash means so little to me but so much to them that it feels good to help out, but I must say it again.  It also feels good to be a big macher.  I hope the fact that I love to give an extra three thousand Rwandan Francs on an extra six thousand Ugandan Schillings doesn't taint me in my role as a down to earth southern rabbi.

My date with my soon to be gorilla pals was fast approaching, but I still needed to confront my greatest of enemies.  That's right, I needed to take a bus ride to Muscanze from Kingali.  Luckily for me and my stomach, it was only a short one of a few hours.  Hooray for visiting small countries like Rwanda.

I arrived in the small but quaint town late in the afternoon and set out to find a novel to read as I couldn't find one in Kigali....and I couldn't find one here either.  Don't they understand that I need books to read...in English....I would then have to wait to Uganda. 

I schedule my visit for Sunday, so I had a full day to spend in town before heading out to visit my furry friends. 

Another great part of backpacking happens to be finding mates along the way, who become travel partners.  It is amazing but strange phenomenon, but when backpacking, I find it nice sometimes to travel with strangers who quickly become close friends.  I can meet guy a hostel and then spend several days traveling around a country, sharing a room or dorm if needed.  It is just assumed that backpackers will gravitate towards each other, travel together for a bit, and then head out on their own ways.

I met a great Spanish guy that first night, and we decided to head out the next day to visit a lake about an hour's bus ride away the next day.  This was the day I woke up early to visit the town only to find that the entire country shuts down until noon for community projects. 

As a backpacker, I have learned that there are very few places on earth that I will visit that haven't been civilized in some way.  Hostels, hotels, signs of Western influence exist even in the most rural of areas.  However, the lonely planet mentioned that "Western civilization" hadn't of yet visited this lake area.  Sounded like a great way to spend the day, walking around a beautiful rustic setting.  After the quick bus ride, we jumped on a couple of motorcycles for an amazingly scenic ride on a dirt road up to the lake, where I typed one of the driver's digits into my phone.  (We didn't feel like walking the several miles back to the bus stand...okay, I didn't feel like walking the several miles back.)

As we approached the lake and the plethora of children hanging out there, a young 17 year kid came up to us and asked us if we needed a tour guide.  Sure we said, "Why Not?"  It would be nice to hear the local perspective on the world. 

Over three hours later, we jumped back on the motorcycles after a truly memorable hike.  John Peter took us around the lake and in and out through the small villages nearby, as he described the traditions of the local communities, helped us communicate with the thousands of kids who kept approaching us and asking to take photographs, and even described some of the future plans for hotels in the area...all in perfect English.  I had the distinct feeling that foreigners didn't visit the area often, because everytime we turned around as we walked, the number of kids following us seemed to mulitply by a factor of two.  If John Peter hadn't kept fending them off, our cameras would have overloaded.  He even brought us to his house for a visit with his family and a tour of his community. 

I believe one of the great differences between these villages and my Texas town of five million had nothing to do with technology, infrastructure or the availability of sushi, it has more to do with the freedoms given to children.  From just about the time they learn to walk, children here are free to walk around the entire lake area at will.  When walking nearby the lake, we even saw kids of all ages swimming in the water, without a single adult in the vicinity.  Although we tend to think of Africa as a dangerous place, I am not sure I would feel safe letting my little ones walk around the block without a watchful adult eye on them at all times.  It seems a little ironic that children have more freedom in this way in Africa than America.

John Peter is a student in Uganda (He feels the education level is better there.), who learned English pretty much on his own.  As we were set to leave the village, the two of us had to decide the amount of payment for John Peter.  We didn't want to give too much or too little, to go overboard or offend.  Finally, we decided that 5,000 Francs would be a nice amount, about $8. 

