Nowhere in the world seems to have the beach culture of Brazil. I am usually bored on the beach after half an hour but here I have been kept entertained for hours people watching whilst Mike slowly rotates like a hot sausage. If you´re ever heading to Brazil there are a few things you need to know.
For her
Wax it, wax it some more, buff it, polish it, and put it out there. Big bottoms, small bottoms, it doesn´t matter, get that tiny bikini on and strut. If you´re under 70 and it´s covering your cheeks, get a smaller one or you´ll feel like an OAP at aqua aerobics at the local leisure centre. If you don´t look like a supermodel, walk like a supermodel anyway and you´ll fool half the people on the beach. Take with you to the beach: your bikini, a sarong to lie on, a tube of sun cream, a lip gloss, shades and a hairbrush. Leave the towel, the i-pod and the book behind and under no circumstances wear your underwear, shorts and t-shirt to the beach and wriggle around under a towel trying to change. If you really must wear something, make it a very small and floaty beach dress. Your dry underwear will not be needed as you will travel home wearing your bikini, the sarong, and a thin covering of sand. Your hair needs to be long and it needs to be worn down. If you go in the sea tilt your head back so it streams down your back. If you dive through the surf, stick your pretty litttle bottom in the air and point your toes. Splash about and giggle. If you are on the beach with your girl friends, preen and chat, point to your breasts, then your friend´s. Fiddle with your bikini straps. Brush your hair. Wiggle your bottom as you turn over on your sarong again and again. Rub sun cream onto each other. Ignore the adoring looks of all the men around you. If you´re with your boyfriend/husband bring the lip gloss as at least twenty minutes of passionate kissing is required per hour. Children nearby? It really doesn´t matter, just get in there.
For him
You have two choices - board shorts and a surf board or tight trunks. Bring with you: a sarong, some suncream, a bat and ball game and a sun umbrella in a nifty shoulder bag. Leave all of the above on the sand and go for a stroll. See something you like the look of? Just stop and have a good look, no need to be discreet. If you´re with your friends, go to edge of the sea, wrestle and kick some sand. Dive masterfully through the big waves. Kick a football about. If you´re with your wife/girlfriend see above re. kissing. If you´re feeling a bit self-conscious because you´re no Brad Pitt, dont worry - you will more than likely end up with a girl that looks like Gisele and tourists from the UK will lie on the beach wondering how on earth you pulled that one off.
What are you waiting for? Book that flight!
(Photos to be added soon)
Saturday 27 December 2008
Sand blindness on two continents
Since our last post we have left the developing world and entered a month of sea, sun, sand and surf all wrapped up in a package of nice little guest houses, comfortable beds and creature comforts. Backpacking for grown-ups. The budget has suffered.
After Uganda we flew to Zanzibar and after a little blip where I had an adverse reaction to something, broke out in a rash and spent a night having involuntary convulsions in my sleep due to the itchiness while Mike lay awake working out how to spend the insurance pay off when I popped my clogs, we had a lovely time there. We paid a bit more than usual for accommodation and spent an idyllic week at the Blue Oyster Hotel on Jambiani beach lounging around and doing very little. The highlight for me was swimming with dolphins. We woke at the crack of dawn to beat the crowds, set off in a rickety little fishing boat and had the dawn -and the dolphins - all to ourselves. We swam with a school of 50 or so and it was truly amazing as they scratched their backs on the coral and signalled to each other through the water, as they zoomed out to sea for their breakfast.
After Zanzibar we popped back to London for three nights, enjoyed the cold weather and the Christmas decorations and ignored the doom and gloom about the economy before jetting off to Rio via Terminal 5. We were expecting sun, surf and caiprinhas, the fabled itsy-bitsy bikinis on Copacabana beach, and the beautiful people of Ipanema. Instead we got interminable rain, deserted beaches and a dengue outbreak. Still, it is to Rio´s credit that is an alluring city even from under an umbrella and we spent a fantastic few days exploring the sights, dancing all night to Samba with some lovely Brazilian friends we made at the friendly Tupiniquim Hostel and eating countless delicious cakes in picture-perfect cafes (this seemed to be a bit of a theme - we have no idea how the mouth-watering array of sweets on offer converts to the mouth-watering array of beautiful bottoms on the beach).
We have also enjoyed a particularly warm welcome wherever we have been due to our name. Porreta (pronounced Por-hei-ta) means ´really cool´ or ´awesome´in Brazilian Portugese, as in ¨this party is Porreta¨. People find it absolutely hilarious that this is our name. In our hostel every single person staying there knew who we were and we were instantly popular as soon as we arrived. In Paraty a Brazilian guy we met stalked us around the town popping up and shouting ¨PORRETA¨at the top of his lungs whenever he saw us.
