Fri 14 Feb 2014 The trip home
What can you say about a trip that takes 24 - 26 hours? Or a day that is 32 hours long (24 + 8 hours time differential)? The flight from Addis to Dulles takes about 17 hours, east to west. (It is only 13 1/2 hours west to east, but fighting the prevailing winds and stopping for an hour or so in Rome sure does slow you down a whole bunch.)
The plane is 100% loaded. The prior day's flight was cancelled because Dulles had close to a foot of snow. Thus this flight has a potential for 150-175% occupancy. Obviously, most of the passengers stranded from the day before found other ways to get back to the US (presumably through Europe on other airlines). We talk with a gentleman who got to the airport on 12 Feb, was dropped off by his local business contact, and was told to call if there was any trouble. He found a way to spend the extra 24 hours.
Because the plane leaves at 10:20 PM Ethiopian time and gets in at 7:45 AM EST, it is wholly a nighttime flight. Nothing to see out the window. But nobody can sleep on an airplane for 17 hours. Carol watches "Rush" and "Chariots of Fire", then drills down into the international films, TV shows, and documentaries. One striking nature show, "The Great Migration", charts the perilous and relentless forces that compel creatures large and small to leave the places they were born and strike out for unknown shores.
Unlike the trip from west to east, the return trip has four Ethiopian infants on it, all presumably newly adopted by their accompanying American families. Such beautiful children - little Gondar cherubs. Carol tears up a bit, thinking of the great migration occurring here before us.
Ethiopian Air reserves the bulkhead seats for folks with infants. If your infant weighs less than 20 lbs, the child can utilize the bassinet that hangs from the bulkhead wall. We talk for a while with a woman who is standing, holding her infant. Apparently he was too heavy for the bulkhead seat and the bassinet. This is a child once considered to be a 'failure to thrive' baby.
The Rome touchdown occurs virtually unnoticed. Passengers are served 3 full meals en route. Even the lady across the aisle, who posted a note on her seat - NO MEALS - wakes up and eats. On a flight like this, one's body is profoundly disoriented.
As we land in Washington, we see piles of snow here and there. D.C. had received something like 10-12" of snow the day before. Even after the snow plowing and the melting there is a lot on the ground.
As we wait for the rows in front of us to deplane, Carol strikes up a conversation with a Washington-based woman who is an international affiliate for Special Olympics. She is returning home from a pan-African meeting in Malawi. Yes, Special Olympics has a worldwide reach. We talk about adoption (we have since exchanged emails). To be continued ...
Anyway, we have landed in the States. The line for customs is long and slow. Once we are through with customs, it is time to pick up the luggage. Our two backpacks seem to have been last items off. Pick up the bags, and get into the lines to be examined. We have nothing to declare; the customs dogs concur. There are two lines - one for passengers reboarding, and one for passengers leaving the airport. The lines are not at all marked, and we mistakenly get in the line to leave the airport.
We find ourselves in the departure section of the airport, along with a number of others from our flight. By now we have wasted well over 2 1/2 hours. This is OK for us because we have a 4.5 hour layover. But one family with a newly-adopted infant only has a 3 hour layover, and they have nearly missed their connections. Anyway, we wander over to the United ticketing area, are told to just leave our already ticketed bags in the pile, and enter through security to get into the departure part of the airport. This doesn't feel exactly right, but we are strongly urged to get on with it, and so we bid adieu to our bags once more.
We have a United Express plane to Atlanta. This is a small 78 seater, with seats 4 across and a really narrow center aisle. A step up from the Antonoff we flew from Osh to Bishkek, but not much. We are scheduled to leave at 12:15 PM, but time passes. The flight attendant comes on the mike and says we are being delayed because the bags of 11 international passengers are coming over to be loaded onto the plane; as soon as they are loaded, we will be off. Great news! Whose bags could those be but ours and others who had flown in from Addis.
We finally leave about 13:10 PM for an uneventful flight to Atlanta. In Atlanta, we go to the baggage arrival area, and . . . no bags. Not just us, but a number of passengers who came in to Dulles on international flights are without bags. While waiting for our luggage we met a woman from Uganda whose trip started the morning of 12 Feb. She had been traveling (including the extra 24 hours) for something like 60-65 hours. We file our missing bag claims.
Bad news. The one key to our house was in Mike's bag. We call a friend. She happens to be near the airport, and soon arrives to drive us to the house. We call our son-in-law and granddaughter, who have a key to the house, and they meet us there.
It is close to 2 AM Saturday on our body clocks, but it is time to treat everyone to a dinner. What can be more downhome than our meal at Folks: fried whole catfish, cornbread, collard greens, Southern fried chicken, etc.
Welcome home indeed. Land of potable tap water and ever-present toilet paper.
The next morning, at 6:30 AM, Mike notes that the United computer shows that our bags are at the Atlanta airport. He calls the 1-800 number and asks to be connected to a real person at the United desk at the airport so he can arrange to drive to the airport and pick up our bags. No luck finding a real person at the airport. Our bags are dropped off inside our garage that morning/midday.
Mike speculates that the bags of the 11 international passengers made it over to our United Express flight - the United flight was 100% full because the corresponding flight from the day before was cancelled - someone did a calculation and determined that if the international bags were loaded on the plane, the plane would be too heavy for takeoff - and thus the bags were shunted over to the next flight to Atlanta that evening.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Thur 13 Feb 2014 (6 Yekatit 2006) Addis
Thur 13 Feb 2014 (6 Yekatit 2006) Addis
See below for the importance of 6 Yekatit 2006.
This is the last day of our trip. Mike wants to eat a lot of fruit and drink some more avocado juice. Carol thinks that she may have figured out how to break the mystery of the Merkato and get to the interesting stuff without the help of a guide. She wants to purchase some more souvenirs and some toothbrushes: not the Western kind, silly. “Mefakia” is the Amharic word for the natural wooden Ethiopian toothbrush, which is made from fibrous twigs, roots and stems of plants. Every day (especially in the morning) street vendors sell these "chewing sticks".
We are up early. By 7:10 AM we are walking on our way to the Merkato, past the turnoff for the synagogue and the Anwar Mosque. There are plenty of people, vehicles, donkey carts. Lots of fruit and vegetables. But wonder of wonders: it seems that we are arriving TOO EARLY for retail purchasing. Before 8:00 AM, it seems, the market caters to large and small wholesale vendors. Small flatbed trucks are being loaded with unripe bananas (not the usual yellow-brown fruit) and other items. The bulk potato sellers are breaking down hefty loads and sending off bushel sacks at breakneck speed. No one wants to sell Mike anything less than a kilo or two of mangoes.
After our experiences of the past week, we are a bit wary of crowds and people who pass by too closely. But we take time to exchange a few words with the guys selling fresh hot sambusas (savory lentil-stuffed triangle pastries), and we snap some photos. One guy quotes 2 sambusas for 3 birr. Mike hands over the 3 birr and grabs the 2 sambusas. The price has changed. It is 4 birr for 1 sambusa. Mike attempts to grab back the money. The vendor doesn't want to let go of the money. Finally, the tussle ends. We have two sambusas. He has 3 birr. The sambusas are pretty tasty.
In all the market tumult, stray fruits and vegetables fall to the ground. They don't stay there long. At a small traffic circle down the street, what appears to be a scavengers' market is spread out on the pavement. A woman might be selling a few tomatoes or a couple of potatoes. Presumably, when the items are gone so is the vendor, hopefully with a few extra birr.
We follow the road we have used before to reach the Merkato. This time, we head to the side of an Islamic center and follow a narrow alley. We end up in a poor residential area. Laundry hangs over the street. Picturesque, but we two ferengi are voyeurs here. We pass a very local eatery and a few vendors of note, but by now it is time to head back to Piassa. The Merkato is bigger than both of us.
As we walk to the main cross street we pass a beautiful church within a courtyard. The sanctuary is all locked up, but as at other Orthodox sites, plenty of worshippers throng all around the outside of the building. Men, women and schoolchildren are raptly involved in individual prayer. Clearly, this is a part of their morning on the way to work or school.
On the next street and around the corner are vendors at booths, selling all sorts of religious art and wares. Carol finds some picture prayer cards and snaps up 10 or so for souvenirs.
Around the block is the entrance to a school - complete with colorful hand drawn murals. One shows the 4 iconic sights of Ethiopia: Fasiliades' Castle in Gondor; the Blue Nile Falls; St. George Church in Lalibela; and the Aksum Stelae. We have seen all 4. Yeah for us! There is also a charming depiction of the benefits of education.
On the way back to Piassa, we pass a vendor of toothbrushes (those small sticks of wood you chew on). We give him 20 birr and take a stack of not quite 20 of them. They are 1 birr each (we believe), but they cost more in quantity. Or for us. Go figure.