You would have thought the world ended by John Peter's reaction to our gift.  He jumped up and down, thanking us again over and over for the money.  He had never had that much money in his hand in his life.  He could now afford to spend some time online at one of the internet cafes or buy new clothes.  He even called us the next day to inform us that he had bought a new shirt with the money (very nice...I saw him wearing it later on).  I think we may have gone over bored...just a little.  But it's nice being the big macher.
Finally, the morning arrived the next day for my grand visit with the gorillas.  Linda and I woke up early that morning to head on out. Who's Linda, one might ask?  As I was leaving my hotel in Kigali to come to Musanze, I heard a woman tell the desk clerk she was going to visit the gorillas on Sunday.  I turned to her and told her I had a golden ticket for the same day.  So, we agreed to go together and split the $80 car fee there.  She had arrived late the night before, and now the two of us, who had met once for a minute a few days early in Kigali, headed out together as buddies.  Backpackers become friends very quickly, often out of necessity (the necessity to save $40 in this case).

The night before, I had met a young Phd student who was working with the gorillas, and she gave me a few tips for our visit.  First of all, she told me that there are 17 gorilla groups in Volcans National Park, nine are observed by researches and eight are observed by tourists.  She explained that I would enjoy visiting every group, but she gave me four she thought I would enjoy most.  Susa is the largest one with about 35 gorillas...it's the one everyone wants.  However, it usually goes to the larger tourist groups, who have guides who will acquire this group for them.  I would be lucky enough to be put in the Agasha group with Linda, an American visiting from Kigali, and a group of Americans on an East African tour.  It was one of the four that the Phd student had mentioned.  I was ready for what would be an  perfect day for many reasons.

All visits with the gorillas are memorable, but our group was extra especially lucky to have Agasha that morning.  Basically, the system works as so.  Each group goes out as trackers look for the gorillas.  As soon as the group then reaches the gorilla group, it has exactly one hour to spend with them before being required to leave the park.  In other words, if a group of gorillas happens to be hanging out by the entrance to the park, the entire experience might take only a little over an hour.  I had already decided that if my experience in the park was to be limited by such luck, I would pay $100 to go on a hike the next day.

Luckily, our gorillas were visiting the top of the volcano that day.  We arrived on a bumpy road in our land cruiser and set out at a nice and leisurely pace as our trackers continued to look around for the Agasha group.  The park itself is gorgeous with mountains and lush greenery everywhere.  It was a bit muddy because it had rained the night before, but again, we were very lucky.  The gorillas apparently do not enjoy rain, so they tend to do very little during a shower.  However, since the rain had stopped hours earlier it wasn't a problem.  We hiked upwards on a set path, waiting for word from the trackers, as our guides explained the rules of interaction.  First, we must stay six meters away from the gorillas at all time.  Secondly, we must not point at them, as this action tends to agitate them.  Thirdly, we must follow all directions delivered by the guides.  Fourth, no food or drink is allowed near them.

We continued to walk up the volcano for a while until we finally received notice that the gorillas had been found and off we went climbing up the volcano.  Now, I personally was in no hurry, so I was glad that we walked at a leisurely pace.  The tour group from America was not filled with experienced hikers, so they we climbed very slowly.  At some point, the path ended and we then continued up along various kinds of slippery shrubbery.  It was difficult to find our footing as we hiked along the vines with our feet set at various uncomfortable angles.  Yet, since the gorillas had decided to neglect any set path, we were obligated to oblige them.  It created a fantastic rustic setting for the experience.

After over three hours we finally met the group of 28 gorillas, including a two week old newborn.  What a fantastic experience!!!  Most groups are led by a large male called a greyback (because of the grey stripe on his back....go figure), and sure enough, the first gorilla we came upon was this groups greyback.  A giant of an animal, he sat there eating as we gathered around and began agressively shooting him with our lenses.  He didn't seem to mind at all and just sat there looking at us as he ate.  They like to eat.  We probably stood about 10 meters away, and even though these gorillas are usually docile around humans, having become accustomed to us over a long period of time, we all felt a little nervous being so close.  I just stood there for a while, trying my best to find the perfect angle, as I competed with the other members of the group for a good space.

Soon, he decided to move along and off he went up the volcano and off we went after him until we came upon the other members of the group in stages as we moved up the volcano.  We met females, blackbacks (younger males), and children.  All of them just sat there eating or playing around as if we were just part of the family.  I especially loved watching two small children playing around near the adults.  They would fight with each other as the climbed up the volcano, and then roll down the volcano, entangled together until they hit an adult.  At which time, they would then fight each other up the volcano again and then roll down together.

