It's a Small World After All [tick tick tick...suspense!]

Hey All-

Now I get to give you the inside dope on TravelGuard travel insurance. I'll see how they help me out with my earlier flight home. I leave Kampala on the 7th and will be in Arusha on the 8th, where I will try to move my flight up for a medical evacuation. Isn't this fun? I would do just about anything for a good email.

Check out this article sent by my pal Eric: http://www.ktvu.com/health/1948885/detail.html

So I choose Africa to have an SF outbreak. Small world-Peter Ruane in the article is my old doctor from LA. So tomorrow, I'll hang around Kampala at the guest house, check email, and then head off on my 17- hour bus ride to Arusha, where I'll try to change my flight. Think happy thoughts.

It's a small world after all except when you're trying to get home from Uganda...

Peace
Craig

Uganda Go Rwanda More Time!

6:45 PM Red Chilli

Where was I, before all the sturm und drang of my last email? Oh, yeah…

Bwindi.

After Bwindi, we left for Mount Gahinga Camp at the border of Zaire/Congo, Rwanda and Uganda. This was supposed to be a ‘day of leisure after a five hour drive.’ I’ve since learned to multiply times two any estimated travel time Matthias gives me.

Ten hours later, we pulled into Mgahinga Camp. This was even more luxurious than Bwindi. Instead of tented accommodations, I had my own hut complex, or banda, made of teak, pumice, with an en suite shower/toilet. All this overlooking volcanoes, Lake Mutanda, amid lilies and hummingbirds and beautiful gardens.

Again, I was the only person here, and the service was impeccable bordering on pandering bordering on Zaire/Rwanda…

At night, I returned to my banda to find a lantern lit, a charcoal heater placed within, and a hot water bottle warming my bed. It just dawned on me that I hadn’t told you that much of my time in Africa has been cool. Odd, being so close to the equator, but it’s the altitude.

Again, the landscape was surreal hills, terracing, and a chain of seven volcanoes in a row.

This was very rural, very poor Africa. I saw two kids of about ten playing. One was wearing an infant’s jumper, the kind that snaps at the crotch, as a shirt—it ended mid-torso. The other wore an extra large sweatshirt, more holes than shirt, as a dress.

On our way to camp, we got a flat, which caused people to come out of the woodwork to come and gawk at us, or more specifically, me. They’d most likely seen white people driving by, but I think that they’d never had one get out of a vehicle in their neighborhood. I was an instant source of fascination, amusement and terror. And I know that they’d never seen tattoos before. The one person who could speak English said, “You have pictures!”.

Back to Camp.

I was up and on the road by 7:30 in order to get through the border and to the Parc National des Volcans for our 9:30 trek time. At the border, we had to get “an assistant” as Matthius called him—in other words, a soldier with a rifle sat next to me for our 45- minute drive to park headquarters—a stretch of highway apparently known for banditry/rebel activity. Hutu, what ya do?

As we traveled, there were loads of people everywhere-in the streets, in fields. Rwanda is one of Africa’s most populated countries.

It was an uneasy feeling having a soldier with a rifle pressed into me in the Land Rover. And I also acknowledged a certain wariness to this country with it’s uneasy history with the machete-Dian Fossey and crew, and nearly a million Tutsis and moderate Hutus met their fates via machete.

As we drove into the park, children thrust out their hands and yelled, “Give us money!”—no smile, no wave. I noticed this phenomenon in Bwindi and Lake Bunyoni—anywhere near the where well meaning, short-sighted tourists had dropped coins and chocolates before.

In truly rural Africa (which it seems most of Africa is), kids are happy just to wave and smile and shout, “How are you?” to show their usage of English. It seems only in the true tourist corridor has a culture of begging developed.

After we arrived at PNV, Volcanoes paid for my trek permit, a not-insignificant 250 dollars. (Thank you, Volcanoes!) I met two guys from Manchester, UK, and our guide, and we set off to find our group (lucky?) 13.

I had been told that Rwanda would be an easier trek and we’d be done in three hours.

Fat chance.

This day, while amazing, was seven hours of the most difficult, hot, at times frustrating and exhausting hikes I’d even done. It rivaled Kilimanjaro. If we hadn’t been three youngish guys in good shape, we wouldn’t have seen the gorillas.

We hiked straight up a volcano for two hours--through fields, bamboo stands where you really needed to be hobbit sized, all the while vines wrapping around your feet and head like snares, bamboo spears stabbing legs, packs, head, dinner plate sized buffalo poops, stinging nettles tickling through trousers, and thorny stemmed handholds.

