The Packing Experience From Hell

I've come across a number of people in my day who've expressed their deep and utter hatred for the packing process.  "Ugh, I have to PACK!" they say, as if they're facing the impending doom of pain and frustration.  I've never been in this camp.  Generally packing takes me somewhere around 20 minutes, and I've got it down to a process that's both neat and organized so I finish with a suitcase that's tidy and easy to manage for the duration of my trip.

Today, however, I experienced packer's hell.

Consider for a minute the details of my trip...

The Mission	A three-month round-the-world trip
The Destinations	Detroit, Zurich, Geneva, Budapest, Istanbul, Antalya, Cappadoccia, Ankara, Rangoon, Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Krabi, Detroit
The Activity Set	Snowboarding in the French and Swiss Alps Salsa dancing and restaurant hopping in Istanbul Spelunking in the caves of Cappadoccia Professional networking in Rangoon Gem sourcing in Bangkok Rock Climbing in Chiang Mai and Krabi
The Expected Climates	Sub-freezing snow-encrusted mountains Temperate Mediterranean coastline Moist, underground caves in wintry mountain ranges Hot, humid rainforest Sunny, summer beach
The Clutch	It's all gotta fit in one "airline check-able" bag that weighs less than 18 kgs, and I've gotta be able to carry it when I travel otherwise.

Oh joy!

I made piles.  Lots and lots of piles:

• What do I need to snowboard?  Snowboard, boarding boots, snow pants, ski jacket, fleece, under-layer, hat, gloves, scarf, goggles... Now, what can I eliminate?  err... I guess I'll rent the board and boots.
• What do I need to climb?  Rope, harness, climbing shoes, draws, climbing pants, approach shoes, sunblock, hat, tank... Now, what can I eliminate?  Maybe I can make my climbing pants also be my non-climbing pants.  Oooh... that'll be a fashion statement.
• How about exploring Istanbul?  Salsa dance shoes, sexy mama dress... Never mind.  My vanity isn't worth the weight. 
• What about professional networking in Rangoon?  Nice, airy, shoulder-covering clothes that don't wrinkle after being in a bag for a month and a half.  Yeah... those exist.

How is it that none of these activities have gear that cross-pollinates?!  Oh wait!  I need my camera for all of it.

I ended up with a bag.  But it's big.  Too big.  It weighs the full 18 kg-limit, and although I can walk with it on my back, it hurts after two minutes.  This isn't going to work.

The Plan: Get myself to Zurich, and through the snowboarding portion of my world extravaganza.  Then pause, repack, and ship half my crap home.

Making the Impossible Happen

What do you do when you're presented with a problem?  In my case, I think outside the box.

These days I'm hanging out at the Ross School of Business at the University of Michigan, finishing up my last year as a dual MBA/MS student.  My life is awesome.  I control my schedule, choose my activities, and answer to no one but myself.  The downside?  I'm living on borrowed money that's capped according to the "U of M cost of student living."  Let's just say it's paltry, and leave it at that.

This year I was presented with a particular problem: I wanted to spend the year-end holidays with my sister in Switzerland, and in February I'd been invited to a once-in-a-lifetime networking opportunity with some of the most inspiring people in the world... in Myanmar.  Too bad the combined cost of the flights alone was already looking to be over $5000. Poop.

But then I got to thinking.  If I was going to go on this Myanmar trip, it basically meant I was going to miss 1/3 of my term classes anyway.  Maybe it made more sense to skip the term altogether, stay in Europe a bit after the holidays, and then fly from there directly to Myanmar instead of coming home in between.  Some course finagling, a bit of credit massaging, and a lot of travel agency negotiation later I had a Round-the-World flight plan that spanned from the holidays to the beginning of the 2nd Winter term in March.  Total cost?  Less than half the original estimate!!  Booyah!

And so it is with eager anticipation that I look forward to the next three months.  I've wrangled Maya - the same girl from my Nicaragua posts years ago - to accompany me on most of my journey.  We'll be climbing some of the rock faces in Turkey and Thailand and exploring several cities in between.  I have every intention to return to Michigan tanned, toned, and ready to tackle the job hunt I've been pretending I don't have to do.  Go adventure!

Taking the GMAT in Africa

Most business schools in the United States require a GMAT score as part of the application packet. The GMAT is a standardized test that is offered by Pearson Vue. In the United States, there are Pearson Vue testing centers in pretty much every town worth some salt. Outside of the USofA, however, testing centers are few and far between. On the continent of Africa, let's just say there are maybe a handful.

Well. Since I decided to apply to business schools this year, it became apparent that I would need to take the GMAT somehow. I looked up testing centers near Kigali. The nearest one was 470 kms away, in Kampala, Uganda. Oh goodie.