Now, we were required to stay six meters away from the gorillas at all times.  However, the gorillas didn't seem to care about these restrictions.  They would just walk right past us with out a care in the world....they are such rule breakers.  The greyback came so close to me that I could have stroked his back for a second or two....before he probably would have broken my arm.  Unfortunately, this was the one photo I wasn't able to take as our guide blocked my camera, so that I wouldn't upset the silverback.  What a spoil sport!

Finally, the end of our visit approached as the private tour guide, an American living in Nairobi, argued that we actually had several more minutes left.   I thought the greyback and the two kids rolling down the volcano were to be the highlight of the visit, until something spectacular happened.  One of the females came down, sat down right in front of us, and started showing us her newborn baby.  Yes, that's right.  She began to pose for pictures.  Unbelievable!!!  Our guide was a bit mystified himself, telling us that the females are usually very protective of newborns and tend to hide them from the visitors.  Yet, there she sat for the final five mintues of our visit, showing us with pride the newest addition to the family.  A blackback even came over to play with the infant as we watched.  What a wonderful way to complete our visit!!

It took a little over an hour for us to climb down the muddy path to the entrance of the park, all satisfied by our experience, and holding cameras filled with 400 pictures on our SD cards.  The gorillas are truly majestic animals.  They move like humans but seem so much more fluid.  It is unfathumable that for the longest time, human beings believed them to be aggressive monsters.... to the point where we almost destroyed the entire populations.  As it stands now, the population of mountain gorillas continues to grow at a steady rate.  There are about 400 in Rwanda and maybe 300 in Uganda.  The number in the Congo is unknown, because the government of that country is much less stable.  Every mountain gorilla on earth lives here, and it was a blessing for me to be able to visit with them (especially because the price of the visit will be doubling to $1000 soon).  Uganda and Rwanda now take great care of these creatures, as they bring quite a bit of revenue into their countries.  So for the time being, these gorillas are as safe as humanly possible.

Everyone told me that it would be one of the highlights of my trip, and they were all right.  Standing next to a mountain gorilla is an experience I will probably never forget (since I don't have a picture because of the guide I better not forget it).  It was one of those days in which luck was completely on my side.  I was given one of the larger groups.  The rain had stopped.  The gorillas were on the top of the mountain.  I was with a group of slow hikers.  A mother decided to show off her baby.  What a perfect experience!!  When I would later spend a day at Bwindi National Park in Uganda (the other place with the gorillas), I had a chance to purchase a ticket for half price or less.  But, I decided to skip the chance, because there was no way it could compare to that first visit in Rwanda.

The combination of fear and awe was just so amazing.  I hope to put the pictures up on facebook when I arrive in Nairobi, and even though they are no where near as impressive as being there in person, they are still pretty impressive.

And yes, I gave the guides and trackers thousands and thousands of Francs for their part in my unbelievable experience. 

Escapade 16-A day in Kigale

One of the most interesting things about traveling in Africa, is the privileges that come along with being a foreigner.  First of all, everyone wants to help me wherever I go.  If I stop for a moment anywhere in Africa on any street, a horde of people will inevitably approach me, asking (begging me almost) if I need directions or if they can help me in some way. And I'm not talkin about the people looking to make money off tourist, I'm talkin about just regular nice people walking along the street.  And if I am in line at a counter somewhere, often I will be pushed to the front of the line, without really wanting to cause a stir.  If I come up to someone and ask for directions, he will call twelve people over to help me.  I feel like VIP everywhere I go.  Do you really think that I need to be scanned before going into a bank or federal building?  Of course not, I'm am usually just waved through.  I am also able to do(and even encouraged do) things that I would never dare try in the States.  For instance, when I am walking down the street eating candy or cookies (pretty much every day), I freely give out candy to adults and kids along my path.  In this way, I can honestly say that I never ate an entire box of cookies or bag of candy.  If I started given candy out to children I didn't know in the States though, I might, and probably would, be arrested.  Here, I am cheered by all.  What a nice American!!!  See, I am trying to create positive relationships between our continents.  Sometimes Americans receive a bad rap because of our country's global policies.  However, my candy sharing policy is starting to slowly negate these bad vibes.

