The Booj Part Deux

“To me, travel was not about rest and relaxation. It was action, exertion, motion, and the built-in delays were longueurs necessitated by the inevitable problem-solving of forward movement: waiting for buses and trains, enduring breakdowns that you tried to make the best of.” Paul Theroux

I finally started Dark Star Safari this weekend…Paul Theroux’s documented journey overland from Cairo to Cape Town. It was the perfect book to begin while making the trek back to Bujumbura, Burundi for round two of beach time, Lake Tanganyika, and the general debauchery that is lacking in Kigali. In the true spirit of travelling, Karen and I set off on Friday morning with no plan, two bus tickets, and a bag full of random Indian snacks. Karen and I travel well together. We’re both just anal enough to compulsively check a few things off the old list before being able to truly unwind and relax. We share similar attitudes about a few essentials when finding a trusty travelling side kick: we’re both seemingly responsible about money but don’t let it stand in the way of having a good time; we both wake up thinking about dinner; we appreciate and revel in the unpredictability and randomness of African travel; and finally and most importantly perhaps, we love the beach. We’re essentially a match made in heaven.

So, the weekend was more or less serendipitous from the moment we left the bus station. We stumbled upon some Dutch military at the money exchange who suggested we were ladies conveying “cheap and quick” recommendations. Um, thank you very much. We are indeed. Next we met Jean Claude sur la route, a 60 year old French Canadian who had been doing development work throughout Africa for over 20 years and just opened a new restaurant. He draws us a map on the back of a receipt and mentions ribs. Done and done. We head to the beach. No room at the inn. Wuh wa. The bubbly and overly-helpful staff person escorts us to the hotel next door. No dice. She suggests another place in town that’s in our price range. And by our price range, we’re talking under $40 a night for the two of us. We hitchhike into town with a friendly couple heading home from work on Friday evening. Strike three at Amohoro hotel. Again, friendly and helpful Burundians lead us to the next possible lodging possibility. We arrive to find the manager waiting for us. He escorts us to a very small, albeit clean room with private bathroom…and a FAN! 30 bucks for the night. Parfait.

Next stop, La Cervoise de Gaulois….the restaurant run by Jean Claude. Turns out he has rooms for rent. Information that may have proved useful roughly four hours ago. We meet a handful of gregarious expats. Quite possibly, my two new favorite expats in East Africa. Ekin-a Turkish, global operations manager that has been stationed at all the recent hotspots: Gaza, Darfur (to name a few) who is endearingly engaging, shares hysterical personal tidbits surfacing as complete and utter comfort with himself, and unbelievably humble. He invites us dancing. Karen and I simultaneously place him on his international development pedestal in the sky and accept without hesitation. And then there’s Pierre Olivier, a Frenchman who rivals Rick Moranis, circa “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids” years. He’s comical, has a fantastic accent, and a mane of crazy, mad-scientist hair.

Saturday we sleep in after some late night dancing at Havana Club, and make our way back out to the beach via yet another free ride from the fancy Hotel du Lac employee minivan. It is random and much-appreciated. Burundi is lively and loud, disorderly, chaotic, unpredictable. We love everything about it. The beach is filled with locals swimming in the lake and expats lounging on the Bora Bora beach chairs poolside. Cold beers, breeze, sunshine, cold beers, sunsets, clouds, dreamy expats. It is the perfect day.

After a delectable post-beach nap, Karen and clean ourselves up and head back into town for dinner and dancing. It was the night of the annual Marine ball, so all our newfound friends were occupied until at least 1 am. Karen and I sought solace in Havana’s disco lights, techno music, and sweaty Burundian men gyrating to today’s hottest hits. The Turk texts us about an after-ball party. Again, we graciously accept and find ourselves dancing until the wee hours of the morning among Bujumbura's finest.

In addition to the amazing Turk and the peculiar Frenchman, we also meet Mohamed, a Tunisian George Clooney at first glance…a completely chivalrous, sweet, generous North African who is completely adoring of Karen and willingly escorting us around town in his UN vehicle while keeping us steadily supplied with cold Amstels and pizza. Could this weekend honestly get any better?

It was a sad moment to walk away from that beach, I have to say. For all the beauty, quiet, and peacefulness that Rwanda brings, there is something energizing about the spontaneity and heightening of the senses that Bujumbura offers to a traveler. It’s intoxicating in a way that just encourages more travelling. So, I’m back at the office, and sadly counting down my remaining month in Kigali, conflicted about leaving this region of the world that has been so inspiring and welcoming and beautiful and kind. Big, big sigh.