Running Out Of Soap

 

Oh gosh, I think I'm in trouble. 

 It's been several months since I last posted. I've been a bit busy in life sorting things out and forging in new directions. Over the time I've been away, I've traveled a little and even managed to win the first-ever 2012 United States AeroPress Championship (I'll post more on that later), but for the most part, I've been home focusing on Spro and honing our skills. That means I've been home now for over three months and not only am I just starting to feel the call of The Road, I'm noticing that my soap supply is starting to get alarmingly low. 

 For the last seven years or so now, I've been mainly supporting my soap habit (and I do bathe regularly, just in case you were wondering) through my travels. I've amassed a nice collection of soaps from luxury hotels to cheap motels that continually remind me of fond memories from past trips. It's interesting to see the kind of toiletries a hotel chooses to provide for their guests and I find equally interesting to compare them. Of course, one of my favorite soap makers is L'Occitane, but I've been saving those for when my supply of hotel soap has been depleted and it's getting dangerously close. 

What does that mean? It means I need to hit the road - and soon. Home is nice but it's best framed from afar and I can't wait to get back out there next month and get back to the life!

Bacan

The bread basket at Bacan.

From the street Bacan Restaurante is simply gorgeous looking. Ana pointed out to me the other night as we drove by on the way to my favorite B&B. At the corner of Mexicali and Avenida Oaxaca, the place is stunning with it's garden water fountain, Parisian bistro chairs, Euro gas heaters and sharply dressed waiters. It's impressive.

Ana and her mom had been wanting to go and what better time than now?

Printed on the inside of the menu is the definition of Bacan. Dicho de una persona: refinada, de trato amistoso y agradable, muy atractivo y popular, elegante, afecto al lujo y al buen vivir.

And for those of us who are Spanish-challenged, it means a person who is refined, friendly and pleasant treatment, very attractive and popular, stylish, fond of luxury and good living.

In other words: this is place to see and be seen.

And it certainly lives up to its desire. It's obvious that someone spent a lot of money on the buildout because it's gorgeous and everything is well-appointed. This results in a decidedly beautiful crown of Chilangos in nice clothing, driving nice cars and looking like the social elite.

The only problem is that this place is a restaurant and restaurants this nice looking should deliver cuisine that's its equal.

But before I go further, I do have one gripe to grind. This restaurant opened in October of 2011. This is the age of the mobile device. Who the hell thinks its still okay in 2011 to develop a Flash page making it impossible for an entire population of diners to visit your website.

Please take your web designer out to the country and shoot him.

I want to note that the service was really great. The hostess and servers were all very nice, attentive and responded to our needs. The setting is fantastic, the service is good, now what about the food?

Utilizing our scoring standard for barista competitions where a six is extraordinary, I give Bacan a 3.5 - good plus. Described as contemporary fusion, the menu offers an interesting mix of items that sound promising but are produced by a kitchen that doesn't seem up to the challenge. The technique is there, it's just missing that extra detail to make it shine.


Tacos de Pato, Argentinean Empanada and Tuna Ceviche.

Take for example the Tacos de Pato (duck tacos). The meat is lovely. Perfectly cooked and shredded, the texture is also perfect, just where is the flavor of the meat? Strong notes of orange and sweetness dominate over the perfunctory tortilla. The rolled tacos (think: unfried flauta) are laid on top of sweet caramelized (without the caramel color) onions and fried chopped cebollita stems. Sadly, the sweetness comes through and the rest is just flat.

What really makes this dish a shame is that we're in Mexico City - Ground Zero for amazing Mexican cuisine and an ambitious restaurant such as this produces such a taco? For ten percent of the price of this duck taco, I can get an amazing taco at 101 different places. I mean really, a taco here should be stunning.

Then there was the Tuna Ceviche served with avocado on top of a tostada, a nice idea for fusion appetizer. Here the quality of the tuna was just lovely but it was marred by the liberal use of diced tomato (which made it seem like the kitchen is trying to stretch the quantity of tuna used in the dish) and the lack of acidity that is the hallmark of a ceviche. Here the problem of the duck taco returns with a candy like sweetness dominating everything else - even the creaminess of the avocado.

To add insult to injury, the tostadas weren't even executed well. Uneven and bland, some were thick, one was thin. One was soggy. I must note that the one tostada that was thin and crispy made for an excellent texture juxtaposition with the ceviche, it's just a shame the quality control in the kitchen isn't more stringent to maintain tostada consistency.