Soon we are back in the fruit and vegetable market. Mike sees a mango vendor. 1 kg costs 15 birr (80 cents). So we now have 6 medium-size mangos for breakfast. We walk a bit and come to a small bench in front of a not-yet open business. It's breakfast time for us.
You eat a mango as follows: Cut open the top, peel back the skin, eat the flesh down to the seed, throw the remainder away. Mike eats 4 and Carol eats 2. Toward the end of this messy process, the bemused owner of the store comes out with a pitcher of warm soapy water, and a paper towel or two. We graciously thank him.
Back to the hotel for the final pack and check out. We will store our bags in a back room and pick them up later. Mike is persuaded to abandon his Rockport shoes, which are well along toward falling apart. This puts him in the fancy shoes which he brought as spares, but which are rather tight and uncomfortable.
We are now in possession of around 1900 birr. We will need 200-250 for a taxi to the airport, and some money for lunch. The rest we will try to change back to US dollars (in retrospect, it's sort of a shame that we didn't use birr for our donation to the Chabad rabbi).
We spot a very pretty mancala board at the gift shop at our hotel, with the cups decorated with hand-painted Gondor angel faces. There goes 180 birr. Lunch is our now familiar vegan buffet at the hotel, for 150 birr. Internet is cheap, water is cheap, a few juices at a neighborhood fruit store are cheap. Mike figures that we need to trade in just under 1000 birr for $50 USD.
So it is back to the bank where we have done business twice before. This time we are selling birr and buying dollars. The bureaucratic requirements are astonishing. Mike needs a passport (check), a hotel room (check, even though we have already checked out), proof of an airline ticket (check?), and proof that he exchanged dollars for birr at this exact bank (a receipt will do). Mike didn't have such a receipt (actually it may have been stuffed into the bottom of the backpack in the back room), so he said: The transaction was on 18 Jan - find it in your records.
And so Mike waited while they found it in their records. For the next 20-30 minutes, Mike held this pleasant conversation with an older man (who may have been the bank manager). At one point, the gent noticed the pens in Mike's shirt pocket. Just like all of the 8 year olds all over the country, he asked for a pen.
While we were waiting, Mike noticed that the bank clock on the counter said "13 02 14" and, underneath, "06 06 06."
Look at the Ethiopian date: today is 06/06/06! Make your plans now to visit Ethiopia in coming years, where it will be possible to experience 07/07/07, 08/08/08 ...
Anyway, Mike asked the manager for clean bills in each denomination. Two sets came to 330 birr or so.
We visited the internet café. We visited the Ethiopian Airlines office to assure ourselves that the plane tonight was in fact going to take off.
We sat around and chewed the fat with all sorts of foreigners in the hotel. One was a professional paraglider/ instructor who had come to Ethiopia to fly/glide. He explained why the flight from Dulles to Addis was non-stop, but the flight from Addis to Dulles stopped in Rome. At sea level (Dulles) the 777 can carry x amount of fuel and a full load of passengers and luggage. At 8000 feet above sea level (Addis) the same 777 can carry a substantially reduced weight. Less air pressure equals less lift. So the plane carries the same number of passengers and the same amount of baggage, but less fuel - enough to make it to Rome, Italy. There it refuels, with enough fuel now to make it to Dulles. Easy peasy.
We've seen all that we can see, drunk enough juice and eaten enough fruit for today, and bought enough goodies for gifts and for ourselves. We are just wasting time anyway, so Mike suggests that we catch a minibus to Bole Road, and walk to the airport. Why not? It is around 4:15 PM.
So we walk out to Churchill Road, find a minibus going to the end of Bole Road. The regular fare is 5 birr each, with 5 more for the bags, which are stuffed into another seat. We are no hurry. We are not at the head of the line. Our driver tells us that he would like to live in the US one day.
Finally we are off, around 4:45 PM. Our driver has decided to leave with a light load. The transit gods don't smile on him this afternoon. He doesn't pick up many passengers. Traffic is very slow, and it is maybe an hour to the end of Bole Road (7 km). We hop off, walk the last km into the airport, and we are at our destination. It cost only 80 cents to reach the airport. So we will be bringing home 205 birr.
It is just after 6 PM. Our plane is not leaving for another 4 hours (10:20 PM).
We have abundant time to go through all the formalities of checking. Carol and Mike finish the last of our edibles (peanuts, the parched grains, some stray sweets). In the list of items not allowed in carry-on bags, Carol spots 'berbere' (!), the classic Ethiopian spice mix.
Once inside, we grab the most comfortable lounge chairs in the airport. This bed-like seating looks exactly like the lounges in the Tehran airport. Turns out that we were wise to arrive early: the best seats are quickly occupied.
After a welcome nap we walk around. The duty-free shop isn't tempting and there's almost no place to buy food or drink.
We spot a fellow dressed in Orthodox Jewish garb. No, not another Chabad rabbi, but a passenger waiting for the flight to Tel Aviv. The Chabad presence in Addis is news to him. He shows us an interesting downloadable booklet called the Jewish Passport thejewishpassport.org. Who knew?
We won't be home for 24 - 26 hours, once the plane pushes off.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Wed 12 Feb 2014 (5 Yekatit 2006) Addis
Wed 12 Feb 2014 (5 Yekatit 2006) Addis
It's our next-to-last day in Ethiopia. Up, grab 2 of the little avocados, eat a pastry at Kyriazis.
When we parted ways with the cell phone in Adama, it became inconvenient to call the Chinese guy from the Danakil trip who was going to share info about the Addis stores and restaurants the Chinese expats patronize. Instead, Mike wants to go to guidebook-mentioned Sichuan Restaurant tonight and try some Ethio-Chinese food. So he asks one of the hotel clerks to call and make sure the restaurant is still open. She makes the call and assures Mike that the restaurant is still open. Mike thinks she said it was still in the same place (?).
This morning we are off to Entoto and Shiro Meda. Mount Entoto is part of the Entoto Hills, reaching 3,200 meter above sea level. It offers spectacular views of Addis Ababa in all directions. Think: the Addis Alps. (Actually, it is just an extended Ethiopian highlands.) Shiro Meda is the tradition clothing and craft marketplace recommended by the well-dressed women we met at Amist Kilo in the early days of our trip
Our route: Bus to Arat Kilo. Minibus to Shiro Meda. Minibus to end of line at Kusquam. Minibus up the hill to Entoto. (The Bradt offers an aside that the 17 bus - which leaves from Piassa - might just get us part way there.)
We reach the Shiro Meda shopping area, ready to head uphill. There is a curious mix of old semi-rural and new professional class housing along the way. Along the way we drove through a dense eucalyptus forest. For Carol, it was love at first sight. These trees were imported from Australia and planted in the late 1800s as firewood became scarcer in the surrounding hills. More were planted over the next 50 or so years; they remain the dominant tree in the greater Addis Ababa area. They are ideally suited to the soil and climate, and provide much needed safeguards against erosion. They also provide much needed supplies of firewood and building materials for local people. More about their harvest and their harvesters below.
Entoto was the palace home of Emperor Menelik II and his wife, Empress Taitu. It was built in 1882, way up at the top of the hill, overlooking a broad valley.
"In 1886, Menilik II came down from the heights of Mount Entoto, where he had thought to establish his capital, to join his wife, Taitu, who had already sampled the advantages of the natural hot springs (Filwoha) at the foot of the mountain." Addis quickly grew up in the lands below the palace. Always trust a woman's eye for real estate.
Nowadays, you come into a gated area and buy a ticket for admission to the Menelek II Museum and Palace Museum. The museum has many artefacts from the Emperor - costumes with intricate embroidery and gifts from world leaders of the time. We snuck a few photos when the guard wasn't looking. We also walked around the large, multilevel, octagonal Entoto Maryam Church hosted Menelik's coronation. Beautiful.
On a good day, you get great views of Addis up on Entoto. We got so-so views because of a kind of smog condition that surrounded the city. Rather reminiscent of Tehran (or even Denver at certain times). However, the temperature had progressively dropped as we ascended and the air was much fresher at the top.
After a while it was time to head back downhill. Carol was eager to walk at least part of the way, but Mike was saving his strength for later. Minibuses in that direction are temporarily scarce. The crowd is getting larger. A minibus comes along - a flat bed truck with seats in the back - but everybody else is on it before we can even move to get on.
While we are waiting we see women with huge piles of wood on their backs, slowly walking downhill to the market. The loads extend out maybe 4 feet on either side. These women are some of the Women Fuel Wood Carriers, about whom we will talk shortly.
A tourist bus carrying 18-20 ferengi comes up and parks near the entrance gate. The locals (including some of the woman wood carriers) gather round. Nothing is happening - are the tourists getting their 15 minute orientation talk? Are they preparing their cameras for the interesting "fauna' that have just appeared? Finally, the tourists emerge and there is a ferengi-local scrum.
