Kigali needs a beach. Or at least a lake or decent riverside or something. I think it would help everyone relax a little. It would certainly provide a great weekend hang out place so that I wouldn't have to go all the way to Burundi to get some sand action.
12 hours on the bus there and back was worth it though. More than worth it. Not only did I get another official stamp in my passport, but I got to see another east African country. Picking up on patterns and subtle culture differences between neighboring countries has helped me better understand Rwanda as well as its surrounding area. Like Rwanda's poor brother, Burundi has seen its share of conflict, poverty, and struggle. In fact, the last rebel group signed a peace treaty on Thursday, the day before we arrived. Deemed to be unsafe, there are few tourists and thus very little tourism infrastructure.
But the country was beautiful. At first glance, the valleys and hills seemed very similar to Rwanda's, with less cultivation. As we neared Bujumbura, the capital city, the land dramatically became very flat, the most horizon I've seen since I left the Alberta prairies. From the top of the palm tree laden hill, I could see that the land stretched out as yellow plains until it reached the blue hills to the south or shimmering lake Tangika to the west. Arriving in Buj, as it is called, is like taking a time warp back to a 1970's resort settlement, with a hint of a dusty western ghost town. It was obvious that, unlike Kigali, not much money had been invested into the city. The streets were lined with sand blown in from the lake, litter and potholes, signs faded in the hot tropical sun.
We exchanged some money and found our hotel, L'Amitie, which was safe although I'm not sure the street lived up to its name. The city was easy to navigate and we found our way to the waterfront. Unfortunately, the recommended restaurant was closed, but we managed to find another place on the lake selling cold Coca at a reasonable price. As we were sitting there, admiring the view from our table on the beige rocky sand, a truck full of soldiers pulled up. Although I'm used to men in uniforms with AK-47s, the fury with which they marched towards the edge of the property made us all a little nervous. Upon inquirey, we learned that they were merely the president's entourage, and when we left we could see that the whole street was lined with soldiers who were eager to learn our name. Happening upon a football match, we stayed to watch as the sun was fading into the hills behind the unkept feild.
Luck must have been on my side that day, since I got to see the traditional Burundian drummers as they were practicing beating their large wooden drums carried on their heads while marching down the adjacent road. Wearing matching green shirts, they kept time as the deep rhythm pounded through the valley. We followed, and were treated to an amazing show of leaps, beats, dancing, and music. Although Rwandan dancers have the best body movement, the beats of the Burundian drums is, so far, my favorite sound out of Africa. Like a familiar heartbeat, comforting, motivating, moving.
Dinners in new restaurants, navigating through the large market exploding with new fabric patterns, and wandering the city streets was all part of the weekend adventure. L noticed that Buj lacked any sort of mud housing, the main component of most Kigali streets. Perhaps because the sand doesn't provide the same readily available materials? Burundians were all very friendly, even stopping their car as we waiting for a cab to ask if we were alright (in French, of course, since Burundi doesn't have the same language confusion that Rwanda does). There was distinctly less “muzungu” calling or targeting us for begging, likely because tourists are still such a novelty.
There was, however, a beautiful lake front hotel past all the UN headquarters (a very large presence) where the tourists or expats seemed to flock. For the price of a fresh pineapple juice, we used their beach, reading under the thatched shelters and admiring the view, a misty breeze keeping us cool. It was a little piece of paradise in central Africa providing total relaxation and picturesque photo opportunities. A small forgotten country, I didn't think that Burundi would have much to offer besides a ritualistic rock where Stanely famously said “Livingstone, I presume?”. So it's to my own surprise that I'll be putting Buj on my list of places to go back to. The bottom of the bedsheets in the hotel said “I hope it was happy” (throwing me into a fit of much needed giggles) and my trip to Burundi most certainly was. Friendly people, beautiful scenery, and a kick of adrenline going into a red-flagged zone, Buj is the place to be, baby.
But the country was beautiful. At first glance, the valleys and hills seemed very similar to Rwanda's, with less cultivation. As we neared Bujumbura, the capital city, the land dramatically became very flat, the most horizon I've seen since I left the Alberta prairies. From the top of the palm tree laden hill, I could see that the land stretched out as yellow plains until it reached the blue hills to the south or shimmering lake Tangika to the west. Arriving in Buj, as it is called, is like taking a time warp back to a 1970's resort settlement, with a hint of a dusty western ghost town. It was obvious that, unlike Kigali, not much money had been invested into the city. The streets were lined with sand blown in from the lake, litter and potholes, signs faded in the hot tropical sun.
We exchanged some money and found our hotel, L'Amitie, which was safe although I'm not sure the street lived up to its name. The city was easy to navigate and we found our way to the waterfront. Unfortunately, the recommended restaurant was closed, but we managed to find another place on the lake selling cold Coca at a reasonable price. As we were sitting there, admiring the view from our table on the beige rocky sand, a truck full of soldiers pulled up. Although I'm used to men in uniforms with AK-47s, the fury with which they marched towards the edge of the property made us all a little nervous. Upon inquirey, we learned that they were merely the president's entourage, and when we left we could see that the whole street was lined with soldiers who were eager to learn our name. Happening upon a football match, we stayed to watch as the sun was fading into the hills behind the unkept feild.
Luck must have been on my side that day, since I got to see the traditional Burundian drummers as they were practicing beating their large wooden drums carried on their heads while marching down the adjacent road. Wearing matching green shirts, they kept time as the deep rhythm pounded through the valley. We followed, and were treated to an amazing show of leaps, beats, dancing, and music. Although Rwandan dancers have the best body movement, the beats of the Burundian drums is, so far, my favorite sound out of Africa. Like a familiar heartbeat, comforting, motivating, moving.
Dinners in new restaurants, navigating through the large market exploding with new fabric patterns, and wandering the city streets was all part of the weekend adventure. L noticed that Buj lacked any sort of mud housing, the main component of most Kigali streets. Perhaps because the sand doesn't provide the same readily available materials? Burundians were all very friendly, even stopping their car as we waiting for a cab to ask if we were alright (in French, of course, since Burundi doesn't have the same language confusion that Rwanda does). There was distinctly less “muzungu” calling or targeting us for begging, likely because tourists are still such a novelty.
There was, however, a beautiful lake front hotel past all the UN headquarters (a very large presence) where the tourists or expats seemed to flock. For the price of a fresh pineapple juice, we used their beach, reading under the thatched shelters and admiring the view, a misty breeze keeping us cool. It was a little piece of paradise in central Africa providing total relaxation and picturesque photo opportunities. A small forgotten country, I didn't think that Burundi would have much to offer besides a ritualistic rock where Stanely famously said “Livingstone, I presume?”. So it's to my own surprise that I'll be putting Buj on my list of places to go back to. The bottom of the bedsheets in the hotel said “I hope it was happy” (throwing me into a fit of much needed giggles) and my trip to Burundi most certainly was. Friendly people, beautiful scenery, and a kick of adrenline going into a red-flagged zone, Buj is the place to be, baby.
2 comments:
Another exciting adventure for you and I too got a giggle out of the bed sheets! Keep writing and now that I have got the hang of the blog I will keep reading. Thanks for the Christmas card that arrived today!
Miss you lots!
Kel
Love it Claire. Just love it. Wish I was there with you.
Love
Liam
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