cigar Archives - Page 10 of 22

England Europe Scotland United Kingdom

An Afternoon in London, Or ‘How Solo Travel Has Made Me A Bit Of A Jerk’

Scotland wasn’t on my travel list. It looked lovely, but these days I crave destinations that are more far-flung and a little dangerous maybe. I can’t stand it when I tell people where I am going and they have their own suggestions. “Oh you must go to this restaurant.” Et cetera. Scotland was one of those destinations. Plus, as of writing, it isn’t an independent country, so I don’t even get the satisfaction of going to a new country. Not that that is the reason I travel, but I do like lists.

So when I said to my mother, “Would you like to take another international trip with me?” and she said “Scotland” I was fine with it, but not excited. I stifled the urge to say something like, “What about Algeria? Or Bangladesh?” Instead I got to planning.

Scotland actually has a lot of charming places, green walks, and oodles of castles. It is historic and picturesque. Choosing the right places for a 9 day trip was tough. In the end we didn’t want to spend too much time traveling all over the country, so I just picked a few destinations: a day’s layover in London, a few days in Edinburgh, a day or two in Wigtown, to Stirling, and a day trip to Glasgow.

My mum and I hadn’t traveled together since we went to Peru about 4 years prior and I hadn’t traveled with anyone since. I’m not going to lie: traveling with someone is more difficult for me than traveling solo. There are discussions. Constant discussions. Discussions about where and when to eat, where to walk, when to stop, which train to take, et cetera. Mercifully, my mother pretty much defers to what I want to do, but out of the need to be (or to appear to be) considerate, there are discussions that must be had.

The first of those discussions happened when we had our layover in London. I’ve been to London. I lived there. But Luba (my mother) had not, so I was excited to show her around the places I used to work and hang out.

I planned a walk around some of the main sights. We got a bit into the walk, though St. James Park, past Buckingham Palace, down the Mall, through Trafalgar Square, to Covent Garden and Soho, and there were plans for more, but we ran out of steam. She hadn’t slept on the plane (a red eye flight from Vancouver) and, while I had, I was tired and cranky. Then it started to rain.

Weirdly happy to see these phone box sex adverts are still a thing.
I remember them from the 90s – back when people still used pay phones

We went to a cute little patisserie in Soho, unable to agree where to go next. If I were alone, I would have kept walking, ceaselessly, until it was time to go to the airport, but Luba wasn’t up for that. Neither of us wanted to go back to the airport early, and the rain didn’t want us to sit in a park or on a patio. Day one and we were on the verge of a quarrel. This does not happen when you travel alone.

But then the perfect solution struck me. What is my solace and comfort? My favorite way to pass a quiet and contemplative time? Cigars. I said, “Well, we could walk over to St. James Street and go to the Dunhill cigar lounge. I could smoke and you could read.” Success! We were both happy. As we walked there the clouds parted. I had an extraordinary limited edition Bolivar and Luba read her book.

Both restored, we went for a bit of a circuitous stroll before going back to the airport.

In the end, we didn’t stick to my plan and cover all of the ground in London that I would have had I been alone, but I got to show my mother a bit of London and we ended up having a nice afternoon.

Solo travel has taught me a lot: how to be strong and self-reliant, how to be content with my own company, how to meet people, and how to constantly step out of my comfort zone. But solo travel has also made me a bit selfish, resistant to compromise, and bossy. I want to do what I want to do. I’m not proud of those things, but I am pleased that I can set them aside (more or less) to still enjoy traveling with my mum.

We went back to the airport and took a short and sleepy flight to Edinburgh.

Canada North America

Bonjour, Montréal! Three days in Québec

I’ve seen little of Canada. I am from and live in British Columbia but had seen only that and Alberta. Why fly to see other parts of Canada when it is cheaper and more interesting to travel abroad? (So I often say.) So when I had to travel to Montréal for work, staying for a couple of extra days seemed like the perfect opportunity.

In short, I had to appear in Federal Court (I’m a lawyer, not a litigant) and at the near last moment, it was set down in Montréal, meaning that I had to fly on a Wednesday to appear in Court on Thursday and fly home on Friday. Each flight was the better part of a day. Canada is big. But then I thought…wait a minute, why not stay the weekend and actually see something of the City. And just like that, a travel plan was in motion.

I got in late on Wednesday and took a taxi to my hotel, which was on the border of the old city and Chinatown. I was exhausted and stressed but I wanted to know for the next morning how to get to the courthouse and how long it would take, so I went for a walk. It was maybe 11:00 at night, but people were out; in restaurants, in bars, on the street. (It’s not like that in Vancouver mid-week.) I walked through part of the old city, past the impressive Notre Dame Cathedral, to the courthouse, and back again. I didn’t have time to do anything, but I could see that the part of the city I was in was old and it was really pretty. It really did feel a bit like I was in France.