Finally, a minibus comes, and we are on for the lovely ride back to Kusquam. At Kusquam, there is an immediate minibus to Shiro Meda.
We get off before Shiro Meda, and walk back a little to a beautiful church. It is locked, but just walking around it is worthwhile. Back to the road, and the beginnings of the Shiro Meda markets. All the traditional Ethiopian clothing you could ever want is for sale (along with tchotchkes, printed tee shirts, backpacks - you get the idea). A short way in there is a sign to turn west for "The Former Women Fuelwood Carriers Association. Hand woven Textile Products - Display and Shop." We turn here, and walk downhill. Mike stops and purchases 4 bananas for 6 birr (32 cents). It is a little walk to the shop complex, but finally, there it is.
The Former Women Fuel Wood Carriers Association (FWFWCA) was established in 1994 to improve the lives of Ethiopian women who manually cut down eucalyptus wood (often illegally) outside the city, carry that wood into the marketplaces of the city, and sell it for a pittance.
From the World Bank:
"...Women Fuel Carriers (WFC) walk up to 15 kilometers out-and-back daily to collect and bring loads of up to 45 kilograms to the markets. The WFC include girls and women, ranging in age from 16 to 63. While the WFC perform an essential service within the urban energy sector, they average a daily income of less than US $0.50 cent and operate under extremely harsh and, often, inhuman conditions: having to walk long distances on stiff terrains with heavy loads, often barefoot; being subjected to harassment from forest guards and having to pay bribes to be able to bring the loads to market; being exposed to all weather conditions without adequate clothing and protection; and even being exposed to sexual assault, placing them under high HIV/AIDS risk. It is estimated that there are at least 30,000 WFC among the major urban centers of Ethiopia."
FWFWCA provides an alternate future source of income by teaching valuable skills like weaving, and providing access to the materials and tools needed to produce and sell baskets, scarves, and carpets. Currently, the group is set to expand its reach and focus on both poverty and the environment by offering a broader range of skills, including forestry management.
We walk into the complex. There are women in the process of producing handwoven baskets from scratch. Another part of the complex contains numerous looms, with folks weaving all sorts of stuff.
We talk to an American woman from Ohio who is flying back on the same plane as we are (although we could not find her). She is helping with marketing in the States. She has visions of these baskets and scarves being sold all over the US: if only FWFWCA can just increase the quantity they produce. On the grounds there is a day care and a school for the kids. The American woman is taking pictures of the kids. Marketing materials?
Carol goes shopping, and pretty soon we are buying postcards, 2 baskets and 8 scarves. The price is right, the cause is admirable, and we need souvenirs and gifts. (When we mention our visit later to guests at Taitu Hotel, it turns out that a remarkable number of the people we talk to have also shopped here.)
By now, Mike eaten his 4 bananas. Do they have a trash container? Nope. Silly question. Just go outside and throw the peels into the bushes.
Back up to the main street. Pretty soon, our 17 bus comes along. Onto the bus, past the American Embassy, past Sidist Kilo, turn at Amist Kilo, past the Kitfo & Fish Restaurant, up the hill, and we are at Piassa. Easy peasy.
Back at the hotel restaurant, we are trying to decide what we are going to eat for lunch. Lo and behold, there is a bearded Jew, with wife and small child. He is just as out of place in Ethiopia as is possible.
It turns out that he is a Chabad Rabbi, and an Israeli. He has been sent here (Addis) to open a Chabad house. Carol immediately regrets not having formalized her bet with Mike that we WOULD find a Chabad rabbi on this trip.
We walk with him into the dining area, where he approaches several Caucasian women. In his accented English he asks them, "Are you Jews?" One somewhat mystified woman replies, "Do you want juice?"
The rabbi tells us that there is a synagogue about 3 blocks away. He invites us, and of course, we are game. He grabs a taxi for his family and us. We would have walked, but . . . now, we are his guests. Right at the beginning of the fruit and vegetable market, just up the street from the mosque we passed while walking to the Merkato, the taxi turns into a private parking area. There is a two-story building with two Jewish stars on the gate. We had passed by here several times before but had no reason to investigate further.
A local has the key. Soon, we are in. The rabbi shows us some old rooms on the ground floor. There are two large-ish holes in the ground: former mikvehs?? one for the women and one for the men. He is going to try to rebuild them but needs some money.
This synagogue has nothing to do with the Falashas. Early on in Addis' history, there was a community of a hundred or so Jewish Yemeni traders. They established a synagogue, procured 3 Torahs (still here), and formed a community in this neighborhood. Time passes, and there are only 5 Yemeni families left, scattered all over Addis. The synagogue is only open for Yom Kippur.
We climb the stairs to the second level and go into the sanctuary. Our Rabbi puts tfillin on Mike (assuming he has no idea how to do it himself), and has him daven a basic shacharit. Never mind that it is after 1:30 PM. He takes lots of pictures of Mike. Marketing materials?
At the same, the rebbetzin tells Carol the story of a Jewish woman from Brazil on her way to Israel who had a heart attack at the Addis Ababa airport. The Rabbi took care of kosher food for her and helped to arrange an airlift to Israel for her.
We ask the rabbi if we can see the Torah scrolls. The have fancy cylindrical Sephardic-style cases. As we leave, we give him a reasonable contribution, and walk back to the hotel. It is time for some internet posting.
At 3:30 PM we take a break and walk over to the local Ethiopian Airlines office to reconfirm our tickets. There is a poster touting medical tourism to Thailand. (Later on we will learn that had we been going out that evening (12 Feb) we would have been in serious trouble. Washington Dulles was going to be snowed in on the morning of 13 Feb, and no flights were going to be allowed to land.)
Back for some more internet.
About 6:30 PM it is time to get over to the Chinese restaurant. The guide book shows it to be in Kazanchis, on Jomo Kenyatta Street on the top floor of the Waf Building. We take a minibus to Kazanchis. It stops about 1 km or slightly more from where the restaurant should be. The street is totally torn up for urban redevelopment and the light rail line. Pretty deserted, but walkable over rough terrain. We press on - after all, we had confirmed this morning that Sichuan Restaurant was still around.
It is now dark, close to 7:30 PM. The Waf building is closed up. There is a restaurant in the building next door. We sit down. Wrong cuisine: not the Sichuan. By this time we are getting frustrated. A local tells us that Sichuan Restaurant has moved to the Intercontinental Hotel, which happens to be located a block or two past where we got off in the first place %$!&! So we walk back the way we came, and then even a bit more.
The Intercontinental is one of these $200+ a night places for people lodging on someone else's dime: very fancy. Elaborate security to enter. We say: "Sichuan Restaurant?" They direct us inside. We sit down. Wrong cuisine again. Not the Sichuan.
We are beyond frustrated. As we walk back to where we would catch a minibus back to Piassa, we pass an internet café. We take 2 minutes and get a new address for Sichuan, maybe 50-75 m south of the Intercontinental, in the Jonny building. Sure enough it is there, on the first (balcony) level.
By now, it is past 8:15 PM. We go in and order dry fried eggplant and mapo tofu. The waitress asks us if the dry fried eggplant should be in a sauce or not. We say dry. We get tea and a Fanta pineapple soda that Carol wants to try.
The restaurant has a good turnout of NGO types and locals. People are getting food, but service is slow. They give us complimentary eggrolls. Carol is actually falling asleep at the table. We are on the verge of leaving when our food finally comes. The eggplant is pretty good, sort of like what we get in our Szechuan restaurants. The tofu in the mapo tofu is kind of strange in texture, rather like it came out of a can. The dish tastes of Ethiopian pepper, rather than Sichuan pepper and flavors. Mike opines that, if American-Chinese is not Chinese, then Ethio-Chinese should not be Chinese either. Carol thinks ... why not just eat Ethiopian in Ethiopia?
It is now 10 PM. This meal was the most expensive of our whole trip, coming in at about $13 US in total. The streets are empty of minibuses, so we must take a taxi back to our hotel (another 200 birr [$10.50]).
This outing was an interesting experiment, but if we had to do it again, we would certainly do it differently.
It's our next-to-last day in Ethiopia. Up, grab 2 of the little avocados, eat a pastry at Kyriazis.
When we parted ways with the cell phone in Adama, it became inconvenient to call the Chinese guy from the Danakil trip who was going to share info about the Addis stores and restaurants the Chinese expats patronize. Instead, Mike wants to go to guidebook-mentioned Sichuan Restaurant tonight and try some Ethio-Chinese food. So he asks one of the hotel clerks to call and make sure the restaurant is still open. She makes the call and assures Mike that the restaurant is still open. Mike thinks she said it was still in the same place (?).