I can also wave to anyone on this continent at any time, and they will smile and wave back.  I spend my days on buses or motorcycles waving at every person I pass by, especially the kids, who all know two phrases in English..."How are you?" and "I am fine."

During my second day in Kigale, I decided to take a tour.  Now, the Tourist Bureau does host a bus tour around the city for $20, and I actually do love taking these tours.  They are perfect when staying only a limited amount of time in a city.  However, one of the luxuries of staying in a third world country is that I can arrange my own private cost efficient tour.  So, I found a happy-go lucky looking motorbike guy and negotiated a tour for1 & 1/2 hours at the price of $20, asking him to just drive me around the entire city. 

Score one for me, because as is usually the case when hiring out taxis to perform such a duty, it turned out to be a wonderful experience.  We drove all over the city, up and down hill after hill, moving through the expensive and less expensive neighborhoods, driving near embassies and federal buildings and stadiums and markets.  He even drove me to a motorcycle cab training area, so we might watch students driving their motorcycles in and around orange cones.  And all the while, he explained what sections of the city had special meaning.  We did stop at two memorial sites as well, including a particularly disturbing one.  During the genocide, thousands of Tutsis retreated to the grounds of the Belgian forces in Kigale, believing that they would be safe within the confines of their gates.  However after ten Belgians were killed by the government, Belgium decided to remove all of its forces from Rwanda, and as the last Belgians were entering the helicopters to leave, the Hutu government forces came in through the gates and massacred everyone.  A very disturbing picture to say the least.

My guide actually seemed to enjoy the tour even more than me, so that when the time came for the tour to end, he wouldn't let me off his bike, explaining that there were still a few more things he needed to show me.  My 1 & 1/2 hour turned out to be over two hours, with no extra charge.  What a guy!!!  As we were finishing up the tour, we happened to drive by a museum I wanted to visit.  So, we entered its gates, and I paid my wonderful guide (plus tip) and thanked him profusely.  As he was leaving, he just happened to ask if I was a Christian, to which I replied, "No."  He then said, "Muslim."  No I answered, "I'm Jewish.....I'm a Hebrew....I'm an Israelite."  And on the word "Israelite" he finally realized from what religion I hailed, and he was......overjoyed.  I mean truly thrilled beyond all reasonable or rationale reasoning.  He couldn't stop praising Israel and Jews in general, explaining over and over again that we are God's people and all who oppose the State of Israel are doomed to failure.  He began to burst at the seems as he jumped up and down in total excitement.  As a Christian he mentioned that he reads the Bible, but he never dared to dream that he would actually meet one of the descendants of the Biblical figures mentioned in the Bible.  He then flipped when I told him I hailed from the tribe of Levy.  I truly believe he would have left his wife and kids, if I had asked him for his hand in marriage.  For over two hours I stood there in shock as he boarded his bike, prepared to leave, and then came off his bike and returned to me to praise me even more.  He even had someone take pictures of us together and had me promise to make copies for him (which I did, leaving them at my hotel).  He actually had the guard at the museum take two pictures, one for him and one for me.  I did however, leave copies of both pictures at the hotel.  I now have realized he probably believes I don't have a copy of either picture, because I left both for him.  He either thinks I am really generous in giving both to him, or he believes I didn't care enough to keep one for myself.  I do hope it's the first one. 

So, the good news is that there are people out there who like Jews and support the State of Israel, I am happy to confirm. 

I finally walked over to enter the museum and realized that I didn't want to spend $10 on the country's geological museum, so I left and grabbed another motorcycle cab as my guide had already left.  I was able to successfully grab a brochure labeling the four national museums in the country though, something the Tourist Bureau had failed to mention to me, even after I specifically asked if there were any nice museums to visit.  The one that looked most interesting happened to be in Kigali, the home of the president who had planned the genocide and whose death in a plane crash set the plans in motion. 

