Vietnam 5: Holidays in Hanoi

Holidays in Hanoi

Vietnam is a largely Buddhist country, though, in actuality, most people observe ancestor worshipping more than anything else. At the same time, the country still contains many devotees of other religions, particularly Christianity (largely Catholicism), as well as local sects such as Cao Dai and Hoa Hao, both of which are particularly popular in the South. Many Catholics left northern Vietnam in 1954 when the country was partitioned. However, there still are many active practitioners in Hanoi and throughout the north.

Regardless of the small size of Hanoi’s Christian minority, the city is beginning to get into the swing of the Holiday Spirit – when that Spirit is defined to include the commercialism attendant with the Christmas season in the West, combined with the novelty of a winter themed celebration. In downtown Hanoi, particularly in restaurants and stores patronized by expats and wealthier, more-cosmopolitan locals, windows will have spray-painted snow flakes with tinsel, while a few spots sport Christmas trees. Many waiters and waitresses at cafes and coffee shops wear Santa’s caps and the Old Quarter of the city is packed with little shops selling outfits for kids, decorations, and cards. (Holiday photos here)

One department store set up a more elaborate exhibit, complete with fake snow, sleighs, snowmen, and reindeer. This quickly became a popular destination for camera-wielding young parents anxious to pose their children in front of this winter wonderland. Walking back home from a movie the other night, Liz and I encountered a small, festival-like scene, with 40-50 people jostling to pose their well-scrubbed and primly dressed young ones in front of a pile of shiny-wrapped presents or fancy wreaths. An enterprising young man had set up a small popcorn popper and was selling bags for 50 cents while several balloon sellers converged on the spot to sell colorful characters to the horde of under eights dragged out by their parents. Another sight on Hanoi streets around Christmas – Santas on scooters. Many Hanoi residents send gifts to friends delivered by young men dressed (not very convincingly) as St. Nick. As if Hanoi traffic needed anything to make it more uncontrollable, now we have guys dressed in red with fake beards hauling around large white sacks as they weave in and around cars and bicycles.

One downside to the Christmas season is the Christmas soundtrack. Stores and restaurants all seem to share the same holiday season, full of bad British holiday pop, treacly seasonal chestnuts and an old ABBA New Year dirge. I think that even the most steadfast ABBA supporter must, however, agree that any song that features the lyrics:

Happy New Year
Happy New Year
May we all have our hopes, our will to try
If we don’t we might as well lay down and die

. . . should be shot into the fiery center of the sun. Sadly, instead of its well-deserved solar launch, it resides on every tape deck in town.

Our apartment complex sponsored its own Holiday party in the lobby. Almost all the residents are expats, many from the US, but others from Europe, mixed in with a few Japanese or Korean families. The owners set up a nice buffet and provided entertainment. Kids ran screaming and played with confetti, while parents milled around sipping drinks and eating snacks. Then came the entertainment. First, an all-female band, in beautiful red ao dais playing traditional music (plus one or two Simon and Garfunkel tunes) on local instruments. Quite beautiful. I would have taken photos, but feared looking too much like a tool as no one else had their cameras. Next, a female singer crooning pop ballads. Finally, three young Vietnamese dancers. One or two slow moving graceful pieces, followed by some very PG-13 songs that involved lots of shaking and rather little clothing. Maybe I should have brought the camera down after all. Not sure if it was exactly kid appropriate, but it certainly grabbed everyone’s attention. A group of young girls stopped to see what was going on, while several men obtained a new-found interest in wardrobe issues, while female spouses nudged a few of the more slack-jawed husbands to re-interest them in conversation (not me, of course).

Weekends

What are we up to on the weekends?

Last Saturday we attended a fashion show. Now, I know what you’re thinking “attended a fashion show? Don’t you mean participated in a fashion show?” True, the name Herrup is synonymous in the minds of many people with haute couture. And you’re right, my Dockers/Van Heusen ensembles could rock many a runway. Yet, I worried that my presence might intimidate many of the models, most of whom were volunteers instead of professionals. My sense of decorum, however, prevented the need for a Zoolander-like “walk off” and the show commenced.

The Vietnamese are very fashion conscious and Hanoi seemingly has more clothing and shoe stores than any other city I’ve ever lived in. Many of them are small, but every block seems to have several targeting women, men, teens, kids, and babies. Though the need to retain modesty while traversing the city on the back of a scooter requires most women to wear jeans or slacks, clothes shopping, of all kinds, is a popular after-work activity. Most Vietnamese do net yet have the funds for high fashion and fashion shows are a reasonably new and modest activity. All the same, the show, which featured the outfits of an up and coming young Hanoian designer, seemed nicely done to me. It took place in a trendy bar with lots of well-dressed expats in attendance. Of course, I went with a couple of fashion experts who (not including my always in-style wife) were somewhat more opinionated than me. Here, in short, is a run down of our commentary:

Model A:

Me: She’s hot.
Friend A: She’s fat.

Model B:

Me: She’s hot.
Friend B: She walks like a giraffe.

Model C:

Me: She’s hot.
Friend A: That fabric would look good on your couch.

Clearly, I have a lot to learn about fashion shows.

On Sunday, we went to the charity bazaar run by the International Women’s Club of Hanoi. Advertised as a place to shop for handicrafts and holiday gifts, I discovered, to my wonder and delight, that the event actually featured foods from around the world. I quickly left Liz and our friend Alis among the chatchkis and explored this culinary UN. About 30 countries set up booths featuring traditional food and drinks. I focused on Europe, starting with Ukraine (mushroom and potato pancakes, pork rolls) before moving on to Germany (beer and sausage) and the Czech Republic (Goulash – I can’t pass up anything stewing in a vat). The Swiss reputation for efficiency took a bit of a hit when the raclette heaters blew a fuse, but I gutted it out (gutted it, get it?) and was rewarded with a healthy helping of melted cheese. Liz was kind enough to share some paella and I briefly left the Old World for Africa, enjoying a falafel from the Egyptian booth, and some South African marinated chicken. I finished with waffles (Belgium) and a caramel peanut tart (undetermined origin, but delicious). I then wondered what I had done to myself.

The bazaar itself was an interesting experience. Hundreds of people from around the world, milling about shopping, with Christmas tunes and traditional dances from around the world, in the background on an 80 degree and sunny day. Some countries you don’t think about every day had large booths, with the Belarusians selling vodka and cakes and the Bangladeshis selling vegetarian fare. The Cubans gathered to sing and dance, proving themselves once more to be the most festive of American enemies. The American booth sold used books and apple pie. Not exactly my version of traditional American crafts, but it seemed fairly popular. Next year, I’m lobbying for barbecue.

The next Saturday morning, we went running in the park, as we normally do. But this time, a difference. It’s “coffee culture week” and the park was transformed into a magical land of free caffeinated beverages. Up and down the main path, coffee companies had set up temporary stands dispensing free cups to inquisitive locals (photos here). Normally, visitors to the park squat on small plastic chairs to enjoy a cup of tea. Today, they were guided to various stalls by ladies wearing white gowns with coffee beans sewn throughout where they read billboards reviewing the history of coffee throughout the world and in Vietnam. In other areas, people picked beans from bushes brought in especially for the day. Liz and our friend Michaela sampled a few different brews and generally gave thumbs up.

How do we afford my fashion and gustatory extravagances? With the expected earnings from my soon-to-be-employed wife, who starts tomorrow as Special Counsel with Baker & McKenzie. After having worked in the White House, ICC, and FCC, worked for a Thai telecoms company, served as the mall grants coordinator at the Embassy in Uganda, and most recently held the position of vice-president in a consulting firm, she is beginning her first job for a law firm, 15 years after having passed the bar. I figure that once she runs for elective office and serves as a judge, she’ll have held every possible position for which a law degree qualifies a person. Anyway, I’m very proud of her and am looking forward to financial solvency over the next three years.

Vietnam 3: Cool Weather

I wore a sweater.

For the first time in the over four years we have served abroad, I wore a sweater. Yes, it was a light cardigan. And, yes, it was only for a few hours in the evening. But, it was a sweater. A Sweater!

Hanoi weather does not have a great reputation. Hot and humid in the summer. Cool and humid in the winter. Rainy at other times. However, we’ve had a few good days here and there. This past week, a cold front moved in and two days of rain washed some of the fall haze out the atmosphere. With the air a little more breathable, I ventured back onto the streets. It was cool. Not Bangkok cool, which means under 90 degrees, but real world cool, in the upper sixties. During the day. No chance of sweating through my shirt on the way to the market. No need for that second shower (OK, maybe still a need, but for a different reason). If it wasn’t for the obstacle course sidewalks and the Formula One street crossings, it might be a great time for a walk.

Hanoi is perhaps the only major city in Southeast Asia that truly experiences the seasons (other than rainy vs. dry) and the appearance of fall is a welcome event. At this point, I’m not convinced that the heat has disappeared, but I look forward to days without air conditioning. Of course, it’s supposed to be cloudy and wet for most of the next few months, but we’ll have to see how cool and cloudy compares to hot and hot.

Local Hanoians treat the change in weather slightly differently. As the temperature dips below 70 degrees, out come the winter jackets, hats, and gloves. Little girls wear mufflers, their mothers with scarves wrapped around their necks. Of course, it’s colder on a scooter, so some extra-clothing certainly is justified. Nevertheless, when I’m in shorts and they’re huddled together to keep warm, there is a definitely different approach to cooler weather.

