There are days and nights that seem too early days anochecen. Should not sleep nights and days not deserve awakening. That night burned the sheets. Despite the tiredness of the hundreds of miles of tracks infamous jiggle. Who wants to sleep when waiting for a sunrise on the banks of Nile? We rushed midnight with a formidable tilapia, a bottle of South African wine "Tall Horse" (in Africa, whole Rioja) and a few gin and tonics on the banks of the river between the river, only a few kilometers from their sources in Jinja (Uganda). Before us, "Dutch rapids dead", baptized in memory of a subject of the Queen Beatrix waters which devoured while doing rafting. Rivers, sometimes, have very bad mood. In the glasses, for if it lacked something to top that magical atmosphere candlelit, had to ice. After a long journey through the interior of Uganda we had got used to the drinks and beer steamed textured sopinstant, because black Africa over the generators work when they feel like, and do very well.
After a long journey through the interior of Uganda we had got used to the drinks and beer steamed textured sopinstant
On the terrace of The Haven time had curled up next to us and we let him go. Jan, our Dutch friend Gorilla Tours, with whom we had met again after two weeks of travel, experiences and dreams scattered in his magnificent Spanish. The Nile fierce whisper reminded us where we were. Each second was a privilege and had to store them carefully in the hollow of the soul to get by in those days we did not deserve to wake up.
Jan missed his girlfriend, who was studying the behavior and language of chimpanzees in the jungles around Masindi. The two planned to return to Holland within a year to settle in a small apartment Utrecht. Hope you got. His anecdotes are illustrative of how things happen sometimes in Africa. Remember that night when asked by phone a pizza for dinner. But he had ordered a large and they brought a small. The bill, however, was the same. "According, pay a small pizza order not expect more ", told the employee. But did not have the overwhelming African logic. The guy absolutely refused. The ticket was already printed and had to pay the amount or order another pizza (someone might think, if you paid less, who had stayed with the remaining money, barruntaría). Jan had to rummage in the fridge for dinner that night.
Each second was a privilege and had to store them carefully in the hollow of the soul to get by in those days we did not deserve to wake up
At six o'clock, Nile is ambushed in the fog and offers a ghostly worth a sequence "Apocalypse Now", harmless and terrible at the same time, as lines Conrad that ascended the stream to the enigmatic Kurtz. The view from the window of the room is a century engraving diary out Speke, the discoverer of the Nile Sources. Upstream there is a dam and smoky factory, but that does not matter now and it seems very, distant. Some fishermen ply its waters in solitary barge as Charontes clueless, disturbing, while a cormorant dries its wings on a rock that looks like a bag of saffron in midstream.
The Nile is ambushed in the fog and offers a ghostly appearance worthy of a sequence of "Apocalypse Now", harmless and terrible at the same time
We went down the embankment towards the shore almost groping, because the fog has thrown in irons on the banks. Occasionally, flocks of birds emerge from nowhere and the haze is removed a few meters to remind us that we are facing a great river that begins a long journey of 6.500 kilometers to the sea. Everything around us is tremendously dream. Of course, the photos do not expect, with the sun peeking behind majestic Nile. In exchange, Dawn gives us a magical minutes: the silent struggle between light and haze, the current rumor vigorous, the froth of the rapids, spectral vessels, stuffed birds would have us believe that we are facing a picture remote… And the majestic Nile, the river so often dreamed, on unflappable emcee.
We went down the embankment towards the shore almost groping, because the fog has thrown in irons on the banks
The hotel is uphill, behind us, fighting with the morning mist to recover as soon as his romance with the Nile. The breakfast waiting in dew moisture. Los «rápidos del holandés muerto» escupen humo, as an ember about to pour the last drop. Down, on the shore, Westerners have two enthusiastic photographic guard down long since been silenced. Silence is the only possible tribute.