This morning we are off to Entoto and Shiro Meda. Mount Entoto is part of the Entoto Hills, reaching 3,200 meter above sea level. It offers spectacular views of Addis Ababa in all directions. Think: the Addis Alps. (Actually, it is just an extended Ethiopian highlands.) Shiro Meda is the tradition clothing and craft marketplace recommended by the well-dressed women we met at Amist Kilo in the early days of our trip
Our route: Bus to Arat Kilo. Minibus to Shiro Meda. Minibus to end of line at Kusquam. Minibus up the hill to Entoto. (The Bradt offers an aside that the 17 bus - which leaves from Piassa - might just get us part way there.)
We reach the Shiro Meda shopping area, ready to head uphill. There is a curious mix of old semi-rural and new professional class housing along the way. Along the way we drove through a dense eucalyptus forest. For Carol, it was love at first sight. These trees were imported from Australia and planted in the late 1800s as firewood became scarcer in the surrounding hills. More were planted over the next 50 or so years; they remain the dominant tree in the greater Addis Ababa area. They are ideally suited to the soil and climate, and provide much needed safeguards against erosion. They also provide much needed supplies of firewood and building materials for local people. More about their harvest and their harvesters below.
Entoto was the palace home of Emperor Menelik II and his wife, Empress Taitu. It was built in 1882, way up at the top of the hill, overlooking a broad valley.
"In 1886, Menilik II came down from the heights of Mount Entoto, where he had thought to establish his capital, to join his wife, Taitu, who had already sampled the advantages of the natural hot springs (Filwoha) at the foot of the mountain." Addis quickly grew up in the lands below the palace. Always trust a woman's eye for real estate.
Nowadays, you come into a gated area and buy a ticket for admission to the Menelek II Museum and Palace Museum. The museum has many artefacts from the Emperor - costumes with intricate embroidery and gifts from world leaders of the time. We snuck a few photos when the guard wasn't looking. We also walked around the large, multilevel, octagonal Entoto Maryam Church hosted Menelik's coronation. Beautiful.
On a good day, you get great views of Addis up on Entoto. We got so-so views because of a kind of smog condition that surrounded the city. Rather reminiscent of Tehran (or even Denver at certain times). However, the temperature had progressively dropped as we ascended and the air was much fresher at the top.
After a while it was time to head back downhill. Carol was eager to walk at least part of the way, but Mike was saving his strength for later. Minibuses in that direction are temporarily scarce. The crowd is getting larger. A minibus comes along - a flat bed truck with seats in the back - but everybody else is on it before we can even move to get on.
While we are waiting we see women with huge piles of wood on their backs, slowly walking downhill to the market. The loads extend out maybe 4 feet on either side. These women are some of the Women Fuel Wood Carriers, about whom we will talk shortly.
A tourist bus carrying 18-20 ferengi comes up and parks near the entrance gate. The locals (including some of the woman wood carriers) gather round. Nothing is happening - are the tourists getting their 15 minute orientation talk? Are they preparing their cameras for the interesting "fauna' that have just appeared? Finally, the tourists emerge and there is a ferengi-local scrum.
Finally, a minibus comes, and we are on for the lovely ride back to Kusquam. At Kusquam, there is an immediate minibus to Shiro Meda.
We get off before Shiro Meda, and walk back a little to a beautiful church. It is locked, but just walking around it is worthwhile. Back to the road, and the beginnings of the Shiro Meda markets. All the traditional Ethiopian clothing you could ever want is for sale (along with tchotchkes, printed tee shirts, backpacks - you get the idea). A short way in there is a sign to turn west for "The Former Women Fuelwood Carriers Association. Hand woven Textile Products - Display and Shop." We turn here, and walk downhill. Mike stops and purchases 4 bananas for 6 birr (32 cents). It is a little walk to the shop complex, but finally, there it is.
The Former Women Fuel Wood Carriers Association (FWFWCA) was established in 1994 to improve the lives of Ethiopian women who manually cut down eucalyptus wood (often illegally) outside the city, carry that wood into the marketplaces of the city, and sell it for a pittance.
From the World Bank:
"...Women Fuel Carriers (WFC) walk up to 15 kilometers out-and-back daily to collect and bring loads of up to 45 kilograms to the markets. The WFC include girls and women, ranging in age from 16 to 63. While the WFC perform an essential service within the urban energy sector, they average a daily income of less than US $0.50 cent and operate under extremely harsh and, often, inhuman conditions: having to walk long distances on stiff terrains with heavy loads, often barefoot; being subjected to harassment from forest guards and having to pay bribes to be able to bring the loads to market; being exposed to all weather conditions without adequate clothing and protection; and even being exposed to sexual assault, placing them under high HIV/AIDS risk. It is estimated that there are at least 30,000 WFC among the major urban centers of Ethiopia."
FWFWCA provides an alternate future source of income by teaching valuable skills like weaving, and providing access to the materials and tools needed to produce and sell baskets, scarves, and carpets. Currently, the group is set to expand its reach and focus on both poverty and the environment by offering a broader range of skills, including forestry management.
We walk into the complex. There are women in the process of producing handwoven baskets from scratch. Another part of the complex contains numerous looms, with folks weaving all sorts of stuff.
We talk to an American woman from Ohio who is flying back on the same plane as we are (although we could not find her). She is helping with marketing in the States. She has visions of these baskets and scarves being sold all over the US: if only FWFWCA can just increase the quantity they produce. On the grounds there is a day care and a school for the kids. The American woman is taking pictures of the kids. Marketing materials?
Carol goes shopping, and pretty soon we are buying postcards, 2 baskets and 8 scarves. The price is right, the cause is admirable, and we need souvenirs and gifts. (When we mention our visit later to guests at Taitu Hotel, it turns out that a remarkable number of the people we talk to have also shopped here.)
By now, Mike eaten his 4 bananas. Do they have a trash container? Nope. Silly question. Just go outside and throw the peels into the bushes.
Back up to the main street. Pretty soon, our 17 bus comes along. Onto the bus, past the American Embassy, past Sidist Kilo, turn at Amist Kilo, past the Kitfo & Fish Restaurant, up the hill, and we are at Piassa. Easy peasy.
Back at the hotel restaurant, we are trying to decide what we are going to eat for lunch. Lo and behold, there is a bearded Jew, with wife and small child. He is just as out of place in Ethiopia as is possible.
It turns out that he is a Chabad Rabbi, and an Israeli. He has been sent here (Addis) to open a Chabad house. Carol immediately regrets not having formalized her bet with Mike that we WOULD find a Chabad rabbi on this trip.
We walk with him into the dining area, where he approaches several Caucasian women. In his accented English he asks them, "Are you Jews?" One somewhat mystified woman replies, "Do you want juice?"
The rabbi tells us that there is a synagogue about 3 blocks away. He invites us, and of course, we are game. He grabs a taxi for his family and us. We would have walked, but . . . now, we are his guests. Right at the beginning of the fruit and vegetable market, just up the street from the mosque we passed while walking to the Merkato, the taxi turns into a private parking area. There is a two-story building with two Jewish stars on the gate. We had passed by here several times before but had no reason to investigate further.
A local has the key. Soon, we are in. The rabbi shows us some old rooms on the ground floor. There are two large-ish holes in the ground: former mikvehs?? one for the women and one for the men. He is going to try to rebuild them but needs some money.
This synagogue has nothing to do with the Falashas. Early on in Addis' history, there was a community of a hundred or so Jewish Yemeni traders. They established a synagogue, procured 3 Torahs (still here), and formed a community in this neighborhood. Time passes, and there are only 5 Yemeni families left, scattered all over Addis. The synagogue is only open for Yom Kippur.
We climb the stairs to the second level and go into the sanctuary. Our Rabbi puts tfillin on Mike (assuming he has no idea how to do it himself), and has him daven a basic shacharit. Never mind that it is after 1:30 PM. He takes lots of pictures of Mike. Marketing materials?
At the same, the rebbetzin tells Carol the story of a Jewish woman from Brazil on her way to Israel who had a heart attack at the Addis Ababa airport. The Rabbi took care of kosher food for her and helped to arrange an airlift to Israel for her.
We ask the rabbi if we can see the Torah scrolls. The have fancy cylindrical Sephardic-style cases. As we leave, we give him a reasonable contribution, and walk back to the hotel. It is time for some internet posting.
At 3:30 PM we take a break and walk over to the local Ethiopian Airlines office to reconfirm our tickets. There is a poster touting medical tourism to Thailand. (Later on we will learn that had we been going out that evening (12 Feb) we would have been in serious trouble. Washington Dulles was going to be snowed in on the morning of 13 Feb, and no flights were going to be allowed to land.)
Back for some more internet.
