Day 92: Bukoba (Tanzania) – Masaka (Uganda)
Today wasn't our day.
On the way to the border, we have to detour onto the Weightbridge because of a roadblock. We still needed to be checked, they say ... Only the fact that Wolle and Becky block the way and some people felt inconvenienced and honked, and the supervisor came out of the hut prevented a lengthy discussion. We were waved through.
The border itself was harmless, but the advertised "One Stop Border" turned out to be confusing and involved a lot of walking. And a misunderstanding about paying the road tax/import papers cost us another half hour: We asked to pay by credit card. No, it doesn't work here, but it does over there. Escorted back across the grounds, the alternative turned out to be a simple ATM. But we do have cash. Back again, exchange dollars, pay, no change. But we insist, since the numbers are already rounded and there's still a "charge" on the bill.
The overall process is as follows:
- Stamp out Tanzania Carnet de Passage
- Pay road tax/import papers (Temporary Road License)
- Stamp Uganda Carnet de Passage (only upon request)
- Get permission for the scanner and drive car into it, get out of car and wait until scanning is done (painfully loud beeping)
- drive to a ramp for clearance of the car through a customs officer
- Stamp out Tanzania passport
- Right next to it (One Stop Border :-)) present Uganda visa, get on page sticker into your passport
- Get another stamp at the border exit to confirm that everything has been done.
We collected 10 stamps just for the car and the process.
And then someone tried to get money from us at the exit gate. But no, unfortunately, we don't have any "water" for him.
And then about 80 km of shitty road followed. You have to call it what it is. Sections that have been used for years alternate with construction sites. And of course, the Chinese are the only ones in the world who embark on such construction projects, with the corresponding dependencies of the contracting countries. In addition to the already poor condition of the road, they feel like they have to slow down the traffic even more due to countless axle-breaking speed bumps. Sometimes every hundred meters...
Yesterday, we were still considering whether it might make sense to get a COMESA Yellow Card insurance supplementary to our German insurance, just in case. Three visits to agencies in Bukoba (Tanzania) are unsuccessful because: no one is there during office hours. When will the people in charge come to office? People asked shrug their shoulders. In Masaka (Uganda), we try again. Two agencies tell us that you have to have insurance with them before you can get COMESA. The NIC (National Insurance Cooperation) tells us that's only possible in Kampala... Now we have a photo of the lady from the NIC, along with her name and phone number, and if the police aren't satisfied with our insurance papers, they should call Phiona – because it seems impossible to get a Yellow Card as a foreigner in Uganda.
It may be different in South Africa, because, as a non-COMESA member state, they provide insurance to their own travelers. And we'll try again in Kigali, because we could cover quite a bit more ground with Tanzania, Malawi, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and ultimately SA itself.
Furthermore, our initial impression of Uganda, the 24th country in our African explorations, isn't so positive.
People drive as if they're all drugged up. The exhaust emissions quickly reach West African levels. The villages give a rather bland, unkempt impression. In Tanzania, we had enjoyed the abundance of flowers, the small vegetable gardens, mango trees, and banana plants at almost every house.
The first camping at a lake is "out of work." At the second campsite, a drunk, stoned, or simply disgusting young man is hanging around, who nearly crawls into the open car window.
What to do? Back to Masaka, where we'd already been to Airtel, checked with the insurance companies, and know the ATM. And where it's crowded, loud, and stinks of dead fish and chickens. There's supposed to be a hotel with parking there.
And lo and behold, Villa Katwe turns out to be a very pleasant finale to an otherwise rather "wasted" day.