Sun 9 Feb 14 (2 Yekatit 2006) to Adama

Sun 9 Feb 14 (2 Yekatit 2006) to Adama We are up at 3:00 AM. At that time of morning the hotel and front gate are locked, and you have to awaken someone to let you out. It's a short tuk-tuk ride to the bus terminal. We arrive at 3:45 AM. As usual, the gates are locked, and a small crowd is collecting outside. A few guys are entering, but we presume that they are drivers, baggage handlers, bus conductors, etc. Finally, at 4:00 AM, the gates open. Our ticket reads: Bus 7116. After a few minutes we find Bus 7116. Carol gets on and Mike takes care of getting the backpacks up on top. It turns out that seats 42 and 41 are not adjacent. They are both window seats in different rows. So Carol sits in 42 and Mike sits in 43. We wait. Another guy who has some other seat sits in 41. The bus fills up. 4:30 comes and goes. Passengers look for their correct seats. Eventually, the conductor/fare collector for this bus gets on and starts checking tickets - you sit there, you move here, you belong there. No one checks Mike's ticket, so someone is still in the wrong seat. Time passes, too much time passes. (Two days later, at our Adama hotel, we sit at breakfast with an Ethiopian/Indian family. We tell the mother that we got to the Dire Dawa bus station at 4:30 AM for our trip. She finishes the sentence: "....and you didn't leave until after 6." And so we did. Finally, just after 6, we pull out of the lot, on our way back to Addis. However, we are planning to get off the bus at the Maya Hotel in Adama (Nazret). Bus 7116 is not a Selam Bus. Indeed. Overhead storage space is scarce. The seats are 3 on the left and 2 on the right, with a narrow aisle in between, now filled with bags. The seats themselves are designed for the rear ends of, say, 140 pound folks. Not people like Mike, who wears pants with a 44 waist. Anyway, as usual, Carol is wedged in the corner, seated over a wheel well. Off we go, back on the same road we came in on. Because we left late, we are leapfrogging with the two Selam Buses (Dire Dawa and Harar). This time around we don't stop for lunch in Hirne, home of the marvelous kikil (see 6 Feb blog). A stop in Hirne, closer to the Harar/ Dire Dawa turnoff, would occur too early in the trip. Today, we are more conscious of the route of the historic railroad tracks, often close enough to the road to be seen from the bus. We pass Awash, with its construction of a new highway bridge (and also a new railroad bridge??) over the Awash River. No movies or music videos on this bus, just the driver's choice of music tapes. Late in the morning, the bus stops to give passengers a chance to pee, and for the bus personnel to retrieve the luggage of those couple of folks who are getting off in the next 30 km. The luggage is tied down with all the other stuff, and it takes 5 minutes or so to untie everything, and retie what is left. Almost everyone gets off the bus to stretch. Our stop is at a flat parking area with several snack sellers. More to the point (especially for female passengers), we are adjacent to a field where all kinds of animals have grazed the foliage down to nubbins. No privacy here - and watch where you step. Carol mananges to get pricked in the back by thorns (guess there are plants that even goats won't eat). Right after our 'lovely' break, the driver pulls into a gas station to refuel, but we can't get off the bus. Lunch break is in the town of Metahara, about 30 km down the road. Today, we are a little slow getting into the cafeteria. We order two bowls of kikil from the menu. So kikil it is, until the waiter comes out and says: NO kikil. At this point, we are at least 10 mins into our 30 min stop. So rather than try to order something that we might get with perhaps 5 mins remaining to eat, we say: forget it. We munch on the peanuts and roasted grain snacks we have carried for most of the trip and the rolls salvaged from last night. We drink our water. This business of going without food is getting a little stale. One nice thing: Carol spots a beautiful little yellow bird with startling ruby eyes in vines surrounding the restaurant. Back on the bus. It is now about 12:30 PM. We are about 2 hours from Adama, which stretches toward 3 hours with the various stops to let people off, and the ongoing traffic congestion of buses and trucks sharing the road. Somewhat after 3 PM, we arrive at Adama. Lonely Planet doesn't even deign to mention Adama/ Nazaret for its readers, even though it is the 3rd largest city in Ethiopia. It is, however, a popular weekend destination for residents of Addis Ababa wanting to leave the hustle and bustle behind and visit volcanic crater lakes. Bradt guide includes a map of the city, but it is not to scale. It shows the location of the Maya Hotel somewhere on the west side of town. This town takes forever to get into and through. Finally, (3:30-3:45 PM?) we see a hotel that is supposed to be located just before Maya. We yell out "Woraj" (This is our stop). We aren't too bad: we are only 100 meters too early. Our luggage comes down off the top of the bus. We pick it up. A local walks with us the 100 meters and shows us the hotel. For this service, he asks for and gets 10 birr. The hotel room is 495 birr ($26 US). It is pretty clean and apparently quiet. The TV seems to work. Ditto the bathroom fixtures (another glass-surround shower). And our room comes with breakfast. We decompress for a while, discussing what we were originally going to do tomorrow. Mike had planned to go on tomorrow to Awasa, a lake town sort of like Bahir Dar, but with a greater possibility of viewing wildlife. This trip would have required another 6 - 7 hours of bus riding. We would then spent 11 Feb in Awasa, and ride for 6 - 7 hours or so on 12 Feb to get to Addis. This arrangement would have left us with only an overnight in Addis before flying home on 13 Feb. Just detailing it was enough to nix it. So we decided to spend 10 Feb in Adama, and go on (3 - 4 hours bus riding) to Addis on 11 Feb. Too bad. We had sort of gotten psyched about seeing a little bit of the less-historic, more Nature-oriented south of Ethiopia and visiting Awasa. Jog your memory. Mike discarded a ripped shirt in Lalibela. If we are to finish our trip with sufficient clean clothing for each day, we need to do a small (but needed) hand laundry today in our room. Mike washes various shirts, undergarments and socks, throwing them over each other atop the shower to dry. Carol decides to take them to the porch to dry - until she faces the curious gaze of the gardeners looking up at the strange farenga. Back into the room. What to do? Time for a little McGyver. We head into the hallway, remove the large open mesh trays from a food cart, and fashion in-room drying racks over the shower and between a desk and chairs. Why do we expend so much blog space on toileting and clean clothing? In the end, these are crucial factors that can make or break an extended trip. After our break, it was time to take our room key and go out looking for a dinner (or more accurately, a very very late breakfast and lunch). The nearby resort hotel restaurant - just down the road - recommended by Bradt turns out to be overpriced and not very compelling, so we walk eastward. We pass a wedding procession of honking cars. A turn down a side street brings us to a less-polished part of town. No multistory buildings here. There are small stores, small butcher shops, hole-in-the-wall eateries. Some patrons invite us into one, but we demur. Another turn brings us parallel to the main street. There is a lively scrum of used clothing hawkers. This is where your old civic association tee shirt or your son's team wear will eventually end up. Our final turn takes us past the bus station. Many vendors of small items - handkerchiefs, tissues, matches, disposable chewing stick toothbrushes cluster around the entrance. We could buy popcorn or grain snacks here, but we need some real food. A half block ahead, we've entered the center of town. We pass "Hooteela Sanshaayin" (sound it out). We pass "Juusii Freeshii Sabir" (Sabir Fresh Juice)." We pass "Hoteela Paalaas" and a place selling "farnichar" (sound it out). We are SO aceing the Oromo language. We enter a couple of eateries, sit down and read the menu, and then get up. One spot is more of a snack, beer, coffee, and juice place. Nothing tempts us. One restaurant seems to be doing a huge business, with full tables from the front patio to the inside. Its specialty is "kitfo", the raw meat dish beloved by Ethiopians. Not for us. Finally, as it is getting dark, we sit down at another restaurant and order a single serving of tibs ("AND [1] tibs") and 2 teas ("HULET [2] shai"). Maybe it was pure hubris to try to order in anything but English. The waiter comes with a double order of tibs and pours it onto our injera before we can protest. We are too hungry to stop him. We work on all the food and polish it down somehow. However, no tea is ever served. Here in the middle of the city we still must be careful to avoid the big ditches on the side of the road, which appear to become small drainage rivers in rainy season, but are now just garbage dump ditches. It is now close to 7:30 PM and getting cool. We walk back to the hotel. A female beggar with a little baby inspires Carol to turn back with some change; something more pathetic about her than the dozens of street dwellers we pass daily. Lots of pedestrians. Mike gets hit on the left shoulder by a tall guy. "Yikerta (excuse me)," he says. A while later he gets hit on the left shoulder, again by this same guy. "Yikerta," he says again. At the same time, Mike may have also gotten hit on the right shoulder. Back to the hotel, Mike does not have the hotel key in his left front pocket. A call to the maids, and one of them lets us in to the room. We watch TV for a while, and then to bed. Has our travel mojo finally evaporated?