Senora Garcia's salad of lettuce, goat cheese, apple slices and walnuts was perfunctory but decent while Ana's Penne Con Chistorra was actually nice tasting with a sparse amount of tasty chistorro sausage slices. This dish too was marred by the slightly overcooked pasta which lacked that toothy resistance one expects from a pricey pasta dish at a fine dining restaurant.


Estofado of Ox Tail in red wine sauce.

When choosing between the oven roasted chicken in white sauce or the oxtail stew, our server noted that the stew was the right choice, I went with that recommendation. The braised oxtails were cooked perfectly and dressed with a lovely stew sauce, paired with a buttery smashed potatoes that gave off notes reminiscent of buttered cauliflower, but here too the kitchen fell short with a perfectly textured meat that lacked the oomph to send it over the top.

As I ate the meat, I wondered just what was missing and added a little salt. That was the ticket - the kitchen lacked the ability to season properly. And for a dish that is two hundred and twenty pesos (a little bit more than the average daily wage in Mexico) you expect something stellar.

And that is the problem with Bacan. The food lacks that final detail that make it soar. You want it to be amazing. You hope that it will be amazing, but the food falls short. And that's a shame.

I mean Bacan has all the things you want in a go-to restaurant. Beautiful setting, a place to be seen and great service. It just lacks that one key: stellar cuisine. And that's the reason that stops you from rushing back to eat there again.


Bacan Restaurante Condesa
Mexicali 4 a esquina Nuevo Leon
Hipodromo Condesa DF 06100
5211-9236
bacan.com.mx

Quiet Contemplation at The RTH

Enjoying the evening at The Red Tree House.

In a city of twenty million people, you'd think madness would ensue at all hours. And for the most part, it is madness here. 10pm traffic jams, restaurants filled with patrons at 11pm, and taco joints advertising closing time of 2am o mas.

Yet in the midst of this Spanish-speaking megalopolis I find myself enjoying quiet contemplation in an oasis in the middle of the city - well, at least until that air conditioning condenser from the low-rise building next door kicks in.

You can sometimes hear the odd car or motorcycle drive by or the airliner on approach to Benito Juarez, but other than that, it's pure, tastefully appointed luxury.

Beyond my table, the house is dimly lit, the garden is filled with tropical flora and spot lights. I feel relaxed and contemplative. I have a bottle of Coke Zero, a bowl of ice and a Montecristo Edicion Limitada 2010 to keep my company and it's muy bueno.

In many respects, this house is like my own personal Fantasy Island. Built in the 1930s and remodeled in 2011, it's a gorgeous blend of Art Deco architecture mixed with modern interior design, with just the right touches of ethnographic art and artifacts from Asia and Mexico.

I love it here. In many respects, I wish I didn't have to leave. I wish I could take this with me wherever I go.

Coffee Germania

Making coffee at Kaffeemaccherei.

Like many places around the world, ask the local coffee people about their "scene" and you get similar reactions: "it kinda sucks", "it's lacking", "we need help", etc., etc. It seems in Germany it isn't much different. Ask the Germans where to get coffee and they'll tell you that there's only one or two places serving decent coffee - little do they realize that those "one or two" shops is typically more than most American cities.


Coffee and almond pastry at Der Backer Eifler.

My trip to Germany was less about coffee than it was about driving and cars, so I didn't really take the time to research or make tremendous effort to visit coffee spots. If it was out of the way (like Hoppenworth & Ploch, located in the middle of a university campus and a pain in the butt to get to) or open odd hours (sorry Berlin, but opening at 1pm on a Sunday is "odd" and not enough of a draw for me to delay my tour), then I just didn't bother. After all, if I really want to have okay coffee served by attitude filled hipsters, then I certainly don't need to fly to Europe for the experience. America is the leader in that regard.





Hoppenworth & Ploch - Frankfurt
Located on a university campus, H&P was the first place I tried to visit on my stopover to Africa. Colonel Matt was in town, had a car and we were in search of this place that supposedly serves great espresso. We drove around, consulted the iPhone, drove some more, got lost, dead-ended several times, always thinking that we could drive up to the coffee place (it said so on the iPhone). Finally, we realized that it was not going to happen, that we would have to find parking and hump it in across campus. With no parking to be found anywhere in the Westend, we gave up. Maybe that backerei chain would have passable coffee.




A regular coffee at Karin.

