Day one

8 + 8 hours (approximately) fly time and i'm walking across the tarmac towards Ugandan Immigration. The airport is more rundown than even Cambodia's Ratanakiri branch, which, despite being a dirt-paved runway and wooden building, was quite well-maintained. Still the lines are short and 20-30 minutes later i'm staring into a mass of African faces smiling and holding signs of various hotels - i don't spot mine.

It's different than Peru, where the instant you leave customs a horde of taxi drivers assault you for the privilege of driving you onwards (note - that's similar to to Ulaan Bataar, except they're more obviously drunk there). Instead, in Uganda a beautiful smiling black woman kindly asks, "what hotel are you looking for?" And she promptly finds the man i'm looking for, despite her being from some other hotel. Thank you, ma'am.

And for the record, only four: Shooter (c'mon Mark, you can do better, did you just need the money?), Breach (somehow it barely clung to a suspenseful feeling), Flags of our Fathers (Band of Brothers, now in Asia!), and Letters From Iwo Jima (wonder what they thought of this in Japan, or Korea).