Sat 8 Feb 2014 (1 Yekatit 2006) Dire Dawa

Sat 8 Feb 2014 (1 Yekatit 2006) Dire Dawa A poem: Thirty days the month of Tir For Ethiopians far and near. Thirty, too, in Yekatit: Goodness, what could be more neat? Megabit, Miyaza, Ginbot, Sene, Hamle, Nehase (but not Pagume) Then Meskerem, Tikemet, Hidar, Tahesa: Thirty, near and far. Poor Pagume! It's a filler: Less than a week. Never a thriller. Ethiopia has its own ancient calendar. The Ethiopian Calendar, also called the Ge'ez calendar, has 13 months, 12 of 30 days each and an intercalary month at the end of the year. Pagume has 5 or 6 days depending whether the year is a leap year or not. (Humor us on the Ethiopian calendar references. Thursday, the day we leave, is a special day.) Today we are really slow getting going. We luxuriate in a nice shower and watch some TV. We relax with a good hotel breakfast (Ethiopian eats [even tibs and gomen], Western goodies), served in a busy, stylish dining room. Afterward, we walk down a block to Hotel Blossom and ascertain that they have a room for us tonight (maybe arriving without those backpacks seals the deal). They will accept Mike's credit card in payment. This is helpful because we haven't been able to get any ATMs to accept any of our credit cards. There is a risk that we will run out of cash before the end of the trip (we took only $2000 US for a 27 day trip). We go back to the Ras and use their computer until we have to check out. At 11 AM we say good by to our spiffy Ras room, walk over to Hotel Blossom, and check in. All in all, Blossom is still an expensive hotel in comparison to the ones we have been staying at, but a whole lot cheaper than the Ras Hotel. How can you go wrong at a hotel whose posted motto is, "Where Comfort be True"? In our Blossom room, we have Barbie-cute pink-and-cream porcelain fixtures and a freestanding bidet. There's another glass shower stall. No coffee/tea maker. Good TV (nice to be able an international perspective on last night's Sochi Olympics open ceremony). We have two things we want to accomplish today: (1) visit the Kafira Market; (2) buy tickets on the regular bus to Addis Ababa. A note on the bus tickets: yesterday we had determined that there was no way to get back toward Addis in reasonable time on comfortable transportation - airplane or Selam or Sky Bus. That does not mean that we were unable to get back, only that we were forced into the regular (uncomfortable) buses, which are half the price of the deluxe Selam or Sky buses. More on this later. Dire Dawa has a number of markets, including a market for the purchase of chat, the leaf that folks chew for its a mild sedative effect. The largest of the Dire Dawa markets is the Kafira Market, so we head out and hop on a tuktuk to take a ride to Kafira. There is a "river" running through Dire Dawa. We put the word river in quotation marks because in the dry season there is no water in the Dechatu River - it is more like a sewer/garbage dump. Anyway, to get to the market, you cross the "river" and keep going. We leave the mix of new/old structures that has dominated our Dire Dawa so far: Kezira, the so-called "new" town. We cross a bridge into Megala: old Dire Dawa. Buildings in this part of town run to no more than 2-3 stories, with external walls mostly painted in pastel colors. And there are LOTS of bars. Feels a bit 30s or 40s, a bit rough-edged. Eventually, we are at the market. It sounds like we went a long way, but it was really only about 2 - 2.5 km (1.2 - 1.5 miles). At first, the Kafira Market looks really promising. We see some women with beaded necklaces, with different hairstyles and colorful patterned clothing. Beyond another section of the "river", oxcarts are approaching. Even a camel or two. Both wood and charcoal are for sale, by lots large and small. We head into the fray of the market. Yes: there are some interesting-looking cooking devices and grills (a Big Green Enqulal [Egg], maybe?). One or two people selling a Jebena (clay coffee pot), Gebeta (decorated platter), Mesob (woven hourglass-shaped straw basket on which food is served) or Shakla Dist (traditional clay pot) - all bulky/heavy objects, not backpacker souvenirs. What this market has in abundance: piles of produce, vendors seated on the ground with no walking space between them, and F-L-I-E-S. A little too much authenticity. We walk around gamely for a while. Where are the clothing and craft merchants Carol seeks? So out from the Kafira Market. We walk down the street the tuktuk took, taking a few diversions to side streets. We spot furniture makers and sidewalk tailors, but no interesting shops or inviting eateries. The day warms up. It's more humid, too. By the time we reach the "river" bridge, we're tuckered out. Mike insists that we stop a small restaurant, even if just for a Coke(nothing else tempts us). Coke in hand, we pause at a little plaza across from the restaurant to get our bearings. Surprise: there are people selling leafy bunches of chat; other folks are chewing or sprawling nearby. Welcome to an outpost of the Chattara Market. Carol realizes that we were offered a few sprigs of chat as a gift on two occasions in Harar. We walk across the bridge. Below us are trash pickers and others taking advantage of the small flow of water. There are birds appropriate for each task. High on the banks, we see the top of the Old Palace. We had walked by the Old Palace the day before, but it is guarded by many soldiers and has a high fence - not real tourist friendly. We wander through downtown looking for a place to eat lunch. We pass a couple of eateries, but nothing inspires us. The guidebooks are short on suggestions. Finally, we settle on a good old juice place. Juice for lunch it is. The one recommended is just down the road a bit. We are tired and not in the mood for more wandering, so we hop a tuktuk, and . . . we are across the street from Hotel Blossom. We order two juices and sit for several hours working on the blog notes. Sitting in a cool shady garden full of flowering greenery and twittering birds, sipping on avocado juice, soothes the weary soul. The garden, empty when we arrived, gradually fills with locals who know the best thing to do on a lazy afternoon. Finally, it is getting toward late afternoon: time to purchase those bus tickets. We walk toward where the bus station ought to be, according to Lonely Planet. Turn a few corners, backtrack a bit, ask a question or two, and finally, we reach the bus station. The ticket office is way in the back. The tickets to Adama, which is as far as we want to go tomorrow, are sold out (they would have cost 130 birr apiece ($6.90)). But there are still some tickets to Addis available (these are 161 birr apiece ($8.50)). So two Addis tickets it is - seats 41 and 42. Not quite all the way in the back, but pretty far back. And our way out of this part of Ethiopia. Then the surprising news: Be at the station BEFORE 4:00 AM!! The bus LEAVES at 4:30 AM!!! Missions accomplished, we find an internet place for some typing. When we are finished it's already the dinner hour. Mike is not feeling 100%. We go back to the Samrat restaurant and order just two soups and the kim chee salad. Tonight, we are not high rollers or expense account patrons like others around us. As we wait for our food to be served, Mike suddenly feels even worse. We cancel the salad order and just eat the soups. Rather, Carol eats the soups, and Mike mostly drinks the tea and the water. One of the soups, minestrone, was OK, but the other, Chinese chicken and corn, was spectacular - better than any Chinese restaurant we've ever visited. Carol says that it is too bad that we didn't just get two chicken and corn soups. We pocket the dinner rolls, pay, and head off. Back to the Blossom for a final packing and an early 3:00 AM alarm to wake up. Thumbs up for Dire Dawa? Thumbs down? It came into existence in 1902 only because it was a less costly and arduous lowland locus for the Addis-Djibouti railway than hilly Harar would be. As an intentional urban area designed by actual city planners, Dire Dawa has wide tree-lined streets with sidewalks. It's more logical and clean (mostly) than Addis. Bradt guide's author was so negative about the town in a previous edition ("hot, sweaty and charmless") that a section entitled "In defense of Dire Dawa" was added to the 6th edition. Lonely Planet gives it lukewarm praise: "a more vibrant form of tedium". A motto for Dire Dawa: Not Memorable - Not Chaotic. Good enough as our trip draws to a close.

Tues, 21 Jan 2014 (13 Tir 2006) Bahir Dar

Tues, 21 Jan 2014 (13 Tir 2006) Bahir Dar We have just gotten off the bus in Bahir Dar, a city of about 65,000 situated on the south shore of Lake Tana, the headwaters of the Blue Nile. We need to orient to where we are in Bahir Dar. Several people offer opinions, but we trust the occupant of a nearby internet-and-coffee cafe more. There we find a Brit who started his around-the-world journey biking from London through Turkey. He is now bicycling through Africa, from Cairo to South Africa (see www.thirstycyclist.com). His trip is being sponsored by individuals in aid of two causes: (Wateraid, which helps the poorest countries to have access to clean water and sanitation, and Streetchild of Sierra Leone). He tells us that he is staying at the Bahir Dar, a backpackers' level place just around the corner. The Bahir Dar had also been recommended by an Ethiopian acquaintance now in Atlanta. So we went there and registered for one night at 130 birr ($7 US). The room itself was ugly and rather basic, but it was a roof over our heads. We then went to the the Ethio Star, about 3 blocks away, to scope out a room for the following night. Their rooms were 400 birr ($21 US), and spectacularly better. Well, we are on vacation, not doing penance. The upshot: we booked a room at Ethio Star for tonight. We then returned the room key to the Bahir Dar, asking for a partial refund, but getting none. Carol says: Marry in haste, repent at leisure. Because the town of Bahir Dar is lower than most of the Ethiopian highland, and is on a large lake, it has mosquitoes. Mosquitoes carry malaria, so hotel beds come with treated bed nets. Both rooms we paid for had bed nets. After settling into our new room, we started making inquiries as to a boat ride on Lake Tana for the next morning. We talked to a guide associated with Ethio Star, and another who was at another hotel a half block away. We did not make a final decision until next morning. We hit the internet. Afterward, we ate dinner at the busy traditional restaurant associated with the hotel, which attracted many folks from the community. Back in our room, we watched a bit of CNN and BBC (ah, the pleasures of in-room television!), Mike did 4 days of wash, and we went to bed.