Cafe Karin - Frankfurt
The problem with a 5am arrival is that you can spend five hours getting yourself together and it's still only 10am. Wolfram Sorg said that Karin has a good breakfast, so I went there after I gathered myself, my rental car and arrived in downtown Frankfurt at 7am - only to find that Karin opens at 9am.

WTF??? This is Frankfurt. The financial center of Germany. Hell, it's the financial center of Europe and where the Euro is based. Nobody works until 9am?? This isn't America because Americans would be working. Ironically, the only place open in the neighborhood was a Starbucks (opens at 7am) and a bakery serving passable coffee with cream and sugar. I had to wait.


The day's special for six euros fifty.

When Karin finally opened, I was treated to fresh food, nicely prepared, at a good price and bitter, over roasted coffee. Better to stick with Coke Lite and a bottle of water.

Cafe Karin
Grosser Hirschgraben 28
60311 Frankfurt am Main
Germany
+49 69 2952-17
www.cafekarin.de





Kaffeemacherei - Lovely table settings.

Kaffeemacherei - Frankfurt
Truth be told, it's a rare experience for me to visit a coffee place and wish that I was the owner. Typically, I might admire a certain aspect of that coffee shop's operations, like their volume and revenue stream, or their retail sales, or perhaps their decor, or packaging.

On the other hand, I'm also thankful that many of the shops I visit are not mine because of generally rude baristas, poor sanitation, lack of standards and slipshod presentations.


Celebrity photos brighten the whitewashed walls.

But Kaffeemacherei is different. Located in a relatively nondescript neighborhood with a simple exterior that belies the gorgeous interior. Lots of white paneling and cute details compensate for this truly tiny shop. From the color coordinated La Marzocco GB-5 to the fresh flowers on the table to the complete presentation of labels signs and probably one of the best printed menus I've ever seen in a 3W cafe.


A slightly foamy cappuccino.

Speaking with the owner who, evidently, decided to open Maccherei after burning out on a photography career. Whatever the path that led him here, the execution here is world-class. I loved it.

The coffee was decent and the foam on my cappuccino while slightly foamy was still nice. When I grow up and burn out on my next career, I want to open a cafe this nice.


They squeezed seating for 12 in this tiny cafe.



Arguably the best printed menu in the 3W.

Kaffeemacherei
Eckenheimer Landstrasse 70
60318 Frankfurt
+49 69 48008766
www.die-kaffeemacherei.de




Welcome to Kaffeewerk Espressionist.

Kaffeewerk Espressionist - Frankfurt
You've probably heard about it and I'm pretty sure you've never seen one in a working cafe environment, but if you want to see the new La Marzocco Strada EP 2 group, then this is the place to be. Of course, it doesn't look like they know how to exploit the machine's potential, but the ladies working here look pleasant enough. And yes, they're Russian. Run, don't walk.

Nestled in what seems to have been a sort of industrial area reclaimed by development and modern buildings, the roadwork makes it a but confusing to arrive, but the modernist decor is typical of the new wave coffeeshop. Lack of on-street parking is settled by parking on the sidewalk fronting the shop.


The view from my seat at Espressionist.

I haven't really been paying attention but at Espressionist they have two different types of macchiato. Maybe this is true for the rest of Germany or across Europe, but this is the only place I visited where there was any confusion. The girls offer a macchiato and a latte macchiato. My German is poor and their English was slightly better than my German but we were still unable to come to an understanding regarding the difference and I went with the latte macchiato.

Which turned out to be a basic Cafe Latte - espresso and steamed milk. Not that the drink was bar or poorly prepared, I just don't like drinking big lattes and it wasn't to my liking. I wanted a small, quick drink with greater coffee-to-milk ratio. The latte was nicely prepared and looked good in the tall glass but I wish they went with simple naming conventions instead of two types of macchiato when one will suffice. Perhaps it's to satiate the Starbucks educated crowd.


Hello, Latte Macchiato.

It was quiet when I visited, with only one or two other patrons coming in for a coffee. They offer a small selection of baked goods that looked pretty good and I enjoyed the few minutes I spent there before heading back out into the wilds of Frankfurt.

Kaffeewerk Espressionist
Europa Allee 29
60327 Frankfurt
+49 69 91316787
www.espressionist.net




The Coffee Altar at Bonanza Coffee Heroes.