Liz and I got up early the other morning to participate in the annual Terry Fox Run for cancer research. We’d done so once in Bangkok and wanted to take advantage of a rare opportunity to run in a large group on Hanoi’s streets. We arrived at 7 am to join a few friends from the Embassy in a sea of local participants. Many businesses, hospitals, and universities sponsored teams wearing matching t-shirts or ribbons, marching proudly behind banners with their names. In our shorts and t-shirts we stood out in the sea of sweatshirts and blue jeans. Warm-up for the race began a little before 8 with three female singers, clad in mildly risqué outfits, singing and gyrating to Shakira tunes, I guess with the intention of getting our blood flowing. Soon after, the run started. “Run,” of course, is a term of art and not particularly descriptive of the ensuing events. Hanoi police had kindly blocked off the streets surrounding a lake in downtown Hanoi, but the crush of participants (roughly 4,000) made movement difficult. Most Vietnamese came to walk with their co-workers and friends, not so much to run, making it difficult to manage a decent pace as we wove (weaved?) between groups of laughing and chanting packs. Disappointed scooter drivers, deprived of their usual route to the market or work or wherever, sat on their bikes and watched as this curious mass circled the lake for about an hour. As the Vietnamese walkers (and many Western runners) finished a few circuits, they stood around the starting area talking and taking photos (and blocking a few determined runners, such as myself). Eventually, the girl group returned to the stage and a group of a few hundred young Hanoians sang and danced along with the music. 10 minutes later, the police undid the barricades and the hordes of Hanoi drivers returned.

Vietnam 2

For our tenth anniversary, Liz and I decided to escape the Hanoi heat for the cool and cleaner air of the central highlands. We spent four days in Dalat, which at nearly 5,000 feet, was a wonderful contrast to the Hanoi haze. (Photos Here)

Vietnam Airlines has one daily flight from Hanoi to Dalat, leaving at 6 am. Thus, we rose seemingly closer to the crack of dusk than the crack of dawn. Leaving our apartment a little after four on a Thursday morning, we encountered quiet, but not empty, Hanoi streets. Even at that hour, scooters motored down the alleyways. On our way out of town to the airport we passed several cyclists all heading in the same direction. We soon passed their destination, a flower market packed at 4:30 am with farmers bringing in their produce and small-distributors selecting their wares to bring into the city to sell. Perhaps New York is not the only city that doesn’t sleep.

The flight to Dalat takes a little over 1.5 hours. As the plane re-crossed the coastline and began to descend we overflew a thick, dark green canopy that carpeted steep valleys, then fields and then Dalat airport. The airport is about a 45 minute drive from town and the road was somewhat reminiscent of Uganda – jutted pavement disappearing into clay and mud on the side of the road with shops lined up in rows. Lots of produce on display as we began to head up into the hills. As the road wound up, we entered groves of evergreen and bamboo. We entered a city spread out over several small hills and surrounding a small and (compared to Hanoi lakes) reasonably clear lake.

We stayed at a wonderful resort, the Evason Ana Mandara, in a restored 1930s colonial villa. The days dawned cool and clear, with thunderstorm-filled afternoons, followed by evenings filled with stars bright and near. The grounds were beautifully maintained and contained many wonderful-smelling night-blooming flowers. The rooms all have fireplaces, particularly necessary during the chilly, foggy winters, but also of use in August when the temperatures could drop into the high 50s in the evenings. The Ana Mandara has terrific food, which we can’t recommend enough. Great Vietnamese, western, and fusion, with a pleasant and friendly staff to boot. The resort offers a wide-selection of DVDs to watch in your rooms during the cold nights, though I suspect most, if not all, are pirated. How did I guess? The jacket for “Cold Mountain,” a somber civil-war drama starring Jude Law and Nicole Kidman, contained a plug from a review stating that “Stallone and Banderas make a dynamite team in this action packed thriller.”

Dalat is the center of the Vietnamese produce sector, growing all number of fruits and vegetables and making a drinkable (though not exceptional) wine. Dalat specialties include strawberries, artichokes, tomatoes, and other temperate fruits. One afternoon, after running around the lake in the center of town, we stopped by a small café to sample fresh strawberry and pear juices. We then visited the central market to examine what was on offer. At one stall, the friendly proprietor plied us with sample after sample of local foods, washed down with passionfruit juice and artichoke tea. I tried out my Vietnamese-language bargaining skills and talked her down from 110,000 dong (about $7) to 105,000 dong (about $6.65) for a collection of spicy deer jerky, dried and sweetened tomatoes, vegetable chips, and strawberry jam. I know I could have gotten the price down to 100,000 dong, but thought we had gotten our money’s worth in free tastes. We then checked out the flowers and picked out a bunch of gerber daisies for Liz for our anniversary, all for the equivalent of 75 cents.

The city attracts many Vietnamese vacationers, particularly from Ho Chi Minh City, who also are attracted by the cooler air and the cheaper prices. One of the oddest attractions in the city is the “Crazy House,” a bizarre inn run by the daughter of the Troung Chinh, the successor to Ho Chi Minh of the Vietnamese Communist Party. Trained in architecture in the Soviet Union, she returned to create this crazy fantasy-land of a hotel, part Gaudi, part Dali, part Alice in Wonderland and part Planet of the Apes. Its well worth the 60 cent entry fee to inspect the life-sized toadstools, spiderwebs, giant gourds, psychedelic bears and giraffes and other oddities. Its unique in Vietnam.

In the mornings, before the mid-day thunderstorms, we did some sight-seeing. One stop was Lanbiang mountain, which stands nearly 8,000 feet tall. It’s a huge attraction for Vietnamese tourists as well, who crowded around with us as we awaited the government-operated jeeps to take us to the top (you can also hike). In the parking lot, enterprising locals staged photos for the city-dwellers, including the opportunity for pictures atop local donkeys painted to look like zebras. After a harrowing trip up hairpin turns, we reached the top and a breathtaking view of mountain vistas and lakes from one side to a vast collection of small farms and greenhouses on the other.

Vietnam 1:

Once more around the world. We're both thrilled to be abroad again and I'm looking forward to start writing my updates. I think Vietnam will provide a lot of source material. I'm setting up a blog as well, where I will post these updates as well as photos and other information. I've already put up my old posts from Thailand and Uganda, along with my dining guides (with recent updates) and my quick reviews of books on Vietnam. You can find it at drewliz@blogspot.com. (Let me know if anyone has blogger skills, I can’t seem to get the layout right and the dining guides go on forever. Is it possible to just have a link on a title that will take you to the guides?). In re-reading my notes from Bangkok and Kampala, especially the early ones, I found some updates insightful and others not-so-much, at times contradicted by later experiences. Oh, well, I guess that's the nature of travel diaries written almost in real-time. So, it’s likely to be another year of poorly thought out analysis, snap judgments, and cultural ignorance. Anyway, we hope you enjoy hearing about what we are up to.

We arrived in Hanoi on August 1 after a grueling (well, if you can call business class travel grueling) 22 hour journey from D.C. Our flights actually were fine, if you discount the rude person sitting next to me (Liz) who yelled every time I tried to open the shades to see where we were. Zooming above Canadian lakes -- "Shut the shades!" Looking at icebergs in the arctic -- "Shut the shades!" Overflying Harbin in northen China -- "Shut the shades!"

Anyway, we had no problems on our flights and I highly recommend the free shower rooms in the Asiana business class lounge in Seoul. We felt clean and cool when we stepped into the steam room that is Hanoi in summer. Just like Bangkok six years ago, the temperature and humidity were in the eighties in the late evening as we departed the airport for town. We had re-entered the land of thrice-daily showers.

Our first impressions are very positive. Hanoi certainly is bustling, with people up and on the streets when the sun comes up before six in the morning. The city is in a state of constant activity from sidewalk food stalls, to old ladies hawking fruits on the street, to a myriad of small businesses to modern multinational firms. Cars, bicycles, and motorbikes – a seemingly infinite supply of motorbikes -- navigate the streets. As the Vietnamese economy booms, so does life in the big city.

I've started work at the Embassy, easily the ugliest building in town. You can't miss it, it's the beige monstrosity with the protective shipping containers perched in front. It’s also old and somewhat rundown. When the U.S. and Vietnam restored diplomatic relations in the 90s, it was the largest building available. Now, new construction towers above it. We outgrew it years ago and have satellite offices down the street, but we still don't have new space and we're jammed in this shabby mess. At the same time, my office isn't half bad, and for the first time in several years I have a window, though I overlook the back of a garage and a large billboard advertising VIP rooms for a 3 star hotel.

We recently moved into our apartment, after a three-week stay in a modern serviced apartment on the banks of Ho Tay (West Lake) in the north part of the city. It was nice, but a 20 minute ride through hectic, no, chaotic, Hanoi traffic to and from the Embassy (more -- much, much more -- on Hanoi traffic in future entries). Our new place is right in the heart of town, near the old quarter, Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum and other sites. Most importantly, it also is near many restaurants, which we have already started to research. It's got two guest bedrooms on a separate floor and Liz has begun taking reservations for guests.

Speaking of my wife, while I'm slaving away in Vietnam, she deserted me to visit friends in Thailand last month. I like the sound of that -- a weekend visit to Thailand, and it reminds me of how conveniently located we are. Anyway, I’ll return the favor next month, when I get to go to Bangkok for work. Over the next few years, we hope to re-visit old favorites and see some new places.