From Rio we made a small detour to Paraty, a breathtaking colonial city on the coast and spent a lovely few days there wading along the flooded streets and splashing in the surf in torrential downpours. For a few hours we even got to put the umbrella away.
From there we returned to Rio and flew further south again to the island of Santa Catarina, more commonly known as Floripa, to spend Christmas and Mike´s birthday. And the sun finally came out (except, unfortunately on Mike´s birthday when after a lovely lunch of fresh oysters and prawns on a sunny terrace we were hit by a massive storm and it rained for the rest of the day). This is where Brazilians and Argentinians come to spend their summer holidays and though a breathtakingly beautiful island it is choked with guest houses, tourists, and associated traffic. We managed to get away from the crowds when we wanted and also to get right in the midst of them too for some first class people watching (I won´t elaborate on which part of the people Mike seemed to be focusing on, but let´s just say the bikinis in Brazil are somewhat smaller than we are used to, and about 40 pictures of pert bottoms seem to have appeared on my camera, not taken by me.). More about life on the beach in a separate post.
That brings us rapidly up to the present where we are preparing to head up to Salvador for New Year. It will be a huuuge party so we are told. See you in 2009!
After Uganda we flew to Zanzibar and after a little blip where I had an adverse reaction to something, broke out in a rash and spent a night having involuntary convulsions in my sleep due to the itchiness while Mike lay awake working out how to spend the insurance pay off when I popped my clogs, we had a lovely time there. We paid a bit more than usual for accommodation and spent an idyllic week at the Blue Oyster Hotel on Jambiani beach lounging around and doing very little. The highlight for me was swimming with dolphins. We woke at the crack of dawn to beat the crowds, set off in a rickety little fishing boat and had the dawn -and the dolphins - all to ourselves. We swam with a school of 50 or so and it was truly amazing as they scratched their backs on the coral and signalled to each other through the water, as they zoomed out to sea for their breakfast.
After Zanzibar we popped back to London for three nights, enjoyed the cold weather and the Christmas decorations and ignored the doom and gloom about the economy before jetting off to Rio via Terminal 5. We were expecting sun, surf and caiprinhas, the fabled itsy-bitsy bikinis on Copacabana beach, and the beautiful people of Ipanema. Instead we got interminable rain, deserted beaches and a dengue outbreak. Still, it is to Rio´s credit that is an alluring city even from under an umbrella and we spent a fantastic few days exploring the sights, dancing all night to Samba with some lovely Brazilian friends we made at the friendly Tupiniquim Hostel and eating countless delicious cakes in picture-perfect cafes (this seemed to be a bit of a theme - we have no idea how the mouth-watering array of sweets on offer converts to the mouth-watering array of beautiful bottoms on the beach).
We have also enjoyed a particularly warm welcome wherever we have been due to our name. Porreta (pronounced Por-hei-ta) means ´really cool´ or ´awesome´in Brazilian Portugese, as in ¨this party is Porreta¨. People find it absolutely hilarious that this is our name. In our hostel every single person staying there knew who we were and we were instantly popular as soon as we arrived. In Paraty a Brazilian guy we met stalked us around the town popping up and shouting ¨PORRETA¨at the top of his lungs whenever he saw us.
From Rio we made a small detour to Paraty, a breathtaking colonial city on the coast and spent a lovely few days there wading along the flooded streets and splashing in the surf in torrential downpours. For a few hours we even got to put the umbrella away.
From there we returned to Rio and flew further south again to the island of Santa Catarina, more commonly known as Floripa, to spend Christmas and Mike´s birthday. And the sun finally came out (except, unfortunately on Mike´s birthday when after a lovely lunch of fresh oysters and prawns on a sunny terrace we were hit by a massive storm and it rained for the rest of the day). This is where Brazilians and Argentinians come to spend their summer holidays and though a breathtakingly beautiful island it is choked with guest houses, tourists, and associated traffic. We managed to get away from the crowds when we wanted and also to get right in the midst of them too for some first class people watching (I won´t elaborate on which part of the people Mike seemed to be focusing on, but let´s just say the bikinis in Brazil are somewhat smaller than we are used to, and about 40 pictures of pert bottoms seem to have appeared on my camera, not taken by me.). More about life on the beach in a separate post.
That brings us rapidly up to the present where we are preparing to head up to Salvador for New Year. It will be a huuuge party so we are told. See you in 2009!
Thursday 25 December 2008
Merry Christmas!