Fri 7 Feb 2014 (30 Tir 2006) Harar, Dire Dawa

Fri 7 Feb 2014 (30 Tir 2006) Harar, Dire Dawa Up at sunrise. We have access to only one of the two external bathrooms because our French visitors have grabbed the one with the tub and locked it off. The shower itself was fine, but ducking between rooms was a bit unnerving. Our wash is dry enough to get packed away. We strip our beds and gather up our belongings. Eventually, we go in for breakfast at about 7:30 AM. This is the high point of the stay, because we get to see the main quarters of the house in all its splendor (shoes off, of course). One of the French women looks Carol in the eye and says, "There's only enough for four." The proprietress indicates that the meal for us will be ready soon, so we sit on a smaller platform in alcove of the large room. Carol makes an effort to connect with the French tourists by talking about her 1970 Tour de France experience and the upcoming Olympics. We talked a bit about "le doping" and had a few laughs when Carol called Lance Armstrong "un gran tricheur," (big cheat), but it was clear that they felt that we were encroaching on their space. Our breakfast was served in lovely Harari style: eggs, a local version of fetira, honey, and fresh-brewed coffee. We are ready to go exploring at 8:30 AM. Mike wants to pay the woman the 65 birr we owe for washing the clothes; he has only a 100 birr bill, and she has no change. We ask one of the Frenchmen if he has change. He responds that they have changed no euros into birr (all their local arrangements for the entirety of the trip, soup to nuts, presumably have been made by a guide/ tour company). MIKE'S MONEY RANT "We haven't changed our euros into local currency" Astonishing (but we have seen it before in other countries)! 1 euro is approximately 26 birr. So much of what we purchased in Ethiopia (and enjoyed) costs less than 1 euro: a ride on a minibus = 2 or 3 birr, 4 bananas = 6 or 7 birr, a macchiato = 8 - 10 birr, a glass of avocado juice = 13 - 16 birr, a plate of fuul = 15 birr, a coffee = 5 birr usually, etc, etc. How can you possibly be in touch with the real Ethiopia if you never handle Ethiopian money? How can you possibly appreciate the country if you never buy anything? The corollary is that you have no understanding of what you are seeing: people leave a 50 euro coin for a beggar - that is 13 birr (the price of a coffee and pastry breakfast). Rest assured: we are not denigrating munificent charity, but the locals are giving 1 birr or less. Anyway, we are off to see the walled city in the freshness of the morning. Up to the main square, where we get another look at the Medhanealem Orthodox Church. Harar old city is nearly all Muslim, but not completely: along with the 82 mosques, there is one orthodox church and one catholic church. Some of the commercial establishments have delightful hand painted signs illustrating what is for sale within. We see a gey-gey (horse drawn carriage) with passengers. Down the main road to the east a short way is the Harar National Museum. We pay the small admission, and go into a competent two-room museum with old jewelry, coins, weapons, clothing, cookware, and historic lists. One that catches our eyes is a listing of the succession of the 72 kings of the independent city of Harar: the first from 969 CE and the last ending in 1887 CE. There must be some interesting stories here in Harar, rivaling what we learned in Gondar: king 32 served from 1488 - 1518; kings 33, 34, and 35 all served 1519-1519; king 36 served 1519-1526; king 37 served 1518 - 157 [1527?]; kings 38 and 39 both served 1527-1543. But no one is around to tell the story. In the museum we also find a house by house model of the old city. The docent tells us that a detailed paper map exists, and copies are for sale, but they don't have a copy to sell us. Maybe there is one for sale across the street at the government building. We go across the street - no map. Try at the Rimbaud House. The Rimbaud House is maybe 100 meters away - a right, a right, first right at the alley, and then a left. This part of town is a maze! We walk along; a woman comes out of her house, points us in the right direction, and then asks us for 3 birr for the service in giving directions. We are now at the Arthur Rimbaud Center. Rimbaud was a Frenchman who decided that Europe was not for him, and he headed off for more exotic climes. After touring much of the Middle East, he ended up in Harar. Here he wrote poetry, became a merchant, and soaked in the atmosphere. At the age of 36, he contracted a disease that that prompted his arduous trip back to Europe, where he died not long thereafter. Arthur Rimbaud may have stayed here (or at the earlier version of the house which was at this site) or maybe not, since the house apparently was not built until after his death. He was more celebrated in death, and is now celebrated in this center, which has become a museum to his life. Hands down, this is the best-curated museum we've seen so far. And imaginative: broadsheets and facsimile copies in multiple languages cover the walls to give a hint at the scope of his literary work. There are also fascinating photos of Old Harar on display. At the gift shop, we buy some postcards, and miracle of miracles, a copy of the coveted city map for 70 birr ($3.65). This map shows the old city at a scale of 1:2000 and the rest of the city on the other side at a scale of 1:10000. A scale of 1:2000 is sufficient to show the exact outlines of each house and the exact widths of each alley. Mike is in heaven with his new map. We take pictures of the interior of this beautiful house, and of the views from the upper floors. We exit going toward the main market (southeast of the main square). We were here yesterday. We even encounter the young man who brought us to Rowda, looking for his next guide opportunity and still hoping that we will engage his services. The map indicates some intriguing possibilities: the Butter Market, the Injera Market, the Shariah Court. We see a bit more of the meat market we passed yesterday. In a fine old building, stalls with hanging carcasses face the street. An old fashioned hand meat grinder sits on the portico. And up on the roof, several larger birds with big curved beaks glare down. We leave the square on a different alley. Soon we are at Shulum Ahmad Grave, and the east gate (Argob Gate). Some women have set up their vending adjacent to the grave, and basically hidden it. We walk out the gate, and are in the east city. After noting the changes between Jugal and new development, we decide not to explore further but to go back into the old city. At the gate we see a toddler pulling a string toy made of two cigarette packs, with bottle cap wheels. This toy was clever enough to deserve a place in the Ethnographic Museum. We go back toward the main square, but this time turn right and follow the alleys that most closely track the north wall of the old city. The map shows us that in this small sector there are 10 mosques, but none are marked. From the appearance on the map, these mosques look to be side rooms on someone's house. With this map, we could find (and check off) each mosque, but we are uninterested. Some other time. Repeatedly, we see a curious construction in the alleyway buildings: gated windows with steps underneath. We finally realize that these mark small shops. When the gates are open, one can climb the several steps, hand over money, and get a bottle of water, or a loaf of fresh bread or toiletries, or whatever is being sold. Little shops of Harar (rim shot, please). We get to the north gate, and back to the main square. We look at the map. We have not seen the little bit of northwest, and we have not seen the gate to the south. South it is, down and down the various alleys, and finally, the south gate. Outside this gate is pleasant countryside. So back in, and back up. We pass a man taking charcoal from a 40 kg burlap bag, and repacking it in 2 kg packages for quick sale. It is getting warmer, and our walk now is all uphill. We pause to catch our breaths at some steep steps and fall into conversation with a friendly man sitting outside with members of his extended family. Turns out that he has family in Atlanta - Clarkston, to be exact. He asks us earnestly if we know how he can get a visa to come to America. He is one of 10 siblings; we talk about how expectations of the right size for a family have changed over the years. An interlude that leaves us smiling. A few turns on unfamiliar alleys and we are back to the hotel. We pay the 65 (we have change now), load up our backpacks, and walk to the southwest gate. Just outside the gate is the bus station, and a minibus to Dire Dawa. It is now about 11:45 AM. A complicated negotiation ensues, the result of which is that Carol and Mike are in the back seats at 20 birr each, and the bags are on the top for 10 birr total (20, 20, and 10). Mike gives the conductor the 50 birr note, and relaxes only when it is accepted. Eventually, 5 people are wedged into the back seat, with Carol squeezed in sideways at the window. Historically, Harar was the hill city, and Dire Dawa was the valley city. When the railroad came through from Djibouti to Addis, it went through Dire Dawa, not Harar. When the airport was built, it was in Dire Dawa, not Harar. The modern city Dire Dawa is now the second largest city in Ethiopia. We are off for the one hour ride through the hills, and then down to Dire Dawa. Anyway, from settlement, to countryside, to the turnoff we passed going to Harar, to a developed industrial area, we are finally at the drop off point in Dire Dawa. We are also near the hotel we have picked out. There is a scrum of Tuktuk drivers and lots of other folks, grabbing at our bags, calling for attention, negotiating, etc., as we try to take off the Osprey covers and get moving. Finally, we have the Ospreys off and the bags ready to put on our backs, when Mike reaches into his left pocket, and finds . . . no wallet. One of these fine folks clearly has the wallet, and the 800 or so birr inside ($42 or so). In line with previous advice, there is nothing else valuable inside - a MARTA card, an insurance card, a student ID, a bar card, and some business cards. The driver's license is in Atlanta, the credit cards, passport, and the real money is in the belly belt. Still it feels like a real loss. We have been to 32 or so countries all over the world, and this is the first successful pickpocketing. We start walking. About 2 blocks away is our chosen hotel, the Hotel Blossom. Sorry, all full (Carol wonders if our distraught demeanor and exhaustion makes the desk clerk decide against us). A block away, across the busy traffic circle, is the Ras Hotel. Sorry, only one room left - a fancy one for 1200 birr ($63). A block away is the Samrat Hotel. They search us and our bags before we can enter the hotel, but again: Sorry, all full. Mike leaves Carol and the bags at the Samrat and walks back to the Ras. They are willing to discount the room to 1000 birr ($52.50) and Mike takes it. Our hotel for the night is quite the step up from the rooms where we have been staying so far. We are in a newly constructed wing with all the bells and whistles. The rooms are new and modern. The shower is enclosed in glass. There is a blower dryer. There is a bidet attachment. They furnish multiple nice towels. A coffee/ tea maker. A TV with more than 3 channels. Complimentary toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, razors and so on. Gratis computers. Even a swank breakfast. We go in and decompress. Finally, it is time to see DD. Carol saw a restaurant advertising a whole roast chicken. So we walk the block, get a whole chicken (80 birr), a Harar beer, and a Sofi beer (non-alcoholic version of the Harar beer). Total is 102 birr ($5.50). The chicken is a REAL chicken, not an American chicken. American chickens are artificial fowls with large amounts of unreal breast, thigh and leg meat. They are creatures unknown in the wild. Ethiopian chickens on the other hand, are scrawny, all bones, and practically no meat. But they are free range, totally organic, and very expensive. So we "dine" on the chicken, and "fill up" on the two rolls that come with the chicken. We go back to the place where the wallet disappeared, explain that there is a reward of 50 birr for the wallet, and 150 birr if the money is still inside. Of course, we hear nothing. It is a little more than a kilometer to the railway station and downtown Dire Dawa. We walk to the Ethiopian Airlines office, and determine that the first airline tickets are available on Tues Feb 11 (we are flying out on the 13th, and don't want to spend the next 4 days here). A few blocks away is the Selam Bus office. They have a bus leaving Harar on Monday Feb 10 and a bus leaving DD Tues Feb 11. Ditto for Sky Bus. So we look into the old railway station, now closed, and walk across the street for a coffee and a chance to contemplate our options. Dire Dawa was established in 1902, as a stop on the new railway. The last train supposedly ran in 2008, but if experience in other countries is a guide, it was probably quite decrepit for many years before it gave up the ghost. The Chinese are rebuilding the railway, to be completed . . . [some unknown date]?? The internet says that service began on 6 Sep 2013 from Djibouti to Dire Dawa three times a week, but a very recent article says: "The increasingly fragile Ethio-Djibouti railway line has temporarily halted the service stretching from Dire Dawa to Djibouti, The Reporter has learnt. According to sources the line has been suspended due to wrangling over workers' salaries and wage payments." It is time to walk back to the hotel. We work a long time on the computer. Finally, it is getting dark. We decide to walk to the restaurant at the Samrat. Great choice. We get two dishes: an appetizer of kim chee salad and lamb Mendi style (Mendi is a town in western Ethiopia.) The salad turns out to be a huge plate of cabbage carrot cole slaw, seasoned with Ethiopian red pepper. The Mendi plate is a large pile of roasted lamb, accompanied by black beans, rice, and a nan-like bread. Two pots of tea, and we are set. It is really much more than we can eat, but we work at it and finish. Back to the hotel, a little more internet, and to bed. Surprise! This beautiful room overlooks the pool and also the restaurant area where the band and singers have cranked up the loudspeakers to what seems to be 130 decibels. Luckily the festivities finish up before 11, and we are finally asleep. What a day.