Rwanda is a small country with Kigali in the center, so day trips around the country happens to be pretty easy.  The next day, I visited two memorial sites, one in the city of Nyamata (30 km away) and one in the city of Ntrama (25 km away).  For the first one, I squished into a minibus, was dropped off in the town then hitched a ride on the back of a bicycle, actually a taxi bicycle.  The church in Nyamata had been another disastrous attempt at finding a place of refuge during the genocide.  Bullet holes riddled the ceiling and the entire church was filled with the clothing of the people who had died inside and around the church (also more bones and skulls).  I was led around by a woman who had been working there for a year and had experienced the trauma first hand (not at the church).  I asked if she had difficulties working there.  She said she had at first but had now become accustomed to the site.  And she realized how important it was to keep the memory going, for both visitors and locals....sound familiar.

The church in Ntrama has not been reorganized for visitors as the one in Nymata, and I just walked around as a French speaking woman motioned to me where I could go and where I was allowed to take pictures.  The site of the clothes in the church here again causing my skin to crawl.

I returned to town in time to visit the president's home museum for an alarming look into the mindset of Habyarimana, the man who planned the genocide.

The tour guide, a woman just finishing her university studies, guided me around the spacious house, including the chapel, where the Pope visited him and led a group of supporters in prayer and the secret rooms strewn throughout the home.  These included: escape hatches, an armory, a panic room, stairs with motion sensors, and a disco.  The whole house seemed to be constructed with attempted assassinations in mind.  There was even a drawer open at all times in his bedroom, filled with cash, so in case an assassin entered the room, he might decide to take the cash and just leave.  The room that proved most interesting was the room the tour guide refused to enter.  I thought perhaps a room of torture, but it was instead the room where he practiced an African religion akin to some kind of witchcraft I gathered.  So while he sat entertaining the Pope, somewhere above them stood a separate room dedicated to certain African gods.  Oh, he also built a private room, where he visited with officials who had displeased him.  Next door to the room stood a bathroom, so that after an official had been slapped or beaten, he could freshen up before leaving.

Finally, we came to the most intriguing section of the museum.  I knew that he had died in a plane crash initiating the start of the genocide.  What I didn't realize was that his plane crashed right next to his house.  Yes, as his kids were swimming in the pool the plane crashed almost on top of them.  There are still parts of the wrecked plane lying on the grounds of the home.  As to what happened to set off the crash, no one knows, except the family who were at home.  You may ask, well didn't the other people in or near the house see who shot down the plane, and the answer is probably "yes.".  However, the president's wife had everyone who was there at the time of the crash killed (save for the family).  She lives abroad in Europe somewhere I think and has never shared what happened.

While at the museum, I also learned that the other two national museums, which I had not intended to visit, were in towns reasonably close (only a couple of hours away), so I hopped a bus and visited both of them the next day.  Very nice...a little history, a little culture.  Nothing wrong with checking out museums now and then.  I even took a nature walk on the grounds of one of them, before returning home in preparation for my trek to Musanze.  That's right boys and girls, my much anticipated visit with Gorillas in the Mist was fast approaching, and I couldn't wait.

Escapade 15- A Day of Inconvenience and Rememberance

I arrived in Rwanda with great excitement compiled with a little nervousness.  I had had trouble making calls into Rwanda, so I wasn't able to book a hotel.  It turns out that the entire Rwandan phone system had been changed, and I was using a book with old data.  My first choice of hotels didn't have an available room when I arrived, so I moved on to the nearest other option in my guide book, which actually was listed as a much nicer place.  It sure seemed nice....

I chose a room facing away from the noisy road, towards the beautiful valley below and went into the restaurant for a late dinner as it poured (strange because it is not the rainy season).  I was unable to eat the meal because of a few ingredients that I thought might not agree with me, but I stayed in the room to watch, what else but, futbol on the tele.  As I sat watching, a group of Rwandan guys later walked onto the stage near me and started dancing and lip singing to blasting music coming from giant speakers.  I thought it was a little odd, but hey, that's entertainment.

As I then walked into the lobby, I realized that my room sat directly above the restaurant and blaring music, and believe me when I tell you it was blasting away.   I mentioned this problem to the desk clerk and asked how long they would be playing.  He then answered by saying, "Until 12:00 or so"  (actually turned out to be past one).  I decided I might then try another hotel, when he upgraded me to a better room, but one facing the road.  I thought I would try it for the night.  What a mistake!!!!