Bonanza Coffee Heroes - Berlin
My one and only stop in Berlin was delivered by the informative blog Cafe Kultur Berlin. Located in the old East Berlin in a Cold War era building (in fact part of the charm of the place is that it looks like it could have been part of the Cold War), I knew I was in a house of serious coffee people when: a)a guy was wearing a tie and vest, b)the guy had facial hair, c)he was wearing a hat, d)he was very intently brewing a pour over, e)he was weighing and measuring as he brewed, f)he took pictures of his brew and g)seemed mildly irritated by the fat guy in a blue Columbia news media jacket wearing a camera.

Ah, Third Wave thrives even in Germany. Lucky the world.


Bonanza: macchiato.

What I liked most about Bonanza was the interior of the building itself. Dilapidated concrete in need of patching gave a distinct Soviet Cold War feel to the place. I fantasized what it must have been like in 1980s walking along the streets and seeing what this space was during those times. Bleak, cold, dismal. Quite a difference from today.

Paired with the Cold War building was a collection of what looks to be 1950s era Probat roasters. Here, Bonanza roasts their own coffee with burlap bags stacked against a wall, little stools positioned about for guests to use and a monolithic steel altar to espresso-making, complete with the requisite Synesso espresso machine.


Bonanza's collection of roasters.

Granted, it was about half an hour to closing, so the place was quiet. The two guys there (one of them the owner) were busy either photographing the v60 brew, fiddling with the cash register, or preparing to go to a concert. I'm not one to tip my hat that I work in coffee, so I kept that to myself because I find it much more interesting to see how a place operates when they think you're just some schmoe. Though I did find it amusing to hear them talk trash about Counter Culture (the mustached guy is from the Southeast United States).

After the guys left, I chatted up the female barista about how things were and if I could have a coffee please. They had a couple of hand brew coffees available and asked her to select the one she was most excited about. She chose their El Salvador coffee. I don't know much else about the coffee because that's all the menu board read: "El Salvador."


Brewing with the V60.

Brewed in the Hario V60, Bonanza follows the style espoused by most baristas: fast. My coffee brewed in just over two minutes, which might have been attributable to the relatively new barista but that guy with the mustache shooting pictures of his brew did the same thing.

The coffee itself wasn't too bad (I liked my macchiato better), but the quick brew time resulted in a distinct underextracted sour tone to the coffee. Not terribly bad but nothing to savor and run home to tell momma either. The barista was pleasant enough and we chatted briefly about Berlin and some things to do in the city before I bid my adieu and headed off in search of the brauhaus.


My cup of El Salvador. Bright, but sour.

Bonanza Coffee Heroes
Oderberger Strasse 35
10435 Berlin
+49 176 61691 496
www.bonanzacoffee.de

Autobahning

Just a leisurely cruise on the Autobahn.

It occurred to me a couple of days ago on the four hour drive from Bamberg to Berlin just what this trip was all about.

The night before, I made my way down to the Christmas Market in Bamberg and found an unlikely ally in the form of the roasted chestnut guy. Ended up hanging with him for most of the evening, talking story and learning the finer points of roasting chestnuts on an open fire. I had heard it before when he mentioned the Japanese and Chinese tourists who came to Germany.

Evidently, they come to Germany (and ostensibly the rest of Europe) on some sort of Power Tourist trip where they rush frantically across the nation in the span of four days, jump out at the tourist spots, snap photos of themselves at the spot, jump back on the bus and drive off to the next photo op.

I started thinking: am I one of these Power Tourists? I mean really, I'm only in each city a superficially short time. Yes, I'm visiting the places that I want to visit, but can I really get a feel for any place if I'm just jumping cities every night?

It wasn't until the next morning, about an hour up the A9 autobahn that I realized: this trip was never about going to any one city and soaking up the culture. This was about Auto Culture. This was about no holds barred driving pleasure, sprinkled with a nightly Christmas Market and auto manufacturer tour.


My favorite road sign.

I had rented a nice car, the BMW 118i, that could power down the autobahn easily at 180kph and hold pace at 210kph. I could roll with the larger cars on the autobahn. This was about pure driving pleasure.

I mean, where else in the world can you drive no holds barred? Germany is famed for its Autobahns. Hundreds of miles of unadulterated roadway spotted with runs marked by the white circle and three hash marks that means "all restrictions lifted" - it's automotive glory.

Naysayers (and probably my mom) will say that it's unsafe and dangerous to drive at those speeds. And certainly a crash at 130mph will do some serious damage to you, but these Germans have got everyone else beat.