A very Merry Christmas to you all from Praia do Mozambique, Florianopolis, Brazil from us both. Updates on Zanzibar and Rio to follow...when we can drag ourselves away from the powdery-soft, white sand and the caipirinhas.
Remember - if you forgot to send us a small donation for the Ugandan cow in lieu of a card, you can send it from the January pay cheque instead as we wont be sending it off until early Feb.... go on, you know you want to.
Tuesday 9 December 2008
It's Christmas at Lake Nkuruba - can you help?
Mike and I are not buying Christmas presents or sending cards this year for obvious reasons. Instead we have made a donation of sixty-six pounds - a day's travel budget - to the Lake Nkuruba orphanage. This is our Christmas card or present to all of you.
If you want to do something in return....
If you would usually send us a card, can we ask that you send a cheque for one pound made payable to me to our home address.
If you would usually give us a present then please send us a cheque instead.
If you'd rather make a bank transfer then email me and I'll send you the details.
I will ask good old Mum (thanks Mum!) to pay in the cheques and transfer whatever we have received to the orphanage at the end of January and will let you know how much we have received.
Our target is to buy a cow for the orphanage - a milking cow to provide fresh milk for the kids every day.
If you want to do something in return....
If you would usually send us a card, can we ask that you send a cheque for one pound made payable to me to our home address.
If you would usually give us a present then please send us a cheque instead.
If you'd rather make a bank transfer then email me and I'll send you the details.
I will ask good old Mum (thanks Mum!) to pay in the cheques and transfer whatever we have received to the orphanage at the end of January and will let you know how much we have received.
Our target is to buy a cow for the orphanage - a milking cow to provide fresh milk for the kids every day.
Lake Nkuruba Orphanage
The next few days were spent happily at the Lake Nkuruba campsite. They had amazing views; a lake free of crocs, hippos and bilharzia; colobus monkeys in the trees; lovely staff; delicious food and fantastic day trips on offer to some of the local highlights. We visited a tea factory and saw how the lush green leaves of the tea plants make their journey to the small brown leaves in our tea pots. We hiked for hours to a breathtaking waterfall and sat in a rock pool for the shoulder-massage to end all shoulder massages.
But the highlight for both of us was understanding the 'community' element of the campsite. It is run by Pastor John Boscoe who shares his home with his wife and 27 orphans. The children sleep two or three to a narrow bed, 6-8 to each tiny room. In addition to their school work each day all of them help with the gardening, milking the cows, gathering water and cooking as well as keeping the campsite running. A further hundred or so orphans live with widows in the community but the pastor supports them in their education. The revenue from the campsite contributes to the costs of keeping 100+ orphans fed, clothed and in full time education. Thirty foreign sponsors provide further support for the education of the brightest children. My mind worked overtime with how Mike and I could use our resources and experience to help the pastor in this work. It was a pleasure to find out more about such a worthwhile project and it is great to find a project we can support directly in the future, rather than funds being lost through administration. Rather than sitting around waiting for overseas aid, the Pastor has a successful business which supports the orphans and this made me far more motivated to help him. I have already emailed the students I have met through Fulcrum and a few of them are looking into whether they can visit the orphanage next summer to undertake an enhancement project. Further ideas are in the pipeline.
On our last day at the orphanage we spent the afternoon swimming in the lake with some of the kids. I had two pairs of goggles with me and everyone had a go, though the visibility was poor everyone was excited to see under water for the very first time. When we returned from our swim we were welcomed by a performance of Ugandan song and dance by some of the children - it was excellent. As is often the way, the smallest performer - not really part of the performance at all - stole the show. As the older students competently danced and sang, she stood amidst them in a small grass skirt, her face a mask of concentration, shaking her teeny behind like there was no tomorrow. It was a happy end to our time in Uganda.
But the highlight for both of us was understanding the 'community' element of the campsite. It is run by Pastor John Boscoe who shares his home with his wife and 27 orphans. The children sleep two or three to a narrow bed, 6-8 to each tiny room. In addition to their school work each day all of them help with the gardening, milking the cows, gathering water and cooking as well as keeping the campsite running. A further hundred or so orphans live with widows in the community but the pastor supports them in their education. The revenue from the campsite contributes to the costs of keeping 100+ orphans fed, clothed and in full time education. Thirty foreign sponsors provide further support for the education of the brightest children. My mind worked overtime with how Mike and I could use our resources and experience to help the pastor in this work. It was a pleasure to find out more about such a worthwhile project and it is great to find a project we can support directly in the future, rather than funds being lost through administration. Rather than sitting around waiting for overseas aid, the Pastor has a successful business which supports the orphans and this made me far more motivated to help him. I have already emailed the students I have met through Fulcrum and a few of them are looking into whether they can visit the orphanage next summer to undertake an enhancement project. Further ideas are in the pipeline.