I saw a young man speaking French, wearing a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette, and peeing on the side of a 200-year-old building and I thought, “Wow! This is like Europe!”

The next day Court finished a bit early and I was exhausted, but not too exhausted to go out for a while.

I walked around the old city and downtown for a bit, just exploring. It has a great feel. Parts of it, certain streets, feel just like being in France – maybe not Paris, but some other smaller city.

Most parts, don’t feel like Europe at all, but do feel like a cool, mid-sized city. It feels much bigger than Vancouver, which I like.

There is a lot of public art and so many nice squares, and inviting cafes and restaurants.

But I had my sights set on a cigar. Montréal, unlike Vancouver, still allows cigar smoking in lounges (Four, that I found) and I was not going to let that opportunity pass me by. I walked to Blatter & Blatter, a 100-year-old tobacconist and bought a rare Quai D’Orsay robusto.

a very cold me on the streets of Montreal

I smoked it while walking to a cigar bar called Stogies, which was packed with after work business guys. I got a table, lit a new cigar (a Cohiba), and drank a martini while reflecting on the day in Court. It was my first time in Federal Court, my first time in Court in Montréal, and my first time appearing in Court where the submissions were in French. An occasion worth marking before it fades to memory. I ended up chatting with a couple of local lawyers and regaled them with my stories of the day.

It wasn’t late, but stress of the day and the three hours’ sleep I had were catching up to me so I walked back to my hotel, spent an hour or so watching Law & Order, and fell asleep early.

The next day I started with a working breakfast with a Montréal staple – a bagel and coffee – before going out for more looking around.

I went inside the Notre Dame cathedral, which was surprisingly beautiful inside with rich, twinkling blues and stained glass depicting, amongst other things, the indigenous peoples of the area.

I found the cutest café / general store ever (Le Petit Dep) on a street that is right out of a French movie and had a coffee, not that I needed it, but because I just wanted to soak up the charming atmosphere.

I walked ceaselessly, then took the subway to a different area to go to La Casa Del Habano (Cuban cigar store and lounge), where I had a couple of exquisite cigars and read my book. The place was busy but was embroiled in an intense Hockey conversation that weaved back and forth between English and French.

I walked back to my hotel and saw this great mural of Leonard Cohen.

On my final full day I took the advice of a local and walked to the Plateau district (Le Plateau). I had planned to explore Mont Royal (sort of a forresty park on a hill) but the trees were barren and it was so cold, windy , and rainy that staying in the city seemed preferable. That was one thing that was very different – in Vancouver it was warm springtime; everything was green and flowering. In Montréal it was bitterly cold and I saw nothing green. This is the Canadian weather I hear other people complaining about.

The walk to and around the Plateau was great. A ton of cafes, book and record stores, vintage shops, Portugese markets, French patisseries, heritage buildings, and lots and lots of street murals.

The murals were a real highlight. I snaked my way all around the side streets and alleys to see what I could find. I won’t put pictures of all of them, but there are so many and they’re great.

From there I walked to a French restaurant called Chez Alexandre, which has a cigar lounge on the second floor. I settled in with a cigar and martini and had an engaging conversation with a high school English teacher from New York, who was also traveling solo.

I had plans to go to the fourth cigar lounge in the City (the Whisky Café) but I was tired and cold and didn’t want to have to deal with a taxi, so I walked in a winding way back to my hotel. On the way, taking time to enjoy a coffee at Cafe Olimpico and catch a few last glimpses of the city.

The next day I flew home.

I really enjoyed my time in Montréal, bad weather and work stresses notwithstanding. It was much more appealing and interesting that I expected. And there is so much more to see there. I get why people speak so highly of it. That said, I still wouldn’t recommend it as a holiday destination unless you live close by or have a deal. It is really nice, but it’s not Europe. I think Europe is better. But I liked Montréal and here is the thing that I really didn’t anticipate: It made me feel more Canadian. I am not nationalistic. Canada is fine, but so are a lot of other places and I don’t feel particularly proud to be Canadian. It’s just where I was born. But being in Montréal – this cool city with beautiful old buildings and art and culture, where people speak French – made me feel happy that Canada has this unique place. And now I hope I’ll have an excuse to go back.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

Saying Goodbye to Yangon

I returned to Yangon from Bagan, my trip nearly at an end. I had one and a half remaining days in Yangon before flying to Hong Kong. I had already seen everything I wanted to see in Yangon, so I figured I would just hang out and relax a little before the very long journey home and harsh transition from airport directly to office. I was happy to be back in Yangon. Bagan was magical and Mandalay was fine, but I really like Yangon. I find it so pleasant just to be there.