Thurs 6 Feb 2014 (29 Tir 2006) to Harar

Thurs 6 Feb 2014 (29 Tir 2006) to Harar ANOTHER early morning bus. Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh. We know the routine by now - early showers; no breakfast; travel by taxi in the dark to Meskel Square; clothe the backpacks in their Ospreys, weigh them and see them get loaded beneath the bus; climb into our assigned seats. The Selam Bus gods have smiled upon us: we have seats 1 and 2 (right behind the driver), with fine visibility out the front and side windows. More of the passengers on this trip are wearing Islamic dress than on previous trips. Our driver is a voluble character with a bit of a heavy foot. We speed out of Addis to the south. He is either arguing or having a loud joshing conversation with the other bus personnel. Carol is a little bit concerned about his style. Somewhere south of town, we pick up the secondary driver, a guy wearing a "Texas Tech Mom" tee shirt. We pass Debre Zeit [Bishoftu in Oromo] and (with a jog northeastward) Nazaret [Adama in Oromo], both substantial towns (9th and 3rd largest in Ethiopia, respectively). We are entering Ethiopian wetlands, an area of lower elevation studded with crater lakes and noted for its birdlife. Carol spots a pair of blue herons or storks perched in a tree. Cattle graze near the water and the agriculture is more varied. As the day warms up the driver removes his cap. He is no impetuous youth, but a grizzled driver intent on bringing in his run. Rather endearingly, he waves at young awestruck kids standing on the side of the road (O, to be a long-distance bus driver). At some point he lowers his front blinds; our view is more limited but not cut off. Passengers must be entertained. Most buses play tapes, with the musical selections following the drivers' tastes. Selam and (probably) Sky buses show videotapes: Ethiopian films, mostly Amharic rom-com flicks. Certain popular actors seem to show up again and again, so without understanding the action it becomes hard to separate one plot from another. The stories also favor threesomes: 3 hapless male students looking for love or 3 buddies stumbling across a fortune in drug money and staying one step ahead of the cons and the cops. One of today's films features 3 very middle-class female college students who drive off on an adventure in the tribal areas of southern Ethiopia. Predictably, their car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Each girl runs off in a different direction: one injures her leg, another falls into the clutches of bandits, and the other is found by a face-painted tribesman. In the end, the lost are found, and the last heroine decides to abandon big city life for the bare-chested jungle man she loves. Hey, it passes time on the long drive. As does the Selam bus specialty: a sweet cornbread served up with our bottled water. We are now in Oromo. Ethiopia has a number of regions - a map we saw at a school in Axum shows 8 regions, plus 3 autonomous areas (Addis, Dire Dawa, Harar). It has 85 languages, so languages do not correspond one-to-one with regions. Anyway, we are traveling to each of the autonomous areas, and 4 or 5 of the regions. We were in Amhara (north central), Tigre (far north), Afar (northeast desert), and Oromo (center and south center). The Somali region is to the far east and southeast - we sort of touch it. The other three are in the west and southwest. We aren't going there, and most tourists don't either. For whatever it is worth, most tourists don't go to Somali or Afar either. Anyway, Oromo is really important. It includes something like 35% of the Ethiopian population. It has its own language, Oromifa, which is not really close to Amharic. It has its own liberation movement, the Oromo Liberation Front (Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo). Its "capital" is now in Addis. In the early 2000s the federal government temporarily moved it to Adama, but after protests it was moved back. As you drive through Adama and all of the towns on this part of our trip, each sign is in several languages: Oromifa, English, and Amharic, with Oromifa usually on top. Oromifa, unlike Amharic or Tigrina, is written in Roman script, but with a hitch - accented letters are doubled. So "Hotel," which is "Otel" in Amharic script, is "Hoteela" in Oromifa. It is just different. The numbers are entirely different from Amharic. The word for toilet is entirely different. The word for house in Amharic is "bet," as in "bank bet," "post bet," "shent bet (toilet)," "buna bet (coffee bar). The word for house in Oromifa is "mana" as is "mana bunna," "mana fincaanii (toilet)," etc. The Bradt guide adds, "In theory, the consonants are doubled to denote a stress...while doubled vowels denote that the sound of that vowel should be longer than a single vowel. In practice...one signpost in any given town might read 'hotela', another 'hootteellaa', and others different variants". Have we driven into a new country? Hard to say, but we are seeing fewer women with netela shawls and more with covered hair and veils. About 4 hours into the trip, we are near Awash. Awash National Park is here. It includes the Awash River, which drains along the Rift Valley to the northeast. In the park, there is a (supposedly) very nice set of falls along the Awash River. There is also a 3-4 hour drive through the park, with the possibility of seeing some interesting wildlife (oryx, kudu, dik-dik: the gamut of Scrabble words). We had tried to arrange a park tour through some Addis tour operators, but they wanted to sell us much more than we wanted to buy. So on this day, we look at the park as we ride through, imagining that we might have spent a half day here under better circumstances. Past Awash we turn right, and start climbing out of the Rift Valley onto a long east-west ridge that will eventually lead us into Harar. We start getting views and exposure. We also see something new: areas that have not been denuded of trees. Our bus driver has not made a side-of-the-road stop for passengers so far. About noon, it is time for lunch. We pull into the small town of Hirne. There are several cafeterias by the bus depot. We are now getting savvy. We rush to sit down. We see the waitress serving another table two bowls of goat soup, kikil. We say "we'll have two of those". The soup comes fairly quickly (after all, we know by now not to order things that have preparation time). It is delicious! Some of the best of the whole trip: meaty, full of leg bones with marrow and cuts with cartilage to give the broth body. We eat quickly, dipping injera into the soup. We also order two coffees (the coffee is already prepared, but they foam it on the cappuccino foamer before they serve it) and drink them down. Even with restroom visits, we are back on the bus in plenty of time. GOAT 101: ....Ounce-for-ounce, goat meat has one-third the calories of beef. If you want to compare it to chicken, goat has about 40 to 45 percent of the calories. The fat content in goat is also lower, with about two-and-a-half grams of fat per ounce. That compares very well with beef's almost eight grams and chicken's just-over-six grams. And, in terms of saturated fats, goat has just less than one gram of them, compared to three grams in beef and just-under-two grams in chicken. .... On the bus, someone says we are almost there, but it turns out we have 3 - 3 1/2 hours left of travel. It is pretty travel though, some of the nicest of our trip. Nice ridge views, nice treeline vistas. Our bus has been well-provisioned with water bottles, so we drink freely and don't become as parched as on some previous rides. Eventually, we reach a tee intersection in the road. The Dire Dawa Selam Bus, which has been playing tag with us all day, turns left here, and the Harar Selam Bus, our bus, turns right. A few passengers who couldn't get their tickets on their desired bus switch here, and we are less than 30 km from our destination. Ethiopian schoolchildren (especially girls) wear school uniforms, which may run the gamut from a specially-colored vest or middy top to an entire monotone dress and matching hat. As we approach the more-developed area, we see younger students in magenta and teens in vivid dark blue. A pretty sight. We reach Harar a little after 4 PM. Harar, a Muslim citadel rich in history, (at least as far back as 965 CE) is famous for its old walled city (Jugal), which is approximately only one square kilometer in size. The walled city has 22000 residents and 82 mosques. (There are 17 more just outside the walled city, getting you up to 99, the number of names of Allah in Islam.) It is one of the holiest places in Islam - some of the locals say the fourth holiest, after Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem, but that is probably disputed by anyone outside Ethiopia. We've already picked out a hotel just outside the walled city that is listed in our guidebook. As we are getting off the bus we are met by a young tout. Now invariably we ignore touts, but this young man with good English wants to take us to the Rowda Cultural Guesthouse, one of two traditional Adare houses inside the walled city now welcoming overnight visitors. Both guesthouses are very highly rated by both of our guidebooks. In truth, we would have tried to stay in one on our own, but for the fact that the guesthouses are hard to find and have only 9 rooms between them. So when he says there is a room available tonight at the Rowda, and it is only 350 birr ($19 US) breakfast included, we say: "Lead us on." He places a call on his cell phone to notify the guesthouse. We don our backpacks. This nice guy wants to carry Carol's backpack himself, but she beats him to it. Several blocks further down the street, our guide walks us through a stone gate into the Jugal. He wants to show us a bit of the walled city, but he is also concerned that we might be fatigued by walking with our backpacks. We see some of the main commercial street. Then he leads us down an alleyway with walls painted in varied colors, in which individual properties have solid metal gates for doors. He knocks at one doorway. A woman lets us in. There is a main courtyard surrounded by several closed rooms. The woman lets us in through one wooden door. Within, there is a raised sitting area covered with rugs and pillows. A windowed alcove next to it contains a double bed with mosquito net hanging above. The sitting area is decorated with all kinds of small craft wall hangings. It is totally different from any place we've stayed at so far. We are asked to shed our shoes when in our room. OK. There are 2 bathroom areas off the courtyard to either side of our room. The one to our right has a tub; the one to our left has an open shower; both have a toilet and sink. So we will have to step out to use the facilities. OK. There is a nice-size water tank on one rooftop (reassuring in a town with perennial water supply issues) and the sink has water that is warm enough to promise a good shower. The young man who brought us to the guesthouse wants to serve as our Harar guide tomorrow. We plan to see the sights on our own, but we do want someone to take us out tonight to the hyena feeding site (more on that later). For a fee of 100 birr he will return at 7 PM for our evening jaunt. We do a quick unpacking and strike a deal with the proprietress for several days' worth of Mike's laundry and a few of Carol's items to be washed in the deep outdoor sink and hung to dry in the courtyard. The cost is 65 birr ($3.50 US). We thank her by saying "shukran" [the Arabic word]. She is tickled. It is now 4:45 PM. We head out to the next inner cross street, determined to see as much of Harar as we can in the late afternoon. In Arabic, a kasbah is the citadel of any of various North African cities; a medina is the quarter in which a kasbah is located. We lack the local words to describe this place, where most of the streets are too narrow for motorized vehicles, yet full of right-in-your-face commercial and family life. We try to visit this maze of alleys systematically. There is a main street going east-west, the one we walked in on. There is a main square on this street. We resolve to see the parts south of this street this afternoon, and the rest tomorrow. We start to the southwest. We come out of our hotel and turn to our right, going southwesterly, toward a city gate. Here, there are small shops (including a butcher or two), but also vendors who sit with their baskets in the street. From one, we buy some freshly-fried samosa-like triangle pastries filled with spicy grains and either lentils or chickpeas (yum). We are excited to see a basket full of what seems to be large fresh figs - but they turn out to have a hard shell, like nuts. Mike hears the vendor call them "jilbo" or "dilbo". We buy two. By this time, kids have gathered around us. Seems like the trick is to crack them open with a smart rap with a stack of sugar cane, then scoop out the contents with a finger. The jilbo innards are like dried-up date paste with a great many seeds. Not good eats. Very much an acquired taste. We end up giving most of the open one and all of the unopened one away to the kids. We have walked back (retraced our steps) to the main square. This time we go to the southeast. Here we come upon a number of markets, some butchers, some barbers. Such a mix. We keep going until we see the southeast gate, then retrace our steps back to the main square. From there it is a short walk down this street through a tangle of hidden residences, retracing our steps to a flower design on a side wall - our clue for finding the correct alleyway for Rowda. Our clean wash has been draped over the clotheslines crisscrossing the courtyard. Carol retrieves the clothespins from her pack. Mike's cotton socks and underwear will dry better if they can hang free; Mike's long-sleeve shirts can hang by their buttoned cuffs. At the far side of the courtyard there is a large open doorway with a beautiful carved wood lintel. Carol wants to look within. Turns out that two French couples around our age are sharing this multi-room space with soaring ceilings and much more elaborate wall decorations (and maybe, just maybe, a TV). They are diffident, to say the least. With her rusty French, Carol chats up one of the husbands. Our guide appears at 7 PM. It is now completely dark. Flashlights in hand, we head off to the central square, then down cobbled alleyways new to us. Then out the north Jugal gate into the city at large [we later learn that we are passing both the Islamic and Christian slaughterhouses on route]. Then we arrive at an open field ringed at this hour with small tour buses that have disgorged several dozen tourists [primarily Italian and French], each equipped with elaborate cameras and/or video cameras. Most of the tourists are babbling away loudly and shining their flashlights into the field. Sheeeeeesh. We think: "if I were a hyena, would I avoid this scene?" A little background: The origin of feeding the Harar hyenas dates back to the great famine of the late 19th Century. According to legend, the hyenas were fed by the inhabitants of Harar to appease the animals in good times, so that in times of drought they would not attack people or livestock. Truth is, feeding the slaughterhouse wastes to available nocturnal animals present outside the safety of city gates may have made a good deal of ecological sense. Today, the hyena men of Harar make a living by feeding wild hyenas after dark for the amusement of tourists and curious locals. A "hyena man" will call out to the hyenas to come forward, making sounds in a combination of his own "hyena dialect" and the local language of Afaan Oromo. Being a realist, he also lobs a few pieces of meat into the darkness. Eventually, a hyena will come from beyond the fields. Slowly, almost obediently, more of them will follow and emerge from the darkness. The hyena man will then place pieces of raw meat on a stick and hold it at arm's length (or even by his own teeth). If all goes according to script, hyenas will advance toward him and snatch the proffered food before scuttling back a few feet. PS: Hyenas don't resemble Shenzi, Bansai and Ed of "The Lion King", the henchmen of Scar. They look like overgrown tawny spotted canines with BIG teeth, and move like bears. No Westminster winners in this bunch. Wonder of wonders - our Swiss friend from Lalibela is in the crowd. She is staying at a different cultural guesthouse. Her flights were fine, but her luggage arrived in Harar two days late (maybe it went to Cairo, maybe to ...). Worst of all, her money was in her luggage, so she has had little to eat. Her guesthouse has been supportive as she awaited her clothing and belongings. She sports a traditional scarf - a gift from the staff at Seven Olives (momentary pang of jealousy). We see a total of 6 hyenas. It takes a lot of coaxing to keep them on display: they prefer to grab and retreat. They also don't seem to be very hungry. We wouldn't be hungry with these paparazzi tourists recording (and narrating) our every move, either. One Italian guy with serious machismo issues elbows his way onto the scene. He is determined to star in a feeding-the-hyenas YouTube video. He gets his millisecond of fame; another tourist tries but fails to attract a nibble. After a while, it is time for the tour vans to depart and for us to walk back to Rowda. The fee for watching all of this is 50 birr ($2.60) per person, payable to someone our guide points out. Our guide is still hopeful that we will hire him for tomorrow (and he IS quite knowledgeable and competent) but Mike holds firm. We have hardly eaten today - no breakfast, no dinner and only lunchtime soup and assorted nibbles. Our guide wants to take us out into the city to a restaurant to get a formal dinner. But we are too tired. So Mike gives one of the samosa vendors 10 birr (52 cents), buys 6 samosas, and we split them for whatever will pass for dinner. Back at the guesthouse, it is time for bed. We sort through our belongings and back ourselves into the bed alcove, flashlights still in hand. Under the covers and to sleep. For Carol, this includes settling inside the mosquito netting [following his Bahir Dar incident, Mike is still leery of treated netting]. But we HAVE drunk a good deal of water. During the night, Carol awakens 5 or 6 times, Mike 1 or two. Each time she passes through the courtyard, Carol readjusts our still-drying laundry. And so passes the night.