On our last day at the orphanage we spent the afternoon swimming in the lake with some of the kids. I had two pairs of goggles with me and everyone had a go, though the visibility was poor everyone was excited to see under water for the very first time. When we returned from our swim we were welcomed by a performance of Ugandan song and dance by some of the children - it was excellent. As is often the way, the smallest performer - not really part of the performance at all - stole the show. As the older students competently danced and sang, she stood amidst them in a small grass skirt, her face a mask of concentration, shaking her teeny behind like there was no tomorrow. It was a happy end to our time in Uganda.
A charming cup of tea with the PG chimps
After the rafting we had another day to kill in Kampala and we used it to try and understand what made the city tick. We shaved away the layers of smog and grid-locked streets to find a city pulsating with life. We spent the afternoon wandering in the markets and backstreets where 5-storey shopping arcades are filled to the gills with garish western-style clothing and tiny side streets are lined with tailors on foot-powered Singer sewing machines knocking up African skirts and blouses at a rate of knots. We climbed the fire escape of a building for a bird's eye view of the city's taxi park. Row upon row of small minibuses stretch off into the distance waiting to whisk people off to every corner of Uganda.
In the evening we went to a jam session outside the national theatre. Every conceivable type of music was covered and rastas sat alongside Americans with harmonicas and hip hop artists. One particularly weird ensemble comprised of an American folk singer accompanied by a Scandinavian girl on some kind of whistle and a Ugandan rapper. I'd love to say it was cutting edge but I think Mike and I could have done a better job with a recorder and a dustbin lid. The highlight of the evening was the people watching, as the event united all faces of the Ugandan capital. A bare-footed, tanned Norwegian girl in a colourful, floaty, silk dress wafted around self-consciously holding hands with her Ugandan boyfriend who was decked out in copious gold chains, low slung jeans, sideways baseball cap and shades. We sat on a high wall and watched as the hungry eyes of countless other young Ugandan boys trailed the shapely behind of the girl as she moved through the crowds. An elderly white lady arrived with a blue rinse and set, incongruously draped in a leopard print scarf, who proceeded to chat to a group of heavily dread-locked rastas. The beer flowed, the music warbled on. Fantastic night.
From here we headed west to Fort Portal and on to the crater lakes region. We had been recommended a camp site by one of the lakes and arrived in the late afternoon expecting an amazing paradise akin to Nature's Prime Island. We were met by a confused looking gardener and a plague of flies. Eventually the voluptuous Pakistani owner arrived, dressed in a slinky, sequined, animal-print dress, thick black hairs protruding from her chin and a cloud of cloying perfume warding off the flies. She was straight out of a Salman Rushdie novel. Her charge for camping at $15 dollars per person per night rendered even me speechless. Dinner would also be $15 dollars per person. It was late in the day, we were tired, we were trapped.
We sat, fuming, and ate 5 small chicken bones - one of which was actually the chicken's neck - and boiled rice heavily seasoned with dying flies. In the morning we awoke to rain. It wasn't rain, it was the ever-thickening plague of flies plopping onto the tent. We asked for directions to the chimpanzee forest and were told it would be wise to pay a guide to take us there. Of course, she would give us a "very good price". $15. We declined and set off in the wrong direction.
An hour later - hot, tired, angry and lost we came across a sign for a community campsite. We walked up a grassy hill, accompanied by a gaggle of small children and came into a leafy square with views across to the Rwenzori mountains in one direction, and down into a tantalizingly blue crater lake on the other side. We ordered some water and decided to move to the camp the following day.
From there we walked back in the right direction towards the chimpanzee forest, booked a trek for the next morning, negotiated a motor bike to take us there at 6am (we hoped - the guy could speak not one word of English) and then we headed to the Chimpanzee Tea Estate for a cuppa. We arrived at an old lodge looking out across immaculately manicured lawns sweeping down to the lush green of the tea plantation below. It was deserted. We let ourselves in and perused the old books on Africa that lined the walls and the family photos on the fireplace. We settled into two wicker chairs on the veranda and an elderly white Labrador dozed companionably at our feet. We were lost in reverie, warmed by the afternoon sun. Eventually a girl arrived and we ordered some 'African tea' - spiced tea brewed with milk instead of water -and sat until the shadows lengthened and drove us back to the fly-infested campsite of doom. Luckily three Italians, paying $125 dollars a night to stay in one of Madame's faded-looking cabins, had arrived so she was forced to serve up something a little more exciting than boiled chicken neck (only a little more exciting mind you). She had dressed for the occasion in a red chiffon dress, with an even more alluring perfume than the night before. As the evening wore on the flies thickened and hummed ominously. We were driven to bed early as they flew into our eyes and mouths. They were so bad in fact that Madame offered that we could sleep in one of the cabins. We slept under a mosquito net which did not provide an impermeable barrier to the flies and awoke on a million tiny corpses.