We hiked extremely quickly, gaining almost 6,000 feet in two hours. We came into a clearing and were told that we were fairly near the gorilla group, and that we shouldn’t run if charged, that we would stand our ground. No problem.

We doffed our daypacks and awaited the 10- to 15- minute hike to see group 13.

Or so we thought.

A blood curdling scream, a huge black arm through bamboo three feet away, and rushing sounds. A scene from ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy” ensued, as I jumped, caught my foot on a vine, leapfrogged over the head of one trek mate and landed on a rifle—all done at Keystone Cops pacing.

First test- Don’t Run.

First Test- Failed.

I didn’t know we were only two stalks of bamboo from the silverback. It seems 13’s regular silverback had recently died and the new guy wasn’t as habituated as the other. Because of intensely dense growth, our guide said our hour wouldn’t start until we could view the gorillas.

We followed 13 for about three hours, and were mock charged at least fifteen times-- one time he actually brushed one of the guys.

While thrilling (and yes, I did learn to stand my ground), I felt that this was not an entirely stress-free encounter for this particular group. In Bwindi, you could see that the gorillas and their best interests were strictly adhered to. In Rwanda, because of our guide’s desire to please us, I felt the gorillas had to have been stressed out. I mean, we were with them, following them, being charged, being screamed at-- for almost three hours.

I voiced my concern, but the guide said, “No problem. New silverback. Keeps running.” I asked if he knew how to say, “Sorry for disturbing you” in mountain gorilla. He smiled and looked confused.

It took us two hours to hike down-an equally exhausting and frustrating trek through bamboo- off cliffs (we had to jump off a 10 foot drop) and nettles and thorns.

We staggered back to park headquarters seven hours later, exhausted, sunburned, dehydrated, and famished. I split my packed lunch with the two guys at 3:30.

Was it a good experience?

It was a wild, difficult experience. And it made me want to make sure that Rwanda stays true to its commitment to low stress gorilla eco-tourism.

The next day, Matthias said we had a 6- hour drive to Kampala, so I applied my 2x theory. Worked like a charm—12 hours. On the drive we had a flat, no brakes, and refilled the radiator 8 times—so, for Africa, pretty uneventful trip.

As I’m a bit obsessed with all things legs of late, the trek activity and heat wasn’t so kind. My leg looked like a C minus kielbasa where my sock had cut a Great Rift Valley through the edema in my ankle. (I looked, but didn’t see hippos or giraffes in the aforementioned valley.) The next day, the swelling was gone, so it looked very Rameses the Great withered—if I’d just done The Eyes (some of you know those eyes…) I’d have been the complete picture.

Back to present.

I bought my bus ticket to Arusha for the 7th. I’m really sorry I wasn’t able to get a firsthand report on Pangaea’s work in Uganda, but I think I should get the leg looked at. I kind of feel like I’ve let you, my Pangaea donors, down. When I get home, I’ll try having a chat with Barbara Lawson, Uganda’s program director based in San Francisco, so that I can fill you in on the important work you’ve helped fund.

I’m going to sort of miss Kampala. As I was walking up the hill to Chillis in the late afternoon amber light, past the Nakasero Soap Works with its smell of canned frosting, toothpaste and stomach acid, I had realized I had settled into a pretty laid back Ugandan lifestyle.

Off to bed now, belly full of Bolognese and “Night Listener” by Armistead Maupin for a little taste of home (he even mentions 18th & Castro).

Oh-- that reminds me--- there are a slew of shops in Uganda called Shop Dot Com—all empty. Now I really felt like I was back in the City by the Bay.

A couple of headscratchers:

Speedo Electronics (hydraulic lifting & enhancing?)
and
Pretty Unisex Room.

Oh, Patrick, you’d have liked the walk I did at Entebbe Botanical Gardens today. (The Gardens were home to Weismueller Tarzan locations and where Idi Amin used to draw his water from, because he thought he was going to be poisoned.)

Big Spider Walk.

Big. Spiders. Everywhere.

Peace
Craig

post-gorilla bliss

fly face intelligence

hang in there, baby

baby

beautiful. huge. stinky.

Part Three: In Tents, Intense.