At about 11:30pm, several young men started arguing with a women in the very middle of the empty street, directly below my room...And the argument went on and on and on all night, until about 5:00am.  I wish I was exaggerating here, but they were literally screaming at each other the entire time.  Of course, the guys spent the moments in between screaming tirades by revving up their motorcycles as loud as possible, and me with no earplugs in site..not that it probably would have mattered.  I am not sure if they were trying to their bikes or just impress me, but at about 4:00am, I finally went down to speak with the desk clerk to suggest he do something.  He told me the police had arrived, and about an hour later the screaming did finally stop.  Thank goodness the hotel upgrade came with cable T.V., because I able to watch sections of some pretty bad American movie when attempting sleep proved too frustrating.

I woke up at about 7:30, packed up my things, and walked out of the hotel without a word, dropping my key off on the counter.  I desired another hotel room to say the least.  The only problem was that I couldn't find a cab anywhere and I stood on a busy street, so  I started walking down this street with my giant back pack strapped to my back and my smaller backpack strapped to my front (for balance-this is actually the best and safest way to travel with all of my stuff) back towards the hotel I originally chose, which was very far away.  A few people saw me walking along and took pity upon the sluggishly tired wandering dude and pointed me toward a van holding thousands of people.  I realized at that moment that this was some sort of bus service and tried to enter one of them.  Unfortunately, I just couldn't quite squeeze in with all of my stuff fit with all of my stuff.

When it became obvious to everyone that they could not completely shove me into the van, a guy pointed at a motorcycle and before I knew it, they had strapped a helmet on my head and I was off towards the hotel, sitting there very uncomfortably (and nervously) with the two backpacks around me, as I balanced myself while praying to the heavens above.

One of the best parts of traveling the world is of course the mode of transportation.  There may be no better way to meet people and have interesting adventures then to travel alongside them via some original mode of transportation..  As of this point in the expedition, I had traveled via: jumbo jet, small plane with propellers, small plane without propellers, cab, bus, sailboat, ferry, motorcycle, safari van, jeep, three wheeled tuk-tuk, tourist bus, car, city squishy bus, city squishy van, and pogo stick.  And tomorrow, I would be taking my first bicycle taxi.  I will inevitably use every form of transpotation possible on a trek.  However my favorite has always been trains.  They run smoothly (sometimes).  A person can move around.  And most importantly, and I can not stress this enough as I wait to go on a long bus ride in a few hours....trains have bathrooms on board.   

I dropped my stuff off at the hotel and immediately went to the Hotel Colinas Milles, also known as Hotel Rwanda (via motorcycle which I had by now learned was Rwanda's taxi system)..  This is the hotel where the manager saved thousands of people through bribery during the genocide.  I went there for two reasons.  First of all, I wanted to score a pass to see the gorillas and the travel agency was oniste.  Secondly, I of course wanted to check out the hotel.

I found a pass for the upcoming Sunday, which was perfect, as it was now early in the week.  This way, I could scout around Kigali and the surrounding area and then go up north to Volcan's National Park to see some awesome mountain gorillas.  Of course nothing seems to be easy while traveling.  The cost of the pass was $500, so I walked over to a ATM or two that didn't work, before finally finding one apparently compatible with American bank technology.  The only problem was that it would only give me a limited amount of funds.  So I headed to biggest and nicest looking bank downtown, stuck my card in, and asked for some cash...politely.  The machine gave me my card back and the receipt for the money I was withdrawing, made some noise as if stacking money and then....nothing.  It reverted back to the Welcome sign as I stood there waiting in stunned silence.  The machine then reverted back to the message "wait for cash" as I stood there hopefully.  But the drawer didn't open, and I feared that my account was still open.  So, I rushed upstairs and dragged a guy down to check out the ATM.  After awhile he kindly told me it was broken for which I thanked him, and then he told me that I might want to call my bank because he could do nothing to help.  Then he stood there watching as customers used the faulty ATM's, at least one other having the same problem as me.  (Actually though he was a nice guy who really couldn't do anything to help me.  So after everything was settled I did go back and apologize for being so aggressive...okay...aggressive for me.)