In order to take the test, you have to sign up well in advance, and pay a $250 fee. Oh extra goodie. I signed up for the 10th of October, hoping I'd be able to study for the test and find a way to Kampala before then.

As it turns out, there's a bus that runs from Kigali to Kampala every morning. Since the GMAT on Saturdays are only offered at 9am, that meant I had to take a bus friday morning. Oh goodie - I could waste a whole vacation day taking a bumpy, hot, cramped bus ride to a city I was mildly afraid of. I was told to expect to spend at least 9 or 10 hours on the bus ride. Oh goodie goodie.

Well, surprisingly enough, the bus ride was rather uneventful. At the Kigali-Uganda border, we all had to get out of the bus, check out of Rwanda at the Rwanda counter, walk across no-mans-land and check in again at the Uganda counter. Since 50 zillion busses all leave Kigali at the same time, there were 50 zillion and a half people trying to cross the border simultaneously. I could have complained about that, but I didn't mind being able to walk around, buy some water, go to the oh-so-yummy-smelling bathrooms that were really just holes in the ground, and exchange money. I did eventually get to the check-in counter in Uganda, and, oh goodie, I had to pay a $50 fee for the visa.

We arrived in Kampala at about 5pm. It was 11 hours door-to-city-center. Thank GOODNESS for a friend of mine who lived in Kampala for several years. She lead me through the city's chaos - and when I mean chaos, I mean chaos - and deposited me on a mutatu that actually drove me to my hotel. Thank you Ameliah, you were a god send. The mutatu ride was only 1000 shillings, but the value of the money that was pick-pocked from our bags will forever be unknown.

Dinner and a chat on the phone later, I was tucked into bed for a good night's rest. Lucky for me, however, there was a party going on down the street that thought everyone in Kampala should reap the benefits. I got to listen to thumping reggae, hip hop, and random pop songs all night. Oh goodie. The music stopped around 7:30 am. At least it was pivotal in making sure I was awake on time.

I asked the hotel to get me a moto driver that would take me to the right college at the right university in Kampala so I could take my test. Freddie arrived at 8:05 with a bike and no helmet. Oh goodie. We drove through the city, weaving between gridlocked cars and cutting through gas stations to avoid traffic lights. At one point a cop tried to grab Freddie's shirt, and he put pedal to the metal while I hung on for dear life. Later, when we reached the university entrance we did an about-face and scrambled around a corner into a little dirt alley way between shacks selling phone credit and tomatoes. This time I demanded an explanation.

"Oh," said Freddie. "Those police men are trying to arrest me."

Oh goodie again. Not only was I scared for my life as we skidded through traffic, now I was aware of sitting on the back of a moto controlled by a fugitive. Fun fun.

20 minutes of driving around looking for the right college ("I know where it is!" said Freddie, a few too many times) he leaves me at the Faculty of Technology. Unfortunately, the testing center is in the Faculty of Information Technology. Meh. It was only on the other side of campus. Goodie.

Oh crap! It was 8:45!! My test was a 9, and according to the GMAT website, if you're not there at least 15 mins early, you forfeit your chance to take the test. Shit.

I hissed another moto down and told him to book it over to the RIGHT faculty. That was fun. Yet again my life was held in the balance as wind blew around my non-helmet-protected hair.

I got to reception, and there was a dude whining about how he paid the registrar, but he still wasn't enrolled. Whaa whaa whaa. I could hear my heart thumping in my toes. I kept staring at the clock on the wall. 8:54.... 8:55.... 8:56... Finally the dude left.

"The Pearson Vue testing center. Where is it?" I'd lost all sense of propriety.

"9th floor"

"Where's the elevator?"

"There isn't one"

Oh extra goodie.

I ran up the stairs like a maniac. I only had to stop twice behind slow-ass african-style walkers who took up the entire width of the stairwell. "Excuse me, excuse me" I said as I pushed past them with my african-style pushing-past skills.

I got to the door of the testing center at 8:59am. I wasn't 15 minutes early, but technically, I was there before my exam was supposed to start. Phew.

Shit.

The testing center was locked. I totally KNEW it! They had left already because I was late. Great.

I asked the dudes at the Thompson Prometric center also on the same floor if the Pearson Vue people were supposed to come by. "Oh, she doesn't come by on Saturdays." was the response I got. Oh extra goodie. I wondered if the printed internet receipt I had of the $250 I'd paid and the appointment information was going to hold any clout if I needed it to.