Thankfully our motorbike driver was waiting for us at 6am with a friend. We mounted the bikes and they sped off in the direction of Fort Portal - the opposite direction to what we thought we had agreed a price for. We managed to stop them and thanks to a pretty good impression of a chimpanzee (a nod to my Grandpa there for the tuition in this field) we managed to communicate our desired destination. We sped along the bumpy, dusty road as the sun rose, lighting up the brilliant green of the tea plants and burning away the hazy blue mist enveloping them. The tiny bikes hurtled down steep hills and we clung on for dear life. I tied my hoodie tight around my face; Mike arrived with red eyelashes and hair from the fine dust.
The chimpanzee tracking was a bit of a disappointment. We did see four chimps, but they were forty meters up in the air and the forest was almost silent. As the trek finished we were faced with a problem. I did have the number of the moto drivers, but we did not have any signal. We tried hitching a lift from other people on the trek, but they were not too keen to share their Toyota Landcruisers and private chauffeurs with the likes of us. We decided to walk and hitch hike as we went. It was only 10km to the outskirts of the forest and a further 5km to the campsite of doom so we could make it in a couple of hours at a good pace. Luckily after a few km a moto driver chugged up behind us on a clapped out old bike. We persuaded him to take both of us on the one bike and set off at a tortuously slow pace, balanced precariously as the bike wobbled over pot holes. On the steepest hills we had to jump off and run after the bike, but we made it. Both of us agreed that this comical journey was more fun than the chimp tracking itself.
We found a second motor driver, picked up our packs at the campsite and headed on to Lake Nkuruba community campsite. Another interesting journey. As we hit each bump the extra weight of the packs on our backs bounced us straight off the back of the bike and into the dust. Eventually the poor drivers had to negotiate the crazy dirt roads with our packs balanced on the handle bars. We made slow progress but we arrived, dusty and travel-worn in time for a trip to the market and a dip in the lake. We spent a wonderful night in our tent under a starry sky with chirping birds and a knock-out view to welcome us the following morning.
In the evening we went to a jam session outside the national theatre. Every conceivable type of music was covered and rastas sat alongside Americans with harmonicas and hip hop artists. One particularly weird ensemble comprised of an American folk singer accompanied by a Scandinavian girl on some kind of whistle and a Ugandan rapper. I'd love to say it was cutting edge but I think Mike and I could have done a better job with a recorder and a dustbin lid. The highlight of the evening was the people watching, as the event united all faces of the Ugandan capital. A bare-footed, tanned Norwegian girl in a colourful, floaty, silk dress wafted around self-consciously holding hands with her Ugandan boyfriend who was decked out in copious gold chains, low slung jeans, sideways baseball cap and shades. We sat on a high wall and watched as the hungry eyes of countless other young Ugandan boys trailed the shapely behind of the girl as she moved through the crowds. An elderly white lady arrived with a blue rinse and set, incongruously draped in a leopard print scarf, who proceeded to chat to a group of heavily dread-locked rastas. The beer flowed, the music warbled on. Fantastic night.
From here we headed west to Fort Portal and on to the crater lakes region. We had been recommended a camp site by one of the lakes and arrived in the late afternoon expecting an amazing paradise akin to Nature's Prime Island. We were met by a confused looking gardener and a plague of flies. Eventually the voluptuous Pakistani owner arrived, dressed in a slinky, sequined, animal-print dress, thick black hairs protruding from her chin and a cloud of cloying perfume warding off the flies. She was straight out of a Salman Rushdie novel. Her charge for camping at $15 dollars per person per night rendered even me speechless. Dinner would also be $15 dollars per person. It was late in the day, we were tired, we were trapped.
We sat, fuming, and ate 5 small chicken bones - one of which was actually the chicken's neck - and boiled rice heavily seasoned with dying flies. In the morning we awoke to rain. It wasn't rain, it was the ever-thickening plague of flies plopping onto the tent. We asked for directions to the chimpanzee forest and were told it would be wise to pay a guide to take us there. Of course, she would give us a "very good price". $15. We declined and set off in the wrong direction.
An hour later - hot, tired, angry and lost we came across a sign for a community campsite. We walked up a grassy hill, accompanied by a gaggle of small children and came into a leafy square with views across to the Rwenzori mountains in one direction, and down into a tantalizingly blue crater lake on the other side. We ordered some water and decided to move to the camp the following day.