(Note: Sorry if this is a little old. We’ve been updating our e-mail list and didn’t want anyone to miss the pearls of wisdom written above.)

Uganda 23: July 31, 2005

TEXT HAS DISAPPEARED. WILL LOCATE AND ADD.

Photos related to Uganda referendum to return to multi-party politics. I was an election observer in western Uganda.

Uganda 22: July 4, 2005

As our time in Uganda winds down, Liz and I are trying to make a few last trips around the country. Uganda's premiere national park is Murchison Falls, located on both sides of the Nile as it pours into Lake Albert. Following the Embassy's Fourth of July reception (held on the first), Liz, me, and our friends Kathleen and Shawn loaded up the car and headed out. (Photos Here) Murchison is about 300 kilometers northwest from Kampala -- a five hour drive, the last three on dirt roads. The ride is fairly easy, nonetheless, with little traffic once you get outside Kampala. An hour out of Kampala, it begins to get drier, flatter, and hotter. As we drove into the park, we passed lines of women carrying jerry cans of water on their heads as they returned home from the local water pump, groups of young men playing checkers or carting loads of bananas or charcoal on their bicycles, and groups of children merrily waving to us (or asking for money). Older women sat on the beaten earth in front of their huts threshing grain or roasting corn. In smaller trading centers, shoppers bargained for produce, used clothing, consumer goods and a variety of knock off products. Embassy policy currently only allows us to visit the south side of the park due to instability in northern Uganda. The northern half of the park is in Gulu district, where the Lords Resistance Army has been active. There have been no problems in the park for several years, but better safe than sorry. That's a shame, because much of the wildlife is located on the far side of the river and it's the closest Uganda has to the Kenyan and Tanzanian parks when it comes to the volume of game. During the 1970s, Amin's troops killed many of the animals in the park and, in fact, made the Ugandan rhino extinct (there are plans to reintroduce the rhino to the park). At one point, Murchison was the destination in east Africa to see wild game. That is not the case these days. Nevertheless, Murchison still hosts a variety of land, river, and air fauna. As we drove through the park, we passed troop after troop of baboons camped out on the road. Most scurried into the bush as we zoomed past, but a few younger members stopped and gaped at us. We took the afternoon boat cruise up the Nile and saw hundreds of hippos and numerous crocodiles. Several fish eagles gazed at us from the tree tops. As we meandered up the Nile, groups of water buffalo paused from drinking or bathing to look at the boat. We also saw a family of giraffe and a lone elephant munching on a tree. Eventually, it became much more humid and we heard a dull roar. Foam whirled in the current and flowed downstream. We turned a corner and saw the cause -- the falls. Not as big as Niagara or Victoria, they still are mighty powerful. The Nile, already a major river, is squeezed through a six meter chasm and rockets outward. After returning to camp, we took quick showers in our open air bathrooms -- the water dribbling down from a 2 gallon drum. We had cocktails on our porch and watched the sun go down over the river with the Blue Mountains in Congo off in the far distance. That night, as we slept, hippos grazed underneath our cabin and monkeys scampered overhead. The next day, after lounging by the pool in the morning with Kathleen and Shawn, we packed up and headed home. On our way, we drove up to the falls and picnicked. We were able to walk right up to the river and peer over the chasm. Our clothes were soaked from the mist and the humidity. The flora next to the falls is what you would expect in a rain forest -- ferns and vines -- instead of the dry grassland across the river. The Nile rushed by and thundered downwards.

Uganda 21: June 6, 2005

The past few months have been a busy time in Uganda as Liz and I have worked to wrap up projects before we prepare to return to the States after four years abroad. We've also begun the process of saying goodbye to friends who have started to move on to other postings. So, lots of lunches and dinners mixed with the occasional late night pub crawl. However, we've managed to find some time for a couple of trips outside of Africa -- to Paris for an economic conference and to London for a wedding. (Photos Here) Neither city can hold a candle to Kampala, mind you, but each has its humble charms and somehow we figured out how to have a good time. Paris We traveled to Paris so that I could participate in a conference for economic officers posted to US Embassies in Africa. Why Paris, instead of, say, Nairobi or Addis Ababa? Good question. Something about saving air fare. In any event, I wasn't complaining, though we also would have welcomed the opportunity to see more of Africa. The conference was held at the Hotel du Talleyrand, the U.S.Embassy building in which much of post-War Marshall Plan to rebuild Europe was formulated. Our conference perhaps didn't have the immediacy of those earlier meetings, but I enjoyed it and found it informative. I gave a presentation on intellectual property enforcement in Uganda (I can send the fascinating and exciting powerpoint to anyone who doubts the work purpose of the trip) and had the opportunity to learn from the experiences of my counterparts. Liz was able to spend several days walking around the city and getting reacquainted with Paris -- where she had not visited in 20 years. I had only spent an afternoon there 15 years ago (much of it spent in a lengthy quest to collect USD 300 sent by my parents to Western Union so that I could catch my flight home after backpacking through Europe), so it was largely a new experience for me. Our hotel (Hotel Regina) was located a few blocks from the Embassy and our room overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries, where Liz and I ran in the mornings, and (in the distance) the Eiffel Tower. I had one extra day after the conference and we visited the Louvre and Musee D'Orsay, and walked along the Seine to the Marais district. While a bit chilly, the weather turned sunny and we had a great time joining the crowds enjoying the parks and dining outdoors. Of course, the highlight of any trip to Paris has to be the food, and we ate quite well. The first several nights we went out with a group from my conference to restaurants near the hotel. We love Uganda, but we normally don't have access to duck, or souffles, or crème brulee. It was a nice change of pace from matooke (plantains) and Indian food. Liz and I also decided that we would have one special meal in Paris and somehow managed to get a table at Alain Ducasse, a Michelin three star restaurant located in the Plaza Athenee hotel. It was a once in a lifetime experience -- for more than one reason. The service was impeccable with more waiters, assistants etc. than customers. The dining room was full with Japanese tourists (many of whom took photographs of each course), what appeared to be a Russian mobster and his girlfriend, one other American couple, and a few token French. Yet, the waiters were very polite and helpful. The other American couple was in their 50s, probably from New York. She had bleached blond hair and he an ill-fitting toupee. They were loud and boisterous but managed to make friends with a Japanese couple at an adjoining table and seemed to charm the waiters. Perhaps they represented the positive aspects of European's stereotypes of Americans. Anyway, back to our meal. We each ordered the price fixe menu and so the meal only cost one-week's salary (literally). The food was terrific -- one of the best meals I've ever had. Food cooked perfectly, vegetables cut just so, beautifully presented, fresh ingredients (best butter we've ever had -- Liz still fantasizes about it), new and interesting combinations (we kept the menu if anyone is interested), in spectacular surroundings. Yet, no meal is worth what they charged and, to be honest, concern about the cost dampened my enjoyment of the meal. And we didn't even order the lobster. Just after we left, another three star chef announced that he was returning his stars because he did not want to have to charge what he did to maintain the amenities that earned the stars. I think he's right. At these prices, the food is only available to a select few. If I was a chef, I'd like to enable as many people as possible to experience what I create. I don't think that can happen now at the premiere French restaurants. Anyway, as we walked out, the staff gave us a sourdough loaf to take home. I brought it back to Kampala and used it to make bruschetta. Thus, I now say that at least we got two meals for the price of one. London After returning to Kampala, we spent a week and a half at work, before returning to Europe for a wedding in Kent, outside of London. While our trip to Paris had been in the middle seats of the economy section of an Emirates flight that required a change of planes in Dubai (20 hours of travel), we used frequent flier miles to get business class seats on a non-stop from Entebbe to London. We arrived just a bit fresher. We spent four days in London and two in Seven Oaks for the wedding of our friends Vicky and Dave, whom we met in Bangkok. In London, we stayed with Liz's friend Susan at her flat in Chelsea. She was a great host and her apartment was perfectly located to explore the city. We've been to London a few times and so were able to focus on spending time with friends and eating. We concentrated on Asian food on this trip, eating at a new Korean place, a pan-Asian restaurant (with our old Warren Street neighbors Laurel and Declan), and a great Japanese sushi restaurant, Zuma (with Susan and another of Liz's college friends, Jen Doebler). In the mornings, Liz and I braved the frigid London May weather to run in Hyde Park. We hit a few museums (including the Victoria and Albert, where I made a coat of arms for the House of Herrup -- mostly dragons and stars), shopped in Chelsea (Ok, Liz shopped and I sat outside the stores and pouted), and saw a foreign film. While walking through Leicester Square we happened upon the UK premiere of Sin City and I got a shot of Brittany Murphy signing autographs. Mickey Rourke also passed by, but he makes me ill, so no photos. Liz left a day early to visit her new niece in DC, Nora, so I took a boat up the Thames to Greenwich. Greenwich: nice; Freezing rain on boat ride up to Greenwich: not so nice. I did get a chance to board the Cutty Sark, the last remaining tea clipper and look at the Royal Observatory, the source of Greenwich Mean Time. Vicky and Dave's wedding was great, with guests coming in from New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, Thailand, Spain, and Belgium. Thus, our visit from Uganda was no big deal. We saw several friends from Bangkok that we hadn't seen since 2003. We enjoyed the ceremony itself and the reception (which, happily, featured excellent food). Vicky's Mom is Scottish, so the reception started with a Cailleagh (spelling?). Liz and I tried one dance, almost knocked over another couple and decided that discretion was the better part of valour and observed the proceedings from the sidelines. Actually, the wedding was very similar to American weddings, though some of the women wore hats or feathers in their hair. After the wedding, we and our friend Ingrid (who came in from Sydney) drove around Kent, stopping at Leeds castle, enjoying a pub lunch, and quickly passing by Canterbury cathedral. Then, back to Africa.