Wed 5 Feb 2014 (28 Tir 2006) Addis Ababa

Wed 5 Feb 2014 (28 Tir 2006) Addis Ababa We had a slow start. No place to hustle to on our hang-day in Addis. Finally, we got up, showered and dressed, and headed out for our morning pastries at Kyzianis. Mike wanted to revisit the Merkato. We walked through, up and down many streets, but found very little of interest. We didn't need steel wool by the foot, nor electrical wiring. The key enticements for us - animals, clothing, jewelry - were always on some other street, in some other section of this sprawling market. The charming scallywag of our first days in Addis, who "adopted" us and took us around the market alleyways in exchange for a fee (and probably merchant kickback) was actually spot-on for directing us toward what we wanted at the Merkato. Finally, we found the Merkato Anbessa bus terminal. Mike resolved to take a bus somewhere. What the hey! It was about 10:30 AM or so, and the 39 bus was leaving. We hopped on and off we went. Traffic, traffic, traffic. Driving was slow as molasses to leave the Merkato. Slower going through Piassa. Slower still passing through Arat Kilo. Finally we were at an area of town called Kazanchis. Traffic just congealed. It was now 11:45 and we had barely moved for a half hour. In the median of the road, barely a foot wide, there were men lying in either sleep or stupor. And the diesel fumes were overwhelming. Not good. Carol was ready to blow a gasket when she realized that we were retracing the SAME ROUTE we took to get to Gerji to visit with Dr. Pollock. We got out at the next stop (Jomo Kenyatta & Ghana Rd). We walked back 1/2 km or so. Finally, we were in an area of nice cafes and nice hotels. We stopped at Dallas Bakery Café, and ordered two juices and a pasta with vegetables. Mike walked a couple doors down and purchased a 2-liter water, which we used to refill our smaller bottles. Pastries and caffine alone are never a good start to a day. Food and water did the trick. Thus refreshed, we started out the afternoon to do something different. We walked past some of the $200+ per night hotels in Addis. Some large modern buildings function as shopping malls; it isn't unusual for supermarkets to be located on upper floors. One swish building in an area under construction had imposing "maybe-marble" stairs leading to the entrance. Two unfortunate workers had the unenviable job of mopping and re-mopping the stairway each time a visitor inevitably tracked in dust and dirt. Carol was ready to take charge of the rest of the day. We caught a few minibuses to Addis Ababa University, north of 6 Kilo. Here we walked into the impressive campus, and entered the Ethnographic Museum, located in the original palace of Emperor Haile Selassie I. We viewed his bedroom and bath - pure Better Homes and Gardens style [with royal robes, of course]. The Ethnographic Museum houses a collection depicting the cultural makeup of Ethiopia's different areas and peoples. There were clever exhibits showing life from birth to death across different ethnic groups. The sections covering childhood and play featured storyboards with various animal fables, child-created toys made from scraps, and - what else? - a foosball table. There were exhibits depicting Orthodox Christian, Muslim, Jewish and animist Ethiopia. A very nice gift shop, too [somewhat expensive]. It is 2:15 PM. We catch a 17 bus back to the hotel, and post on the internet. We need to purchase a ticket on the Selam Bus the next morning to Harar. We phone the Selam Bus office - they have tickets available, but they close at 5 PM. We rush, and get on a minibus to Meskel Square. When it turns toward Mexico Square, we swear at the folks who confused Mexico and Meskel, hop out, grab a taxi for 50 birr to the Selam Bus offices, and buy our tickets, with some time to spare. In the office we find two older Frenchmen. They have 3 days left in Ethiopia, but no way to get anywhere interesting in that time. Think of our journey so far: one day to head somewhere plus another whole day for the next leg of the trip. They are complaining mightily, but we have no good advice for them. As we walk toward the place to wait for minibuses and buses back to Piassa, we pass by and go into a "supermarket." This one has soy sauce and peanut butter, much more reasonable in price than our first "supermarket." How about 61 birr ($4.20 US) for 1 kg (2.2 lbs) of PB? We wait for a minibus back to Piassa, totally unsuccessfully. The minibuses coming by are either full, or they let off a few passengers, and someone much faster than us scrambles to the open door and gets the seat. Finally a full-size bus that we thought might be only for company workers or some other dedicated customers comes by. A fellow traveler gets us on the bus and even pays for our tickets. Hurrah, we are eventually back in Piassa. Our experience waiting and waiting for a bus or minibus to have space is unfortunately very typical for Addis. We talk to many people whose commute sometimes takes more than an hour because vehicles are so crowded and so undependable. There is a Toastmasters meeting that evening in the Wabe Shabelle Hotel, near Mexico Square, that Carol wishes to attend. The meeting starts at 6:30 PM. We have been trying the listed phone number all day to confirm the meeting, without success. The Aussie lady is about to catch a taxi to attend a 6:00 PM free international jazz concert at the Alliance Française, the opening program of the Acacia Festival. We're tempted for a moment, but only a moment. So at 5:30 we go out to catch a minibus to Mexico Square. We get out of the bus 50 meters short of the hotel. Suddenly it is RAINING HARD. There are rivers of water in the street. We wait out crossing the street to the hotel in order for the last few meters of pavement to get dry enough to walk. [What is this country like in really rainy season?!?] We are inside the hotel at 6:10 PM. The meeting is assembling. They welcome Carol warmly. Mike waits on a couch near the hotel restaurant. The french fries plate beckons, but a real dinner will be later. At 7:15 PM Carol comes out. The meeting will be going on until 8:30 PM, but she has made her appearance. Carol sits in the very back row. The speakers are hard to hear, but she caught the flavor of the club. The club president wanted her to stay to speak briefly about the similarities and differences between this club and her home club, but Mike [and dinner] awaited. We find a minibus back to Piassa in the darkness. Piassa feels different at night - full of young people seeking a good time. Establishments have bright lights; music issues from inside venues. The familiar streets are now somewhat edgy. A man is sprawled on the Cunningham St. curb, lying half into the street. Nobody gives him a second thought. Minibuses pull in next to him; pedestrians walk by. We eat at KG, ordering the Hot and Sour Fish Soup and Fish Goulash. Service was VERY slow. The yummy fish soup was neither hot nor sour, more like a New England chowder with a kick. We had another early morning bus departure next day, and so to bed.

Tue 4 Feb 2014 (27 Tir 2006) to Addis Ababa

Tue 4 Feb 2014 (27 Tir 2006) to Addis Ababa Enough of intercity busses for now. The slog from Lalibela to Addis Ababa is 2 days, and will not add to our scenic memory. Today is flight day for us. The airport is 23 km from town, a 70 birr minibus ride that takes 25-30 minutes. We have asked for a minibus to be at the hotel. Peter has asked for his own bus to be at the hotel and invited us along. We are packed and out on the streets at 6:30 AM looking for breakfast. Carol is walking gingerly, hoping her hip will warm up. Everything is quiet. Nothing is open. We see people sleeping in the street. We wander in on the BluLal restaurant. They are cleaning up from the night before. They have cartons and cartons of empty beer bottles, but no breakfast. We see boys carrying large baskets and bowls of bread from within the neighborhoods. They are making the restaurant deliveries. Each establishment gets its allotted share of rolls. Finally, our neighborhood coffee/fuul house opens. At this hour, they have bread and the "donuts" we saw previously. We order two "donuts" and two coffees. Alas: the "donuts" are just ordinary baked/fried bread which no special flavor or sweetness. Rest easy, Krispy Kreme. We are back at the hotel at 7:45. Peter is there and his bus is there, ready to go. We run to the room, grab our bags and Osprey backpack covers, return the room key, and go quickly to the bus. We are on, but Mike suddenly can't find the lock to his Osprey. He retraces his steps. No lock/no luck. Off we go. We are have a 10:40 AM 40 minute flight. Ethiopian Airlines absurdly requests that we be at the airport 2 hours early for this domestic trip. There is no reason for this. Lalibela Airport handles maybe 4 flights a day. We could get there 20 minutes before and be accommodated. Still, the bus is here, and off we go. The Swiss lady is not on our bus, but she is only 15 minutes behind us. We passengers advance through security. Our RFID-protected passport sleeves cause some burps, and Mike has to take off his watch to satisfy the metal detectors. There are several souvenir and tchotchke shops in the waiting area. Chinese tourists waiting for the Axum and the Addis planes stock up on tee shirts and you-name-it. One even wants to buy a carved stool. All-too-soon, we enter a sterile pre-flight room. No TV, no music, no food and (why? why?) nothing to buy during our 1 hour plus pre-boarding wait. Ethiopian surprise! We have assigned seats on our intercity buses. Our flight tickets say 14A, 14B. We get on the plane and it is "open seating." Carol and Mike end up in different rows. Carol sits next to a silent man who busies himself with an in-flight magazine. Mike sits next to a French geologist who is tracking the movements of the Rift Valley. This is a very large international effort, involving placing very sophisticated expensive tracking instruments throughout the Rift Valley, and hiring local Afar people to make sure the equipment doesn't get damaged by weather, critters or humans(he says the standard rate is 300-500 birr a month just to guard one instrument). He adds that these measurements will tell us whether the Ethiopian Rift Valley will be like the Red Sea in 10 million or 50 million years. Mike tells him that he was in Adipazari, Turkey, 19 days before the 1999 huge earthquake. The Frenchman says that the next earthquake in that series will be to the west of Adipazari and will be much bigger. This means that Istanbul could be the center of an 8+ Richter scale earthquake in the near future. The geologist points out that many of the travel expenses for which he needs reimbursement are dated according to the Ethiopian calendar: "2006." He is constantly explaining at work that his receipts are not 7 years old. Mike, Carol, Peter, and the Swiss lady land. She is flying on to Harar, and so has a 4 hour layover in the Addis airport. The three of us collect our luggage and proceed to find a taxi to Piassa. Arriving passengers are like fish in a barrel for airport taxi drivers. Much bargaining takes place to get the fare to 210 birr (divisible by 3, which the driver-requested 230 birr was not). Finally, one driver accedes, and we are off. We are again staying at Taitu Hotel. We arrive about 1-ish and are given an old historic room in the main building, on the second floor, for $32 a night. This room has 12-foot ceilings. It also has character out the wazoo, with huge wooden furniture and a dated bathroom the size of our previous digs. We settle in and eat the vegan buffet (65 birr) at the hotel restaurant. That afternoon we spend a good deal of time on the internet, together and separately. While Mike inputs drafts down the street, Carol doubles back to Taitu and spends some time on the terrace speaking with two older female tourists from Australia and Belgium. The Aussie woman must have been quite a hellion in her younger days, acquiring travel companions to visit places solo women couldn't easily access. The Belgian reports that she also experienced headache and fatigue in Gonder, even without having traveled to the even higher altitudes of the Simien mountains. It's nice to find peers who are still active and on the go. During computer breaks, Mike spends some more time talking to Peter, who is staying at Baro Hotel the next street over. Peter, like most of the Piassa backpacker tourists, comes to the Taitu restaurant and garden terrace to relax. Peter related his passport story. As a young man, he followed the Magic Bus/hippie path to India. There, he eventually ran out of money. He attached himself to a Buddhist temple, where he was fed and given a place to sleep. Eventually, Peter found his worldly possessions unnecessary, etc, etc. One day he burned his passport for warmth. Such enlightenment. Several years later, Peter was ready to return to Europe, so he reported his passport stolen, got a replacement passport, crossed a few borders to get some stamps in the passport, and with some companions made his way overland back to Europe. Now Peter is an antiquarian book seller in Frankfurt. Carol's conclusion - a most charming fabulist and a most diverting storyteller. The Lalibela-bound young woman tourist we meet at the bus depot in Gashena was also in the Taitu garden. Paths overlap on the backpacker circuit. She and Peter are both interested in visiting Arba Minch. Details to follow, perhaps. For dinner in Addis, Mike and Carol return to KG Corner next door to Taitu. And to bed. Curiosities: Women's hair is one of the glories of "habesha" (Abyssinian) beauty. In the Tigrai, we have seen some interesting styles. One involves cornrows straight back to just over the top of the head, with hair then loose behind. What makes this interesting is a wispy-thin tight braid that is drawn from both sides to meet in the middle of the forehead, where it is joined by a similar itsy-bitsy braid from the front of the scalp. Hard to explain, but really neat. Other women have a somewhat bouffant pouf of hair on the top and sides. Many (older) Christian women have faint blue cross tattoos on their foreheads and faces. Of course, all of this is frequently covered by the netela shawl or a Islamic scarf.

