Gorillas in the Mist

Okay, it was actually gorillas in the rain and hail, but it was gorillas nevertheless. After a three-hour hike through a bamboo forest and up into the jungle of Mt. Kirisimbi, the highest volcano in the Virunga range on the Rwanda/Uganda border, we encountered the Susa group. The largest of the 18 groups of mountain gorillas in the park, there are more than 30 gorillas in the group, including three silverbacks (only the dominant one gets to get sexy with the ladies, though) and the only twins to have both lived past age five (they are seven years old now). My photos don’t do the experience justice, but here they are…

Interestingly, I learned this morning that the Project Rwanda headquarters we are staying at used to be the offices of the Dian Fossey gorilla research centre, and they used to dissect gorillas (that had died naturally) in what is now the bike shop. Apparently during the war there used to also be gorillas living here in the compound for their protection.

I wonder if they ever told that joke: “Where does a 500lb. gorilla sleep?”

(Answer: “Wherever it bloody well wants”)

Rwanda: Land of a Thousand Hills

We crossed the border into Rwanda about a week ago, and immediately noticed the difference. It was suddenly so much more quiet, clean and organized. Then, suddenly, a group of kids caught sight of us and started running alongside and behind us, laughing and yelling and practicing their english, and we realized that political boundaries aren’t necessarily cultural ones.

As the name promised, Rwanda is VERY hilly, but absolutely worth it as it so gorgeous. It has the highest population density in continental sub-Saharan Africa and 84% of the population lives in rural areas which means that, as we are getting very used to, we are never alone. It also means that pretty much every available inch of land is cultivated regardless of how steep the slope is - mostly for subsistent agriculture – resulting in some pretty impressive terracing. Rwanda also grows tea and coffee for export and the tea plantations are vibrantly green. We passed through one just before entering one of Rwanda’s national parks. Called Nyungwe, it is virgin equatorial rainforest that survived the last ice age, so it is really old! It is also the source of the Nile that Livingstone died trying to find, and includes the Congo/Nile divide. We hung out with a troop of baboons that passed through where we stayed. We also saw a number of Angolan colobus monkeys in the park, but they were too quick for our camera.

We rode east to Lake Kivu, where we hoped to catch some kind of boat up the lake. This one was a bit trickier to organize as we not only don’t speak the local language (Kinyurwanda), but we don’t really speak the official language (French) either. We went down to the port and were told unequivocally by everyone we asked that there was no passenger boat up the lake and absolutely no way to get up the lake without hiring a “special” boat that would cost close to $500. We even met some folks who spoke English (and French and Kinyurwanda) who asked again for us and got confirmation that we were understanding correctly. We had ridden three days on a windy road over hundreds of hills and thousands of pot holes, and I didn’t really want to backtrack – I also knew that if we had to take a bus back over that road that I would probably puke. For a few hours I felt completely defeated, and even lost a little faith in possibilism.

But I obviously still had some hope because at the guest lodge that we checked into, I asked if they knew of a boat up the lake. It took a day and a half, but they found us a cargo boat that was headed exactly where we wanted. We were told that it might leave that evening or the next morning, and that we should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. At sunset, the captain called the lodge to say that the boat wasn’t going until the morning, so we relaxed and ordered dinner. We had finished eating and were enjoying a game of cards, when another call came – the boat was leaving in 15 minutes and we had better hurry because they were waiting for us! Yikes. So we threw everything together and starting riding down to the port as fast as we could, given that it was pitch black, there were no streetlights, and more pot holes than road – luckily we had ridden the road a few times and had it memorized. It is a little strange to arrive at a small African port in the dark, where it seems a little deserted and you can’t really communicate with anyone, and for a few seconds we wondered what we were getting ourselves into. However, the guest house we were staying at was run by a church and we didn’t think they would send us into our undoing. After a bit, we found the captain, learned that they still had to load two big trucks full of cement onto the boat, and that nobody could really say when the boat would leave but that it wouldn’t be anytime soon. We instantly felt like we were back in a land that we could understand – that of “hurry up and wait” – so we just relaxed until the boat left at midnight. After spending the night on the “Francine” we arrived at Gisenyi, at the north end of the lake, around noon and disembarked near the national brewery and where lots of fisherman had their wooden boats moored – they take these boats out in groups of three boats lashed together like a trimaran.

Interestingly, the boilers in the brewery are powered by methane gas that is extracted from Lake Kivu. It’s a pilot project to see if they could power the country and several neighbouring countries by the gases trapped in the lake. Lake Kivu is one of three “exploding” lakes (the other two are in Cameroon) that also has a lot of carbon dioxide trapped in it, that sometimes escapes and asphyxiates every living thing on or near it. Maybe that’s why there are no passenger ferries!

Lake Kivu is one of the African Great Lakes (that also includes Lake Tanganyika and Lake Malawi) that are part of the Great Rift Valley that formed when two continental plates collided, created volcanoes and mountains (like Mt. Kilimanjaro) then started moving apart to create a huge valley and big lakes between them. The lakes are some of the oldest and deepest in the world.