From there we walked back in the right direction towards the chimpanzee forest, booked a trek for the next morning, negotiated a motor bike to take us there at 6am (we hoped - the guy could speak not one word of English) and then we headed to the Chimpanzee Tea Estate for a cuppa. We arrived at an old lodge looking out across immaculately manicured lawns sweeping down to the lush green of the tea plantation below. It was deserted. We let ourselves in and perused the old books on Africa that lined the walls and the family photos on the fireplace. We settled into two wicker chairs on the veranda and an elderly white Labrador dozed companionably at our feet. We were lost in reverie, warmed by the afternoon sun. Eventually a girl arrived and we ordered some 'African tea' - spiced tea brewed with milk instead of water -and sat until the shadows lengthened and drove us back to the fly-infested campsite of doom. Luckily three Italians, paying $125 dollars a night to stay in one of Madame's faded-looking cabins, had arrived so she was forced to serve up something a little more exciting than boiled chicken neck (only a little more exciting mind you). She had dressed for the occasion in a red chiffon dress, with an even more alluring perfume than the night before. As the evening wore on the flies thickened and hummed ominously. We were driven to bed early as they flew into our eyes and mouths. They were so bad in fact that Madame offered that we could sleep in one of the cabins. We slept under a mosquito net which did not provide an impermeable barrier to the flies and awoke on a million tiny corpses.
Thankfully our motorbike driver was waiting for us at 6am with a friend. We mounted the bikes and they sped off in the direction of Fort Portal - the opposite direction to what we thought we had agreed a price for. We managed to stop them and thanks to a pretty good impression of a chimpanzee (a nod to my Grandpa there for the tuition in this field) we managed to communicate our desired destination. We sped along the bumpy, dusty road as the sun rose, lighting up the brilliant green of the tea plants and burning away the hazy blue mist enveloping them. The tiny bikes hurtled down steep hills and we clung on for dear life. I tied my hoodie tight around my face; Mike arrived with red eyelashes and hair from the fine dust.
The chimpanzee tracking was a bit of a disappointment. We did see four chimps, but they were forty meters up in the air and the forest was almost silent. As the trek finished we were faced with a problem. I did have the number of the moto drivers, but we did not have any signal. We tried hitching a lift from other people on the trek, but they were not too keen to share their Toyota Landcruisers and private chauffeurs with the likes of us. We decided to walk and hitch hike as we went. It was only 10km to the outskirts of the forest and a further 5km to the campsite of doom so we could make it in a couple of hours at a good pace. Luckily after a few km a moto driver chugged up behind us on a clapped out old bike. We persuaded him to take both of us on the one bike and set off at a tortuously slow pace, balanced precariously as the bike wobbled over pot holes. On the steepest hills we had to jump off and run after the bike, but we made it. Both of us agreed that this comical journey was more fun than the chimp tracking itself.
We found a second motor driver, picked up our packs at the campsite and headed on to Lake Nkuruba community campsite. Another interesting journey. As we hit each bump the extra weight of the packs on our backs bounced us straight off the back of the bike and into the dust. Eventually the poor drivers had to negotiate the crazy dirt roads with our packs balanced on the handle bars. We made slow progress but we arrived, dusty and travel-worn in time for a trip to the market and a dip in the lake. We spent a wonderful night in our tent under a starry sky with chirping birds and a knock-out view to welcome us the following morning.
Tuesday 2 December 2008
Mzungu corkscrews, paddle slaps and hippos
We're playing catch up a little bit here after a few weeks in the wilds of Uganda where we were lucky to have electricity in some of the places we stayed, let alone an internet cafe.
After leaving Rwanda we had probably the dustiest, bumpiest ride of our trip - in a taxi with 8 passengers crammed into it- to the small town of Kabale. From there we headed to Lake Bunyoni for a few days of relaxation. The scenery in this area is very similar to Rwanda, with lush green rolling hills, the only notable difference being a slightly less intensive approach to farming.
We pitched up at the Bunyoni Overland Camp, chose a shady spot and and unfurled the Oh Vee before heading for a stroll. We returned to find not one but three 'overland' trucks had arrived and green overlanders' tents had mushroomed all over the camp site. A bevvy of squeaky 18-year old Aussie girls were washing and hanging up their pants all over our peaceful oasis before hitting the beers for a night of partying. We couldn't wait to get out of there.