About 6:30 PM it is time to get over to the Chinese restaurant. The guide book shows it to be in Kazanchis, on Jomo Kenyatta Street on the top floor of the Waf Building. We take a minibus to Kazanchis. It stops about 1 km or slightly more from where the restaurant should be. The street is totally torn up for urban redevelopment and the light rail line. Pretty deserted, but walkable over rough terrain. We press on - after all, we had confirmed this morning that Sichuan Restaurant was still around.
It is now dark, close to 7:30 PM. The Waf building is closed up. There is a restaurant in the building next door. We sit down. Wrong cuisine: not the Sichuan. By this time we are getting frustrated. A local tells us that Sichuan Restaurant has moved to the Intercontinental Hotel, which happens to be located a block or two past where we got off in the first place %$!&! So we walk back the way we came, and then even a bit more.
The Intercontinental is one of these $200+ a night places for people lodging on someone else's dime: very fancy. Elaborate security to enter. We say: "Sichuan Restaurant?" They direct us inside. We sit down. Wrong cuisine again. Not the Sichuan.
We are beyond frustrated. As we walk back to where we would catch a minibus back to Piassa, we pass an internet café. We take 2 minutes and get a new address for Sichuan, maybe 50-75 m south of the Intercontinental, in the Jonny building. Sure enough it is there, on the first (balcony) level.
By now, it is past 8:15 PM. We go in and order dry fried eggplant and mapo tofu. The waitress asks us if the dry fried eggplant should be in a sauce or not. We say dry. We get tea and a Fanta pineapple soda that Carol wants to try.
The restaurant has a good turnout of NGO types and locals. People are getting food, but service is slow. They give us complimentary eggrolls. Carol is actually falling asleep at the table. We are on the verge of leaving when our food finally comes. The eggplant is pretty good, sort of like what we get in our Szechuan restaurants. The tofu in the mapo tofu is kind of strange in texture, rather like it came out of a can. The dish tastes of Ethiopian pepper, rather than Sichuan pepper and flavors. Mike opines that, if American-Chinese is not Chinese, then Ethio-Chinese should not be Chinese either. Carol thinks ... why not just eat Ethiopian in Ethiopia?
It is now 10 PM. This meal was the most expensive of our whole trip, coming in at about $13 US in total. The streets are empty of minibuses, so we must take a taxi back to our hotel (another 200 birr [$10.50]).
This outing was an interesting experiment, but if we had to do it again, we would certainly do it differently.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Tue 11 Feb 2014 (4 Yekatit 2006) to Addis
Tue 11 Feb 2014 (4 Yekatit 2006) to Addis
Up and pack. Today it is time to go to Addis, which is apx 100 km away. No 4 or 5AM departure for us: our plan is to arrive at the Taitu Hotel after last night's vacated rooms become available.
Down to breakfast leisurely. We talk to the American family we saw yesterday. From Vermont, they are experiencing a very different Ethiopia than us. They are in the process of adopting an infant girl, who will be their second Ethiopian daughter. So, instead of touring, the family has set up shop in a hotel or B&B. Then, it's time to wait. They even take mini-vacations, like this stay in Adama (they have a suite in the back property of the hotel). Adoptions take a long time, so the families come prepared to sit for a month at a time. Eventually, things usually work out, but it is slow. The hotel staff clearly dotes on this family.
It is now 9:45 AM. Breakfast is over; tables and chairs are cleared from the salon in preparation for scrubbing the floor. Carol wants to see the place where the Vermont family is staying. Behind the main building there are bountiful fruit trees. She gathers up 6 small avocados that have fallen to the ground. On the way back front, there is a nice play area with a bounce tower for children. Goodbye Maya Hotel. We walk out of the property with our packs, which we have put in the Ospreys.
It is only a km or 1.5 km to the bus station, but we spring for a tuktuk. None are coming along on the main road, but there are plenty waiting on the side road. The tuktuks here are like jitneys. For a very small amount (2 birr?), you can get on and off in one direction on one road. When you reach your turn, you get off, and there are tuktuks waiting to take you on that road. Anyway, there are plenty of tuktuks waiting around the corner.
Mike goes around the corner and negotiates a fee of 30 birr nonstop to the bus station. Just come around to the front of the hotel. Well, the hotel has two entrances, and the tuktuk is way at the other entrance. So we pick up our bags and walk toward the waiting tuktuk. While we are walking, a street fellow comes up and grabs Mike's bag. Mike maintains hold of the bag, and the two walk along carrying the same bag to the tuktuk. Mike is calling off the guy, but he refuses to let go. Carol yells at Mike to just stop and refuse to move until the guy lets go, but Mike doesn't hear her.
We get to the tuktuk, put the bags in the tuktuk, and get in. This fellow, who has added no value, is holding on to the door and refusing to let us move. He wants 3 birr for "helping" Mike with his bag. This is a standoff. The man is adamant, ferocious. Carol hits at his arm, telling him to let go of the vehicle. He yells, in English: "Don't touch me." Finally, the driver takes 3 birr out of his own pocket, pays the other guy, and we are off (the fare probably should have been 20, so there was a little extra to spare). We all exhale.
The tuktuk loops around some back streets, past the university, the various vendors, and parts of town we haven't explored, headed for the best entrance to the bus station. At the station, we walk in. A sign says: Addis 99 birr. We agree on 100 birr each, and they squeeze our bags into a very very small trunk space in the back. We head off shortly. It is now just before 10:30 AM. Goodbye Adama, Nazaret, or whatever this burg is called (and thanks for all the grief).
The Chinese and the Ethiopian government are building a toll road from Addis to Adama. It will be 3 lanes in each direction, built to modern "interstate" standards. But it is not scheduled to open until April 2014 (can't help but adding: 2014 on whose calendar?). When the toll road opens, this trip might take 40 minutes. But today, we have a densely crowded two lane road to contend with. So for the next two hours, it is knuckle gripping driving, with lots of folks trying to pass in situations where there is plenty of oncoming traffic. It reminds Mike of travel in the US in the late 60s on roads which were totally interstate, except for the 40 miles of two lane road which remained until that stretch of interstate was completed. In the US, they put up big signs: "Two Lane Traffic For Next 39 Miles Only;" "Two Lane Traffic For Next 38 Miles Only;" etc. Here, you just grit your teeth.
Anyway, eventually we approach the southern suburbs of Addis. You can see Addis in the distance. There is even an Anbessa bus or two. Suddenly, our bus pulls into a bus station. This is Kalita, 15 km from Meskel Square. Time to get off. WHAT?!?!? Kalita is the terminal bus station for all buses to the south and southeast. From here there are local buses (yellow Higer buses) to Merkato, Legeher, and other places. None apparently for Piassa. How different our final week might have turned out had we made advance reservations and flown from Dire Dawa, or taken a Selam bus from Harar...
We hop onto a bus for Legeher. The road into town is totally under construction. Apparently, the Addis urban light rail will extend to Kalita when it opens sometime in 2015 (halevai). Right now we are just bouncing along in slow motion. Some 30-40 minutes later, we take a left onto a rough dirt road, pull a couple of turns, and come to a stop. We are now in Legeher, where we landed on our first jaunt around Addis (20 Jan), albeit around the corner from where we now stand.
Remember: Legeher = La Gare, the point of origin for the defunct Addis-Asmara rail line (whose other Ethiopian station we visited in Dire Dawa). The station is an impressive but barren husk of a once-noble setting. We are right here at Milepost Zero, so we take the opportunity to trudge into Buffet de la Gare, a time-worn (but legendary) hotel and restaurant. Think "Casablanca".
The restaurant is 1930s Continental-meets-lodge. The place is filled with expats speaking various languages, leisurely enjoying the best of Ethio-Italian food in a setting that seems to predate the Second World War. Carol orders a very good slice of lasagna. Mike gets a plate of veal with cabbage and rice. (OK, it was called veal, but looked and tasted like beef brisket.) Our meal also includes beer and rolls. Delicious.
The menu also offers desserts like creme caramel, ice cream, and various fruit combinations. This is the first Ethiopian restaurant we've patronized that offered desserts as part of a regular menu. While we've enjoyed pastry treats in the morning, meals in Ethiopia seem to skip end-of the-meal sweets entirely (maybe that's one of the reasons that most people are thin!) or just have some coffee.
We sat down for our meal at 1:30 PM, and are up and about after 2:45 PM, refreshed. Curiosity gets the better of Carol and she asks if there is an available room. The hotel turns out to be nothing much, with amenities that remind her of summer camp. The hotel habitués seem to date from the era of typewriters and telegrams.
We could take a bus from Legeher to Piassa, but we still have the packs, and it has been a l-o-n-g slow trip up to now. So for 120 birr, we get a taxi to Taitu. It is now after 3 PM. (We realize now that a trip from Awasa on our own, like the one we contemplated earlier as part of our vacation, would have also traveled through Kalita and Legeher, and might have taken as much as 8 hours. Shudder.)