I stayed at the Backpacker Bed & Breakfast, which was a nice hostel in the centre. It was exactly what I wanted: Lots of travellers to chat with on a pleasant rooftop and very inexpensive. I met people both leaving and about the enter month long meditation retreats, which only reaffirmed my lack of desire to try such a thing. I met solo travelers and duos of all ages. Mostly women. All really nice. I shared my dorm with three pleasant French girls who spoke very little English but were clean and quiet. All good.

After hanging around for a while I went for a walk through Chinatown. I liked the walk particularly because in Yangon the streets are so enjoyable – full of food vendors, pretty buildings, color, and life – but Chinatown as a destination is sort of underwhelming.

But I did stumble across some good street markets and enjoyed the walk.

I stopped for a bowl of soup from a street vendor. I love the street soup in Myanmar. It is fantastic. I had already ordered soup from street vendors there a number of times, so I felt pretty confident. I knew how and what to order, I knew how it would be served (broth and noodles and spices all separate), and I knew roughly what it should cost (about 70c). I sat there, I smiled at the people sitting next to me, I felt superior to tourists who walked by with the obvious look of curiosity and intimidation on their faces about how to order from these unmarked stalls where English was not spoken (intimidation I had felt a week prior). I loaded my soup up with chili sauce and powder and began to eat. I was slurping up the delicious broth and noodles when I slurped too hard apparently because spicy hot broth forced itself into my nasal passages and out my nose. Suddenly my nose was on fire, my eyes watered uncontrollably and slammed shut. I was blind and my face was on fire. I fumbled for one of the rolls of toilet paper they had on the counter to use for napkins but dropped it and it rolled down the hill. I fumbled for another, but dropped it in my soup, which it promptly absorbed. I finally had to blow my nose and wipe my face in my scarf. I tried be cool, even as my face still burned from my nasal soup ingestion, but, had I been able to see, I’m sure everyone at the booth was snickering at me as I walked away. Once the pain subsided, I did think it was hilarious. I was still hungry though so I went to another small street stall a safe distance away and, successfully (and more humbly), had a whole bowl of incident-free shan noodle soup.

I headed back to the big market near the train station, browsed for a bit and then tried a Bumese cigar (not a cheroot, but an actual cigar). It was black and moist and not bad tasting but full of things that I am not sure were tobacco. It had a weird screaming eagle band on it. I didn’t mind it but didn’t bother to bring any back. I smoked it sitting at the ‘No. Coffee in Myanmar’ stand in the market, which did indeed have great coffee as well as a fan. It was a perfect place to avoid the heat and watch market activities.

After that, a bit more walking, and back to my hostel.

One thing that I think is amazing here, and really speaks to the kindness of people, is that most businesses have water pitchers and vessels outside with a tin cup. The purpose? To provide water to people because it is hot and water is vital. No one should have to pay to drink water or suffer from thirst, so they just provide it. I availed myself of this offering many times and was thankful for it.

Back at the hostel I reconnected with a guy I had met earlier in the day; a young fellow from South Africa traveling solo. We decided to check out a rooftop bar that promised to be sort of a club. It had the appropriate setting, music, lights, pricey cover charge, etc, but there was almost no one there. So we just sat and chatted and I had a cigar. Not the party he was hoping for, but I was totally fine with it, not being that keen on clubs to begin with.

The next day was more walking then I decided to see a movie. There was an American horror movie playing called Prodigy and there was air conditioning, so that was good enough for me. Interestingly, they played the national anthem before the movie started and everyone was required to stand in the tiny (maybe 30 seat) theatre. The movie was decent. The popcorn was appalling.

After my movie, I met up with my South African friend and we went to see the world’s largest Buddha, which, as it turns out is not the world’s largest (that is in Myanmar but not Yangon), but it was really big. We then meandered our way to the Shwedagon Pagoda as my friend wanted to watch the sunset and meditate at the pagoda. We didn’t make it there for the sunset, but we watched that from a pretty park next to a lake and ate ice cream.

When we got to the pagoda, I said my goodbye – I had been before and wasn’t interested in meditating, plus, I had a 1am flight to Hong Kong to pack for. I took a taxi back to the hostel.

Myanmar was pretty great. I liked it more than the other countries I have seen in South East Asia. It just had such an easy, friendly vibe, the travel was hassle free, and it was full of beautiful sights. I would even return. But the moment I had little time to reflect because I was on to a day in Hong Kong.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

The Road to Mandalay

There are various ways to get from Yangon to Mandalay. Car. Bus. Boat. Plane. Train. I opted for the slowest way: the train. I did a lot of reading about the train beforehand and while many said it was great to be able to see the countryside, the general consensus was that it was slow, unreliable, and uncomfortable. I agree it was slow, and it did take longer than scheduled, but it was an excellent experience.