So, I called my bank, which was closed, but I left a message with the guy answering the phones.  Then and there I realized my current dilemma.  Although the bank never gave me the funds, it registered that I had received them.  In other words, my bank thought it had given me a large amount of money, even though it hadn't.  I therefore couldn't go to another ATM to retrieve money, because I was now at my daily limit.  Meanwhile I owed $500 to the travel agent which was holding my pass, which I believed were very difficult to find.  So, I rushed back to the travel agency and told them the issue, then rushed back to my hotel to grab my last bit of secret extra American dollars, then returned to finally purchase my golden pass.  Of course, I later learned there were plenty of passes available that week at Tourist Information.  Oh well, it still remains a dramatic and traumatic tale in my mind.

After the exhilaration of the evening and morning, I was ready to check out the city.  I first went and explored Hotel Rwanda, and it is a beautiful hotel... with absolutely no reminders at all of the historic role it played in the genocide.  I thought it was very interesting that it decided to downplay its role and avoid the tourist with their cameras.

I next jumped on the back of a motorcycle, like the rebel I am, and set out for the Kigali Memorial Center, which houses the genocide memorial.  I walked around the beautiful grounds and memorial plaques for a while before entering the memorial building, which I truly felt it was a poignant and much more subtle than expected reminder of the horrors visited upon this country.  There were several exhibitions including: an entire floor dedicated tot he genocide itself, a section describing genocides throughout history, and a memorial room to all of the children killed in 1994.

The description of the genocide was thorough and revealing.  It first described the events that led up to 1994,
by telling the tale of the disastrous colonization of the country by the Belgians, who, according to the memorial, not only played upon the division of Hutus and Tutsi, but actually created these divisions in the first place.  The exhibition detailed the process by which the Belgians divided the country according to wealth, with the Tutsis being the rich and the Hutus being those of lesser resources.  The Belgians then placed the Tutsis in power and instituted this divided caste system.  When the Tutsis pressed for a free state in 1950's, the Belgian's then switched allegiances to the Hutus.

I had never heard this version in any of my readings, but I can only assume that it is accurate.  I would imagine that though that there must have been some tribal divisions before the Belgians arrived.  The exhibition continued with horror stories of the actual genocide, stressing the role (or lack of role) played by the Western world, before ending with a hopeful view of the present state of things.

I was particularly interested in the Children's Memorial, because it reminded me so much of the Children's Memorial at Yad Vashem in Israel, leading me to believe that there must have been some discussions with Israeli leaders when building this memorial.

The bottom of the complex housed various bones of murdered adults and children.   As I looked them over, I realized that all of the skulls were cracked in some way or another.  What a tragedy!!  You could almost see and hear the acts of violence being committed.

The memorial itself is a stunning reminder of this country's traumatic history, its hopeful present and its even more hopeful future.  I am glad to say that the country has been pretty stable in recent years and there is every indication that this stability will continue in the foreseeable future.

I left the memorial center completely exhausted and hailed a motorcycle to take me to a highly recommended restaurant listed in my guidebook.  When we couldn't find it, I first asked to try again before seeing a distant sign across the horizon and right then and there asked the driver just drop me off.by the sign "Chez Robert."  I knew that destiny had intervened on my behalf.  And sure enough, the spaghetti and tomato sauce was truly divine, probably the best meal of the trip.  I may return to Kigali just for that exact meal at Chez Robert, just like the time I took a three day stop over in Japan while on the way to Thailand just for the sushi.   
 

Escapade 14-The Difficult Choice

In terms of travel, sometimes we are face with difficult choices.  The choice might be whether I should stay in the $3 a night room or splurge on the $6 room (as was my choice tonight in Uganda-although the other three countries were about 5 times as expensive for hotel rooms-it is just ridiculous for me to pay $20 for a room!!!)

However, the decision to visit Rwanda was a difficult one.  It is the fourth country I have visited that has had a hand in genocide.  In 1995, I visited Turkey, a wonderful country, but one that still doesn't admit to its attempted killings of all the Armenians within its borders 100 years ago.  In 2002, I visited Cambodia, where the Khmer Rouge decimated its own population in 1970's, and last year, I spent three days in Berlin.