Uganda 20: February 26, 2005

Cape Town is a 6 hour flight south of Entebbe and a complete world away. It's a bit of Europe on the southern tip of Africa, with a quality of life that can't be matched on the rest of the continent. (Photos Here) It's a combination of California and Hawaii with a little bit of London tossed in for culture. Well-paved roads, water you can drink from the tap, fully stocked grocery shelves. That's the base. And then you toss in stunning geography, fertile vineyards, gorgeous oceans, terrific restaurants, and (for Mom and Liz) seemingly endless shopping opportunities. To put it simply, it's a nice contrast to life in Kampala. Sometimes it's hard to grasp the size of Africa. Our flight to Johannesburg took over 4 hours and then it was an additional 2 hours to Cape Town. And we're almost dead center in the continent. A flight from Cairo to Cape Town takes 9 hours -- almost double New York to Los Angeles. On the flight down, we dodged budding thunderstorms as we passed over Lake Victoria and then past Tanzania, Zambia, Mozambique, and Zimbabwe. Lots of green. Little roads. We got into Cape Town in the middle of the night, so we were greeted by Table Mountain when we awoke the next morning. Our hotel (the Cape Heritage, which we highly recommend) was located in the Bo Kaap section of town, among dozens of great restaurant possibilities. Liz and I had a view of the mountain from our room. Built up out of the water, Cape Town basks in the shadow of the mountain, which rises over 3,000 feet almost directly from the chilly Atlantic. The view from the top is spectacular. Among the clouds on one side, with Cape Town spread out on the other. Paragliders hover over the slightly shorter lions head and ships pass along by the horizon. You can hike to the top, but we took the sensible route -- the rotating cable car. Cape Town itself is remarkably cosmopolitan. Largely white (at least the parts generally accessible to tourists) with some Cape Coloreds (Malay background), Blacks and a smattering of other nationalities. Frankly, unless you look for it, you can spend your time there unconcerned about the country's recent history. We visited the District Six museum, which tells the story of the destruction of one of Cape Town's few integrated areas -- all part of the apartheid goal of the South African regime. We also spent a morning on Robben Island, the prison that housed Nelson Mandela and other Black apartheid opponents for some twenty years. Bare housing, meager rations and backbreaking work in a nearby quarry under the hot sun. All while situated a couple kilometers from the shore and one of the most spectacular views on the planet. Quite a juxtaposition. However, the highly-modern waterfront, business center, and surrounding countryside provide few hints of the painful racial split. Instead, what we saw was a modern, growing business center, filled with parks and greenery. One evening, we went to Kirstenbosch, the local botanical gardens, to join a few thousand others on the green, sipping wine as we enjoyed a performance by the Cape Town philharmonic. We spent one day driving south to the Cape of Good Hope. The road twisted and turned along the coast like Monterrey in northern California. The water was a clear blue and stretched out from the crashing breakers endlessly to the horizon. We stopped to visit a seal colony, hundreds of juvenile males waiting until the breeding season. Some lay sunning themselves on the rocks, while others darted about in the water looking for food or playing with their friends. Beautiful pictures, but somewhat smelly. The Cape of Good Hope marks the most southwesterly point in Africa (Cape Agulhas, 150 kilometers to the east is the most southerly point) and some say where the Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean. The Atlantic current comes up from the Antarctic and is much colder than the warmer Indian waters which flow down from the tropics. Whales swim by in the spring and the mixed currents support a huge fishery. We hiked up to the lighthouse at the Cape to enjoy the stunning views of bays and mountains. We then headed down to the Cape itself, where I took a photo of Liz, who, for a brief moment, was the most southwesterly person on the continent. After a seafood lunch overlooking the water, we headed back for Cape Town. We stopped briefly at a penguin colony, made our way through some traffic and eventually reached our hotel. We spent the next day exploring the wine country at Franschoek, about one hour outside of town. The landscape is stunning. Mountains wreathed in clouds with bright sun over the valley, filled with vineyards and farmland. Green trees mixed with farmsteads and lakes. All well-kept and orderly. The area has over 100 vineyards. We managed to visit three and sampled a variety of reds, whites, and even a brandy. Liz and Mom know the details of the wines, I know they tasted good. We enjoyed lunch at La Petite Ferme, in a converted farmhouse overlooking the vineyards and mountains. The food was spectacular. I did, however, notice that the music playing in the background was a collection of U.S. 1970s arena rock (The Allman Brothers -- "Blue Sky" for those familiar with the Allman canon, and Kansas -- I've tried to wipe the melody from my memory). Nevertheless, I somehow found myself able to concentrate on the food -- local fish and game, prepared by the kitchen's all female staff. We picked up about 10 bottles to bring home and headed back to Cape Town, Liz snoozing in the backseat. Food was a major theme of our trip and we ate remarkably well. Whether it was seafood, French, game (ostrich, brisbok, springbok), or the slightly strange (chocolate steak), we upheld the American reputation for hearty appetites. We ate on the beach, we ate in the valleys, we ate in the city. In short, we ate. Let us know if you need recommendations.

PHOTOS WILL BE ADDED

Uganda 19: February 12, 2005

Unlike Uganda's national parks, which boast beautiful scenery, but limited wildlife, the Masai Maara in Kenya abounded with game. My parents, Liz and I flew in early one afternoon from Nairobi, on the Kenyan version of a flying bus, an Air Kenya prop plane carrying about 50 tourists to various game parks on the plains. Our tented camp, Kicha Tembo (the head of the elephant) was the second stop and we deplaned right into the middle of a giant open grassland. During our four day stay, we enjoyed several game drives and Liz and I went on a hike in the along the escarpment where "Out of Africa" was filmed. The Masaai plains seem to go on forever and they do, in fact, continue several hundred miles into Tanzania as the Serengeti. Just outside our tents, we could look out over the plains and watch elephants amble by, ostriches feed, and gazelles graze. A family of warthogs wandered the grounds of the lodge, like a group of domesticated cats. The weather varied from clear and sunny to torrential downpours. Our first game drive ended up with lightning crackling in the distance and thunder booming overhead. A group of lions we had just located, headed for the shelter of a tree where they gathered together to get out of the rain. Over the course of our stay we saw a pair of cheetahs sauntering down the road, their bellies distended from the latest meal, herds of elephants, a mother giraffe with her newborn, and single rhino. We breakfasted on a riverbank overlooking several vicious looking crocs and then followed a hyena loping along the plain. We saw birds of irredecent blue and rainbow hued lizards, lumbering hippos and svelte serval cats. Each night we returned to comfortable beds complete with hot water bottles to ward off the chill. A very civilized safari.

PHOTOS WILL BE ADDED IN THE FUTURE

Uganda 18: January 9, 2005

No big trips for me recently as Liz and I prepare for the upcoming parental invasi . . . er . . . eagerly anticipated visit. Instead, we spent the holidays around Kampala enjoying the lack of traffic as everyone went to visit relatives upcountry. Liz traveled to visit the Karamoja area of Uganda with the Ambassador. The Karamajong are cattle-rustlers and many now walk around carrying automatic weapons (and little else). Fortunately, she made it there (once the pilots found the landing strip) and back safely. She's got some good stories, which people should convince her to write up.

The Embassy held its holiday party at the Ambassador's residence. Boring American food supplemented with a genuine Ugandan delicacy --fried grasshopper (nsenene). Attendees were treated to barrells of the crunchy, fried insects. Ugandans look forward to Nsenene season the way some westerners wait for the new beaujolais nouveau. I found them to taste ok, but a little fishy. I don't see them soon replacing salted peanuts at American bars. I used them as a topping on pizza.

Last week, I was working on a cable and I needed to review a copy of the newly passed foreign exchange bill. We called over to Parliament and sent a driver to pick one up. He returned with the single original version, signed by the President. I carefully detached the pages and copied them one by one, not trusting the autocopy function and then tried to exactly re-staple. Hopefully, I did not lose any pages.

I've recently started to play golf again, after a three year layoff. Uganda has five or six golf courses and we've been playing at an old British course in Entebbe. It costs USD 12 for 18 holes overlooking Lake Victoria. Caddies are about six bucks but you have to deal with the pandemonium that occurs when they duke it out amongst each other for your bag. The course was of decent quality. For DC area public golfers, I would say it rated above Haines Point (what doesn't?) but somewhat below Rock Creek Park. The fairways were OK, but the greens are full of anthills, which I believe is the sole reason that can explain my triple digit scoring. OK, maybe one sand trap seemed more like an abandoned quarry and there are two holes in which people teeing off on the next hole actually have to hit over the green on the previous hole. Occasionally, monkeys wandered across the fairway and women carrying baskets of bananas on their heads would pause on the walking paths to wait for us to finish our drives before continuing to a local market. I brought great mirth to a host of little kids with one of my patented sideways bank shots off a tree.