At long last, we check in at Taitu. It feels like a real homecoming, with people at the front desk who remember us. We are given room 120, next to room 121 from our first stay. It has a bathtub instead of a shower, but the layout is awkward and the lights have problems. Somehow, it just doesn't feel like ... HOME. Carol asks if it would be possible to switch, and they give us old familiar 121 (with its two windows) for the last two nights of our trip.
Now is the hour for some extended internet time at our familiar inexpensive café. There is also time for sitting in the Taitu Restaurant talking with whomever wants to talk with us. There are some neat older women from various countries who have seen much of the world, and are ready for even more. What an inspiration!
Finally, it is dark. To KC Restaurant for a light dinner of hot and sour fish soup and kikil soup (stick with the tried, true and inexpensive tonight). They are soooooo slow that we get up several times, threatening to leave. Finally, it all arrives at our table. Tasty enough, but it is now well past 9 PM. Back to the hotel and to sleep.
Up and pack. Today it is time to go to Addis, which is apx 100 km away. No 4 or 5AM departure for us: our plan is to arrive at the Taitu Hotel after last night's vacated rooms become available.
Down to breakfast leisurely. We talk to the American family we saw yesterday. From Vermont, they are experiencing a very different Ethiopia than us. They are in the process of adopting an infant girl, who will be their second Ethiopian daughter. So, instead of touring, the family has set up shop in a hotel or B&B. Then, it's time to wait. They even take mini-vacations, like this stay in Adama (they have a suite in the back property of the hotel). Adoptions take a long time, so the families come prepared to sit for a month at a time. Eventually, things usually work out, but it is slow. The hotel staff clearly dotes on this family.
It is now 9:45 AM. Breakfast is over; tables and chairs are cleared from the salon in preparation for scrubbing the floor. Carol wants to see the place where the Vermont family is staying. Behind the main building there are bountiful fruit trees. She gathers up 6 small avocados that have fallen to the ground. On the way back front, there is a nice play area with a bounce tower for children. Goodbye Maya Hotel. We walk out of the property with our packs, which we have put in the Ospreys.
It is only a km or 1.5 km to the bus station, but we spring for a tuktuk. None are coming along on the main road, but there are plenty waiting on the side road. The tuktuks here are like jitneys. For a very small amount (2 birr?), you can get on and off in one direction on one road. When you reach your turn, you get off, and there are tuktuks waiting to take you on that road. Anyway, there are plenty of tuktuks waiting around the corner.
Mike goes around the corner and negotiates a fee of 30 birr nonstop to the bus station. Just come around to the front of the hotel. Well, the hotel has two entrances, and the tuktuk is way at the other entrance. So we pick up our bags and walk toward the waiting tuktuk. While we are walking, a street fellow comes up and grabs Mike's bag. Mike maintains hold of the bag, and the two walk along carrying the same bag to the tuktuk. Mike is calling off the guy, but he refuses to let go. Carol yells at Mike to just stop and refuse to move until the guy lets go, but Mike doesn't hear her.
We get to the tuktuk, put the bags in the tuktuk, and get in. This fellow, who has added no value, is holding on to the door and refusing to let us move. He wants 3 birr for "helping" Mike with his bag. This is a standoff. The man is adamant, ferocious. Carol hits at his arm, telling him to let go of the vehicle. He yells, in English: "Don't touch me." Finally, the driver takes 3 birr out of his own pocket, pays the other guy, and we are off (the fare probably should have been 20, so there was a little extra to spare). We all exhale.
The tuktuk loops around some back streets, past the university, the various vendors, and parts of town we haven't explored, headed for the best entrance to the bus station. At the station, we walk in. A sign says: Addis 99 birr. We agree on 100 birr each, and they squeeze our bags into a very very small trunk space in the back. We head off shortly. It is now just before 10:30 AM. Goodbye Adama, Nazaret, or whatever this burg is called (and thanks for all the grief).
The Chinese and the Ethiopian government are building a toll road from Addis to Adama. It will be 3 lanes in each direction, built to modern "interstate" standards. But it is not scheduled to open until April 2014 (can't help but adding: 2014 on whose calendar?). When the toll road opens, this trip might take 40 minutes. But today, we have a densely crowded two lane road to contend with. So for the next two hours, it is knuckle gripping driving, with lots of folks trying to pass in situations where there is plenty of oncoming traffic. It reminds Mike of travel in the US in the late 60s on roads which were totally interstate, except for the 40 miles of two lane road which remained until that stretch of interstate was completed. In the US, they put up big signs: "Two Lane Traffic For Next 39 Miles Only;" "Two Lane Traffic For Next 38 Miles Only;" etc. Here, you just grit your teeth.
Anyway, eventually we approach the southern suburbs of Addis. You can see Addis in the distance. There is even an Anbessa bus or two. Suddenly, our bus pulls into a bus station. This is Kalita, 15 km from Meskel Square. Time to get off. WHAT?!?!? Kalita is the terminal bus station for all buses to the south and southeast. From here there are local buses (yellow Higer buses) to Merkato, Legeher, and other places. None apparently for Piassa. How different our final week might have turned out had we made advance reservations and flown from Dire Dawa, or taken a Selam bus from Harar...
We hop onto a bus for Legeher. The road into town is totally under construction. Apparently, the Addis urban light rail will extend to Kalita when it opens sometime in 2015 (halevai). Right now we are just bouncing along in slow motion. Some 30-40 minutes later, we take a left onto a rough dirt road, pull a couple of turns, and come to a stop. We are now in Legeher, where we landed on our first jaunt around Addis (20 Jan), albeit around the corner from where we now stand.
Remember: Legeher = La Gare, the point of origin for the defunct Addis-Asmara rail line (whose other Ethiopian station we visited in Dire Dawa). The station is an impressive but barren husk of a once-noble setting. We are right here at Milepost Zero, so we take the opportunity to trudge into Buffet de la Gare, a time-worn (but legendary) hotel and restaurant. Think "Casablanca".
The restaurant is 1930s Continental-meets-lodge. The place is filled with expats speaking various languages, leisurely enjoying the best of Ethio-Italian food in a setting that seems to predate the Second World War. Carol orders a very good slice of lasagna. Mike gets a plate of veal with cabbage and rice. (OK, it was called veal, but looked and tasted like beef brisket.) Our meal also includes beer and rolls. Delicious.
The menu also offers desserts like creme caramel, ice cream, and various fruit combinations. This is the first Ethiopian restaurant we've patronized that offered desserts as part of a regular menu. While we've enjoyed pastry treats in the morning, meals in Ethiopia seem to skip end-of the-meal sweets entirely (maybe that's one of the reasons that most people are thin!) or just have some coffee.
We sat down for our meal at 1:30 PM, and are up and about after 2:45 PM, refreshed. Curiosity gets the better of Carol and she asks if there is an available room. The hotel turns out to be nothing much, with amenities that remind her of summer camp. The hotel habitués seem to date from the era of typewriters and telegrams.
We could take a bus from Legeher to Piassa, but we still have the packs, and it has been a l-o-n-g slow trip up to now. So for 120 birr, we get a taxi to Taitu. It is now after 3 PM. (We realize now that a trip from Awasa on our own, like the one we contemplated earlier as part of our vacation, would have also traveled through Kalita and Legeher, and might have taken as much as 8 hours. Shudder.)
At long last, we check in at Taitu. It feels like a real homecoming, with people at the front desk who remember us. We are given room 120, next to room 121 from our first stay. It has a bathtub instead of a shower, but the layout is awkward and the lights have problems. Somehow, it just doesn't feel like ... HOME. Carol asks if it would be possible to switch, and they give us old familiar 121 (with its two windows) for the last two nights of our trip.
Now is the hour for some extended internet time at our familiar inexpensive café. There is also time for sitting in the Taitu Restaurant talking with whomever wants to talk with us. There are some neat older women from various countries who have seen much of the world, and are ready for even more. What an inspiration!
Finally, it is dark. To KC Restaurant for a light dinner of hot and sour fish soup and kikil soup (stick with the tried, true and inexpensive tonight). They are soooooo slow that we get up several times, threatening to leave. Finally, it all arrives at our table. Tasty enough, but it is now well past 9 PM. Back to the hotel and to sleep.
Mon 10 Feb 2014 (3 Yekatit 2006) Adama
Mon 10 Feb 2014 (3 Yekatit 2006) Adama
The clothes are mostly dry, and we're in no great hurry to get going. Carol goes down to breakfast. Mike heads first to the front desk to straighten out the lost key problem. Surprise! They have the lost key in their possession.
The Maya Hotel buffet breakfast, while somewhat simpler than Dire Dawa's Ras is still a solid 8 out of 10. A first for this trip: steamed milk along with the coffee and tea.