Wow. BootsnAll is gonna rescind my backpacker stripes for this one. The level of service and accommodation—well, let’s just say the Thank Yous from the British Baroness/Amabassador to Africa, Bill & Hillary, Rachel Hunter/SuperModel, this isn’t my usual scene. It was kind of embarrassing having someone assigned specifically to my tent, as well as 6 to 8 other just serving me.

Some of Volcanoes accolades-BA Highlife, One of the 13 best safaris in the world. I mean, good God, Conde Nast rated it.

I’m more accustomed to the Department of Sanitation/Board of Health rating my digs.

Had a great dinner of cream of mushroom soup, steak, green beans, chips, corn cake & custard. Very good indeed.

I did feel guilty, though, knowing that I was being so catered to in a very, very poor rural community, one of Uganda’s epicenters of HIV crisis. I had to put that aside so that I could appreciate the experience I was being afforded. Hell, I couldn’t even afford the tips they expect in a joint like this. Volcanoes really is outstanding and really the only way I could have done this with my leg like it is.

I passed a couple of backpackers in Kabale--hot, sweaty—huge packs on back, huge daypacks on front, Lonely Planet in Hand, on foot—looking tired, dusty frustrated.

I didn’t miss that. Not today.

5:39PM Bwindi Camp

Sitting on the deck overlooking the Impenetrable Forest, the soundtrack of rushing stream, hornbill, children laughing, chimpanzees screaming, and bird
calls too numerous to count. Butterflies flit around in the golden pre-dusk. What a day.

At 6:45AM, up and dressed getting stuff together for the trek. Had breakfast at 7:15 and at 7:45 left for park headquarters. Arrived, registered, and were briefed on the cans and cannots. By 8:30, we were divided into three groups and sent in different directions.

My group was called M. In our group of trekkers, there was a New Jersey doctor and wife in their 60s, and a couple from Knoxville. We started off, and by some bizarre twist, I the youngest and most fit, was put dead last behind the doctor, who sounded like a coronary was imminent.

One of my least favorite bugaboos showed up. Why the hell are Americans so loud? And do they(we) all have absolutely know idea what impact they are making on the environment around them(us)?

We fell into a quick rhythm of doctor shouting his travel experiences, peppered with,

“Isn’t that right, Joan?”

“That’s right, dear.”

Followed were his attempts to harpoon me with his walking stick. Did I mention the flatus for every fifth or tenth stride?

I was looking forward to the smell of the gorillas.

After about an hour and a half of very steep climb on reasonably groomed trail, we hit the top of the hill. Caleb, our guide, said we were about 20 minutes from where group M slept last night.

In 10 minutes, we entered (for an Impenetrable Forest) a relative clearing, were told to grab our cameras, leave our packs, and go.

This is when we went “off road” as it were, through a machete- hacked trail of vines, grasses, trees. Caleb stopped & pointed toward some undergrowth, then he made a grunting sound and shook a tree. All of a sudden, I saw a very furry black leg disappear into shadow.

The guides cleared a spot for us to sit and they checked their watches. We were allowed exactly 60 minutes with the gorillas.

The first to appear was a male of about five who ran and somersaulted to within about 10 feet of us, stood up and stared with what looked like an expression of amusement. Caleb said he was doing the gorilla equivalent of laughing and wondering why on earth we were there.

For the gorillas, tourists are fun time, the time when the children wrestle, swing and play. Caleb said as soon as we leave, they feed & sleep. Soon, three or four more appeared. We sat and watched them for about 40 minutes as a female adult sat watching us watching them.

You could see the intelligence and gentleness I their eyes. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen—so peaceful.

We moved into the forest a bit further and found the silverback. He had little to no interest in us, but he did have a good case of gas. Or was that the doctor?

Our hour ended too quickly, and I feel so honored to have seen the gorillas, with so few left today. Thank you, all you Fossey supporters for helping these creatures. You make a difference in our world.

On our way back to park headquarters, we stopped to eat our packed lunches. My fundraising came up. The couple from Tennessee thought it was a really cool idea and want to incorporate it in their future travels.

The doctor’s wife said to me, “How did you raise so much?”

I said I asked friends and generally talked about it a lot.

You’d think I’d pooped on her sandwich.

Her reply, “Oh. I would never ask friends. In fact, I wouldn’t allow my kids to trick or treat for UNICEF. I’d just give them money.”

Is that right, Joan?

I piped in. Couldn’t help it.

I said, “Well, you know, talking about the effort or charity is as important as the funds raised. Perhaps you did your kids and UNICEF a disservice by not letting them ask.”

Silence and uncomfortable shifting.