Our friend Kathleen just turned 29 and we celebrated by going to Kampala's only bowling alley -- Alleygators. It's bowling . . . and so much more. Located in Kampala's most modern shopping mall, the alley also has an upscale bar and karaoke microphone. For some reason, the large screen broadcasting the song lyrics only shows scenes from Philippine tourist sites, so while knocking down the pins, we were treated to enthusiastic Ugandan versions of Cher and Celine Dione, plus one rather rotund fellow doing a credible job of "I'm just a teenage dirtbag" in front of a screen showing beautiful tropical waterfalls and beach scenes. With the addition of copious amounts of alcohol, it all seems to make sense.

Things I have seen on the back of a bicycle:

Another bicycle
Motor scooter
Muffler
Live pig
Live goat(s)
Dead goat (whole)
Dead goat (quartered)
Dead goat (pieces)
Chickens (variety of numbers and stages of life/death)
Fish
Matooke (plantains)
Bags of tomatos, potatos, onions and other vegetables
People (varying in number and degree of sobriety)
Coffin (do not know whether or not it was occupied)
Logs
Construction materials
Kitchen goods
Brooms, mops, brushes, buckets

Uganda 17: December 8, 2004

No Write Up. Just a link to our photos from visiting the mountain gorillas in Bwindi National Park in southwest Uganda.

TO BE COMPLETED

Uganda 16: November 22, 2004

Election Night

The US Presidential election was quite a big deal in Africa. Several Ugandans stopped me and asked why they couldn't vote as the US President really was the leader of the entire world. Pre-election public opinion in Uganda was mixed. Some Ugandans supported Kerry out of opposition to US policy in Iraq, others supported Bush for his stance on social issues, which resonated with Uganda's large born-again community (one 14 year old was quoted in the paper as supporting Bush because "he will fight lesbianism.") Much of the rest of the continent was not as conflicted with the majority of people actively hoping for a Bush defeat. Our South African satellite provider beamed in Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 911 on November 1. Didn't seem to have much impact in the US.

Ambassador Kolker hosted an election night event at his house. "Night" is something of a misnomer, since the party didn't begin until 2 am. Uganda is eight hours ahead of EST, so the first state polls didn't close until 4 am our time. The event attracted many expat Americans, who sat transfixed in front of a host of TVs showing CNN, CNBC, and network coverages, along with a host of high-level Ugandan contacts whom we hoped to impress with evidence of peaceful and stable elections. The press also attended and my driver later told me he saw me on TV. He said I looked quite happy so we can guess at about what time in the morning I was filmed. Personal opinions aside, our job was to present the elections in as non-partisan a fashion as we could, no matter how painful. I staggered home at about 10 am for a brief nap and then back to work. Over the past two weeks, many of my contacts have repeated to me how they awoke in the middle of the night to watch the elections and many can recite the exact states carried by both candidates. I think educated Ugandans focus on US policies and politics more than most Americans.

Boys Night Out

Every few months, some of the men from the Embassy pick a Friday to go out for dinner and a few drinks. The other day, seven of us gathered for Indian food and then hit a couple of local bars. The first, the Rock Garden, is famous for its aggressive prostitutes (no, that was not what drew us to the place). Within seconds of getting a table, we were surrounded by a group of a dozen ladies of the night, eager to provide offers of short-term financially-compensated female companionship. I informed one persistent inquirer that I, indeed, already was married. Didn't I want a second wife, she asked. I replied that I didn't think wife number one would be too keen on that. Well, if she gets mad that easily, she noted, than I definitely needed a second, more accomodating spouse. I promised to consider that. Actually, I found the encounter pretty depressing. Some of the women were quite pretty and personable (and a few were obviously pregnant -- and drunk) and it's a shame that prostitution really is one of the few ways they can make money.

Kidepo

The Embassy has access for the next month to a small plane that personnel can use to travel up country. This is great as it opens up large sections of the country that are inaccessible due to security concerns or due to horrible travel conditions. On Sunday, the Ambassador decided to fly up to Kidepo National Park, which is in far northern Uganda, wedged in between Sudan and Kenya. It is one of the most isolated wildlife reserves on the planet and almost impossible to get to by road. Even when the roads are serviceable, you would have to run the gauntlet of armed cattle rustlers and bandits. So, air it was. Anyway, we gathered early Sunday morning at Entebbe airport to board the plane, a 10-set Twin Otter, with specially modified picture windows (the plane had previously been used for aerial tours of the grand canyon). We boarded and soon were off. As we rose over Lake Victoria, I noted the pilots scratching their heads and pondering a map -- not exactly confidence inspiring. However, after a moments consultation, they realized where we were headed and we turned north. We followed the Nile to Lake Kyoga and then headed over the dry savannah of northern Uganda. Mountains reared up on our right towards the Kenyan border as we flew over an internally displaced persons camp (Uganda has over 1.5 million internally displaced citizens, scared off their farms by continued raids from the Lord's Resistance Army). After an hour and a half flight, we reached the park. The pilots buzzed the tiny airstrip at low altitude to scare off the antelope grazing on the dirt track and we banked and came around to land. Our group of 12 eventually got onto a WWII vintage German transport truck and started on our safari. Kidepo is nearly 1500 square kilometers and we only had an opportunity to see a small fraction of the park. However, driving past thorn trees and sausage trees (named after the uniquely shaped fruit which hang down from its branches) we encountered numerous herds of elephants, a few grazing giraffe, a couple of bachelor zebras, a lone ostrich, and a massive gathering of about a thousand buffalo. As we traveled during the heart of the day, the large resident predators -- lions, leopards, and cheetahs -- were hiding somewhere in the shade. Almost no one lives in the park and it's not near any population centers. Thus, the only sound we heard was the wind sweeping through the high grass. We picniced at the burned out ruins of a lodge built during the Amin years. Never completed, its skeletal remains sit built into a rockface looking out over the valley. A beautiful location, but how could Uganda ever attract enough visitors to make it financially viable. After five hours in the hot sun, we boarded the plane to return to Kampala. The pilots treated us to an impromptu aerial safari, skimming the ground and startling the herd of buffalo and assorted elephants.

Uganda 15: September 28, 2004

Abayudaya

My wife, the Amazing Organizer, put together a group of 20 Americans, Israelis, Brits, and Ugandans to spend Rosh Hashanah with the Abayudaya in Eastern Uganda. We had an eclectic group, including a med student, a Peace Corps volunteer, a teacher at International School, an Israeli bush pilot, a friend of ours visiting from the U.S. after working on an AIDS project in Kenya, and some random backpackers that a member of our group met in the market earlier that day. The Ambassador attended again, once more providing an excellent impromptu speech.

The Abayudaya once again welcomed our group, though our numbers displaced a few community members from their chairs. The community has undergone some changes since last year -- a new water tower (which allows for two flush toilets in the outhouse behind the principal's home), fencing, and a new paint job on the synagogue proudly proclaiming that this is the Abayudaya Congregation's Moses Synagogue in Nabugoye. Nevertheless, things largely have remained the same and the community still lacks a paved road, running water, and electricity. Some community members still rely on the well nearby donated by a Muslim charity.

To me, the amazing thing about the Abayudaya is not that they survived adversity, but that they survived decades of indifference and isolation. Yes, they suffered under Amin, but for 50 years prior they got on with life with little contact with other Jews. Still they maintained traditions, despite living amongst majority Christian and Muslim populations, who except for religion, where exactly the same peasant subsistence farmers. How easy it would have been to intermarry or to forget about their faith. Yet, they are still here.

The community is slowly growing. Most families have four to ten children, though the head of the community lamented their low birthrate. The population now between 600-700 scattered in several villages over about a 10-15 kilometer radius. A few members are at University in Kampala, but most have remaind in their home villages. Some of the community that left during the Amin years (Uganda's version of the moranos) now want to rejoin. The community remains somewhat leery of their intentions and consistent with Jewish practice discouraging prosletyzing makes them undergo a two year trial period during which the Abayudaya assess the newcomers. Only after that time will they be welcomed back. Interestingly, the Abayudaya now take international recognition of their faith seriously. Though Israel does not recognize the community, perhaps for fear that the Ugandan Jews would all exercise their right of return, several American congregations have worked with the community to integrate them into modern Judaism. The community anxiously is awaiting the next visit from a conservative Rabbi to convert additional members of the community so that they will be viewed as Jews by their American brethren.

Evening services once more were lit by a light bulb powered by a diesel generator. The next day, I got my favorite seat next to the window where I could watch rural Uganda pass by during prayers. Women with children strapped to their backs or wood piled on their heads. Peddlers walking bikes loaded down with clothing or kitchen ware. Children running to school. The ever present goats. While the community's rabbi remains in the U.S. for another three years of study (I saw him when he came to pick up his visa), members of the community lead the service, primarily in Hebrew, but again with a few beautiful psalms in Luganda. The community leader again presented the state of the union speech, which included admonitions to properly wash fruit before eating and to increase production of vanilla for export. Outfits ran the gamut from suits to traditional Ugandan flowery dresses to a young man in teffilin (prayer shawl) and a "Don't Mess with Texas" t-shirt.

We stayed at a nice hotel in Mbale. Liz arranged a buffet dinner after services. Management said they had a dance performance for us. We expected traditional Ugandan dances. Instead, we got 30 minutes of rap/disco lip synching and dancing. Michael Jackson clothes and MC Hammer moves.