Mon 3 Feb 2014 (26 Tir 2006) Lalibela

Mon 3 Feb 2014 (26 Tir 2006) Lalibela We are up and out on the town at 7:45 AM: 8 is when most businesses open. Mike wants to try what one cafe calls the "full breakfast." We go to John Cafe. The "full breakfast: scrambled eggs and 6 small pieces of French toast (with honey to dip). One 50 birr breakfast feeds us both. It is 8:45 AM. Mike wants to see the south end of town, called Roha. So we start walking, past the tukul village. We see a woman selling what appears to be bunches of banana leaves. We say "muz?" (the Amharic word for banana) She says "hova." No idea what these leaves are. Perhaps they are "false banana" leaves. A little farther along, the road (now gravel) turns left. Here are banks of public pay telephones (almost gone from the rest of the world). A little farther is a turn-off that looks like a parking lot. We follow the parking lot, and we are at the site of Bet Giorgis, the most famous of all the churches. St. George is the patron saint of Ethiopia (and maybe flies, at least here). It is the tallest of the Lalibela churches (15 m in height). The church itself is cruciform, and the top is engraved with a St. George cross (symmetrical arms). Bet Giorgis is the most identifiable symbol of all the rock-hewn churches. We walk around the upper perimeter, looking for a way down. Finally, we locate a few stairs that lead to a downward walkway. They take us all the way down to the bottom, where we can enter the church. There is light fungus on the exterior walls that enclose the church. Bet Giorgis feels monumentally tall as we look up. This church is three stories high, and light streams in from windows high up. There are no internal pillars, which is why it looks so huge inside. Within, there is artwork of St. George killing the dragon, and another depiction of St. George. [Carol poses for a few photos holding her Toastmaster Magazine for submission to the "Traveling Toastmaster" feature.] We head back up, where we take multiple photos of the top to try to capture the essence of the cross of Bet Giorgis. Nearby, there is a small gravesite along with a stunning cactus that has a long=stemmed flower about 6 ft tall. We head back onto the main road. We cross the little "Jordan River" and head on, past graves and cows and goats into the south part of town. On the way we pass some interesting signage: "Marry X mass - Helen Hotel," "House of the Lalibela Artisans: UNESCO/Japanese Funds-in-Trust and the . .. Government of Ethiopia." Our favorite: the "Again Obama Gife Shop." [sic] In our view, the south part of Lalibela (Roha) has very little to recommend it as a sight to see or to choose for lodging. We are glad to be staying at Seven Olives. We check out an internet cafe. It was very slow and VERY costly by Ethiopian and our standards (1 birr per minute, or $3.15 per hour). So posting can wait. While in Roha, we stop at a tourist office, which has multiple copies of a book, "Lalibela," in Amharic, 20 birr. We order two drinks at a cafe, pause for a few minutes, and walk back uphill to the town center, our home base. As we get close to town, we meet two foreigners, women from Hong Kong and Sweden. They are in the process of moving from a Roha hotel to intown lodging, carrying backpacks and frontpacks that seem to weigh over 40 lbs. for each lady. They want to stay somewhere for 100 birr apiece ($5.25 US), almost lower than Shoestring rates. Back in town, Mike and Carol stop in at our fuul restaurant for coffee. We are treated to, and are able to watch from beginning to end, the full coffee preparation process. First, the green beans are culled, washed, and doubly rinsed (amazing how much dirt comes out). Then they are pan-toasted: stirred constantly over low heat in an attempt to get a uniform color and roast. Then they are placed in a charcoal burner for finishing, and spooned into a deep metal vessel. A long metal rod is then used to crush the beans. Crushing appears to be very hard work, taking a good deal of skill and effort. (No uniform burr-grinders here.) When the coffee is finally ready to be served, the proprietress adds some myrrh to the smouldering eucalyptus chips. She has clearly enjoyed our interest and attention in how coffee is prepared. She gives us a small bag of green coffee beans and another small bag of myrrh. Carol takes out our family pictures, which the woman enjoys viewing. Back to the Seven Olives restaurant, where we order rice with shiro and spaghetti with tomato sauce. Carb loading at its best (and don't forget that kita bread). We eat slowly and work on the blog. Mike declares: "No more rock churches." We talk extensively with a Swiss woman who had arranged a 2 1/2 week private tour through western Ethiopia. Cook, driver, guide, security and 4 tourists traveled through a primitive part of Ethiopia. What you don't bring with you (e.g., food), you won't be able to acquire. What an adventure she just finished! She will also be on our plane to Addis tomorrow, but she will stay at the airport and continue in the afternoon to Harar. After some time, we move to a table with an older German from Frankfurt named Peter. Peter has been hitting the road since 1966 and is very well-travelled. We talk for many hours about our personal travel adventures. Peter spent years over his life in India; we tell him about Iraq, Iran, and Central Asia. He has been staying at Seven Olives for a whole week. He has paid nothing yet, and has been waiting for hours to receive a total bill. Peter is flying out on the same flight as we are tomorrow. We have asked for a 9 AM minibus, but he has arranged for an 8 AM minibus which, if we wish, we can share for 70 birr each. Over the course of the walking in town through the day, we have accumulated a fan club of three or four older local boys, each with passable English, who wanted our e-mail to communicate. Not begging, but conversationalists. We have also been given various stone and wooden pendants by our new friends. It is nice to be on the receiving end of gifts for once. We check out another internet cafe, but it is also VERY expensive - maybe all the Lalibela spots are in collusion. It might have been a useful timesaver to have carried our own equipment, since WiFi seems to be available at all better hotels (such as Seven Olives). But being beholden to an electronic device - that's not us (for now). After sundown, before dinner, we go for a walk. It is cool and pleasant, and we feel welcome. In the past, Lalibela was known for its particularly persistent beggars and street children. During the past few years training programs for those in need have been initiated. Boxes have been stationed at most hotels where visitors can make a donation toward providing food and housing (we can't find one). As the day winds to a close we see all kinds of everyday life. We walk past a tej bar that seems to be a place where people go to carouse at night (Peter related that he had drunk too many tej's there earlier). We meet the girls from earlier. They had found lodging near the BluLal at their price. They were encouraged that the 2 km walk to the bus station they were anticipating very early tomorrow morning was all downhill. They had pluck and luck to be able to travel in the way they chose. We go to the BluLal Restaurant for dinner. We order a mehabarawa plate: injera with various bean and other toppings. One of the toppings was the clotted cream like Mike consumed in the nafish from Gonder, so we ate around that. No reason to take dietary chances now. At the next table was a young woman and man, both French, traveling together for convenience. She is a musician who plays, among other instruments, the electric saw. He is traveling the length of east Africa. We were all eating outside because the interior was completely filled with patrons who sat at long tables. Their plates were empty, but after a while staff members appeared with large pots. They seemed to be serving everyone the same thing - some kind of set menu item. After we finished eating, we were invited inside for the evening's entertainment. No charge. There were two musicians, both dressed in white. One played a kechaita, a bowed string instrument with a single string; the other had 2 drums. Two women dancers and one male dancer, each wore dark green outfits set off with patterns of white buttons. The women wore full-skirted dresses, with very long with sashes wrapped around their waists. The man wore shorts and a short sleeved shirt. The dancing began. Throughout our trip, we have seen people carry large heavy loads on their backs and shoulders: jerry cans, children, bushel baskets, loads of wood, and 50 kg bags. It is no wonder that they have an extraordinary ability to pull their shoulders back, thrust their heads forward, and dance the "Funky Chicken" with the speed of hummingbird wings. There is very energetic shaking from the shoulders down through the entire upper body (no hip shaking). Various local diners got up joined the dancers. It was great to see older men in suits get down and boogie like teens. So much better than a floor show directed to farengi tourists. Occasionally, the women would unwrap their scarves and hold them well behind their waists, or bend their knees and sink lower and lower. The man danced like an absolute dervish. Eventually, Carol got out her long scarf and danced with one of the women, to great applause. Then - ouch! - she felt a twinge on her left side. Time to sit down. Mike didn't dance. At about 9 PM, we had had enough. We tipped the performers. As we walked back to the hotel, Carol hobbled along, fearing that she had thrown out her left hip while dancing. She just can't "shimmy like her sister Kate" anymore. Gingerly, oh so gingerly, we went to bed.

