Lake Muhazi has a way of stretching itself across districts and moods. It doesn’t announce when you cross from one administrative boundary to another; it simply keeps flowing, calmly, confidently, as if borders were a human invention it never quite agreed with. On this recent tour around the lake, I entered Gatsibo from Kayonza. I made it to Gatsibo late in the evening, with the sun already leaning into its final glow, smearing the horizon with gold and shadow.
Evenings have a different temperament on this side of the lake. The light softens, the road grows quieter, and towns appear not as destinations but as welcoming sojourning places. When Kiramuruzi revealed itself through my helmet’s visor, I knew the road was talking to me. It was time to call it a day. I spent the night there.
Morning came with clarity and purpose. This was the final leg of the tour: Gatsibo toward Gicumbi, following a trail that hugs the lake intimately. That morning’s plan involved a brief stop at Muhazi Flower’s Beach (Gatsibo side)—the quieter sibling to the one I had visited earlier while exploring the Rwamagana shoreline.
There was even a signpost. Somehow, I missed the turn.
How you miss a clearly marked junction remains one of travel’s small mysteries. Maybe I was distracted by the lake. Maybe my thoughts had already wandered ahead. Or maybe this is simply what Lake Muhazi does—it nudges you off course. Either way, by the time I realized it, I was already Rwesero bound.
So I continued.
This side of the lake doesn’t give you much breathing room. The trail stays close—sometimes very close—to the water. Blink at the wrong moment and you might find yourself testing the lake’s temperature. It snakes along patiently, rewarding attentiveness and punishing distraction.
The plan was simple: cross into Gicumbi and have lunch at Muhazi Marina Beach before twisting the throttle to the finish line. A straightforward goal. Except the road had other ideas.
Along this stretch, the lake constantly interrupts your momentum. Every few minutes, it presents a viewpoint so convincing you have no choice but to stop. You pull over, stand still, and let the silence work on you. The water stretches lazily. Hills ripple in the distance. Light dances where it pleases. You take photos, yes—but mostly, you soak up the view.
Between Flower’s Beach and Muhazi Marina Beach, there are no established hotels or recreational facilities—at least none officially open yet. And yet, this absence doesn’t translate to emptiness. On the contrary, the lake feels busy with anticipation. At one point, I stumbled upon a soon-to-be-launched luxury accommodation facility, quietly rising near the shore, as if trying not to draw too much attention to itself just yet.
This has become a familiar pattern around Lake Muhazi.
Construction here doesn’t feel intrusive; it feels inevitable. Resorts, lodges, and retreats are appearing steadily, confidently, as though the lake itself has issued an invitation and investors are responding swiftly. The Muhazi Belt is transforming—and not subtly. If I were to do this same tour a year from now, I have no doubt I’d be astonished by what’s new.
And yet, despite the development, the soul of the lake remains intact. The trail stays narrow. The water stays calm. The moments still demand patience. Progress hasn’t erased the pauses—it has simply joined them.
By the time I finally made my way toward Gicumbi, the missed turn no longer felt like a mistake. It felt like a reminder. Around Lake Muhazi, plans are optional. Detours are not disruptions; they’re invitations.
Gatsibo offered that quietly. No drama. No rush. Just a series of slow discoveries, woven together by water, light, and a road that refused to hurry. And honestly? I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.