I'll admit, when I first pulled onto the famed Autobahns, I was a bit scared. In America, the maximum speed limit is 75mph - and even then you're talking about potential fines and even arrest. I imagined that the Autobahns would be populated with crazy drivers bulletin past at insane speeds. That I would be blitzed by a constant procession of Ferraris, Lamborghinis and God knows what else. That my little BMW would be pushed to the side by a barrage of cars whizzing by at dizzying speeds and me fighting in their wake turbulence.

Truth be told, much of the Autobahn runs at 130kph or 80mph, it even drops down to 80kph in many places. So many of the legends of unadulterated speed were just that: legends. But when that white circle with the hash marks came up, oh boy!


Even the rain doesn't slow down the Autobahn.

It took me about an hour to get acclimated to cruising at 130kph. Then, with a little encouragement of some enthusiastic VW Golf drivers, we were suddenly pushing 180kph, then 190kph and then 200kph.

Before I knew it, that 130kph had transformed itself into 130mph.

At the car rental counter, the pretty agent told me that for 65 euros more she would rent me a BMW 650 convertible. Tempting. But I knew I would be visiting the center cities in Germany and a long, slender (and fast) car seemed impractical for street parking. The BMW 118i would suffice.

It's smart thinking for city commuting, but on the Autobahn you start to wonder what it would be like to boom past 200kph with a commanding roar of Bavarian power.

Past 180kph, the 118i pulled steadily to 200kph. But to push it up to 210kph took a bit longer, and then to push it past 210kph showed that it would take longer that I had steely nerve or available roadway.

Even at 200kph, the occasional Mercedes or Audi, or even Skoda, would blow by me with serious vengeance.

At a steady cruise at 200kph, I started to wonder: what are my tires rated? You hear stories of tire ratings and how tires can fail at prolonged high speeds. Could these sustained speeds cause the wear and destruction of my tires? What kind of injuries (or pernicious death) would I suffer with a blowout at 130mph?

I then started to wonder if I should have checked my tire pressure too before taking off today. Even as all these nervous thoughts filled my mind, I pushed them back with the notion that the engineers at BMW have anticipated all of this. They're used to driving at these speeds across their nation, they would have taken this into account and designed the car (and its tires) for just this kind of automotive exercise. I wonder just how much farther than 210kph I can take this...

The night before, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Wolfram's Audi S6 station wagon after a night of big, German beef and lovely wines. We were blasting along a two-lane divided highway, in the dense fog, at 250kph (that's about 155mph). I gripped the "Oh, Jesus" steps and feigned indifference.

During our conversation on that wild ride home, Wolfram related to me why this wasn't just okay but actually safe. Each highway side marker was spaced ten meters apart. Even in the dense fog, we could see five markers at a time, meaning that our visibility was 50 meters. Perfectly fine for our sustained speed.

He also explained the training involved in order to earn your German drivers license. Months of training and education, combined with a thorough understanding of the driving characteristics and physics of other road vehicles, such as trucks, busses and motorcycles. Add to that the insanely strict driving laws and very tough enforcement, which translates into Germany producing what is arguably the best and most disciplined drivers in the world.

For example, there's no passing on the right in Germany. Put the law aside, people go absolutely apeshit if you pass them on the right because it's insanely unsafe. And the speed limits are non-negotiable. As the limit drops, so do the drivers. 80kph means everyone is driving 80kph. A few kilometers over the speed limit can easily mean a 30-day license suspension. A few violations could mean revocation. The Germans are serious about their driving laws.


Pushing 210kph in the little BMW 118i.

In America, driving 130mph isn't inherently dangerous. In fact, I'm not worried about driving at speeds pushing 100mph. But what scares me at those speeds are the rest of the idiots on the road. Check out the jag-off in the left lane cruising at 55mph. He's there and he's going to stay there because, in America, driving is an entitlement.

Not to mention the driver in the right lane who's not paying attention and is not just going to move to the center lane, he's going all the way to the left without looking. It's his God-given right to do whatever he damn well pleases and when you crash into him at 95mph, you're dead.

In Germany, no one cruises in the left lane. Trucks, big vehicles and slow vehicles are required to remain in the right lane. Dudes who's cars can't get past 200kph stay in the center lane, and anyone who strays into the left lane knows to keep their eyes open on their rear and to get the hell out of the way.

On the Autobahn, you know that those vehicles are going to stay to the right. They're not moving left, and if they are, they're going to be looking for you. 200kph is no problem.