Sun 2 Feb 2014 (25 Tir 2006) Lalibela

Sun 2 Feb 2014 (25 Tir 2006) Lalibela Carol gets up before sunrise while Mike sleeps. She spends a long time in the garden, listening to the birds. While in the garden, she begins to hear a church service [and maybe a Muslim call, too]. She walks out into town, going downhill toward the church, Bet Emmanuel. There is a huge crowd of white dressed parishioners. Because she is only wearing slacks and a shirt, she doesn't feel comfortable entering the gates. It is a good time to walk down the road, in the cool of the morning, past the northwestern set of rock-hewn churches. A bit further on, on the left, there are structures that might be called "hobbit houses," circular 2 story stone dwellings with thatched rooftops. Down and around the road, a nicely dressed little boy with surprisingly good English strikes up a conversation. He says he has just come from church, and is going home. He takes Carol into the area of small houses. They are called tukuls. We walk up, over and around the rocky terrain. He points into a doorway where a priest lives. We talk about a lot of things - he notes that Obama cannot serve again(!) and he hopes that the woman becomes president(!!). Also about schoolbooks and how the big 4400 word Amharic-English dictionary would be helpful to a student. Carol says maybe he could see it later when her husband awakes. We bless each other. He gives Carol a small white hand-carved rock cross. We walk out of the area of tukuls, much higher up on the road, and very near Seven Olives Hotel where we say good bye. Mike is finally awake. We shower and dress. Carol decides that is appropriate to wear a long skirt and tights to visit the churches. We arrange to wash 4 days of Mike's clothing (about 2 kg (4.5 lbs)) for 160 birr ($8.40 US). We also agree to stay 2 more nights for a total of 3 days for $100 US (a five dollar discount.) Since breakfast is not included in the hotel fee, about 9:15 AM we are out and about. We pass the "Obama Gift Shop and Art Gallary [sic]." Many of the places we pass serve more European-style breakfasts. However, a local points out one, across the street, serves fuul. The proprietress puts some sweet-smelling grass on the table for effect. And fuul it is, this time, special fuul, that is, fuul with scrambled eggs, onion, hot peppers, and tomato. The metal fuul pans are hot so we get impromptu pot holders to hold them, along with big crusty rolls. There is a young girl with thick eyeglasses sitting across from us. (Eyeglasses are rather unusual here.) Helping with the coffee is a woman with a cloudy eye (her mother?). We watch the coffee brewing process. Some local folks come in for tea and what look to be giant donuts. After breakfast, Carol takes Mike for a look at the tukuls, and we take pictures all around. There is a passageway that leads up steep steps to a closed door. We decide not to attempt it. We leave the tukuls, and walk uphill to buy our tickets. To visit the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela, you must buy a ticket, which is valid for 5 days. The price of 1000 birr ($52.50 US) or $50 US in that currency, when compared to sites like Petra in Jordan ($31 in 2004) or Iguasu Falls in Argentina ($30 in 2007) is pretty stiff, but what you might expect for an internationally recognized World Heritage Site. For this price, you get 13 (count 'em, 13) churches. In order to pay, you are searched, your dangerous items (like Mike's small pocket knife) are confiscated and checked, and your passport scrutinized. However, once the payment is received, Mike resolves not to spend a single additional birr - on a guide, on a church contribution, or on anything related to seeing the interiors. First off, we visit the museum attached to the ticket office. It is a modest but arresting assortment of vestments, ritual objects such as crosses, staffs, umbrellas, etc. Some very nice religious art removed from church walls for preservation and some very, very old books. One volume almost looks like Mishneh or Koranic commentary, with what must be interpretive commentary about the page. A comment before we elaborate on our visit. Rock-hewn means carved out, instead of built out, from the volcanic tuffa rock. The construction of a monolithic rock church was in fact an excavation. These buildings are as tall as 15 meters high (50 feet). They remind Carol of laparoscopic surgery (can't get away from work) - going in to complete the process. Or maybe, Intelligent Design. The churches were chiseled out of rock- pillars, arches, beams, and all- from a first entry at a future top window. Where did the excavated stone go? Who carried it all away? How was it lifted up? The more you think about it, the more sense it makes that "angels worked side by side with the stone masons." Thirteen churches come to be in 24 years in the 12th and 13th centuries, CE (or so the historical memory says.) Shoes must come off before entering churches, which have rugs over the rough stone floors. Not easy walking, even inside. And especially with a long skirt and thin tights. The first church we visit is Bet Medhane Alem. It is an impressively big space. An artificial roof over the structure has been constructed by UNESCO, for the church's protection, so it is hard to see the original roof. The traditional Orthodox church has 3 parts, an outside, a center, where the parishioners congregate, and an inner sanctum, where only the priests and bishops can go. Of the seven churches in the northwestern group, only Bet Medhane Alem is a complete church in the sense of having an inner sanctum. It also has (perhaps) 72 internal columns holding up the structure, based on pictures in the guidebooks. A deacon begins to explain the significance of the interior. He is miffed when Mike does not give a small offering. As we head to the next church, we hear a loud conversation between a woman and several priests. The other churches we see this morning are more in the nature of chapels or shrines, lacking the inner sanctum. Or maybe they had a secular use at some time. From Bet Medhane Alem you go west to Bet Maryam, an independent building having the next most complete structure. Flanking Bet Maryam on either side are Bet Masqal and Bet Danaghel, each having the feel of a small chapel. Before we leave, we see (from a discrete distance) the woman disrobe and submerge into a small pool of water. The priests surround her. A baptism? An exorcism? Who knows ... Leaving Bet Danaghel you climb down some long steps. If you keep going, you have left the northwestern group. But if you take a sharp right turn, follow the trench, and climb back up, you are at the twin churches of Bet Debra Sina and Bet Golgotha. The former has eight internal columns and is the third largest of this set of churches. At Bet Debra Sina, we come upon a younger Sri Lankan woman with a guide. She is constantly taking pictures of herself, or the guide is taking pictures of her. No detail is too small to fail to be memorialized in pictures. She is a real roadblock. Carol feels that we have sacrificed depth for efficiency. The visitors with guides seem to be seeing details we miss. She feels that we don't know which pillar has a bas relief on the bottom, which church has a fascinating legend, which priest will open a special curtain to reveal treasures. Mike feels that we have two guidebooks that we can consult. It was at this point that noon came. The churches are open 6 AM- noon and 2 PM-6 PM. Since Orthodox worship begins at 3 AM, it is possible to view services at 6 AM. These viewing times are strictly enforced. We are chased out of Debra Sina and Golgotha. The seventh church in this group is variously described as the Tomb of Adam or Bet Uraiel. We walk past, climb through a doorway and down some steep steps, and we are back in the tukul section. We slowly make our way back uphill to the town center and the hotel. On the roadway back, there are tailors with vintage sewing machines, ready to repair or create. It is warm. We are tired. In the hotel garden, Diane, Mike, and Ivo are eating lunch. It turns out that Heaven wasn't so hot- they moved to another guesthouse. We relaxed for 2 hours in the pleasant hotel environment. The garden and restaurant are favorites of tour groups not staying at Seven Olives. A woman in one group tells us that they saw 3 weddings at the Bet Emmanuel church, early early this morning. At 2:15 PM it is time to go back to the churches. We walk back to Bet Medhane Alem, and go directly to the twin churches of Bet Debra Sina and Bet Golgotha and then finally Bet Uraiel (the Tomb of Adam). So now Mike has seen both Adam's Tree (in Iraq, at the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates) and Adam's Tomb. Instead of exiting there, we go back to the twin churches. Across is a tunnel, described as "from Hell to Heaven." With our flashlights on, we negotiate the tunnel, fight off the bats inside, and emerge into daylight ready to exit the steps as before. This time around, we are ready to try to get to the southeastern group of churches. We walk down the road about 50 meters, crossing a small depression which is called the Jordan River. (No water this time of year.) We see a set of steps going up to the left and follow the path uphill. After a bit of a slog, passing a souvenir seller, we cross a bridge, and, lo, we are at the entrance to the first (or last) of the southeastern churches, Bet Gabriel-Rufa'el. You enter Gabriel, a tight little space, and then cross into Rufa'el, another tight space. From there you can walk onto a ledge, with some exposure. But you cannot exit. You must retrace your steps. Carol thinks that we are doing the usual order of church visitation backward, but we do not see any subsequent guided groups doing the churches in the other order. From Bet Gabriel-Rufa'el, you walk through a tunnel up to the height of land. We saw the next church, Abba Libanos, impossibly lower than us, with no idea how to get down to it. There was a rope ladder, but we were not near enough to assay it. The next church, Mercurious, was at a reasonable level, and we walk in. Though large in appearance from the outside, some of it has collapsed, and the interior is fairly small. It is now after 4:30 PM. There are several guided groups currently in this church. We follow them and the guides show us how to get into Emmanuel, the fourth and most complete of these churches, and then into Abba Libanos, aka Bet Lehem, the lowest and most hidden of these churches. It is [Word of the Day] hypogeous - only the roof and floor are attached to the strata. Supposedly, one part of the altar wall glows of its own accord 24/7. We don't see them, but there are niches throughout the complex where pilgrims and monks are buried. By this time, Carol has stumbled and fallen. Her tights are shredded at the feet, and she has had to hitch up her skirt by folding the waist band. Clearly a long skirt, though most respectful, is WHAT NOT TO WEAR. Finally, it is 5 PM. We have seen all of the churches in these clusters. The finest of them, Bet Giorgis, which stands apart, is for tomorrow. The guided groups disappear, and we head off, sort of in their direction, on a dirt track uphill. With a little guessing, we make our way back to familiar territory, and soon we are back into town. We have dinner at 7 at the Seven Olives restaurant. We order the spinach soup (terrific) and doro wat (ditto). Not long after the food is served, the electricity goes out all over town. Candles are lit by the staff and flashlights come out. There are candles all through the restaurant, along the walkways, in each hotel room. They know the routine. It is familiar. We figure out how to pay our dinner bill without the obligatory computer generated receipt. A note on receipts. There is a 15% VAT in Ethiopia. Thus a dinner for 120 birr is broken down: 104.5 birr for food and 15.5 birr VAT. Or maybe: 104.5 birr plus 10.5 birr service charge, plus 17 birr VAT, for a total of 132 birr. It is all very complicated. We seen receipts for hotels that broke out not only the VAT but a 10% service charge. Why? Anyway, without a computer, the restaurant staff resorts to carbon triplicates. Carbon papers seems to have disappeared from the rest of the world and migrated entirely to Ethiopia. We go to bed. Some crazy people are driving on streets, but there are also locals walking around in the dark with much merriment. If you look up, you can see the stars. At ten, the lights come on, so we turn them off and go back to sleep.

Sat 1 Feb 2014 (24 Tir 2006) to Lalibela

Sat 1 Feb 2014 (24 Tir 2006) to Lalibela Carol is sad to leave Mekele with no more than a cursory look - our first non tourist town since Addis. We get up at 4 and are at the bus station just before 5 AM. There is no direct bus to Lalibela. It is really out-of-t he-way and hare to get to. Even Selambus does not go there. We need to take a bus south to Woldia (6 hrs), then take a local bus from Woldia to Lalibela (6 hrs). In the lot there is a bus from Mekele to Woldia. It is loading, but we didn't buy a ticket in advance, so we cannot get on the full bus. There is, however, an Addis Ababa bus which will take us to Woldia as it passes through, so we get on and our baggage goes on top. The direct bus to Woldia might have cost 80 birr, but the Addis bus is 113 birr each to go as far as Woldia. Worth the small change. We are off at about 5:45 AM. The sun rises in beautiful mountain country. About 7:30 AM we stop for some reason or other. Three girls, all carrying trays of munchies (roasted barley or wheat?) run to hop on the bus. The bus starts to move. One manages to get off, but two of them are hauled about 15 km up the mountain to a nowhere stop before they are allowed get off. We have no idea now they were going to get back where they started. Most of the buses coming through this isolated area are full. Vending is a tough business in these parts. We stop for 20 minutes at Alamata. The old read has a large drop like the one north of Debark (see 27 Jan). However, there is a new road going to east that all "sensible" bus drivers take (it skips the town of Maychew, so if you are going there, you are SOL). At Alamata we purchase some coffee and Mike buys his first guava. Not as ripe as he envisioned, but tasty nonetheless. It is important to note that the pronunciation of Lalibela may be La-lee-bela, or may be Lali-bell-a. We could never get anyone to clarify this point. Whatever it is, this town is the crown of the northern historic circuit. We pull into Woldia, somewhere around noon. There is a byus waiting to go to Lalibela. Surprise, our two Iowa friends and the Belgian are already on the bus. They are occupying the last row, a 5-seater that has the only available seats. The correct (non-foreigner) fare is apparently 68 or 72 birr or something, but they had endured a large bargaining fight to get it down to 100 each, so 100 it is. The five of us are stuck in the wayback seat. So we squeeze our bottoms in - Mike next to Diane, who has the right window seat. Carol next to Ivo, who has the left window seat. Iowa Mike is in the middle. Mike has a lively conversation with Diane. Iowa Mike listens to his iPod, and Ivo hangs half out the window. Carol shrinks in the silent seat. Soon we leave, climbing steadily uphill on the "China road," an east-west road built by the Chinese to connect Bahir Dar/Gonder to Woldia in the 1970s, and improved several times since. Roughly halfway across is the town of Gashena, which is where we are heading. At about 3 PM we are in Gashena. Here the bus turns north to travel the last 60 or so km to Lalibela. Here also the few passengers from the west connect. Even though our bus appears to be full, one younger foreign woman is waiting patiently to get on. There is a squat toilet block (on an adjoining school property?). Carol goes to use it, but is told to pay a bogus fee, then is chased by a really mean local boy. She manages to get to one behind the building, but has to hold the door closed with one leg, against the harassment. We are waiting and waiting. For what? Are we now the last bus of the day and therefore unable to leave EARLY? We certainly did not see any further buses come in to the bus lot. Finally, after 4, we load and are off. We turn the corner and load apx 15 loacls, even though the bus is alreadly full. We wander through rural Ethiopia, treading downhill to cross a couple of rivers. Carol became friends with 2 9 year-old girls, who enjoy showing off their English words. We had a merry time with the International Kwikpoint Guide [a picture atlas of objects useful for tourists]. Among the fruits shown, the grapefruit mystified them both, as did the phone symbol-a black hand receiver. One proud poppa beamed at his daughter's language facility. Eventually, she even curled up in Carol's lap and slept awhile. The kids and some other adult passengers enjoyed seeing Carol's family photos. What a nice interlude on a grueling bus trip. As it starts to get dark, we finally arrive in the Lalibela bus station, two hard uphill kilometers from the center of town, where many of the hotels are. Our seatmates have a place to stay (Heaven Guesthouse) and they are being picked up. For us, however, no taxis, buses, or anything. After about 5 minutes a minibus comes along. 20 birr to take each of us and our bags uphill to town seems a little steep, but what are going to do? In town, we are at the Seven Olives Hotel, which we have chosen from the guidebooks. This 60 year old property, owned by the Orthodox church, has old trees, and lots of bird life. We take a cabin room for $35 US. It is clean and most of the plumbing works. No frills. We were going to do a wash, but the hotel offers a fair price for laundry, and we will negotiate it tomorrow. We eat dinner in the hotel restaurant, a conical space that is beautifully decorated. The ceiling imitates the interior of a hut, with woven patterns in many colors. We order a goat dish, and a gomen b'sega (greens with meat). As we wait for our mains, we are each served a slice of kita, a corn/wheat pancake that is somewhat sweetened. When our mains arrive, Carol prefer to use the kita in place of the injera. Probably gauche, but what the hey. Tea and beer round out the dinner. Carol saves the remaining kita. There is no in-room TV. Time to sleep.

