Uganda is a landlocked country, it seems strange then that so much of the tourism focuses around water - in the last week I have seen waterfalls, lakes, rapids and rivers aplenty.
My first stop was Lake Bunyioni. After the gorilla expedition I decided to head somewhere for a little R&R, in this case rowing and reading. Lake Bunyioni is a beautiful, cool and tranquil spot in the mountains. I hired a dugout canoe for the day (am I some sort of sadist?) with a guide to take me around the lake islands which include a former leper colony and "Punishment Island" on which pregnant unmarried women used to be left in disgrace.
I couldn't help but feel a little relieved when we made it back to the mainland safely. I was travelling with Austin and Laura, the US peace corps couple, and we had a lucky escape when we decided against staying at the overland camp. We watched, from the peaceful haven of our small guesthouse, as hordes of 18-25-year-olds piled off an overland truck ran for the nearest beer all in the name of "doing Africa".
Back in Kampala I had what I would term a "bad travelling day". One of those days when nothing goes right and for a fleeting moment, you wish you were back home struggling with Christmas shoppers and crap weather. These moments never last but when I discovered that my Christmas tour had been cancelled, spent five hours in a bank trying to change some money, was unable to buy a bus ticket anywhere out of the city and was laughed at by seven travel agents when I asked for a last minute Christmas break, the only thing for it was to sit down with a cold beer and try and think "relax, this is Africa".
I threw money at the situation and paid a taxi driver to take me to a nice resort in Mbale, eastern Uganda, for the holiday season. If I couldn't make it to Murchison Falls National Park, I would make do with a swim-up pool bar and satellite TV. The real Africa would have to wait until after Christmas.
After backpacking for some time, you almost forget that TV, a decent bathroom and clean sheets weren't always a luxury. Oh for a crap American B-movie to watch from a comfortable bed. The Mbale Resort Hotel delivered all the comforts I had been missing as I bedded myself in for my African Christmas. Tempted as I was to stay in bed all day watching CNN, I hauled myself out of the hotel on Christmas morning and took a trip to Sipi Falls.
With public transport at its most unreliable I commandeered a taxi and driver. On the way, we saw scores of villagers walking to church decked out in their shiny new clothes, little girls in pastel, frilly numbers and the lads in mini man suits complete with bow ties. The women wore traditional busuuti's - a long dress with giant puffed sleeves and a large ornamental sash. They looked quite a picture in their new Christmas Day outfits, the Ugandan equivalent of the infamous Boxing Day jumper perhaps?
Sipi Falls is supposedly one of Uganda's most beautiful sights. I'd have to question that as some of the scenery I've viewed from buses has been far more arresting. Nevertheless the falls were quite lovely and the walks to some smaller falls and caves also very nice thank you.
The highlight of my day came when driver Dan offered to let me drive back to Mbale. No big thing you might think, but I don't have a driving licence - many failed tests and a bruised ego yes, but no licence. I took him up on the offer and cruised the winding roads away from Mount Elgon swerving past cows, donkeys, goats and children on the way. Dan pumped up the Ugandan music as we drove under clear, blue skies and bright, burning sun and I felt like I was in my very own African road movie.
Back at the hotel, I found what looked like the entire population of Mbale around the hotel pool, eating, drinking and generally enjoying some serious festive cheer. I skipped the dodgy looking turkey and opted instead for a Ugandan Christmas dinner featuring matoke (mashed plantain) greens and a stew of sorts.
Soon the entertainment started and instead of reruns of Only Fools and Horses, I watched traditional dance from the north of Uganda and listened to gospel singers with hallelujahs all over the place. It was my first Christmas on my own and aside from a moment during a phone call to my family in their post turkey lethargy, I wouldn't have traded my African Christmas for anything.
From Mbale I went on to Jinja, home of the source of the river Nile. I had to cancel my booking for white water rafting due to my first bout of illness, but I did go to Bujagali falls (the rafting rapids) the next day. Watching the rafters capsize and cling to their vessel for dear life, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks for my sickie. Maybe I'll try my hand at it in Chile, then again, maybe I won't.
It's hard to believe that my time in Africa is nearly over and that this time next week I'll be writing from Buenos Aires. I was apprehensive (read terrified) about coming to Africa on my own but all my fears were unfounded.
When I first arrived, almost everything I saw startled me. Now I don't bat an eyelid when a monkey scampers past my hotel room, when the girl sitting in front of me on the bus has a live chicken on her lap or when I see women and small children carrying enormous baskets of vegetables or jerry cans of water on their heads. I have learned to accept that "fast food" may take an hour, that the village substitute for a Happy Meal is a stick of raw sugar cane, that some men have four wives and three times as many children, that I will always be a "mzungu" (foreigner) and therefore will be stared at without reserve.
I have had an incredible time in east Africa with its wealth of natural beauty and lovely, lovely, warm people. I'll be very sad to leave but it ain't over until the fat lady drinks plenty of Waragi and dances her bad moves on New Year's Eve.