I walked to the train station, which is very central, for my 5pm departure.

My train ticket. I was a little concerned to see a portion of the price allocated to life insurance

The train has the usual classes and I went for the sleeper option, given that it was an overnight train: forecasted to leave at 5:00 pm and arrive in Mandalay at 7:00 am. In fact we arrived at 9:30 am.

The sleeper car had four bunks and I was sharing it with a family of three from Portugal. I’m sure they were not thrilled to share their space with a stranger, but they were pleasant. I had been allocated one of the top bunks, which was fine for sleeping, but it gave me no widow access and no ability to even sit up, so I spent most of my waking hours in the dining car.

The dining car was awesome. It was all local guys, save for one local woman traveling with a monk. They served water, soda, beer, and a surprising array of food, including at least one vegetarian dish of fried noodles and vegetables. The windows were open and, amazingly, smoking was allowed. I was in heaven. I lit up a small cigar at first and no one complained, so I proceeded to smoke two large cigars, while I watched the scenery pass by. I have always wanted to smoke on a train but figured that time had gone. It made the ride not only pleasant, but splendid.

They played music in the car – Burmese pop songs – and often the servers would sing along, which was also true when a Burmese version of “Eye of the Tiger” came on. I joined in periodically. I was joined at my table for a couple hours by a local guy who spoke decent English so we chatted.

Throughout the ride, people would walk the length of the train selling bananas, chips, water, and various snacks.

The scenery was mostly rural, though still punctuated with gold stupas.

About an hour after dark, I settled into my bunk, which was comfortable enough. They provided a pillow and sheet. The car was not air conditioned but there was a fan and the windows opened, though the ticket taker advised us keep the windows and door locked at night. The ride was bumpy, but that is to be expected for a poorly maintained colonial rain line. It was not, however, so bumpy that I couldn’t sleep. I slept fine, save for when we reached a station; when, each time, as far as I could tell, our train collided with another train.

I awoke early and went back to the dining car where I warmed myself with some tea and watched the sun come up as people tilled the soil with oxen.

The last three hours of the trip did pass slowly as I kept expecting that our arrival was imminent. Had I known the length of the actual trip I would have been less impatient at the end. But the approach to the city was interesting as it grew more populated. The houses were different. Sort of wicker looking with geometrical patterns.

Finally, we arrived at the station with little fanfare, but it was the final stop so when everyone else was getting off, I too took my leave of the train and stepped out into the bustle of the central Mandalay station.

I am so glad I took the train. I don’t think any other transport would have been so pleasant and interesting. No misadventures, just a great ride. And, yes, I did listen to Frank Sinatra singing “The Road to Mandalay” more than once to mark the journey.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

Yangon: Arriving in Myanmar

I’ve been thinking about going to Myanmar for a number of years. The first time I looked into going they still didn’t have ATMs and almost no wifi. Things have changed and I am glad that I came here when I did because I can see it is going to get more developed and more touristy, like its South East Asian neighbours. So far (as I write this I have been here 4 days) I love it here. Interesting and beautiful, so far it does not seem as hectic as parts of Vietnam or as poor as parts of Cambodia. And it feels different. From the thanaka with which so many men and women decorate their faces to the wearing of the longyi to the eating of tea leaf salads, Myanmar seems to have its own feel. Again, these are my first impressions after a short time.

But then again, my first impressions may be mistaken. See my attempt to buy ice cream, below.

I arrived in Yangon (formerly Rangoon) via a long flight from Vancouver to Hong Kong. I had gotten an e-visa ahead of time, so i was through immigration in 5 minutes with no questions. Taxis were plentiful and their prices fair (i didn’t even bother to haggle). It was after midnight as we drove through the streets to my hotel: the Chan Myae Guest House.

I was quite happy with my lodgings, even though it was a sharp 8 floor climb to my room. Simple, but clean and with an excellent location. I was able to walk everywhere. And walk I did for my first day in Yangon. The centre is a delight for strolling with faded and mossy colonial buildings, strings of laundry, and endless street side food vendors.

I took a lot of pictures.

The food vendors are wonderful. I haven’t yet had a restaurant meal here. Tables of women mixing up noodle dishes, soups, salads, fried things, curries, yogurt drinks, tea, and juice stalls. Each one seems to have a specialty and everything looks delicious.

I have had really good luck with the soups. They will combine the ingredients as you direct into your bowl and you can just point at what you want. Then, if they see you are low on broth or noodles or onion or whatever, as you are eating, they will offer top ups. Nothing costs more than $1 (cdn). Plus, i have been going to the ones where the monks are eating, so I can just point at their vegetarian dishes and order that.