Mike falls into conversation with an interesting professional family from Addis. The husband, who is part Ethiopian, teaches at a theology institution. His Indian-born wife and their three daughters are enjoying this school break holiday. All speak English fluently. The wife is the one who instinctively knew that our 4:30 AM bus in Dire Dawa would not have left until 6 AM. They had eaten at the Green Valley Restaurant near our hotel the night before and highly recommended it.
Mike was still curious as to how our room key had gotten to the front desk overnight, so he asked the husband to inquire further at the front desk. He reported back that someone overnight had thrown the key onto the grounds - it had been picked up and delivered to the front desk. Yesterday, the room key had been in Mike's front left pocket atop a few small bills, functioning as his money clip. The room key had in fact protected his money from the bump-I'm-sorry pickpocketer.
Mike reached into his right pants pocket and discovered that his cell phone, a simple 10-year-old, non-smart phone, was also gone. It had been kept on top of the camera. So the phone turns out to have protected the camera and the other less important stuff in the right pocket from being taken.
Mike concludes that perhaps the correct response to any pedestrian delivering an "accidental" bumping would be to step hard on the foot of the bumper, and almost immediately hit him hard in the groin, saying "Excuse me" very apologetically. Then check your own pockets, and check the pockets of the bumper. This will either recover your pickpocketed stuff, or get you thrown in the local jail for assault and battery. Well, maybe not.
(This morning at breakfast, there is also an American family with a teen girl and a toddler daughter. More about them tomorrow.)
Folks from Addis come to Adama to see the lakes and the wildlife. Today, we have a choice of two day trips to do the same. Choice 1: We can go to the eastern shore of Lake Koka, where there is a hippo pool and purportedly a reliable likelihood of seeing hippos and maybe crocodiles. Just take a local bus toward Addis, get off at a junction 15 km west at a big blue sign. Hitchhike on a local road 12 km to a parking lot, and walk to the pool. This sounds pretty problematic without a car, so we go on to Choice 2.
Choice 2, the Sodere Hot Springs, is a resort complex 25 km to the south of Adama. It is located on the Awash River (this is the same river which drains from Lake Koka and continues on to Awash Falls and the Awash National Park 100 or so km to the east). Luckily, it is served by a regular minibus, so Sodere it is.
It is now 9:30 am. We walk to the bus station, find the Sodere minibus, ascertain that the fare is 20 birr each, and get on. Pretty soon we are off. We are stalled in the bus lot for close to 10 minutes, but it turns out that we are just waiting for the driver. As we drive and people are getting off and others on, the conductor is collecting the fare. Nobody is paying more than 10 birr, so Mike offers 20 birr for the two of us. A discussion ensues. It turns out that those passengers staying on the main road to the town of Awash (sorry, but everything seems to be called Awash) are paying only 7 - 10 birr. However, if you want to turn east and go the last 5 km to the resort itself, it is 20 birr. This is not a farengi pricing just for us today! We agree and pay.
As we leave Adama, businesses sport bi- and trilingual signs. We get to the town on the resort road, then STOP. We are only passengers going on to the resort. We are "sold" to the minibus that is sitting there, which is going the last 5 km. OK, we have seen this transfer arrangement many times before in many other countries and many other contexts. The driver for this second bus gets then on. He takes what looks like a radio and sticks it over the existing radio in the minibus. He takes a keypad and plugs it into what looks like a receptacle for a cigarette lighter in older American vehicles. This is his music player, with which he can dial in hundreds of music channels (God forbid that we should be on a minibus without blaring Ethiopian music).
It is now 10:50 AM. We are off (gently downhill) to the resort, following the path of the Awash River. We are in sugar cane/teff country, and lots of tall green stalks are growing on both sides of the road. The bus lets us off 20 meters from the resort entrance. Along with other arriving tourists, we pay the admittance fee of 30 birr each. Down a lovely landscaped path we come to a collection of low-slung buildings around a fountain, evoking powerful memories of Howard Johnson Hotels of days long gone.
Sodere Resort opened in 1963. This is where middle class Ethiopians come to relax, about a 2 hour car trip from Addis (120 KM). Sodere is famous for its hot springs and mineral water bathing (outdoor pools in Addis seem to be pretty rare). There are at least 3 swimming pools (different generations of construction), one of which is a "Swmminig Pool". There is a facility for massages, a building offering "Chinese Medicine", a conference hall, lots of cabins and other resort hotel type accommodations (some brand new, and some looking pretty worn). There are also trails, and off we go, in search of native animals.
Near the trailheads there is a brick wall decorated with clever metal sculptures of a rhino, a hippo, a crocodile. A metal snake, prey in its mouth, winds around a large tree which is growing next to the wall. There is a chair built into an artificial waterfall - the perfect spot for a bathing suit photo-op.
The whole resort stretches out along the south bank of the Awash River, which is fenced off and not reachable by foot. The trees and greenery that fringe the paths support a lot of darting birds. There are people on the other side of the river, including some kids tending their donkeys, but that is rural Ethiopia, and the two societies do not communicate here. But we are mostly in constant view of the river.
We keep on walking. We pass a small structure which functions as an [Ethiopian Orthodox] chapel. We keep on walking, passing monkeys and a good number of water birds (such as egrets), but no hippos. Apparently there is one hippo, who will appear every now and then, but we are not among the annointed today (maybe it is also on school holiday). The only Crocs to be found are on the feet of paying guests. They are the most interesting fauna to be seen - more cute two-piece bathing suits, jog wear and cargo pants here than neteles, veils, or Muslim caps. The many children enjoying the resort are dressed just like American kids. Yuppie is as yuppie does.
The road peters out, and clearly turns into a parking area for the newest of the resort cabins. Almost no Ethiopians own private cars, but the small subgroup who do have their own vehicles are staying at Sodere. Perhaps if we were ferengi posted to Addis for a period of years, we would vacation here too.
Time to get back to town. In truth, we have been here not much more than an hour, but we seem to have seen it all. And the day is becoming steadily warmer and somewhat oppressive. We pass again by the swimming pools, a gift shop or two, some changing rooms, and we are now in an area of vervet monkeys. How do we know? The adult male has a pale blue scrotum. It is fun to watch them carefully groom each other, from beneath the tail to the top of the head. Several will combine for a good nit-picking on a single "customer" (maybe the massage staff has paid them off for a little subliminal advertising.)
Goodbye metal hippo.
And metal croc.
And rhino and snake.
We walk out, back to the stop where we were let off. There is a minibus waiting there. After about 15 minutes it fills, and we are off uphill. At the main road, we are put on a bus back to Adama - we know the drill by now.
In town, a few blocks before the bus station itself, we get off at a booth Carol had noticed during our trip to Sodere: "Iodized Salt for Women and Children." There are piles of bags of iodized salt, along with someone who will explain the importance of micronutrients. It turns out that Ethiopia is among the world's 13 most iodine-poor countries.When a mother has an iodine deficiency during her pregnancy, there will be insufficient amount of iodine for the production of thyroid hormones. This is a common cause of cretinism in people who do not have enough natural sources of iodine in their diets. Carol remembers well two older men with mental retardation at the program in southern Georgia where she worked in the early 1970s. Before US laws were changed, poor rural Americans used to save money by using uniodized salt. Ethiopia is landlocked and its soil is deficient in certain minerals. The country used to get its salt from the Eritrean port of Assab, where iodization factories added the nutrient. But since the war, most Ethiopian salt comes uniodized from the salt flats of northern Ethiopia. "It is estimated that almost half of Ethiopia's 80 million population faces iodine deficiency disorder (IDD). Of the 35 million people at risk, 40 percent are believed to have contracted goiter, a swelling of the thyroid gland in the neck."
It is lunch time, but two large glasses of juice (avocado for Mike, mixed for Carol) will do instead. So we stop in a crowded juice bar and imbibe.
After our juice lunch, we look again at a grocery across the street, which has a large placard depicting pigs and some words in Chinese. Inside, Mike discovers some frozen pork, some bottles of soy sauce, and bags of rice. For vegetables, in addition to the rich mix of Ethiopian vegetables, they sell napa cabbage, but precious else for true Chinese cooking. Is there a single store in Addis where the Chinese who are all over the country go to buy their supplies, 200 kg at a time?
Footnote: At home, Mike has the following for a minimal Chinese kitchen: soy sauce, light soy sauce, fish sauce, hoisin sauce, rice vinegar, xinjiang [chinkiang] vinegar, shao hsing rice wine, black bean paste, pickled vegatables, chili paste. Also, rice thread, bean thread, rice noodles. And for specialty dishes, Szechuan peppercorns.
It is now past 2:30 pm. After this morning's analysis of the contents of Mike's pockets, we are eager to transfer our 1200+ trip photos to a USB stick. We walk back to the hotel to pick up the USB stick and a transfer cord.