Should I visit a country in which such horrors were perpetrated, knowing full well that in cases of the more recent genocides, I might actually meet or spend time with people who committed those horrors?  On the other hand, what if I want to show my support of the ongoing commitment of that country toward better itself?  Shouldn't I spend my time and money and offer my support as such a county recommits itself toward aiding its citizens?  I don't know the right answer, although it is obvious by my decision that I prefer the latter answer. 

In the case of all four, I would have never realized the atrocities committed in these countries, if I had not consciously decided to visit museums and memorial sites.  It is a little disconcerting to see everyone going about their business, when one realizes the past horrors visited by and upon these people.  In the case of Berlin, they have devoted quite a bit of time and space toward recognizing and remembering its past.  There are giant memorials and museums scattered around the city.  When I visited Cambodia, they had just begun to open the county to tourists (much of the country was stilled mined), but I still found tours available to visit memorial sites such as the Killing Fields.  As I mentioned, I had no idea that Turkey had been involved in any such atrocity when I visited.  By the way as terrible it may sound, I truly enjoyed visiting all three countries, despite their horrible pasts.  Cambodia and Berlin especially wanted to honor the memory of the past, while living in the present.

I found Rwanda in pretty much the same situation.  If it were not for the few memorial sites in the country, I would not have known what happened her, which was a still a little surprising, even after visiting these other three countries in the past.  After all, the tragedy occurred here only 17 years ago.  So what were my overall impressions of Rwanda.  What an amazing place to visit!!!

First of all, the country is just beautiful, with lush hillside views everywhere.  The locals call it the country of a thousand hills, and they would be right.  Everywhere you go, there are lush green mountains or hills.  It's never ending.  The entire country is one big photo-op.  Thank goodness I didn't need to bicycle around the country, although I did see the Rwandan bicycling team speed by me, as they waved.  And I even met their French bicycle mechanic in Mesanze.

Secondly, it feels here much safer than Kenya and Tanzania, despite its reputation.  Although I didn't feel threatened in either of these countries, in Rwanda, I felt comfortable walking around at night in its biggest Kigali.  It just seems as if the people want to ensure that its few visitors enjoy their stay, which brings me to number three.

There are no where near as many tourists here as in Tanzania and Kenya.  Now, I must admit that in many places in both of these countries, I saw few if any tourists.  However even in Kigali, its major city, I could count the number of tourists I encountered over several days on one hand.  Rwanda continues to actively seek visitors, and I think soon the country will begin to see an increase in its tourist industry, because...

It's just so.....clean.  That's right.  As I entered Uganda today, I immediately saw the difference between Rwanda and Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda.  It is less dusty.  It's roads are better, and everywhere you go all you see are beautifully kept gardens (and I mean everywhere).  It seems as if the government require its people to keep the outside of their homes and offices clean and further requires them to keep their gardens pristine.  And guess what, I woke up last Saturday morning at 7:00am to take advantage of some walking around time in the city of Mesanze, and the desk clerk told me I might as well stay at the hotel, because everything was closed.  Why?  Because on the last Saturday of every month, every store, shopping area, bus, cab, and restaurant must stay closed until noon.  That's right!  Everyone in the country is required by law to work on keeping their community clean.  They must tend to their own gardens or to the outside of their own homes.  They must also participate in community enhancement projects, such as tending to the city's gardens, fixing up old city buildings and so forth.  As I walked around Saturday morning, I even noticed  police officers walking from place to place, checking to see if people were fulfilling their civic duty.

We can debate all day as to whether a government should require its citizens to participate in civic duty in this way, but the difference between Rwanda and the other three East African countries nearby is obvious.  From what I gathered in visiting with people during my short time there, people are less concerned with these issues and just happy to have a sense of calm and stability.

I, personally, had a wonderful visit.  Most of Rwanda's tourist seem to come into the country just to visit with the country's most famous citizens, its gorillas.  After spending time with these wonderful citizens, the tourists then return to Kenya or Tanzania or maybe Uganda.  It is such a small country, that it is easy to come in for a day or two just to see these amazing creatures.

However, I think more and more people will begin to trickle and trickle through its borders as the word spreads as to the wonders of current Rwanda.