But it takes an enormous amount of focus and energy to drive at plus 200kph speeds. You've got to be on point and completely aware of everything and everyone around you. One wrong move and it's Game Over.

One might think that at 210kph, it'd be peachy keen in the left lane. Not so. At 210kph, you're still not the fastest vehicle on the Autobahn. Just outside of Hannover one night, I was passing on the left lane at about 200kph when I was blitzed from seemingly out of nowhere by a hyped up 5 Series BMW. He was coming at me so fast that I barely had time to process what I was seeing in the rearview mirror and move the hell out of his way.

Wolfram, who routinely cruises at dizzying speeds, agreed with me. It's fatiguing to drive at those speeds but, he noted, that at speeds above 240kph, you mainly focus on what's in front of you - because the cars cruising at plus 250kph are few and far between.

Needless to say, I didn't experience that on my trip.

In The Rainforest

Welcome to The Rainforest Lodge.

At the beginning of the day, I said to everyone: "No hiking or trekking." I just wasn't in the mood. I'm not up to the challenge.

But the girls wanted to go into the rainforest. Me? I'm not too keen on being in a place where animals and insects can crawl all over you. I enjoyed camping in the woods when I was younger, had my Land Rover and carried a gun.


In another life (or maybe this one), I think Isaiah was/is a tribal leader.

Instead, we've got Clare's Toyota Corona and Isaiah is navigating it along a rutted and sometimes rocky dirt road - the kind of road that I would relish driving my Land Rover on but not a five person saloon. We slide, bump, grind and crunch our way up the hills, around corners and up to the Rainforest Lodge, an eco-friendly resort in the middle of the rainforest.

It's actually a lovely place with dining facilities, pool and nice huts outfitted with all the necessities. You'd think you were an old-time Englishman on a safari in Africa - it's that nice. But what they don't have is television, telephones or internet.


Clare chooses Fanta.

The resort is broken down into sets of suites in individual buildings separated by stone walkways through the rainforest. They're not close together so you can get a feeling of privacy and then gather at the communal areas for food, drink and fireside gabbing.

I think it's pretty cool and imagine Nacho, CapSwell, TheSeed, BrowserMetrics and our families taking over the resort. Would be cool.


And so does Daphne and Alice.

Of course, the downside is that it's also The Rainforest. Meaning that there's all sorts of wildlife to watch and that are watching you, sensing who is the weakest of the group and when everyone's backs are turned, they strike!

I told Alice, if that Leopard comes running, I just have to stay ahead of you!

Source Of The Nile

Oh yeah, just moving a tank. In three pieces. No problem.

I've spent a week now on Kampala's slow-moving, traffic-jammed streets and the feeling of rocketing along Jinja Road at 100kph is slightly unnerving - especially when the pavement is pocketed with potholes, wavy surfaces, debris, people and the little Toyota Corona is packed with five of us and we're careening past hawkers, buses, livestock and even overwide trucks hauling massive tanks in three sections.

Once we break out of metropolitan Kampala, the road opens up and Isaiah (my driver) is gunning it for all its worth. By any estimate, 100kph isn't that fast, but here in Uganda, as we pass wreckages of other vehicles simply abandoned on the side of the road, I wonder if it isn't a death wish. I probably wouldn't drive this fast here.


Police recruits - at The Source Of The Nile.

Maybe it's because I've started off on the wrong foot. After the mornings' thunderstorm explosion, it's been pouring in the capital and when faced with a two hour one-way drive across the country or lounging and being catered to by world-class staff, I think I'd rather stay at home.

Outside the city, the weather clears up and it's bright and sunny. Gorgeous. Large fields of sugar cane blow lazily in the wind, ready for harvest. I miss seeing sugar cane. Years ago, back in Hawaii, we used to see sugar cane growing all the time, until American labor rates, combined with government subsidies for corn made sugar an unprofitable business in America and brought High Fructose Corn Syrup to dominance.

I wonder if they harvest the sugar like they did in Hawaii: by burning it. That's when I spot a crew in the field, hacking away at the cane with their machetes. In Uganda, they do it the old-fashioned way: hard labor. The workers strip the leaves from the cane and then chop each stalk, piling them onto a truck. It has to be grueling, physical work. But in a world where labor is cheap, sugar is still profitable.


Daphne doesn't want to go in the boat.

