Bora Bora, at least from a European point of view, is one of those remote places where every traveler longs to go at least once in a lifetime (Germans use for those places the untranslatable word “Sehnsuchtsort”). Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi, had just muddled through the dark years of a civil war and was, despite its wonderful location between Lake Tanganyika and lush green mountains, as far from a “place of longing” as it could be. But there was light at the end of the tunnel: On the capital’s outskirts, right on the lake, reigns the Bora Bora Beach Club. Three hours before the curfew at 9pm: I am gazing on the lake which enfolds up to 700 kilometers to the South, with Burundi behind me, Tanzania to the east, the mysterious Congo to the West, I am sipping from my prophylaxis against Malaria, the sun sets. Life is bright in the tropics, once again.

i had always dreamed of visiting the Polynesian island of Bora Bora, one of the world’s dream destinations. When I visited Bujumbura in 2016, Burundi’s capital had just muddled through years of civil war. Despite its fine lakeside setting, I felt that it did not belong to the Bora Bora category. At least I could go for a drink to the Bora Bora Beach Club which sits right on the shores of Lake Tanganyika. A Bombay Sapphire infused GT in my hands,  I gaze at the sheer endless lake in front of me, with Burundi in my back, Tanzania to the left and the DRC to the right. The air is hot and humid, the mosquitoes many. I order another GT (helps against Malaria, George Orwell fanously said), just in time before  curfew. Life is hell in the tropics.