Tororo CDC

This past weekend I traveled to Tororo, 120 miles east of Kampala near the Kenyan border, to review the Center for Disease Control (CDC) home based AIDS care program. Its an innovative test program focusing on providing AIDS care to rural Ugandans. Uganda was one of the first African nations hit by Uganda and now counts over one million HIV positive citizens as well as over one million AIDS orphans. Nevertheless, Uganda has become a model for fighting HIV/AIDS beginning with early, high-level recognition of the problem and the willingness to use whatever means at its disposal to fight the disease. While historical HIV/AIDS rates are difficult to estimate, everyone agrees Uganda has dramatically cut its rate of HIV/AIDS infection, while working on ways to extend and improve the lives of those currently suffering from the disease. As part of the CDC program in eastern Uganda, the US purchased a fleet of motorcycles so that local staff can regularly visit over 1,000 locals, most of whom live out in the bush. Along with providing anti-retroviral drugs, the program focuses on promoting general health through mosquito nets and vessels for clean water -- measures that in and of themselves dramatically reduce morbidity.

We started by meeting some of the staff at the CDC facility, based at a local hospital. African hospitals provide a bed and medical care. Nothing else. So on the Sunday we visited, female relatives were in the hospital yard doing the laundry and tending cooking fires while attired in their church best clothing. We then went on two house calls or, more accurately, "hut calls". At the first hut, we visited three generations in a small-holding farming family. The mother danced, ulululating when we arrived. She was so happy for the assistance they received. The family sat us in chairs under a mango tree in the yard as they kneeled to shake our hands. I basked guiltily in the reflected glory of the successful CDC program as the family expressed their joy that their daughter could raise her son and work in the fields again. The 30-year old daughter had HIV/AIDS and had been turned out by her in-laws after her husband died. After returning to her family, she visited the CDC clinic and got tested. About a year ago, she began participating in the program and receiving ARVs. She was very excited and happy about her improved condition and felt no stigma from being HIV positive or from the regular visits by CDC employees. In fact, she tells neighbors about the program and proudly showed off the new family water jug, to which they add a cap full of chlorine for safe drinking water. In the second hut, the patient, a 30-something year old woman cared for her two children and several other youths who had lost their parents to AIDS. She noted that many neighbors asked about her care regime and decided to get testing after seeing her condition improve. She also had her water jug on a table in her hut covered with an embroidered doily. She said that the mosquito net, which covered the bed she shared with her two children, also had made quite a difference. That's your tax dollars saving someone's life.

Uganda 14: September 13, 2004

Americans are popular in Uganda. The Bush administration probably receives as much support from Uganda as it does from any country in the world. However, we get our satellite TV out of South Africa and the South Africans have a different opinion of Americans and our President. A recent advertising campaign for the satellite network featured movie titles super-imposed on still shots from the real world. When President Bush's face came on the screen, the words "American Psycho" scrolled by. The sports channel covering the U.S. Open noted "you don't have to like America to realize they put on a great tennis tournament." South African Olympic coverage (which, by and large, I enjoyed as it showed many events that NBC didn't show) featured former South African athletes who harped on American arrogance, though they did note in wonder that America allowed athletes from around the world to train at its Universities and other athletic facilities.

Speaking of sports, the Uganda softball season just wrapped up. Several men from the Embassy participate in Kampala's first softball league. Our team featured no regular player below the age of 32 and several reconstructed knees, elbows, and shoulders. Nonetheless, we managed second place in a seven team league, beating out two women's teams, two men's teams and a team from Japan (note: Japan does not appear to send its elite athletes to Africa). However, one university team kicked our rear ends. It;s tough to keep up with a bunch of 18 year olds. We played on two fields, one at Makerere University and one at an international school. The international school is outside of town and we sometimes have to interrupt women hoeing in the cassava fields to retrieve foul balls.

We get a lot of juxtaposition of the changing nature of Ugandan society and remaining traditional farming. Our modern Embassy was constructed in 2001 and lies on a road undergoing a major upgrade. Yet, shepherds occasionally graze their cows on the grass just outside the walls of our parking lot. Our house in on Kololo hill, which is full of mansions of expats, wealthy Ugandans, and Embassies. Every other car is a late-model SUV. Yet, there's an open field around the corner with a couple of goats grazing. During our runs, Liz and I pass women and girls walking along with bushels of wood on their heads that they will use for cooking fires. There's a house around the corner with chickens and cows tethered in the yard.

Personal ads

Ugandan papers carry personal ads, just like US papers. However, ads contained in Uganda's top English language daily indicate that lonely Ugandans seem to be looking for someone slightly different than what Americans typically seek. Some excerpts from this week's paper:

"I'm looking for a sugar mummy for love. She must be working."
"I would like to meet a Ugandan aged above 25 years, tall, sexy, slim, submissive . . . "

"I am . . . looking for a lady for a long-term relationship. She should be fat, a protestant with no kids and not older than 38."

"Looking for an absolutely gorgeous, beautiful, cute & slender girl below 19 years for an actual meaningful and intimate relationship. Should be ready for a medical check-up."

"I am 20 searching for a beautiful caring and loving babe ready to drive me across the road of love."

"Looking for a hot and romantic affair with a sexy woman. [I] . . . need someone on the plump side (must be over 80 kgs) and be a social drinker."

"A fat lady weighing 75 kgs and above wanted for hot sex and serious romance."

Unlike the US, most Ugandan passenger cars don't have bumper stickers or other ornaments other than a few religious phrases. However, most trucks, buses, and vans traveling on Uganda's roads are a different story with large and bright phrases plastered on the windshield or back window in English, Luganda or Swahili. Most of the phrases are a variation of "Jesus Loves" or "Allah is Great," but a few put in a good word for their favorite English Premiere League football team, in some cases seeking Jesus's Love or Allah's greatness on the team's behalf.

Fort Portal

Liz and I continue to explore Uganda. Last week, we drove with a friend out to Fort Portal in western Uganda to spend the weekend at Ndaali lodge, which sits on top of a crater lake and looks out over the highest peaks of the Rwenzoris. Of course, that meant I got my first experience of a long-haul drive on Ugandan roads. To be fair, the government is in the midst of a major upgrade of much of the road to Fort Portal and when completed, the road should be the equal of most US secondary roads. Right now, driving on the side-roads is an adventure, flying over rises and splashing through puddles (ponds, actually) right out of a pick up truck commercial. However, the repairs still will leave a 24 kilometer stretch near Mityana pockmarked with potholes like bomb craters. As a driver, you quickly learn the skill of "auto slaloming" as you (and every other car on the road) careen from side to side looking for the path with the fewest number of bone crushing jolts. Uganda follows the English tradition and drives on the left side of the road, but you will pass cars on the left and right and see cars coming at you from all directions. You just need to swallow hard, hold on to the wheel, and not panic. It's a situation that plays to all Liz's strengths. Sunday. Anyway, we drove back on a Sunday and when I was able to look up from the road, I joined Liz and Allison (our friend) gazing at locals streaming out of church in their Sunday best. Women in bright, floral prints and headscarves. Daughters in pastel first communion dresses. Men in suits. Boys in miniature copies. Everyone walks along the road in a constant parade.

The lodge itself was beautiful. We had a banda (cabin) looking out over the mountains, which would peak out of the cloud cover at sunset. The lodge's 5 friendly dogs accompanied Liz and me on runs and walks in the surrounding fields and then camped out on our porch for the evening. We developed a flat tire and the lodge's handy man changed it in a jiffy. It cost me a tip of about 7 dollars, plus drinks for the crowd of men who surrounded the car providing supportive suggestions. We spent a day in Kibaali forest tracking chimpanzees. We only came across one lone male, though we saw several other primates, such as baboons, red tails monkeys, and colobus monkeys. We were among the only people in that area of the tropical rainforest and were surrounded by sounds from the forest canopy-- hooting, chirping, growling, purring, tweeting, barking, grunting, twittering, flapping, whistling, pounding -- and that was just Liz. Only joking, honey. Heh heh. Really, it was quite remarkable.

Uganda 13: August 2004

Bugala Island

Few U.S. companies invest in Uganda, so when Archer Daniels Midland decided to take a small stake in a proposed palm oil plantation, it was a big deal and I went to the opening ceremony. Unfortunately, so did President Museveni. The palm oil plantation is located on Bugala island, in the middle of Lake Victoria. It's a two hour drive on paved road, followed by an hour on a gravel road to get to the boat landing. Next, a 30 minute car ferry and an additional 1.5 hours over a dirt road newly torn out of the jungle. I left Kampala before 6 am to get there for an 11 am ceremony. President Museveni operates on a different schedule and didn't arrive until after 3. After a leisurely tour of the facility, while half his cabinet, 15 Members of Parliament, a host of locals, and (most importantly) I stewed in the heat, the President proceeded to give a 30 minute speech in Luganda, bewildering his Chinese and English speaking hosts. Following the ceremony, there was a mad dash for the car ferry, which could only take 12 cars at a time. Unfortunately, over 60 cars pulled up to the dock. I didn't get on the ferry until after midnight and didn't get home until 3:30 am. Thankfully, I had Liz's calls every 15 minutes to keep me going. The only upside to the lengthy delay was the opportunity to view the Milky Way from an island on the equator, which due to the fact that it did not have electricity, emitted no light to cloud the view.