We rode from Gisenyi east to a town called Musanze, where we are staying at the headquarters of both Project Rwanda (www.projectrwanda.org), which does all sorts of amazing things to support economic development with bicycles, and also Team Rwanda, the country’s national cycling team. A film has recently been made about the team, called Rising From Ashes, that is going to be screened around North America this year. See the trailer here: risingfromashesthemovie.com

Burundi: Bananniers Bombing Down from Bugarama to Bujumbura

Hi all, it's me, Lynda's faithful travel companion (and husband), back for another contribution to Lyndiana Jones' blog. Without further ado, I will catapult another story straight outta my journal into the far reaches of cyber space. Hope you enjoy it.

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I was awoken by the familiar beeping of my wristwatch. I was feeling a bit rough - dry mouth, headache, dehydrated, and slightly hung over from all the wine - it was 4 a.m. It wasn't how we originally planned it. We had planned to go to bed early so that we would be well rested and prepared for the grueling day ahead of us but we had such a great evening with our host Patrick, the owner of Hotel de la Palmeraie where we were staying, that a quick dinner turned into hours of engaging conversation and maybe one too many glasses of wine. Patrick spoke passionately about his love for Burundi and Rwanda, and was so excited by our travels and the fact that we were the first bicycle tourers to ask to pitch a tent at his four star hotel that he insisted we sign the hotel's Livre d'Or or 'Golden Book' which has been graced by such dignitaries as the Minister of Defense for Rwanda and some famous African singing group we can't remember the name of. We felt incredibly fortunate to have met Patrick and the wonderful staff who were all extremely accommodating for two budget travelers living in a nylon palace.

At 6 a.m. we said goodbye to our oasis in Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi, but also anxious to leave behind the diesel and dust of this bustling but war torn port city. Lynda was feeling particularly intimidated by the day that lie ahead, not because of the 1400m climb, but because of the potential risks of traveling in Burundi. The travel advisory on the Government of Canada website warned against travel in Burundi, highlighting the rural areas around Bujumbura as especially dangerous due to "Attacks on civilians by former soldiers, rebels, and youth gangs." We were about to set off on a 40km climb through the rural areas of Bujumbura (or 'Buj' as we started calling it) where we would be averaging 6km/h. Basically, we were sitting ducks, or at least very slow moving ducks, if anyone wanted to try anything. Fortunately, as we have discovered in all previous cases, it's never as bad as they say it is and in fact we had one of our most enjoyable and memorable days yet! The climb was long and arduous but filled with so much excitement and breathtaking vistas that we barely noticed the unforgiving steep pitches that snaked their way up the mountains.

For me, the highlight was watching all the brave young men flying down the hills at incredible speeds carrying enormous loads, exceeded in size only by their testicles! They carried everything on their rebar-reinforced racks including vegetables, large sacks of charcoal, hand crafted wooden doors, and bananas. Some of the guys carrying bananas had loaded their rear racks with piles that often towered over their heads and with bunches hanging off the sides of the racks. They looked like banana panniers or 'bananniers' as Lynda called them. We watched these courageous daredevils come careening down the winding asphalt at harrowing speeds carrying impossible loads with no helmets and poor brakes. We never witnessed one, thankfully, but if any of them had encountered the slightest obstacle, a wandering child, an obscured pothole, or a bus in the wrong lane (not so slight), I'm sure the carnage would be legendary!
























In actuality it's a pretty slick system they have; they ferry loads of food, supplies, or people down to the city then catch rides back up the hill by grabbing onto the back of one of the hundreds of transport trucks going up the hill. Sometimes there could be as many as five cyclists across a large truck, all off their saddles, sitting sideways at the front of their top tube with one arm leisurely draped over the handlebars and the other grabbing hold of whatever they can. We received a lot of waves, thumbs ups, bell rings, and of course, shouts of "Muzungu!" (white person). We were the only ones foolish enough to pedal up the hill. At the start of the climb a few people were yelling, "Courage! Courage!" to us and it wasn't until I saw how crazy the drivers and cyclists were with their blind corner passing and blazing speeds that I truly understood what they meant!

After 40km and five hours of nothing but up with only a few quick breaks we finally reached Bugarama. We had climbed 1400 metres out of The Great Rift Valley and into the mountainous terrain of Burundi's tropical forests. As we stopped for lunch in Bugarama we welcomed the misty chilled air - a rarity in our travels thus far. The rest of the ride was mostly downhill which was a fun end to the day of mostly climbing but the excitement didn't stop there. We were chased by several groups of running children, all wanting to test out their English on us ("How are you?" "What is your name?" etc.) Sometimes our followers were guys on bikes. It's extremely rare that we ride by people on bikes and nobody follows us. Mostly they just want to stare at our super kitted out bikes or at Lynda's legs. Women rarely ride bicycles here so to see a woman riding a bike, especially uphill, is quite something! I had a potentially disasterous incident while bombing down a long hill right behind Lynda. I hit a pot hole at mach speed with a van right on my tail and lost a pannier (luckily not a banannier or that would been the end of the van!). The van swerved to miss my pannier then my other one blew off. Scary!! Finally, we pulled into a quaint mountain village and checked into a hostel minutes before the rain began to come down in sheets turning the roads into rivers. Life is good!