I have had one odd culinary experience. It was scorching hot and i was on foot and i thought, “Ice cream. Ice cream would revive me.” So I went to a corner store and bought a vanilla ice cream. I unwrapped it and took a bite and very quickly realized that my ice cream was not vanilla, but DURIAN. I cannot express how shocking it is to expect sweet and creamy vanilla and get instead the intense oniony putrescence of durian.

So I walked and I ate. I went in search of coffee, which was a bit of a mission. This is tea country. There are a few “proper” cafés but they are certainly not in abundance. Twice I aksed for coffee and received some sort of international delights french vanilla bullshit. And twice I flet guilty for thinking that it actually tasted pretty good. I’ll have to turn in my coffee snob card upon return to the Pacific Northwest.

I visited the Sule Pagoda, in all of its glittering splendour. It was magnificent, thought i can now say that gold stupas are ubiquitous here. Nevertheless this was Myanmar stupa no.1 for me, so it was special.

I toured around more on foot, past buildings of note. One street (I forget which one) had rows of book stalls and book shops, so I picked up something for the road.

In the afternoon, before taking on my next pagoda complex, I settled in at the bar at the classically colonial Strand Hotel, which was gorgeous and, most importantly, cigar friendly. Thankfully, it was otherwise empty, so i snuck a selfie or two.

My energies restored, I walked to the Shwedagon Pagoda complex. It wasn’t far from where I was but the 37 degree heat made it seem farther. By the time I arrived, I was hot and tired. I was not too tired, however, to have a secret race again a blonde woman across the street from me also walking to the pagoda. I won. Heat or not, I was still able to appreciate the beauty, but even my eyeballs felt burnt as I took in countless, gleaming gold and white stupas. There were so many people there but many appeared to be locals or visitors from nearby. Nothing I saw in Yangon was overrun with, well, people like me. A few backpackers here and there. The odd group of seniors, but they were few. It was nice.

Perhaps because there are not tons of tourists here, local people are not in the habit of hassling them. No one yells out to get a massage or follows you down the street trying to sell you stuff. Everyone is just pleasant. It isn’t too crowded – even the traffic is organized. Surprisingly for a former British colony, they drive on the right hand side of the street, but the steering wheels are on the right. Motorcycles are banned in Yangon, which may be why the traffic is not crazy.

Somehow I had done all of that by 6:00 pm and on 2 hours sleep. I went back to my room with plans of going out again in the evening, but promptly crashed. It was a great first day in Myanmar.

Mexico North America

Playa del Carmen: making lawyers & memories

I had never traveled for business before and didn’t have any realistic hopes to. I’m a lawyer, I live in Vancouver and so do most of my clients. But then, a couple of days before New Years Eve, an opportunity asserted itself.

Lawyers in Canada have to article for one year after law school before they actually become lawyers. On the completion of the final day, they take an oath, which is given to them by their principal (the lawyer who supervised them throughout their articles). I had such an articling law student and she had calculated her date to take the oath as being in early January, but, due to various things that I won’t get into, she burst into my office on the 27th in a panic. She had miscalculated and her call date was actually December 29th, but she was going to Mexico on the 28th.

I pointed out that there was no reason that she could not take the oath in January when she returned, but she didn’t want to delay it. “Well, I guess we could do it in Mexico,” I said, jokingly. Her eyes lit up. She loved this idea. She is from Mexico and suddenly thought that taking the oath in Mexico was the best idea ever. So that’s what we did.

I booked a flight for that night, picked a hotel, and arrived in Playa del Carmen (where she was going) the next late morning. (Going to Playa del Carmen means flying to Cancun and taking a bus or taxi to Playa del Carmen.)

I checked into my Hotel Hul-Ku which was just a couple blocks off of 5th Avenue the main pedestrian street and tourist thoroughfare. But I didn’t have a lot of time. In about an hour my articling student picked me up and drove us to a private, picturesque beach.

On the beach, inexplicably in such a short time, she had set up a table dressed with a white cloth, flower arrangements, and custom helium balloons that spelled out her name, “Canadian Lawyer”, and displayed the Canadian flag. She had hired a professional photographer and assembled a group of friends. It was so fancy; it looked like we were getting married.

I gave a speech, posed for some photos, and gave the oath. Just like that, she became a lawyer, and I was free to enjoy the rest of my weekend in Playa del Carmen.

Selfie in front of some colorful graffiti

It was unusual for me. I usually love to do weeks or months of planning and studying for my trips, but that wasn’t possible here. I had no time to prepare, so I just wandered. That proved to be fine.

Playa del Carmen is super touristy. The touristy areas are great to walk and grab a bite to eat on a patio, drink a frosty drink (or, if you’re me, a hot coffee). It is a great way to spend a leisurely day.

I enjoyed the color and festive atmosphere.

And, if you poke around, there is some excellent street art.