After the sugar comes tea trees (or perhaps tea shrubbery) planted in long rows. I've never seen tea before and I'm fascinated. My understanding is that they simply pick the top leaves and let the tree (shrubbery) continue to grow. They look manicured to me. These trees are for black tea - evidently the only tea that matters here in Africa. God Save The Queen!

From there it's miles of dense rainforest, pocketed by outposts of humanity. It's not the wild jungle you expect like along the Amazon but more forest looking. And unlike American forests, there are leopards in here awaiting the forlorn Muzungu tourist wandering about.


Clare is unafraid and ready for the boat.

After a few mis-guided directions from grumpy Boda Boda drivers, we find our way to The Source Of The Nile. It's a quiet tourist spot with not many tourists: mainly our group and a squadron of Uganda Police recruits whose female sergeant is constantly trying to get her troops to stop taking pictures and get back to the bus.

It's a bit of a walk down a stretch from the parking lot to the landing, along the way vendors sell all sorts of handicrafts and what seems to be decent prices. I'd like to buy some items but I'm very conscious of baggage limits when traveling.


Mahatma Ghandi assures us the boat is safe.

While this is The Source of the Nile, it's not actually "The Source". To see that, you have to rent a boat from anywhere between 150,000 to 250,000 Shillings, or between US$65-110. Not too bad for dollars but kind of expensive for Uganda. After some negotiation for the bigger boat, Clare and Daphne negotiate the price down.

However, I don't think any price is good enough for Daphne. It's her and Alice's first time on a boat and they're a bit skittish. We try to assure them that it will be okay. Alice asks me if I can swim if the boat sinks. I tell her: "Yes, I can swim. But I would probably die here."

It's not quite the reassuring message she was hoping to hear.


The blue and yellow boats have actually sunk to the floor.

And it's true. If our boat were to sink in the middle of the Nile, with the way the current is running, I probably wouldn't survive - especially if I tried to swim. I would have to remain calm and hope the swiftly moving water brought me downriver to shore. Otherwise, if I tried to swim against the current? Forget it.

The boat is an open deck, twin Mercury 60 engined skiff that's plenty roomy and plenty powerful for our tour. We cruise the edges of the river where we see birds, a monkey and the spot where John Speke "discovered" the Nile. I always find it curious that white men seem to have "discovered" places where other people already have formed civilizations.


We see monkeys!

Finally, we make our way to a small island at the mouth of the river where Lake Victoria begins to pour into the Nile. This is the true Source Of The Nile. How do I know that? Because there's a sign.

Off to one side a tree on a concrete pylon marks the "Zero Point" of the Nile where it begins it's long journey across Northern Africa to the Mediterranean Sea. It's a journey that will take the water we see at that moment four months to make. Incredible.

On the other side is a bubbling of fresh spring water. It's another important point of the Nile where fresh water mixes with Lake Victoria to produce what I'm guessing is Real Nile River Water. I want to drink it to see if it's good but I know that will only lead to misery. I pass.


Fresh spring water bubbles up at The Source Of The Nile.

There's a small gift shop on the little island and I think the people actually live there too. A little cat scampers by and I snap a picture of it for Ana before getting back in the boat.

The tour continues with more wildlife, a couple of lizards and a bunch of horny longshoremen at the Jinja docks who call for the girls to come join them. To them, I must look like a Muzungu Baller: big man, three women, a driver, a boat driver and a nice boat. Yes, I think I must be on my way to a meeting with President Museveni...


Here Lake Victoria begins its drain into the Nile.



With Isaiah, Alice, Clare and Daphne at the Zero Point.



A cat pic for Ana.



A lizard climbs out of the Nile.



Some fowl.



Workers at the Jinja docks unload freight off the ferry from Tanzania - a 23 hour journey.



This marks the spot that John Speke "discovered" the Source of the Nile.

5th Uganda Barista Championship

Barista Jonathan Ddumba presents to Head Judge Clare and sensory judges Miriam, Richard, Evelyn and Emma.

A few weeks ago, I received a call from David Roche of the Coffee Quality Institute. He was calling to ask me if I would be willing to go to Kampala again to be the head judge and trainer for their barista championship. He said they had been asking for me personally. An honor.

Not too long later, I found myself boarding yet another trans-Atlantic and trans-African flight to Uganda where we would be holding two days of barista workshops, one day of judges training and then three days of competition.


Surrounded by competitors for a "photo op."