The next morning, bright and early we rented a dugout canoe and (after working out how not to spin in circles - the 'Mzungu corkscrew') set off looking for the tranquil paradise we craved. We found it. Just across the bay was Nature's Prime Island with an assortment of rustic log cabins set amongst a beautiful forest - brightly coloured birds chirping in the trees and a whitewashed jetty to jump from into the cool waters of the lake. We rowed straight back across the lake, packed up the Oh Vee, negotiated a good rate on the best cabin on the island and settled in for a night of luxury. We were the only customers and in the evening they lit a big fire for us, covered the table in flowers and cooked up a delicious crayfish curry. We slept like kings in an enormous bed and awoke the next morning to rays of sun peeking between the logs of the cabin. Amazing.
Next stop was dusty, sweaty and hectic Kampala and then on to an organised tour up to Murchison Falls National Park. We lucked out and had a fantastic group in our minibus including an American girl who had been studying chimpanzees in the Semiliki Valley, a Brit who had come to Uganda to set up his own charity and his friend, and another American who was working in an orphanage north of Kampala, and her visiting friend. There was also a slightly odd older German man, but we'll gloss over him. We drove for most of the day and arrived at sunset to see the full force of the Nile powering through a narrow gorge and roaring out the other side. The resulting wall of spray was very welcome after the dusty journey. We spent the night in safari tents surrounded by munching warthogs and grunting hippos. I was so scared to go to the loo in the night that I woke Mike up to come with me. I am not sure what he would have been able to do to save me from a charging hippo, but it made me feel safer.
The next day we went on a morning safari drive through the forest and along the shores of Lake Albert and spent the afternoon in a tiny motor boat on the Nile. For both of us this was the highlight of the trip. We were able to float right up to elephants, crocodiles and hippos on the shores of the river and to see some of the amazing bird life such as crested cranes, kingfishers and fish eagles. Mike and I have become reluctant twitchers whilst in Rwanda and Uganda - the birds are just breathtaking.
The next day it was back to Kampala after a rhino walking tour. Thanks to the ravages of the Idi Amin years wildlife in Uganda is still in recovery and we went to see six rhinos who will hopefully parent a population of wild rhinos in Uganda's future. For now, they spend their days lounging under the trees in the forest of a rhino sanctuary and tourists are allowed to walk right up and observe them. It was pretty amazing to see a rhino on foot - they are immense, and thankfully pretty passive.
We spent the weekend in Kampala being shown around by the gang from our tour, and managed to see the Bond film which was a welcome home comfort. Sunday brought a day of pure adrenalin......
We were picked up early in the morning and whisked out to the source of the Nile. Within seconds we were kitted out in helmets and life jackets and were floating off down the river. The training was all done on the water and before we knew it it was time for the first rapid. Amaaazing. This is supposedly one of the best white water rafting sites in the world, with grades 3, 4 and 5's and we were not disappointed. Our boat was crewed by us, an older American guy and yet another gaggle of shrill Aussie teenagers on an overland tour. As the guide shouted 'paddle hard' as we passed over the top of each rapid, the Aussies cowered in the bottom of the boat and consequently we flipped on almost every rapid.
Flipping is probably the most fun part. You literally don't know which way is up. You are sucked into a washing machine tumble before bobbing up for just a few seconds -for a breath if you are lucky - and disappearing under again as you hit the next wave. When you finally surface you have to try and make it back to the boat and clamber in. We both absolutely loved it and the shrieking, panicking Aussies probably added to our enjoyment as it was funny to hear them scream as we hurtled over each rapid. A particularly exciting moment was when the boat got lodged sideways at the top of a huge waterfall. The guide couldn't spin it back around so we plunged sideways off the top, falling out of the boat headfirst into the pool below. Apparently it was the first time that the guide had ever lost people out of the boat on that rapid and he looked pretty worried when we got to the bottom and scrambled to heave us all back in to the boat.
Mike managed to slap me with his oar on the very first rapid and by the end of the day I had a bulging, purple, 6-inch, paddle-shaped bruise on the top of my left arm. It looks pretty dramatic, so despite the pain I have enjoyed being able to spin a good yarn about it (and of course point it out to Mike on every possible occasion!).
It was a full day's trip and we returned to Kampala totally exhausted but totally elated - and keen to do some more rafting later on in the trip.
The second half of Uganda coming soon....
After leaving Rwanda we had probably the dustiest, bumpiest ride of our trip - in a taxi with 8 passengers crammed into it- to the small town of Kabale. From there we headed to Lake Bunyoni for a few days of relaxation. The scenery in this area is very similar to Rwanda, with lush green rolling hills, the only notable difference being a slightly less intensive approach to farming.