But it is also kind of expensive and it is full of the worst kind of tourists. Drunk, inconsiderate, annoying. On the plus side, it was easy to get away from the tourists and just walk around eating and drinking cheaply.

That is basically what I did for the rest of that day and most of the rest. (I still had some work to do, but I got to do it on my laptop on a patio whilst smoking cigars. Not bad.)

On December the 31st I decided to do something more adventurous. I visited some cenotes. The area on the Yucatan Peninsula is riddled with cenotes. Basically, they are a bunch of underground caves (sometimes open at the top and sometimes completely subterranean) connected by a vast underground river in the jungle. I couldn’t take my camera with me, so I have no pictures, but take a minute and google image search “cenotes”. Go ahead, i’ll wait.
…
Amazing, right? Some are magical lagoons and others spooky underwater lairs. All are incredible.

To enter the system we went two by two on harnesses, rappelling down into a cenote, then finally dropping into the water at the bottom. Yes, it was a bit scary before I actually started the descent (and I was the first to go) but once i was on my way it was amazing. And at the bottom…stalactites and stalagmites so weird and wonderful that it didn’t even seem real, but it was. I loved swimming around and peering down the dark pathways where the river went farther than we were allowed.

In others it was pitch black and we snorkelled with the aid of a small torch. That was great. So spooky to be in water where you could see absolutely nothing save where you shone your light. Below, in places, the ground gave way to a deep crevasse that our lights would not penetrate. Occasionally a scuba diver or a corpse-grey fish would swim by, but otherwise it was just us in this alien underwater world.

We also went zip-lining to connect us with other cenotes. That experience was ok, but highly overrated.

It was a wonderful experience and a new one for me.

By the time I returned to my hotel I was exhausted.

I went for a walk on the pedestrian street, which was extra busy as it was only a few hours to midnight. I settled in at a touristy but inviting bar that had swings instead of stools at the bar, and had a cigar and a virgin piña colada, chatting with various folks.

I was asleep by 11:30pm and flew home the following day. Playa del Carmen is not a place I would have chosen to go for a holiday, but I really enjoyed myself. And it was a great way to finish 2018 and start 2019.

And that is how I travelled to Playa del Carmen just before New Year’s Eve at the last minute, on someone else’s dime – to make someone a lawyer. I think all my years in law school finally paid off.

Africa Rwanda Uganda

Rhinoceroses in Uganda

From Jinja, I returned to Kampala, this time staying in the Kampala Boulevard Suites. A step up from my previous lodgings Kampala, but I liked it less. It was a splendidly located but completely soulless and not inexpensive business hotel. The only reason I picked it was that I could get a suite with a balcony and, given Uganda’s draconian non-smoking laws, a private balcony was the only place I could enjoy a cigar.

And my first niight there, I did just that, overlooking the snarling traffic.

For my final day in Uganda I hired a driver to take me to the Ziwa Rhinoceros wildlife reserve. It is a good day trip. It is theoretically possible to take transit to get to Ziwa, but the you would need a car to get from the road into the park.

Ziwa isn’t a zoo or a game reserve, it’s really just an outdoor area where rhinoceroses are and armed wildlife rangers guard the, from poachers. Each rhino is assigned two armed guards, whose job it is to follow them around inconspicuously at a distance and keep them safe from poaching. There is no touching the animals or disturbing them; just quiet observation from a safe distance.

When I arrived at Ziwa I, along with two other women who arrived at the same time, was assigned a guide, who walked us through the bush towards where the rhinos were, as directed by the guards over walkie talkie. As we got closer they communicated through whistles.

We came across two groups of rhinoceroses. Some were napping in the shade but the others were eating. Constantly. Fair enough; they’re the size of compact station wagons and eat grass. We got to get pretty close and just observed them in silence for about an hour. It was pretty special.

Was was not so special was when I stepped, ankle-deep, into a pile of warm rhinoceros poo in my only boots.

After the encounter we walked back, had lunch, and I returned to my hotel where much of the evening was spent cleaning my boots.

It was a good end to my short time in Uganda. It wasn’t the gorillas I had originally planned to see, but it was equally interesting. The next morning I flew back to Kigali for a couple of days and then back home.

Nothing of any particular consequence happened on the return visit to Kiglai. I just walked around, had a cigar or two and saw things I had previously seen. It doesn’t merits own post. Over all the trip to Rwanda, Uganda, and the Congo was wonderful. I was already planning my next trip on the flight home.

Africa Uganda

Kampala, Uganda

Kampala, Uganda. I arrived in Entebbe (the closest airport to Kampala) after a 40 minute flight from Kigali. A new country. I had already gotten my East Africa Tourist Visa so there were not formalities other than the checking of my yellow fever vaccination certificate. I took a taxi from Entebbe to Kampala, which took about an hour. Kampala is bigger than Kigali. The traffic is crazy. On the way we passed various poor areas and haphazard markets. I took a few pics from the taxi window.

