Overland to Kigali

Traveling overland to Rwanda is not for the weak. You will be lied to, ripped off, made to wait hours in a dusty taxi park for your matatu to fill up. Your emotional state will change by the minute - frustration over the inefficiency of the matatu system, anger at the fact that you paid double the price paid by the local next to you, anxiousness as you wait for the matatu to depart, relief when you hear the engine roar and severe disappointment when you realize that the driver just wanted to see if it worked. The only reason I even agreed to get in the van was to escape the perv hovering over me in the taxi park saying "Under 18 and just my size. I'm taking you home." I quickly jumped in and hid under my backpack, right after vomiting in my mouth.

The transfers I had to make between Mbarara, Uganda to Kigali, Rwanda where quite confusing, and the only reason I arrived in one piece is thanks to Julie, an American who joined our matatu halfway through the ride. It seems that whenever I get scared of being alone on this overwhelming continent, the heavens open up and send me a fellow traveler to instill some confidence in me. It happened in Koh Phangan, Thailand when, after being chased and yelled at by a crazy woman on a motor bike, I met a Canadian couple who invited me to stay with them. It happened again in Mbita, Kenya when I met Denea the very day I was going to buy my bus ticket out and run away from Rusinga Island. Thank goodness the angels were looking down on me yesterday! Julie's bravery astounds me. She is about my size, but much softer spoken, and she has a fearlessness that I can only wish to embody one day. She has been trekking in the DRC, barely escaped with her life after a mugging in Burundi, and the only thing that seems to upset her is drunk men sitting too close to her on the bus. Without her, I likely would be curled up in a ball somewhere on the border.

My hunt for a guesthouse at 9 pm was another challenge. I haven't had a proper job since July of 2009, so I'm on a tight budget. My first stop was at Auberge La Caverne, whose prices were twice what was quoted in Lonely Planet. Convinced I would find a better deal, I had my taxi driver take me to Hotel Gloria in the center of town. Maybe I mumbled. Or maybe I wasn't assertive enough when I pointed to it's name and location on my map. Or maybe he is just completely incompetent, because he took me to Hotel Gorilla - the most expensive hotel in town. Seriously, taxi man. Do you really think I would pass up a hotel only slightly out of my price range for a room that costs $300 a night?? AND IS IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?? I don't normally yell at people unless I know their love for me is unconditional, but after 12 hours of matatu travel, and with my blood sugar at a dangerous low, I lost it. DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE WE ARE?? I cried. I had him take me back to Auberge La Caverne where I settled in to a double room with a porch. It's a little more than I need, but it's good value. It comes with breakfast, an en-suite bathroom, the occasional spurt of hot water, and there wasn't a single cockroach in my mozzie net last night. I'm living large, my friends!

As I write this, I am sitting at the Bourbon Coffee Shop in central Kigali - the only place in town that hasn't exported all of the good beans to wealthier parts of the world. This is just what I needed to recover from last night's charades and to come to grips with this unfamiliar city. I don't plan to stay in town long - I miss Uganda, and to be honest, the prices here are a bit too European for me. Seriously, if I wanted to sit on a terrace and pay too much for a coffee, I would have stayed in France. Hopefully my cynicism subsides before I leave this city. I'd kind of like to leave with a good taste in my mouth.