We pitched up at the Bunyoni Overland Camp, chose a shady spot and and unfurled the Oh Vee before heading for a stroll. We returned to find not one but three 'overland' trucks had arrived and green overlanders' tents had mushroomed all over the camp site. A bevvy of squeaky 18-year old Aussie girls were washing and hanging up their pants all over our peaceful oasis before hitting the beers for a night of partying. We couldn't wait to get out of there.
The next morning, bright and early we rented a dugout canoe and (after working out how not to spin in circles - the 'Mzungu corkscrew') set off looking for the tranquil paradise we craved. We found it. Just across the bay was Nature's Prime Island with an assortment of rustic log cabins set amongst a beautiful forest - brightly coloured birds chirping in the trees and a whitewashed jetty to jump from into the cool waters of the lake. We rowed straight back across the lake, packed up the Oh Vee, negotiated a good rate on the best cabin on the island and settled in for a night of luxury. We were the only customers and in the evening they lit a big fire for us, covered the table in flowers and cooked up a delicious crayfish curry. We slept like kings in an enormous bed and awoke the next morning to rays of sun peeking between the logs of the cabin. Amazing.
Next stop was dusty, sweaty and hectic Kampala and then on to an organised tour up to Murchison Falls National Park. We lucked out and had a fantastic group in our minibus including an American girl who had been studying chimpanzees in the Semiliki Valley, a Brit who had come to Uganda to set up his own charity and his friend, and another American who was working in an orphanage north of Kampala, and her visiting friend. There was also a slightly odd older German man, but we'll gloss over him. We drove for most of the day and arrived at sunset to see the full force of the Nile powering through a narrow gorge and roaring out the other side. The resulting wall of spray was very welcome after the dusty journey. We spent the night in safari tents surrounded by munching warthogs and grunting hippos. I was so scared to go to the loo in the night that I woke Mike up to come with me. I am not sure what he would have been able to do to save me from a charging hippo, but it made me feel safer.
The next day we went on a morning safari drive through the forest and along the shores of Lake Albert and spent the afternoon in a tiny motor boat on the Nile. For both of us this was the highlight of the trip. We were able to float right up to elephants, crocodiles and hippos on the shores of the river and to see some of the amazing bird life such as crested cranes, kingfishers and fish eagles. Mike and I have become reluctant twitchers whilst in Rwanda and Uganda - the birds are just breathtaking.
The next day it was back to Kampala after a rhino walking tour. Thanks to the ravages of the Idi Amin years wildlife in Uganda is still in recovery and we went to see six rhinos who will hopefully parent a population of wild rhinos in Uganda's future. For now, they spend their days lounging under the trees in the forest of a rhino sanctuary and tourists are allowed to walk right up and observe them. It was pretty amazing to see a rhino on foot - they are immense, and thankfully pretty passive.
We spent the weekend in Kampala being shown around by the gang from our tour, and managed to see the Bond film which was a welcome home comfort. Sunday brought a day of pure adrenalin......
We were picked up early in the morning and whisked out to the source of the Nile. Within seconds we were kitted out in helmets and life jackets and were floating off down the river. The training was all done on the water and before we knew it it was time for the first rapid. Amaaazing. This is supposedly one of the best white water rafting sites in the world, with grades 3, 4 and 5's and we were not disappointed. Our boat was crewed by us, an older American guy and yet another gaggle of shrill Aussie teenagers on an overland tour. As the guide shouted 'paddle hard' as we passed over the top of each rapid, the Aussies cowered in the bottom of the boat and consequently we flipped on almost every rapid.
Flipping is probably the most fun part. You literally don't know which way is up. You are sucked into a washing machine tumble before bobbing up for just a few seconds -for a breath if you are lucky - and disappearing under again as you hit the next wave. When you finally surface you have to try and make it back to the boat and clamber in. We both absolutely loved it and the shrieking, panicking Aussies probably added to our enjoyment as it was funny to hear them scream as we hurtled over each rapid. A particularly exciting moment was when the boat got lodged sideways at the top of a huge waterfall. The guide couldn't spin it back around so we plunged sideways off the top, falling out of the boat headfirst into the pool below. Apparently it was the first time that the guide had ever lost people out of the boat on that rapid and he looked pretty worried when we got to the bottom and scrambled to heave us all back in to the boat.
Mike managed to slap me with his oar on the very first rapid and by the end of the day I had a bulging, purple, 6-inch, paddle-shaped bruise on the top of my left arm. It looks pretty dramatic, so despite the pain I have enjoyed being able to spin a good yarn about it (and of course point it out to Mike on every possible occasion!).
It was a full day's trip and we returned to Kampala totally exhausted but totally elated - and keen to do some more rafting later on in the trip.
The second half of Uganda coming soon....
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