Once in the city centre, Kampala is organized and busy on one side of Kampala road, and organized chaos on the other. I was staying at the Shumuk Hotel and Apartments. When we pulled up to the run down and otherwise nondescript office building I was certain we had the wrong place. There wasn’t even a sign.

But I did have the right place. It is a run down office building but with short and long term apartments for rent on the top two floors. The rooms weren’t fancy but they were clean and I had a full, small apartment. I was satisfied.

Plus, the location was great. I could walk to tons of cafes, restaurants, craft shops, and the aforementioned organized chaos. Unlike Kigali, it did not have the punishing hills.

I walked and browsed and ate. I also saw the ugliest bird I have ever seen. Hands down. The Maribou Stork. They are everywhere in Kampala. They are huge – they can have wingspans of up to 12 feet and they have these hideous faces, like bird-corpse-dinosaurs. I tried really hard to get a good picture of one, but this is the best I could get. The stupid thing kept evading my camera. If I looked like that I would do the same.

The next morning, I got up early and went for a coffee at a big Kenyan chain coffee shop. Sitting there with my Americano, who should walk in but the guy from Delhi that I had met in Goma days earlier. I know it happens, but it always surprises me to run into the same person randomly that I crossed paths with in another country. We made plans to have dinner and did indeed have an excellent dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in a posher area of town.

In the meantime, however, I had arranged a boda boda (motorcycle) tour of Kampala through Walter’s tours, which I recommend. Kampala is short on major sights, but this takes you from place to place on a motorcycle, so you get to see a lot in a fun way.

Richard, my guide, and I went to the Bahai temple and the big mosque. At both sites I got a little more info than I needed, but they were nice buildings. At the mosque, I climbed to the top of the huge minaret in the ankle length modesty dress they outfitted me in, for the views of the city.

We went to the palace, which one cannot enter, but I got a lot of very interesting history and then walked through a beautiful garden area to Idi Amin’s torture cells.

There isn’t much to them: a concrete tunnel with rectangular cells, but they were very creepy. Hearing the stories of how many people were killed there (16k-19k) through various methods from electrocution to suffocation (from cramming people into the cells). The walls are still covered in hand prints and writings in blood, dirt, and excrement from the prisoners. And there are bats. Lots of bats. And at least one femur.

From there we went to some market areas and ended up at the old taxi park, which is a cluster of white minivans parked in am impossible tangle.

We got a seat at a cafe overlooking the taxis and the streets below, which was very interesting. Watching the vans get out, baskets of grasshopper snacks for sale, vendors of everything imaginable, and stands were people trade old/worn currency for new looking currency for status, apparently.

It was a good day. I finished up with a nice dinner with my new friend from the Congo, and finally a cigar.

At this point in the trip I had been on the go every day and it was time for some relaxation, so the next day I was going to Jinja.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo Rwanda

Return to Rwanda

I left the Democratic Republic of the Congo and crossed the border into Rwanda on foot using my East Africa visa, which would allow me to move back and forth between Rwanda and Uganda. The rest of the day, and the most of the rest was pleasant but unremarkable.

I did laundry at the air bnb I was staying at in Gisenyi – very necessary as I had taken on a certain odor. I lazed about in a hammock and had dinner at Cafe Calafia, my aforementioned new favourite cafe, with the cozy interior, beautiful garden exterior, and excellent menu. After that I returned to my air bnb where I walked in on (unbeknownst to my host) a tremendous bout of yelling and domestic disturbance. I’ll spare the details, but I found it quite unpleasant and so I went for a walk and then sat outside smoking a cigar with my headphones on until things subsided.

The next day I did not, as planned, take a 5 hour bus back to Kigali but opted for the 2 hour private car at 10x the price. It just sounded so much more appealing. Is this what happens as travellers get older? Do we spend some extra money for some extra comfort? I don’t like to think about it that way, but I did appreciate that I was enjoying a coffee and cigar in Kigali at a time when I would otherwise have still been on the bus.

This time in Kigali I stayed not at the Nest but at the Discover Rwanda Youth Hostel. (Applying the broad definition of “youth” apparently.) I like to try different places and explore different areas, which is why I chose the hostel. It had a swell patio for eating and chilling out with other travellers, I must admit it was not as nice as the Nest, which was about the same price.

I went for a long walk up and down Kigali’s punishing hills and ended up at a lovely cafe, where I had a cigar that I bought the previous month in El Salvador (making me feel like quite the jet setter / douchebag) and a french press of excellent coffee. Also soup.

I struck up a conversation with a girl also traveling alone who was from Washington State. We chatted and then left together, walking to a bookstore with a rooftop cafe, where we stayed until it was dark, swapping travel tales.