(And big ‘Right on!’ grins from Tennessee.)

I’m not usually so high and mighty, but my diamond slippers were cramping my feet in my ivory tower.

Doctor’s wife, “Well, our just coming here is philanthropic.”

Lucky, lucky Africa.

Isn’t that right, Joan.

I think what kind of ticked me off about wifey is that we were given strict No Flash orders. Her camera flashed once—okay, could happen to anyone. Twice? Maybe. Five times?

The guard said something and she shrugged and gave a look as if to say, “I’m powerless. My camera has come alive and it now controls me.”

But really, she wasn’t so bad, and it was a fantastic trek experience. So peaceful, except for the guards with machine guns in front and behind us. Hard to imagine that this is close to one of Africa’s more volatile areas.

Tomorrow, off to Mgahinga for an overnight before trekking Parc National des Volcans in Rwanda, home to Fossey and Gorillas in the Mist.

(For now, I’m off to the Forex and Pharmacy. I’ll fill you in on the exceptional, but kind of troubling, experience in Rwanda.)

Ciao.
Craig

feets a-keep me goin'

fancy fancy fancy. embarassed.

bwindi impenetrable forest

lake bunyoni - hobbit territory

scary leg

mmmmmmaize.

Part Two: A Trip to Bwindiful

At 7:20 AM, Volcanoes Land Rover rolls into Red Chilli’s. I meet Matthias, a 67- year old gentleman who will be my driver for my trek. We load up with my
request to stop by a pharmacy in Kampala to get more Keflex, as the other pharmacy only had 2.5 days worth.

Off we go, past those gruesome storks, dust, schools, churches, mosques, I see an ad for Bareback Condoms.

Huh.

I’m surprised by how well maintained the roads are, and just kind of drink in the scenery as it rolls by. So many people pedaling & peddling bananas, fields of
papyrus looking very Horton Hears a Who, crowned cranes, hornbills, crossed the equator where they had a Corioulus effect demonstration, passed stalls
selling neat pyramids of mangoes, tomatoes, watermelon, potatoes, loofah, rolls of papyrus matting.

Around 11:00, I’m starting to feel famished as I missed last night’s dinner and left before breakfast. Matthias pulled over around 11:15, and our vehicle was immediately surrounded by people wielding skewers of meats and corn & bananas. I thought, “I'll worry about tapeworms later. Give me 300 skewers…”

Matthias shooed them away and bought two ears of corn. I like corn and thought
“Filling. Sweet. It’ll do.”

I’d never had roasted maize before.

So that you can enjoy the sensation at home, I’ve come up with a recipe for you to try. Experience it, too!

Here goes:

§ Get very very stoned.
§ Have someone blow dry the inside of your mouth.
§ Take the San Francisco White Pages and dice into 1/8 inch cubes.
§ Pop in mouth and chew.
§ While chewing, have someone eating Corn Nuts occasionally breathe in your general direction.

It took me 45 jaw-cramping minutes to finish an ear.

I was sure my mandibles rivaled ‘Nutcracker Man’ we learned about at Olduvai. It was kind of like having an ear of the ornamental corn you see in floral arrangements in the Fall. At least my stomach had some grist to mill.

My leg was very red throughout the drive, and I was wondering if the Keflex was causing a Custer’s Last Stand type reaction with the bacteria. It didn’t hurt at all—perhaps determination is a mighty opiate.

As we drove, we passed Lake Victoria and continued into green rolling hills. The more we drove, the more Middle Earth it became-all brown and green mosaic,
abrupt hills in every direction, terracing all around. As we neared Bwindi, the roads became dust and boulders, and we passed tea estates, bananas, maize.

Saw a black and white colobus monkey leap right in front of us, a strange cross of flying skunk and Sherman Helmsley.

We passed a group of about 10 people carrying a man on a stretcher. Matthias said they would walk him for nearly 10 hours to a hospital. The multitude of things we take for granted.

The last three hours before we reached Bwindi, the road of dust & rock took on a menacing quality, with boulders and trees pointing down into it like daggers.

By 7:00, we rolled into Bwindi, where I was to begin my gorilla adventure.

bwindi- where tourists were killed a few years ago

cellulitis

Gorilla trek!

francis at volcanoes

redder

red.

Up Country! Down, Leg!!

1/30 8:30 PM Bwindi Tented Camp, Impenetrable Forest, Uganda

Okay, this email will be at least three parts--again, infrequent journal/computer access.

