Getting Irish in Kampala
Wednesday, January 7th, 2009Day 282
Rafting tired us out; we slept in our small double room till 10am before we made our way into the Red Chilli’s restaurant for breakfast. The coffee here is fantastic. It’s Ugandan grown and comes in a big French press, it’s strong and flavourful and some of the best coffee I’ve tasted on the trip. We are both really enjoying being at a proper hostel with a good restaurant, free internet and talking with other travellers. It sure beats the usual crap hotel found in African capitals. The vervet monkeys actually woke me up this morning, crossing over our tin roof, otherwise I may have slept till noon.
We took our seats in the restaurant/common room and ordered breakfast. We were both really feeling the after effects of rafting. My body feels like it went through a washing machine on extra rinse. The plan for the day was to take it easy and I was content with sitting here with my coffee, moving between the pool table and the shady grounds of the hostel. Kampala doesn’t exactly have a ton of sights to see but as I mentioned before it’s one of the more pleasant African capitals and finding a good place to stay we are really enjoying just staying put for a few days, free from dusty, bumpy bus rides. Eventually we worked up enough energy to leave the comfort of the hostel.
Red Chilli is about 6km outside of the centre of Kampala, which is a bit inconvenient but then again it’s also why we love it here so much. The grounds are green and it’s such a peaceful spot sometimes I forget we’re in a big city. Jordana and I walked downhill about 300 meters to the main road where minibuses do the route into downtown. We flagged one down and squished ourselves in, these mini vans are always packed but they are a much cheaper option than a taxi. We were walking, looking for the bus station to try and find out about transport to our next destination, Kabale. I guess we were a bit lost but since I was holding the map I wasn’t about to admit that. The station should have been one street down, but all that we saw was a chaotic market. Jordana suggested we just walk through and see where we end up; sounded good to me although I made sure I had a good hold of my bag. It didn’t look like this area of the city saw many tourists, this was confirmed judging the comments and stares we got. It’s something that bothers me or maybe it unsettles me here in Africa. Random comments about us as we walk by and stares, for example one classy gentleman commented in a very sleazy voice, “Nice, just my size.” As he looked Jordana up and down. Besides the comments the market was complete mayhem and the further in we went the more interesting it became, a real assault on the senses. I just hoped we got out without being assaulted, really though we never felt unsafe here. Intimidating? Yes, a bit but Kampala feels and is much safer than other cities in the region. Soon we found our way out of the market and onto a busy street; we saw buses to the right and figured that was the station. Sure was but I’m not quite sure what we were thinking. I think we thought we were back in Argentina for a second, I men there was no way we were going to get an advance ticket or any information. The “station” was a filthy, muddy parking lot with buses everywhere and people screaming at us to get on there bus. One very drunk man came over and asked where we wanted to go, he reeked of alcohol. “Kabale, tomorrow though,” I told him. Another man, sober come down from a bus and told us to just arrive early tomorrow, before 8am and we’ll find a bus no problem. Sounded fine to me, although the buses looked less than fine. We moved on and walked back toward the roundabout where we could take a bus back to the hostel.
Along the way we stopped at the post office to mail a postcard, I remembered reading that the postal service runs buses around the country and that they were safer than the private companies. We asked around and in true postal bureaucracy after 10 minutes and getting about 6 people involved we were informed there was a bus. It left from here daily at 8am and we could even buy advance tickets. Well we could have but the guy who sells them went home so they told us to be sure we were here by 7am and we should get a seat. Sounded great and we would avoid the chaos of the bus station. We walked to find a mini bus and along the way saw a sticker on a shop, “I’m Ugandan for Obama!” The hype and love for Obama in East Africa is incredible.
Back at the hostel we had dinner and just relaxed, thinking we were going to turn in for bed around 10ish. We got talking with Godfrey, a young Ugandan who has his own company that does anything from running safari tours to providing transport for business travellers. He hangs out at the bar here and we’ve talked to him a few times since we’ve been here. “You guys want to go see some live music?” We were planning on bed but it sounded like a good offer. Godfrey offered to drive us and even drive us back to the hostel as he lived nearby. We climbed into his small car and drove into downtown Kampala. We pulled up to a bar that we’d seen earlier in the day, it wasn’t as African as I had thought it might have been. An Irish pub in Kampala, every city seems to have at least one no matter where they are. The bar was a busy mix of well off locals and foreign aid workers, maybe a few other tourists thrown in. We sat down with three guys who Godfrey’s car service was driving around Uganda. 2 were in the country clearing mines and headed to southern Sudan in the morning and the one was working with the Ugandan government on the security situation in the north. We had some interesting conversation and many pints before Godfrey drove us back to the hostel. It’s a great thing when you can meet locals travelling who are genuinely friendly and helpful and just want to show you around their town. As we stumbled into bed I was thinking there was no way we were leaving tomorrow morning as we had planned. We were thinking of taking the 8am post bus to Kabale but that was in less than 7 hours from now. It looked like another lazy day in Kampala.
Michael Coroneos