Unable to find a single moto driver who knew where my hostel was, I walked back in the dark (thankfully remembering my way). At the bottom of the final big hill, I did get a moto to drive me up the last bit for a few cents.

So not much happened on these days aside from transit and casual strolling, but it was most pleasant and welcome, as the next day I was off to Uganda.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo

Masisi, the Alps of the Congo

Following my day exploring Goma, I was collected at the Ihusi Hotel by Cide, who would be my guide and companion for the next 2 days. I had booked an overnight tour of the Masisi region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo through Kivu Travel. (Website here.) After my gorilla plans fell through (see my previous DRC post) I still wanted to see something of the Congo in the time that I had and Masisi looked amazing. And there was no way I could have managed this without having it organized through a company, as the Masisi is not exactly set up for independent travel. Kivu Travel was super helpful and kept checking in and confirming that all was well and that I was taken care of.

But before Masisi, a boat ride.

Cide dropped me off on the shores of Lake Kivu, placing me in the hands of a 4 man crew on a rather basic wooden boat. We set sail, at first past the shores of Goma, which gave a great view of the otherwise invisible posh homes, and then we sailed farther into the lake.

The plan was to visit a coffee farm, which sounded good, but mostly I just wanted to sail around. And sail we did, for about 2 hours before reaching the farm. It was very peaceful. We saw only a few small canoes type boats and a couple of ferries.

Reaching the farm, I was handed off to a fellow (whose name I cannot recall) who very carefully showed me the coffee farm and explained the process from planting to sending off for roasting. It was surprisingly interesting. I have been to coffee farms before, but they just sort of showed the trees and then explained about the different varieties. This was not a tourist show; it was an actual, working farm and I have to say that it was sobering to see how much hand labour goes in to coffee, just at the farm level. I mean, I guess I knew it, but I never really thought about it. Every single bean, hand picked, hand peeled, washed, hand sorted, dried, etc all by hand. Plus all the planting, replanting, roasting, etc.

It was really interesting and reminiscent of my rice realizations in SE Asia. For all the mechanization we have available, some things are still painstakingly made by hand.

Back in the boat, we sailed for close to 3 hours until a pretty area appeared before us, marked by Cide’s white SUV. I was deposited on the shore, where we had a picnic lunch of vegetarian sandwich, avocado, and bananas. I told Cide that in North America we are crazy for avocados and that in restaurants we will pay $10 or more for a slice of toasted bread with butter and avocado. His eyes went wide and he didn’t stop laughing for a solid minute. I can’t say I blame him.

Then we drove, higher and higher into the mountains. The landscape started out as a beautiful green patchwork of farm lands, then smoothed out into rolling, velvety hills dotted with farm animals. This is the Masisi region.

It was stunning. Like something out of a painting or a picture book. If it weren’t for the villages, which are definitely African, it could easily be the Alps.

Just when I thought I could not be any more impressed, we arrived at this charming farmhouse set on a hill overlooking the valley and with beautiful gardens. This is where I was to stay.

My room was enormous and I had a living room with a fireplace and private balcony. No electricity or internet, though they ran the generator at night for lights and the fireplaces were lit for warmth. It was so perfect.

Cide and I sat overlooking the valley and were served a teapot of warm milk from the cows below. I had a cigar.

We then walked into the valley and the village past the dairy farm, flocks of sheep, errant goats, and parades of geese. Horses grazed. People laboured. Children played and peeked curiously at me.

It was all so lovely.

The best part of the walk was visiting the home of this one grandmother who had 3 tobacco plants in her garden. Cide said she grew them for herself, to dry and smoke. She didn’t speak English or French, but Cide translated. I gave the woman one of my cigarillos. She tried it but was not impressed, saying hers was better. Her friend agreed. The woman then got some of her dried tobacco and rolled me a small one and offered it to me. It was a bit on the moist side, but was good. Cocoa-y.

After that, we returned to the house and were fed an enormous dinner. I briefly dozed by the fire and then went to bed.

The morning brought a massive breakfast with a view of the valley.

We then walked down to the dairy farm, where free roaming cows were being milked. I tried my hand at it with limited success.

From there we visited the “cheese factory” which is just two guys in two rooms making cheese without any mechanization. The cheese is good. Like a tangy gouda.

Finally we went for a walk through the main village, where we were followed by throngs of children, curious and friendly, all giving thumbs up and asking for photos, which they then looked at and laughed hysterically.

Finally, we returned to Goma and I crossed the borders back to Rwanda. It was a perfect couple of days. I liked the comparative bustle of Goma, but Masisi was magical. A peaceful mountainous dairy farming region was not what I thought of when I thought to visit the Congo, but I am glad I made my way there.

Wandering North

Tag: cigar

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