Last year, I thought it was a bit odd to have a barista training literally hours before the competition. I mean, how much could the competitors digest, make changes and (perhaps) improve right before the championship. But I was tasked to do a job and I did what I could and shared as much information as possible on how to compete, methods of flow and even ways to improve your scores.

While I was at first a bit skeptical, I'm now a fan of. One of the greatest problems in barista competitions is the disconnect between competitor and judge. One person within the USBC once remarked that the WBC Rules and Regulations are the only training manual you would need, but the interpretation of those rules can vary wildly from judge to judge and competition to competition. Add to that the WBC's reluctance, or outright refusal, to provide materials and information to illuminate these areas and you've got a situation where only a small percentage of competitors have the ability to truly be competitive.


Joseph Kyeyune rocks it to the Finals.

Of course, the pundits will argue that it's a "level" playing field and that one doesn't need to have money to win. These are also the same people who never comment that those who win have also spent time training with the likes of World Barista Champion Fritz Storm - whose rates are in the thousands. So much for the average competitor...

Which is what the majority of the competing world is comprised of: average competitors trying to learn finer points of our craft and doing a better job in the world. Everyone wants to do well and win a trip to Vienna, but not everyone has the resources available to them. And that's what the barista workshops are designed to do: bring the information to the competitors before the competition when they will have some time to perhaps make changes and incorporate them into their performances.


Daphne awaiting lunch.

And that's what I see here in Kampala. Lots of passion. Lots of interest and the desire to do well and improve. So, after two days of instruction, we're off to the races.

The competition itself went very smoothly. With a resident WBC Certified Judge, the duties of Head Judge were split between myself and Clare - relieving me of the intensity that comes from Head Judging 26 competitors non-stop.

As with any competition, we want to judge the competitors on the same level at the rest of the world. Meaning that a score of "5" is equivalent to a "5" elsewhere in the world. What we don't want is a "5" in Uganda to mean a "3" at the World Championship. We want a realistic evaluation according to world standards, which is a difficult proposition when you're trying to wrangle local judges who've never seen competition before (or maybe never outside of their country).

In my world, there's a bit of pushing, prodding and even outright challenge to judges' evaluations. Scores go up, scores go down, but always with lots of information, discussion and detail as to why. The hardest part is getting the judges to write enough information on their sheets to be helpful to the competitor later.


Finalists Emma Katongole, defending champion Mark Okuta, two-time champion Roberts Mbabzi and Joseph Kyeyune.

As the competition winded down and the finalists announced, I looked over the scores compared to last years competition and was pleasantly surprised. The average scores had improved considerably. Only one disqualification this year compared to four in 2010. And the finalists all performed very strongly - one could easily see the improvements from the previous year.

When the Finals got rolling on the last day, the excitement was palpable. The Defending Champion Mark Okuta versus the former two-time champion and a slate of some very tough competitors. Quickly, four of the finalists pulled away from the field. Nearly 100 points would separate the fourth and fifth positions. While Simon's cultural smoked milk electrified the audience, Mark's tour of the coffee bean was fascinating and Salim's dazzling performance rocked, it was the former two-time champion, Roberts Mbabzi who came a calling to reclaim his title as Barista Champion of Uganda.


They said I was looking "smart" at the barista awards party.

Many hours later, after the partying was over, some of the competitors came to me to ask how they had done. What they really wanted to know is: how could they have lost? And: how did Roberts win again? I understood their question because it's common amongst those who don't take the title. There's always the wondering if the competition isn't somehow, fixed. Especially for someone who always seems to win.

I sat down with them and pulled up the electronic scoresheets that I keep on file as the Certifying Judge for a national championship. And I compared their scores. Even without the actual notes of the scoresheets, the scores tell a lot. The top four were very close. Each of them within striking range of the Champion spot. An improvement in this set of espressos, or an improvement in your professionalism, plus a slight mistake on the part of the Champion could easily have switched positions. Even hitting an even 4.5 on cappuccinos taste balance could have scored you the title.

In the end, I discussed it with them to show that there's nothing rigged about the competition. The scores reflect the performance. Maybe that one puck was off and you served it because it would burn time to redo the shot. That shot got you 1.5 in scores. Maybe it would be worth it to burn the additional 30 seconds to grab a 3.5 in scores? All things that have to be considered by the competitive barista.

I think they all left understanding the process a little bit better. Perhaps still not happy that they "lost" but at least with a better understanding.

And if I can leave a place with a better understanding of our craft, then it's been a worthwhile trip.