Thursday 11th

I love this hotel, I love Gisenyi, I love Rwanda. Today we had the best breakfast EVER! We sat on the balcony overlooking the pool, lake and mountains, in scorching sunshine. It went like this:
Round one – cocopops, pineapple and mango
Round two – banana muffin and croissant
Round three – bacon, fried potatoes, baked beans and sausage, with Heinz Ketchup.
It was awesome!

The sun was shining in paradise and so it was that we set off for an adventure.

Guest-blogger – Suzanna's version of events

I suppose the most notable occurrence today was our failed attempt to enter the Democratic Republic of Congo. I’m unsure of how Nicola persuaded me to walk to the border, fill out exit immigration forms and to cross the border into the DRC with no visas when I am intrinsically predisposed to avoid any situation that is likely to lead to uncomfortable discussions with armed military personnel. But, like so many things, my intrinsic predisposition is no match for Nicola's will, and I found myself watching in mild horror as she merrily handed over our passports to the DRC immigration control.

I hissed at Nicola and pulled my 'what the heck are you doing with our shiny UK passports' face. She shot me her best 'back off library girl, I know what I’m doing' look, and turned back to the desk. I stepped out into the sunshine to quell the feeling of impending doom that had been steadily growing since Nicola suggested that it might be nice to lunch in the Congo. The truckload of soldiers sporting AK47s and the shifty looking lorry drivers didn't do much for my nerves.

As a responsible guest-blogger I'm reticent to go into too much detail about the subsequent escapade (if you want to hear the whole story chat to myself or Nic) but in summary, after a lengthy attempt on Nicola's behalf to persuade the guard to let us 'just have lunch in Goma, and then we'll come straight back', some tense minutes during which we lost sight of our passports and Nicola almost having her camera confiscated, the guard informed us that it would be $570 for the two of us to officially enter the country. Happily, we only had $40 between us; we traipsed back across the border, past soldiers and lorry drivers and aid trucks, and as our exit stamps were being cancelled Nicola muttered under her breath 'best refused entry EVER!'

I’ve learned a lesson today. A little local knowledge does not qualify someone, even your sister, to lead you in to a category two country with no guide, no visas and eight words of Swahili (five of which were learned from the Lion King).

Sitting in a café later that day, Nicola looked at me across the table and said 'that's the stupidest thing we've ever done. I can't believe you let me try and get into the DRC. You're a bad big sister'.

Quite.

Nic - Yeah, that was pretty much how it happened. And there are photos, (best photos EVER), but I’ve been forbidden from putting them on the internet. Nerves fraught, we went back to the hotel for a quick drink before moving on to our next haunt. After checking into the new hotel, we walked straight down to the beach.

It was even closer than before, probably about ten metres away. And there we chilled away the afternoon, reading Tolkien's The Two Towers in the sunshine and rain. (Don't worry, we took shelter from the storm under a wooden parasol, not unlike a tree. Safe as houses). And a lizard pooed on Suzanna. It was a good day.