Nakasongala

Dunavant is another US company recently to invest in Uganda, having purchased several cotton ginneries. Impressively, much of Dunavant's investment is in the war torn north of the country, where no one else has dared to put in money. Along with purchasing and refurbishing the cotton ginneries (Uganda used to be a major cotton exporter with cotton considered to be of the second best quality in the world behind Egypt), Dunavant has spent a lot of money on extension services, teaching rural Ugandans how to use modern techniquest to grow cotton. I drove up to the Dunavant ginnery in Nakasongola, around 90 miles north of Kampala and spent a day meeting local farmers. The road to Nakasongola passes Bombo, the childhood home of Idi Amin. Though a member of the Kakwa tribe from the West Nile region in northwestern Uganda, Amin grew up near the Bombo military barracks where his mother was a camp follower. Many other Nubians moved down to the area as well and as we drove by I noted several women in distinctive Sudanese/Nubian headresses. The region also was the epicenter of the bush war fought by President Museveni from 1980-1986 and my driver, who had fought with the rebels, noted that the fields on the roadside still were littered with bones. (Note to Mom: don't worry, its safe now. or is it?) Anyway, one of the more pleasant parts of my job is to go out and see what a little bit of investment and attention can do to a farmer's life. With hand-held water sprayers, training in weeding and planting techniques, and a few fertilizers and pesticides, they have doubled or tripled cotton production. That has a direct impact on their lives as many now can afford school fees, bikes, radios, and tin roofs for their homes.

Mbarara

With few visitors in from Washington, I've had the opportunity to get out of the office more often and I also managed to head west to Mbarara. Its about a four hour drive on the way to Queen Elizabeth national park. I accompanied a biotech expert the Embassy had brought in to discuss the technology with a variety of audiences. In Mbarara, we spoke to local agricultural officials and students at the local college of science and technology. The west hasn't seen much rain this year and the lands were brown and dusty. Mbarara is the heart of Uganda's banana growing region and on the way we passed several "matooke convoys," three to five men in a row walking bicycles loaded down with several huge bunches of green bananas. The hotel, however, had good chicken and we sipped our drinks watching the sun go down over the hills.

Rouge

Liz and I visited Rouge, Kampala's first cocktail bar. With a decor that would not be out of place in Bangkok or DC, the sleek bar serves martinis, cosmopolitans and other mixed drinks to a crowd of young expats and wealthy Ugandans. A $6 cover charge helps keep out the prostitutes. The martinis aren't great (but, hey, martinis in Kampala), though the bar attracts a large late night crowd. Update: Liz recently made an unescorted second visit to Rouge. I understand her famous dance -- the pit latrine -- was a big hit.

Peter Allen's book

I have been re-reading the diary of Sir Peter Allen, who came to Uganda in 1955 as part of the British constabulary, stayed after independence in 1962 and left Uganda in 1986 having attained the position of Chief Justice. I've been going through the bits set in the 50's and it is sobering. Despite Uganda's remarkable progress over the past decade it is only now approaching the standards of the 1950s. In 1957 Allen traveled the Kampala-Mityana road, which he described as a good, tarmac road. Now, it is one of the worst in the country. Later that year he visited the phosphate mine/factory in the Sekulu Hills. I was just there last month and there is no mine or factory, just the dream to reopen and several thousand squatter subsistence farmers. The newspaper recently noted that Uganda's fuel consumption in 2004 would match that of 1965. Its not as if Ugandans were ahead of the fuel conservation curve -- everything shut down. Kampala in the 1950s had traffic lights (we have a few now, but most don't work) and an effective traffic police (just returning after a two decade hiatus). The courts worked, schools were good and the Asian business community thrived. All of that was destroyed in the 1960s and 1970s. Uganda is returning to pre-independence prosperity. The trick is to see if it can move beyond that and truly begin to develop.

Owino market

Owino market sprawls in the heart of downtown Kampala, where most Ugandans go to shop. A maze of narrow, meandering alleys covering a city block. In some ways, similar to Thai markets. With the tough job market, many Ugandans become traders, hawking clothing, consumer goods, and cosmetics. The market is best known for its wide selection of used clothes, mostly imported from the U.S., Canada, and western Europe. Many of the clothes really are in excellent condition and some Embassy employees have been known to shop there in the past. A variety of styles and tastes. The government of Uganda is considering limiting imports of used clothing, but most Ugandans prefer the prices and quality of American products versus flimsy items from China or low quality products from Uganda. The market also contains a variety of knock-off electronics, including Sonny and Pansonic radios, plus fake batteries, shoe polish etc. Lots of food products, from maize to grains to beans to vegetables to spices and meats. Ugandans are friendly by nature and usually said hello as I passed, some beckoning me to check out their goods. Yet, this isn't Thailand and you are cautioned to watch your wallet as pickpockets thrive in the bustling stalls.

Uganda 12: July 22, 2004

A day at the (goat) races.

Kentucky may have the derby and Great Britain the Royal Ascot, but in Uganda we've got goats. And where you've got goats, you know that racing can't be far behind. And where you've got goat racing, you've got boozing expatriates dressed up in their finery cheering on tomorrow's dinner. Liz was resplendent in her zebra hat, showing a flair for haberdashery heretofore unknown. Billed as Kampala's premier social event, the goat races attract a crowd of several hundred Ugandans, Indians and Westerners, who come to wager on the goats while imbibing. With my lengthy history of goat ownership, I felt confident that Liz and I had selected a winner, who we named Stu. Stu was resplendent in a bright gold number 10 jersey was he confidently trotted up to the starting line of the 6 million shilling fifth race. Alas, Stu got stuck, spending most of his time casually munching on the grass amongst a throng of confused, baa-ing quadrapeds. Regardless of Stu's humiliation, we enjoyed ourselves, sipping on Bloody Marys (God bless consumables shipments) and soaking up the sunshine. Liz had a little too much . . . sunshine and nodded off soon after dark. I got to enjoy an evening in our unconditioned hotel room with a pleasantly snoring wife.

Opening of Lugogo Mall.

Kampala recently saw the opening of its first modern strip mall. Befitting the importance of the occasion, President Museveni came to give a rousing speech praising the mall, built by two South African retail stores, as a mark of Ugandan progress. Both English language newspapers carried banner headlines the next day. Now imagine President Bush opening up the new Safeway in Olney. Ugandans were thrilled with the opening, with hundreds of people milling around at the Shoprite grocery store and Game electronics and consumer good venue. Clean, light, fair prices, good quality products. Ugandans were quite proud. Though Kampala already had many small shops where locals could buy appliances, electronics, and sporting goods, this had a huge selection in modern, and bright surroundings. For many visitors, it was a family day trip. Criticising materialism doesn't make sense in a place where people have so few possessions. A strip mall really can be a sign of progress.

Queen Elizabeth National Park

Following the Ambassador's July 4th reception (actually held on the 2nd), we needed a break. I can only make so much small talk in a crowd of 350 milling about in the Ambo's yard. My policy at these receptions is to drink a lot of water, so that I can use an empty glass as an excuse to go back to the bar (trying that with vodka only leads to trouble). It works, but by the end of the evening, I'm doing some leg crossing.

With our friends Shawn and Kathleen we drove out west to Queen Elizabeth National Park. I had stayed there briefly in November for work, but it was exciting to get an entire weekend. Its the middle of the dry season, so the lions were hard to see. Additionally, Shawn's car didn't have a CD player, so we were stuck with tapes, and neither Shawn nor I had bought a tape since the mid-80s. Thus, we were left to attract wildlife with a mixture of Madness (mine) and Duran Duran (not mine). While the lions kept their distance, one leopard, seduced by the sounds of 80s synth-pop, sauntered on by. Flustered by our good luck, I fumbled the camera and only got a photo of its tail disappearing into the tall grass.

We had better success on the boat cruising the Kazinga channel, between Lake George and Lake Edward. As we floated by just before sunset, we saw scores of hippos, herds of buffalo, a solitary elephant feeding, and several open-mouthed crocodiles. Similarly, we had a terrific time on our forest trek in Kyambura Gorge. Located in the middle of the park, this 100 meter deep canyon cuts through the park like a knife wound. On the top, broad and dry savannah, down and inside, cool and damp rainforest. We saw another pod of hippos floating 30 feet away in the small river that winds through the valley, snorting and shuffling about in the water, keeping a constant eye on us. After another 30 minutes, we spotted two chimpanzees up in a tree enjoying a casual lunch. A few pictures later and we were on our way home.

Eastern Uganda

The next day, I got up early to head east to the Kenyan border for work. Much of the road east recently has been repaired and is in surprisingly good condition, though there is a 20 km stretch where the cars weave drunkenly (in some cases with drunken drivers) across two lanes of pot holes. I stopped by the border to speak with Ugandan customs about smuggling and counterfeiting. They claimed they didn't see much of it. American exporters would beg to differ. We've got our work cut out for us there. I also went up in to the Sekulu Hills to view the site of a planned phosphate mine, which, if it gets off the ground will represent the largest capital project in Uganda and will provide employment to hundreds. Of course, it will also necessitate the removal of several thousand squatters now occupying small shambas (farmsteads) in the hills in which they grow millet and maize and about USD 100 million to upgrade the railroad to the port in Mombassa. No problem.

Uganda 11: June 14, 2004

Life in Kampala was very busy in May. Liz was preparing for the annual review of small grants projects and I had a score of visitors culminating in Treasury Under Secretary Taylor, whose party arrived (with three days notice) to attend the annual African Development Bank meeting. Combine Ugandan organization with ADB planning and you have the recipe for fun and more fun. President Museveni spoke at the main conference, which meant that no cell phones were allowed on the hotel premises. Well, we were coordinating Taylor's visit with that of Senator Landrieu, which meant that every 20 minutes I would have to sprint out of the resort to an Embassy van parked in a nearby field in order to speak to the control officer for Landrieu. I lost some weight that day.

