After trekking through "ebeyondo" (mud) and stinging nettles in pursuit of gorillas, I figured it was time for more refined adventures.
So, upon my return to Ruhengheri, I hopped on the next Virunga bus to Gisenyi. Gisenyi is a resort town...or, more correctly, has a resort area on the shores of Lake Kivu. Kivu boarders Congo and Rwanda, at Rwanda's western end. The lake hosts a collection of lovely spots. I was determined to find one such spot for my book, my barbeque and myself.

To that end, Ross, the bank's COO, had given me a list of rather fine guest houses. He even sent one of UOB's Gisenyi loan officers to make reservations for me at Lakeview, where he takes his family, in Gisenyi. I felt a tad colonial sending a Rwandan on such an errand for me. I only succumbed to Ross' suggestion after trying to call myself to make reservations. My prepaid airtime ran out as the "can I reserve" conversation went on forever. By the end, I wasn't sure whether I'd properly communicated anything or what I needed to do next. So, I behaved like one of those colonists - sent the Gisenyi loan officer.

Friday afternoon, Ross brushed by my office corner to confirm that my reservations at Lakeview had been made. Matt looked at me. (We share an office. Remember.) Grace, you don't want to stay at Lakeview. You should let me make reservations for you at the Serena. You'll enjoy it much more. It's on the water. I can get you a special deal. It will be 20 USD more, but it will include food and a private beach. Being stubborn and sort of frustrated with the recent results of other people's plans, I insisted on doing my thing. I should have listened to Matt. When it comes to what Melissa and Grace would like, Matt generally knows best. First, he knows Rwanda. Second, he's pretty good at measuring people. Being stubborn was my loss.

Anyways, back to the Virunga bus. The older Rwandan woman next to me didn't speak a lick of English, but she managed to take quite a liking to me. She bought a package of peanuts and shared half of them. She told me the name of every city as we passed. She directed my attention to horrific things happening in the movie being shown at the front of the Virunga bus. I figured out where she was from and where her family lived, how many babies she had, etc. I showed her pictures of my family. At Gisenyi, we said goodbye. She went her way. I found a moto to take me to Lakeview. When I arrived at the guesthouse, I was sorely disappointed. There really wasn't a lake view. In fact, it was quite far from the Lake. The bathrooms weren't nice and (worst of all), the bed didn't have a mosquito net. The mosquitoes were rather pesky. Between the buzzing, I didn't sleep a wink that night. Still, I really have to say, he who "did the cuisine" greeted me with the upmost graciousness. His English was limited. Very limited. Yet, Valence sat with me through dinner. I learned that he has three "junior sisters" (i.e. sisters of a relative he was to take care of. His mom had died in 1997. His father was alive. One of his real sisters had died. Her daughters were his "junior sisters".) He made 700 RWF a day...that is $1.27. He asked what time I wanted breakfast. 8:00 am, said I. At 8:30 pm, a second dinner arrived at my door. I was still stuffed from the first dinner, three hours earlier, so I had to turn him away. Hopefully, Valence was able to eat the food he made for me.

The next morning I arouse with the light and the lull in mosquitoes. Determined, I walked down to the lake. What should I find on Lake Kivu but "Lakeview Hotel and Apartments". Curious, I went in. Beautiful mosaic tile floors; sheeshy flat screen televisions; pristine modern furniture. Lovely garden and lake views. I found reception. Was my name on the book? Please check for "Grace Reidy". Yes, it had been there for last night. They had to move my room to the front. They could put me up now. No, the moto taxi had taken me to the wrong guesthouse. I'd already slept somewhere else. My bags were there, at the "Lakeview Guest House". I looked at the email from Ross later. It definitely called the place a "guest house". I should have listened to Matt.

Frustrated, I headed back for breakfast. This time the guesthouse manager, Immanuel, sat with me through the meal. His English was a little bit better. He was studying "specification of product" at a Kigali university branch in Gisenyi. He had two living sisters, both married. He had three nephews and nieces. He made $2.99 a day.

I decided to treat myself after breakfast. I moto-taxied down to the Serena, marched up to the front desk, booked a coffee scrub massage for noon and then asked if I could wait on the beach. Technically, it's supposed to be a private beach, for guests with rooms only. They looked at each other. I looked at them and pleaded, "Please. I don't want to be the only muzungo female on the beach." They smiled and succumbed. While I wasn't the only Caucasian woman, I still felt a tad uncomfortable being bikini clad, so the full tank top stayed on. I picked a nice quite spot by the water, with a palm tree to my right and the Serena's sail boats to my left. I opened my book and sipped sparkling water. Everything was beautiful and peaceful...until a swarm of Indian and Muslim men showed up. Probably UN workers from Goma. Then cameras started clicking. Every time I looked up, they were clicking in a parallel direction...unless I looked up quickly enough. I was pissed. One of the Indians even dared to come up and ask if he could take his picture with me. No, I said coldly and firmly. These men had been away from their woman too long. I am not a thing to be displayed. I have too much pride for that. Nor did I have any desire to be a picture found by their wives and, consequently, a point of marital contention. I was sure this had to be in violation of something in the Koran. After I my icy response, the clicking dwindled. I finished the book Melissa had lent me, Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight. It was time for my massage...which...I learned to my surprise, was a full body massage. While the fully body part was Slightly awkward, it was quite good. My legs still had itchy patches from the stinging nettles. The coffee scrub helped.

Then back to Lakeview Guesthouse, gobble a quick lunch (which was kindly served and poorly cooked), tipped Immanuel and (accidentally) tipped someone who looked like Valence but wasn't. I rode the moto to the Virunga station. (In Gisenyi they carry helmets but don't make you wear them.) The moto taxi driver (who spoke no English) decided to park his moto, escort me into the ticket counter and proceed to explain to everyone exactly where I needed to go and how I should get there. (How he did that in the first place with no English, I am not sure.) He ensured that I was properly ticketed and crammed into a bus before leaving me. I sat in the second row. Only the driver and a honeymooning couple sat in front of me. I'm certain they were honeymooning. The man looked viral with love and I hadn't seen so much PDA (public display of affection) since coming to Rwanda. It was amusing. Rwandans are on the more reserved end. This outright PDA seemed to be a cultural anomaly. Thankfully, my bus did end up in Kigali. I made it home.

I'm so glad I traveled alone in Rwanda. This trip let me experience how friendly and hospitable the Rwandan people are. It could be that a party of one is more approachable. It may be that the Rwandan's respect someone who is obviously different, but has the courage to travel with the common people...not just as a muzungo elite. But a lot of it is just them.