Thurs Fri 30 31 Jan 2014 (22 23 Tir 2006) The Danakil Depression

Thurs Fri 30 31 Jan 2014 (22 23 Tir 2006) The Danakil Depression Why did we say yesterday that our hotel was adventure-travel central? During the short period when we hung out at the computer terminal on the 2nd floor, we ran into Germans, Poles, Aussies. We spoke with a woman from Hong Kong, who was doing the northern circuit in counter-clockwise order. A group of 6 young Japanese jocks, all busy with their electronic devices, gave Carol second thoughts. Could we possibly keep up with hikers like these? For breakfast at 7:30 AM we went to Green Valley Cafe, a spiffy looking spot, all white and shiny black. It was across from Belleview and a few meters down the street. We ordered a cheese omelet, and then noticed something under the Local Specialties part of the menu: Fetira B'Mar. The waitress said we could order it, but it would take 30 minutes. We said OK, and received and polished off the omelet and two coffees. Finally the fetira came. It was layers of filo dough with (presumably) butter between each layer. It was flaky, cut like a circular pancake, and pan fried. It was served with mar (honey) and cut into 8 pieces like a pizza. It was superb. We seem to have ordered the first fetira of the day, but others were ordering it as we left. Over for an hour of internet, and then a final distribution into day bags and packs. We leave the hotel room at 10:10 AM (the hotel room has the rare 3-prong Italian socket) and go down to the Ethio Travel offices, where we leave our bags for the duration of the Dallol trip, sparing us a hotel storage fee. We are early. By 10:45 there are multiple 4x4 Landcruisers assembling. There is a party of 4, who work in the same social service agency. The women were Indian and their spouses were Brit or American. There were two Spanish women. There is a large cohesive group of 13 Chinese, all of whom seem to work for ZTE, A Chinese Telecom company in Addis, competing with Ethiopia Telecom. Most of them seem to been posted in Addis for 5 years or so. This adventure was probably some kind of company perk. All told we took up 6 cars. We watched a great number of flats of water bottles and various paraphernalia being onloaded. Finally, after 11, our caravan was on the road. We are paired in a car with Jeremy and Dan, who are hitching across Africa, north to south. We drove out of town a couple of km to the north to a viewpoint of the city, and waited and waited. What for? The food car was an hour behind. While we were waiting, we learned that some of our group had gone to Belleview for breakfast and noticed that there was no goat... Finally, about 12:15 the food car joined to great rounds of applause. Our vehicle mates are two gangly Brits who are traveling exceedingly close to the land. Their goal is to travel the length of Africa, and then get a freighter to India, however months/years it might take. They are prepared to teach English to earn money when it becomes necessary. BTW, they had gotten stuck for 18 hours in Adi Arqay, where they camped out. They clean up, sleep, and hitch rides as the day provides. They remind Carol a bit of Peter Pan, not ready to grow up and settle down soon. Not naive but ready for however long it might take to traverse the world. Like most other people, Central Asia never on their itinerary. They are impressed by our travels there and Mike's trip to Iraq in 2012. We go north, then turn east on paved roads to go into the Danakil Depression. Eventually, the pavement disappears and we go steeply down hill on gravel and dirt roads. We break for lunch at a small hill at 1;30 PM. We are expected to climb up a few hundred feet, where we have a nice view. The staff works for a few minutes, and soon we all have plates of warm pasta and vegetables, with tuna added to each serving, if you wished. Also we have crusty rolls. Really impressive how smoothly the filling lunch is served and cleaned up. Even in the middle of nowhere, some local kids magically appear to watch and beg. They get Mike's rolls, broken in half. Back in the cars, we are off downhill. Soon we start seeing camel caravans, packing large salt chunks, coming up the road. A little after 4 PM we are at Berahile, where we have an extended beer and coffee break, while the tour organizers buy our permits and arrange our security. One of the boys hanging around the canteen wins Carol's prize for the brattiest kid in Ethiopia. Totally unrelenting at begging for a pen. He sings, dances, and gets in our face, for at least a half hour. We are probably the only parents, let alone grandparents, among our fellow travelers, easily half our age or less. WE ARE NOT AMUSED. During this time, we have a chance to share travel stories and get to know the group better. With 30 plus countries under our belt, we have become known as "seasoned travelers." Off by 5 PM, we are now in low desert, with lower hills, very inhospitable. Just before sundown, we see caravan after caravan of camels all setting off uphill. Probably more than 100 camels, in groups of 10 and 20, with the camels being tied nose to tail. At 6 PM, we pull into Hamed Ala, where there are two huts. This is where the cooking and eating will take place. Almost magically, from somewhere unknown, some 30 woven beds on wooden legs appear along with 30 mattresses. We are invited to sleep on the mattresses on the beds out in the open. Some of the camp crew suggest that we set our beds between 2 ans. They fit snugly, almost making a double bed. As dark descends the winds pick up, perhaps to 50 km/hr. One of the guidebooks describes these winds as Gara. Anyway, if your mattress and bed isn't shielded behind a Landcruiser or a building, it is likely to be blowing off into the desert. The Chinese contingent, which had set up in the open, quickly decamped to a spot behind some barriers, some using their mattresses as shields, and some cars were moved to provide necessary protection from the wind. Meanwhile, the cooks are working hard. By 7:30 PM it is dinner time. We eat inside a building. The crew had prepared a pasta dish, cabbage soup, rice, bread, salad, beans, fruit, tea - much more food than we tourists could finish. After dinner, Mike gave Jeremy and Dan stargazing lessons, with an eye toward their being able to tell time when camping outdoors. The locals had bright sodium lamps in their village 500 meters to the west, but otherwise the stargazing was excellent, especially after the Chinese off their cameras and lights. By 10 the wind had dies down a good bit. Mike woke up three times,at 1 AM, 3:30 AM, and 5 AM. At 3:30 and at 5, he saw the Southern Cross (even though we were at 15 degrees N of the equator.) At one point, he startled the cooks, working during the night, who might have thought him to be an attacker. Most of our party got up at sunrise (6:30 AM) and cleaned up as well as possible where there are no running water, showers, latrines, or outhouses. There were, however, abundant bottles of drinking water. The tour crew set up a long table outside, with eggs, bread, rolls, cereal, sugar, sliced mango, pieces of oranges, and sweet spreads such as Armella, the Ethiopian version of Nutella. Before long, the sugar bowl was half sugar, half flies, YUM. The Rift Valley extends southward from the Red Sea. It is at the juncture of the African, Arabian, and Somali tectonic plates. It is slowly expanding, and in perhaps 10-50 million years, it will have broken Africa into two land masses. There are more than 30 active or dormant volcanoes in the rift. In June 2011, Mt. Nabro, just over the border in Eritrea, erupted violently, killing 31 neighboring civilians, and causing major disruption to air travel. This land is HOT, inhospitable and unforgiving. Parts are as low as 116 meters below sea level. The rest of the group will travel all day (the second day) to reach ERta-Ale, an active volcano. There, after sundown, they will hike in 9 km up the steep cone, look in, and then hike back to the car, all in the darkness of night. The third day they will spend the whole day driving to Dallol, where we are heading today. They will have the opportunity to ride camels, if they wish to pay to do so. They will also see the salt mining process. Then a drive back to our overnight camp, and back to Mekele on day 4. On Carol's bucket list is the chance to see molten lava someday. The punishing climb and descent necessary to reach Erta-Ale is simply beyond our current abilities. 30 years too late for us. We respect our limits. Because 5 tourists were killed by local tribesmen or Eritreans (who knows?) in 2012, security is required, and these trips became very expensive, even though they remain quite primitive as to comfort. The others paid $600 US each for 4 days, which is very cheap compared to what some other tours are charging. We paid $400 US each for 2 days, because guides drivers, and security must accompany us separately. Before we broke camp, the social service group of 4 was busily adding powdered Gatorade, ordered at great expense ($75 for 3 kg) to many bottles of water for themselves. We said our good-byes and drove off into flat desert. Good bye to all vegetation whatsoever. By 8 AM we were in dried mud fields. At 8:30 AM, we parked and walked in through the dried earth. Some were molded in fantastic shapes, the residual of volcanic steaming hot spots. For Carol, there is nothing to compare to a guy with a Kalishnikov holding her hand and guiding her over the rough spots on the walk. We enter a fantastic wonderland of yellows, greens, browns. There are places that are bubbling and smoking, evil cauldrons that you dare not step into. Many of the shapes are formations that are created by the bubbling and smoking holes. There is a sulfurous smell everywhere. Back in the car, we drive to a spot where there were salt columns. Lot's wife! We see an old local with a white skull cap (a sign of having gone to Mecca) and a beard dyed orange (local fashion). Too bad that we couldn't snap a photo. According to our Orthodox Christian guide, many Ethiopian Muslims are able to make the Hajj pilgrimage. Mike was too bushed to go on and see a cave in the salt columns. It was a dry heat, but a very intense heat. Here were a couple from Spain, wife born in Cuba, who were associated professionally with safari companies in Kenya and Tanzania. They were complaining that they had paid $5000 US apiece to a different tour company for a 24 day trip, and had not had a shower for 5 days. In his opinion, if the safari folks could figure out how to provide showers, why couldn't the Ethiopians? This is an open question. On to an area where petroleum was bubbling up into a "lake." Here we also saw more bubbling spouts. There were "flowers" of salt, from which steam issued. Our guides was surprisingly knowledgeable about the chemistry and geology of the area. He pointed out potash deposits. As water boiled off, some of the pools pulled up pure petroleum, but they did not ignite. The final destination was to a salt lake that you could walk on. Here,you could pick up thin leaves of pure salt, sel de mer. Carol picked up a good number of these, and stored them in the back of the Landcruiser. A big disappointment. Today, the salt miners were not working. It was the Muslim Sabbath and the camel trains were on their two day trip to sell their goods. It was only our carload of people at he dazzling white pure salt lake. We never saw how the blocks of salt were mined. It was now 11 AM, and time to go back to Mekele. At 11:15, we are back to Hamed Ala, where we say good bye to our security. As they are getting their stuff out of our car, Carol's carefully collected leaves of salt are crushed. She takes out a small plastic box she has used to store her headlamp, and carefully places the shards of salt within, to be carried back to the States. As early as the 6th century CE, there are written records of Danakil salt being traded for hunks of gold. So we now have the third element to go with our frankincense and myrrh. Coming up the hill we see some of those camel caravans we saw setting out the day before. No chance to interact, however. Our travel companions are very amused to learn about one of our country's oldest brand of cigarettes, Camel, and the motto: I'd walk a mile for a Camel. We stop for lunch for another plate of pasta, veggies, and tuna. Since it was Friday (fasting day) our crew would not eat fish, so we split the 6 oz can. Whole oranges for dessert. We ask to go by a couple of country churches on the way back, but we are taking a different road back to the hotel. At 3:30 PM, just as we are coming to Mekele, we pass through a large windfarm (dozens of windmills). We are now within 10 km of Mekele. We are back into town at 4 PM. This time we are shown a larger room (350 birr) which we take. Conversation with an interesting threesome our age: Mike and Diane, a couple from Iowa and Ivo, a man from Belgium. They shared a car to travel to Mekele from Axum, and were able to visit several churches and monasteries on the way. For dinner we go again to Belleview and order shekla tibbs (cooked goat meat with hard boiled eggs, served up in a brazier.) Tonight, there is a brown goat tied by the legs at the end of the washroom hallway. It is a hard life to be a goat in Ethiopia. We have an early start tomorrow, so we pack and to bed.