Back down the 9 floors to reception, I asked if I could please get in touch with the Pearson Vue testing center lady as it was extremely important that I take my test THAT day. I thought about giving the full sob story, but she stopped me by saying "Oh. She's probably late. She'll come. Just wait." Oh those famous African words. Just wait.

Ok.

Back up the 9 flights of stairs, I sat down on a oh-so-comfy chair made of metal spokes and random rusty nails. "TIA," I thought. "This is Africa."

Good thing I passed out during the hour and a half that I had to wait. I never would have waited that long otherwise. Seriously!

Well, at least she showed. At least I managed to take the test. By the time it was over, I was starving... but it was over. Finally.

I rode with the fugitive back to the hotel. Why not, eh? TIA, baby. TIA.

Article in the Financial Times

A few weeks ago, I spent a day with a correspondent for the Financial Times who was doing a piece on Rwanda. Based out of Nairobi, he was attempting to get as comprehensive a picture of Rwanda as possible in one short week. This is what he came up with. I find it remarkably on the nose:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/64d9911e-a654-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0,dwp_uuid=3a66dad4-a656-11de-8c92-00144feabdc0.html

The Month of April

April is the anniversary month of the Genocide here in Rwanda.  The plane crash that started it all was on April 6, and within hours thousands of people had been killed.  The first couple months saw an unprecendented death toll.

15 years later, April is the month of rememberance and mourning.  Everything has been cancelled.  Band rehearsal is on indefinite hiatus, salsa classes don't meet for the next few weeks, night clubs are shutting down, taxis are rare, and hardly anyone even walks the streets.  There's pretty much nothing going on.

Tuesday next week will be April 6th.  It's a national "holiday" so no one's supposed to come to work.  On top of that, Hannah's leaving for a week to India, and Erik's peacing out to Zanzibar.  Whaaa!  I'm going to be all alone for almost a week... with NOTHING to do - quite literally.  Well, I guess I'll get a lot work done.

Salsa All the Time

So even though I wasn't making a point of being conspicuous, I've apparently made such a name for myself dancing at Pasadena on Thursday nights, that Christian asked me to help him teach some classes.  Christian is one of the Rwandese dancers who started dancing salsa when it first came to Kigali about 4 years ago.  He's an exceptional leader by any measure, but even more so because he rarely has anyone to learn from.  He spends most of his time trying to invent new moves with his own creativity, watching youtube videos (on an internet connection that hardly makes youtube watching worthwhile) and scouting around for expats that have recently come to Kigali that happen to know salsa.  He and a few of his friends run a tuesday-night salsa class at the local rec center.

Christian asked if he could practice with me in order to try some new moves and learn whatever patterns I had to teach.  He offered that I go to the tuesday class, help some of the other students, and then we'd practice afterwards.  For the past two weeks I've been going.  It's been quite fun, despite the fact that I feel grossly underqualified to be teaching him anything.  We mostly work on simple lifts and dips that he then tries on unwitting partners on Thursday nights.

Anyway, Evette, the Rwandese girl that helps Christian out with the organizational details of the salsa classes asked me if I'd teach a ladies styling class.  Again, I have to appreciate what a small pond I'm in if I am the one they come to for styling tips.  Nonetheless, today was my first ladies styling class.  We worked on arm styling and some basic hip movement.  It was actually quite fun, and I was surprised how eager and willing all the students were.  Christian has also asked that I keep an eye out for any women with special talent that he might recruit for a demonstration group.  THAT would be fun.

A Disgusting Show of Overpriveledged Entitlement

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit it, but today I believe I've out-done myself in terms of laziness and outright overpriveldged behaviour.  Waking up to a house that had litterally been trashed from the inside out, Erik, Giudi and I sat our butts down on the couch we had moved outside for the party and literally have not moved all day.  This wouldn't be such a big deal since we did party quite aggresively last night and because we're all feeling the effects of it today, but we're all rather ashamed of ourselves because Emmanuel, our weekend guard, has been up and at it all morning.  He cleaned up all the beer bottles left all over the front yard.  He's picked up all the bits of balloons and washed away the broken glass.  He's even cleaned out the dead coolers that were left half-filled with ice last night.  Then he started on the floor.  The couch we're camped out on sits on a balcony that is floored in tile and covered in mud from the constant flow of traffic last night.  Emmanuel has crossed in front of us 100 times at this point, mopping the tiles over and over, pushing murky water onto the driveway every time.

We called 'Sol e Luna' for pizzas since they deliver and won't require us to move.  We're starving, but can't cook breakfast.  There's nothing to cook anyway.

At least my hair still looks hot from last night.  Mike and Erik agree that I might actually be one of the few white girls who could look good in dreads.  Oh, if only I could grow them without worrying about little things like keeping a job...