To unwind from that hectic month and to gear up for more visitors, Liz and I got away for four days to Zanzibar. This being Africa, it took us about 12 hours to get there, but it was beautiful when we arrived. We flew from Entebbe to Nairobi to catch a second flight to Zanzibar. Unfortunately, it was cancelled, which meant a detour into downtown Nairobi for lunch during our four hour layover before our hop to Mombassa on the Kenyan coast. From Mombassa we caught a tiny little prop plane, which we dubbed "the flying matatu (minivan taxi)." I was a little concerned when we saw the pilot open the front window to hand something to a mechanic prior to departure, but Liz dealt with the flight with her customary stoicism, only asking 5 to 6 dozen questions about why the pilot was stretching and why was he looking out the window at the engine midflight. In any event, we landed in one piece.

Zanzibar is quite remarkable. Its a large island off the northern Tanzanian coast surrounded by a coral reef. The easy seas create beautiful, soft white sand beaches with clear, warm waters. Palm trees fringe the coast across the entire island. Over the years, Zanzibar has been ruled by Portugese kings, Arab sultans, British admirals and Black African socialists. The largely Muslim population is a mixture of Omani, Persian, Indian, and African. At one point, the Zanzibari sultans ruled the East African coast from Somalia to northern Mozambique and controlled a trading empire that sent goods and (sadly) slaves around the world. You can see the mixed heritage of Zanzibaris in their language -- Swahili -- which is a mixture of Bantu African languages and Arabic, their clothing -- almost all women cover their heads, though most wear brightly colored floral pattern dresses and headscarves, and their features -- sunny brown skin mixed with Middle-Eastern eyes.

Zanzibar was long famous for its exports of spices and many spice plantations remain. Walking the streets of Stonetown, its main city, you smell cloves, cinammon, cardomom, curry, turmeric, ginger, and black pepper. The food can be excellent and included fresh seafood (which we devoured after several months of chicken and beef), with tropical fruits and a variety of spices. Stonetown is a maze of narrow alleys, dotted with tourist shops, homes, mosques and the odd church. Little kids run out of intricately carved Arabic and Indian wooden doors into the street. Walking down to the port, we saw wooden dhows mingle in the water with rusty merchant vessels and modern motorboats. Young boys jumped off the pier into the water. Black vieled women walked down the street holding the hands of their brightly dressed little girls. Of course, it was extremely hot, so after a few hours we faded and needed to return to our resort.

We had a very relaxing four days, lounging about by the ocean, drinking dawas (vodka, honey, and lime) before dinners on the beach. The steady breeze kept things pretty cool (though it didn't drive away the mosquitos) and at night the stars sparkled overhead. For some reason, the resort really markets itself in Spain and many of our fellow guests spoke with a Castillan accent (except for the large group of Belgian travel agents) though there were a few other American families. It turns out the resort masseuse was Thai, so we got to practice our language skills a bit. We planned to go snorkeling (Zanzibar has some of the world's best diving, as well) but were too lazy to make it to the boat on time. Instead we napped -- though we did manage a run and a few long walks down the beach and a half-hour trip on a paddle boat. Liz almost made it the entire visit without checking her e-mail and if I recall correctly only used the cell phone to call her parents a few times a day.

On our way off the island, we stopped at Jozanii forest, populated by colobus monkeys, small black bodies, red tails, with white hair and whiskers. They're quite accustomed to humans and I got a good picture of one napping a few feet above me. Zanzibar has 18,000 hectares of mangrove swamp and we made a quick visit to see the dense vegetation and black crabs. Then it was off to our plane, a quick switch in Nairobi (we sat behind Miss Uganda on our way back to Entebbe), and we were home.

Uganda 10: May 18, 2004

Some people have wondered how we occupy ourselves in a poor African country like Uganda. Don't we get bored? Are we prisoners in our homes due to security concerns? So far, the answer to both has been no.

We're actually quite active in Uganda not least because of the weather. One of the few downsides to Bangkok was that it seldom got below the high 80s (temperature and humidity). However, Kampala is pleasingly mild, with days usually in the high 70s or low 80s and nights in the mid-60s. We're in the midst of one of the two annual rainy seasons, but most of the storms (which can get quite energetic) take place in the middle of the night. You may wake up thinking the armageddon has come, but you won't miss your golf game during the day. Many Ugandans, even in Kampala, rely on wood or charcoal for cooking and heat and they also burn their garbage, which occasionally can lead to a smoky haze covering the city. However, generally the air quality is good with few industrial pollutants.

We take advantage of the weather to do a lot of outdoor activities. Liz runs 5-6 miles 5 days a week. I set a bit more modest goals, but still run 4.5 miles 2-3 times a week. On our runs, at times, we attract a group of young boys who jog along for a few dozen yards or encounter children waiving their hands yelling out "muzungu" (white person). When I answer in Luganda "olyeotya" (How are you?), it usually brings the house down as some do a double take and others scream out (I'm guessing here, becase my Luganda doesn't go much beyond oleotya) "Did you hear that crazy muzungu? He just said hello. Crazy!" The fact that I've passed them two times a week for the past 6 months doesn't lessen their surprise or enjoyment. Actually, one very nice thing about our runs is that whenever we run by Ugandans (and this happens every few feet as Ugandans walk everywhere) they will waive, smile or shout encouragement. Very pleasant. We joined a nearby club and I try to swim laps in the outdoor pool every Saturday. The club also has a gym, which Liz uses but inside of which I have yet to venture. We both threaten to play tennis, but have only made one or two attempts. The Marines organize a flag football game every Sunday and I drag my aged 37-year old body out most weeks. Though I fancy myself a possession receiver, I think my primary position is designated wheezer. I am pleased to report no injuries to date other than perhaps whiplash from watching others go whizzing by. Our neighbors have a great dog, a doberman named Shadow, who I periodically chase around the yard as part of my cross-training schedule.

When we get the chance, though less often than we'd like, we drive outside of Kampala to enjoy the countryside. Lake Victoria actually is only a few miles away. The source of the Nile is a 1.5 hour drive, as is the equator. Uganda's national parks are a greater distance (only largely lousy roads) away, but I've been to Queen Elizabeth and Liz has been to Lake Mburro. We hope to do more. There also are many regional travel opportunities of which we hope to take advantage.

As I think I mentioned in an earlier e-mail, Uganda is much more cosmopolitan than I guessed before we arrived. There are about 15 good restaurants (about 14 more than I would have expected) from which we can choose, including excellent Indian, Italian, and Belgian, as well as good Lebanese, Chinese, and Thai. We can order Pizza for delivery and it arrives hot at our door within 30 minutes. The cheese is not great, but it's not too bad. I'll write more about food in a later e-mail. There are several art galleries and we have gotten to know a few artists. There are several openings a week and we've made a few purchases. The National Theater also produces plays, though we have yet to attend. Garden City Mall has a two-screen theater, which gets first run movies. They're a bit creative with the schedule, but we've managed to see Master and Commander, the Return of the King, and Love Actually. Von Helsing and Troy are playing this week.

Our Ambassador is an active host, and I usually have a function or two each week to attend at his residence, some large receptions, some smaller dinners or lunches. They're work and I have to mingle, but it's a good opportunity to meet Ugandan government officials, businesspeople, and other diplomats. Other Embassy personnel host more informal events. Now that we have all our furniture, Liz and I like to have people over for dinner. Liz works the front of the house as hostess, while I focus on the kitchen. We brought lots of Thai ingredients from Bangkok, so I focus on Thai food, though Uganda has a good selection of fruits and vegetables, which allows me to make many things that I look up in cookbooks.

Kampala has a thriving nightlife, though, to be honest, we haven't hit many of the bars. You will all be surprised that I have yet to make it to any of the dance clubs. One problem, unfortunately, is that many of the upscale clubs are crowded with very aggressive prostitutes making it difficult to relax (unless, of course, the prostitutes were the reason you went to the club in the first place. Have I already mentioned that I do not go to these clubs?) There are a few places to check out Ugandan music and dance. About 3 miles away, the Austrian government sponsored the construction of an outdoor ampitheater to host a Ugandan music and dance troop. On a nice night, you can sit under the stars munching on roasted goat, watching traditional festivities. As Uganda gets few casual visitors, most attendees are other Ugandans who at times will get up to join the dancing, making the performance seem less a tourist show. Like every city on the planet, Kampala has a few Irish pubs and we go to one for most birthdays and other special events. It has a large outdoor porch that doubles as a dance floor after Liz has had a few cocktails. About 40 Embassy personnel and friends descended on the bar the other week to celebrate Liz's birthday. Liz's original and acrobatic routines on the dance floor have attracted wide admiration among the Embassy community with one of her new moves dubbed the "pit latrine." (photo attached) Liz's day was made when a Marine told her he thought she was "25 max."

During the week, work keeps us pretty busy, though we do go out to dinner with friends or by ourselves. Uganda attracts a lot of official visitors and we often have to bring them out for dinner as well. Tiring, but I'm working on my Uganda dining guide. Liz has joined a book club and I have a monthly poker game. We get South African satellite TV with about 40 channels (just like in the US, only about 5 are worth watching, though I'm obsessed with the BBC food channel). A few months ago, the Embassy also installed at our house a dish to receive American Forces Network -- the military satellite network. We get three channels of up to date TV shows (though the selection generally is poor), news, and sports. I'm anxiously awaiting college football season.