Here tis:

Part One: Pearl Jam

Winston Churchill called Uganda the Pearl of Africa. It’s easy to see why. It’s drop dead gorgeous and the people are so kind. It’s sort of otherworldly.

Okay.

Just to set your keels straight—my lovely-dovey ‘life’s a rainbow’ demeanor hasn’t been a true reflection of the real Craig. The Gemini Craig. Anyone who knows me acknowledges the optimism but also knows the dark, cynical, sarcastic ghoul that lurks within as well. Life as paradox—ideal.

Well, I hit full on the optimism tank, and it’s time I switched modes and paid some attention to my other half.

Yesterday sucked. Out loud.

It was one of those days that comes along about every three weeks or so when
you’re on an extended trip. Like the times in India when I would get so fed up, I’d have sucker punched Gandhi if he’d offered me chai. Don’t even get me
started on Ma Theresa.

I went to pay for my gorilla trek with the assumption that a credit card was accepted with a substantial service charge. Nope. Not Uganda.

Volcanoes was very helpful and pointed me to Barclay’s Bank, where I could do a cash advance on my MasterCard. I approached the teller and said,

“500 US please.”

“Would you like US or shillings?”

“Oh. Shillings are fine.”



Denied.
“Sir, do you have perhaps a daily limit on your card?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Let’s try three hundred.”

“Lets.”

Denied.

“Sorry, sir.”

I left and went to the cybercafe to check my First Card account. I paid it before I left, but thought I might be into a new billing cycle which was precluding the transaction. I didn’t owe anything and a had a $12,000 cash advance
limit.

Huh.

Went back to Barclay’s and ‘splained.

“Let me try again sir.”

I looked around at the We Welcome Visa Sign. At the We Welcome MasterCard sign. I’ve come to realize that no one welcomes American Express. The AmEx
affiliate in Kamapla is listed in Lonely Planet as “providing the usual cardmember services, including mail delivery.” I think mail delivery was all they did.

“Do you sell traveler’s checks?”

“No.”

“Do you do cash advance on American Express?”

“No.”

I wondered what they did other than receiving mail and looking bored.

Went back to Barclay’s.

Denied.

Come to find out later, they only do cash advance on Visa cards. Which the teller didn’t know. Or their sign, for that matter.
Starting to stew a little, I also start to get a little frazzled, realizing I’m in Uganda with three visas and a bus ticket I need to buy in order to get back to Arusha.

Feeling very short on money, I walk over to Volcanoes and hand over the majority of my few remaining traveler’s checks. (For comparison’s sake, I’ve spent as much in four weeks in Africa as I spent in 8 months in India, Tibet & Nepal.)

From there, I head over to the Internet café, again, to, just for fun, look up cellulitis. Seems I’ve got a textbook case. And it’s the same family as abscesses, gas gangrene, you know, good fun. And the worst, most maddening part?
The words, “Can be more severe/complicated in the immunocompromised.”
I’ve never been one to willingly compromise—why should my immune system?

I HATE THAT.

It just makes you feel so vulnerable. So it suggests dicloxacillin or cephalaxin 500 mg every 6 hours till better. I figure I’ll give it a whirl since I’m heading ‘up country’—euphemism for “get sick and die or pay 20,000 dollars to be flown to
Nairobi.”

The leg goes red, goes down, gets hot, resolves as the immune system thrusts and parries with either staph, strep, or fungi. It’s baffling.

In reading about cellulitis, it said it is also common in people who handle fish.
Having remembered scraping my foot over coral in Honolulu, and developing a sore and stiffness almost the next day (which I attributed to fins), I wondered
if the chiropractor just pushed around an existing infection. That might explain why my T-cell numbers were so low post marathon.

So I go to buy Keflex, but everything is closed. I’m wandering around dark streets looking for a pharmacy—with three cameras and all of my few remaining
dollars on me. Isn’t that recommended?

(Are you enjoying the dramatic suspense yet?)

Anyway, I find a pharmacy open, and I take two pills, wondering if I’ll be going into anaphylactic shock from some drug sensitivity or interaction with my
other meds.

(I didn’t die.)

After the treks, if I’m not completely better, I’ll see a doctor at the UK High Commission in Kampala. They’re recommended highly.

You know, sometimes it’s just not as much fun trailblazing when you don’t know whether or not the trail you take will lead you right off the edge of a cliff.

careful eats

red chilli presidential suite

horny cattle

We've got a really great shoebill...