At the hotel there is an Ethiopian fellow absorbed in his computer. He speaks reasonable English. Mike asks him to call the number of the now-lost cell phone. Someone answers. Our caller says you have a stolen phone. The answering person stammers a bit, and the phone is turned off. Our caller spoke in Amharic, but the local language is Oromifa. Would we have had a different result if the call was in Oromifa? Fat chance, most likely.
Back in the center of town we find an internet café. We don't need our transfer cord for the procedure. We use a USB cradle that holds our camera memory card. Bingo: we are copying. It is slow, but finally all 1207 pictures and 5 short movies are on the computer. Then they are on the USB stick, headed for deep packing in Mike's backpack. Now if someone makes away with the camera, they get an old camera, and only the very newest pictures from the last day or so. Paranoia has its virtues.
It is now close to dinner time. A restaurant in the same off-road plaza as the internet café serves kikil for 30 birr. We sit down, relax, and watch the passing scene over two very tasty bowls of soup. Across the way in another restaurant patio are 4 Chinese men. Mike goes over and talks to them. How do they get supplies for Chinese cooking? It turns out that these guys are posted somewhere in rural Ethiopia; they are here in Adama for a conference or a meeting. It also turns out that one of their number is from Lanzhou, in northwest China, a major city on the Yellow River, the capital of Gansu Province. Well, this Lanzhou fellow was very good at throwing noodles: a bag of wheat flour, some water, and a little yeast, and they had Chinese meals. No need for all of the other Chinese kitchen items. Still no explanation of how the Chinese who are not from Lanzhou are eating.
Footnote: We have a New Lan Zhou Restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia. One of the owners throws his own noodles. This quite a process - make the dough, roll it out, stretch it, throw it, and stretch it again. Cut it into dowel shapes. Then fold in half, stretch it, fold it in half again, and half again (now you have 8 thick noodles). Then again (16), and again (32), and again (64 thin noodles). This guy in Atlanta usually gets 128 really thin noodles. Tear away the small ball of dough at the end, and throw the noodles into the pot of soup already on the stove.
While we are eating, the electricity goes out. This is fairly normal in Ethiopia, but not so good for folks who try to run internet cafes. Luckily, kikil soup tastes just as good without electricity as it does with electricity.
It is now past 7 PM and dark. We walk back toward Maya and find the Green Valley Restarant (recommended the Ethio-Indian family for its sundaes). It is located on the second level of a multistory building. The cafe tables on the patio facing the street turn out to be the places to see and be seen from the street below. We watch a table of young women friends, who seemed by their dress to be a mix of Muslim and Orthodox, carefully position themselves by the railing. We try to order a sundae. What came instead was a chocolate ice cream float. Tasty (and filling) enough. We didn't see anyone else eating sundaes, or see them on the menu. Oh, well.
Back to the hotel, just a short distance away. Walk side by side. Keep your eyes out for people coming too close. Carol spots the young beggar woman from last night. On closer inspection, is she holding a baby or just some artfully arranged cloth? The past few days have taken a toll on us.
Into the Maya courtyard. Up to the room, key in hand. And to sleep.
Over the course of the trip, the people inhabiting Carol's dreams have become less Caucasian and more African.
The clothes are mostly dry, and we're in no great hurry to get going. Carol goes down to breakfast. Mike heads first to the front desk to straighten out the lost key problem. Surprise! They have the lost key in their possession.
The Maya Hotel buffet breakfast, while somewhat simpler than Dire Dawa's Ras is still a solid 8 out of 10. A first for this trip: steamed milk along with the coffee and tea.
Mike falls into conversation with an interesting professional family from Addis. The husband, who is part Ethiopian, teaches at a theology institution. His Indian-born wife and their three daughters are enjoying this school break holiday. All speak English fluently. The wife is the one who instinctively knew that our 4:30 AM bus in Dire Dawa would not have left until 6 AM. They had eaten at the Green Valley Restaurant near our hotel the night before and highly recommended it.
Mike was still curious as to how our room key had gotten to the front desk overnight, so he asked the husband to inquire further at the front desk. He reported back that someone overnight had thrown the key onto the grounds - it had been picked up and delivered to the front desk. Yesterday, the room key had been in Mike's front left pocket atop a few small bills, functioning as his money clip. The room key had in fact protected his money from the bump-I'm-sorry pickpocketer.
Mike reached into his right pants pocket and discovered that his cell phone, a simple 10-year-old, non-smart phone, was also gone. It had been kept on top of the camera. So the phone turns out to have protected the camera and the other less important stuff in the right pocket from being taken.
Mike concludes that perhaps the correct response to any pedestrian delivering an "accidental" bumping would be to step hard on the foot of the bumper, and almost immediately hit him hard in the groin, saying "Excuse me" very apologetically. Then check your own pockets, and check the pockets of the bumper. This will either recover your pickpocketed stuff, or get you thrown in the local jail for assault and battery. Well, maybe not.
(This morning at breakfast, there is also an American family with a teen girl and a toddler daughter. More about them tomorrow.)
Folks from Addis come to Adama to see the lakes and the wildlife. Today, we have a choice of two day trips to do the same. Choice 1: We can go to the eastern shore of Lake Koka, where there is a hippo pool and purportedly a reliable likelihood of seeing hippos and maybe crocodiles. Just take a local bus toward Addis, get off at a junction 15 km west at a big blue sign. Hitchhike on a local road 12 km to a parking lot, and walk to the pool. This sounds pretty problematic without a car, so we go on to Choice 2.
Choice 2, the Sodere Hot Springs, is a resort complex 25 km to the south of Adama. It is located on the Awash River (this is the same river which drains from Lake Koka and continues on to Awash Falls and the Awash National Park 100 or so km to the east). Luckily, it is served by a regular minibus, so Sodere it is.
It is now 9:30 am. We walk to the bus station, find the Sodere minibus, ascertain that the fare is 20 birr each, and get on. Pretty soon we are off. We are stalled in the bus lot for close to 10 minutes, but it turns out that we are just waiting for the driver. As we drive and people are getting off and others on, the conductor is collecting the fare. Nobody is paying more than 10 birr, so Mike offers 20 birr for the two of us. A discussion ensues. It turns out that those passengers staying on the main road to the town of Awash (sorry, but everything seems to be called Awash) are paying only 7 - 10 birr. However, if you want to turn east and go the last 5 km to the resort itself, it is 20 birr. This is not a farengi pricing just for us today! We agree and pay.
As we leave Adama, businesses sport bi- and trilingual signs. We get to the town on the resort road, then STOP. We are only passengers going on to the resort. We are "sold" to the minibus that is sitting there, which is going the last 5 km. OK, we have seen this transfer arrangement many times before in many other countries and many other contexts. The driver for this second bus gets then on. He takes what looks like a radio and sticks it over the existing radio in the minibus. He takes a keypad and plugs it into what looks like a receptacle for a cigarette lighter in older American vehicles. This is his music player, with which he can dial in hundreds of music channels (God forbid that we should be on a minibus without blaring Ethiopian music).
It is now 10:50 AM. We are off (gently downhill) to the resort, following the path of the Awash River. We are in sugar cane/teff country, and lots of tall green stalks are growing on both sides of the road. The bus lets us off 20 meters from the resort entrance. Along with other arriving tourists, we pay the admittance fee of 30 birr each. Down a lovely landscaped path we come to a collection of low-slung buildings around a fountain, evoking powerful memories of Howard Johnson Hotels of days long gone.
Sodere Resort opened in 1963. This is where middle class Ethiopians come to relax, about a 2 hour car trip from Addis (120 KM). Sodere is famous for its hot springs and mineral water bathing (outdoor pools in Addis seem to be pretty rare). There are at least 3 swimming pools (different generations of construction), one of which is a "Swmminig Pool". There is a facility for massages, a building offering "Chinese Medicine", a conference hall, lots of cabins and other resort hotel type accommodations (some brand new, and some looking pretty worn). There are also trails, and off we go, in search of native animals.
Near the trailheads there is a brick wall decorated with clever metal sculptures of a rhino, a hippo, a crocodile. A metal snake, prey in its mouth, winds around a large tree which is growing next to the wall. There is a chair built into an artificial waterfall - the perfect spot for a bathing suit photo-op.
The whole resort stretches out along the south bank of the Awash River, which is fenced off and not reachable by foot. The trees and greenery that fringe the paths support a lot of darting birds. There are people on the other side of the river, including some kids tending their donkeys, but that is rural Ethiopia, and the two societies do not communicate here. But we are mostly in constant view of the river.
We keep on walking. We pass a small structure which functions as an [Ethiopian Orthodox] chapel. We keep on walking, passing monkeys and a good number of water birds (such as egrets), but no hippos. Apparently there is one hippo, who will appear every now and then, but we are not among the annointed today (maybe it is also on school holiday). The only Crocs to be found are on the feet of paying guests. They are the most interesting fauna to be seen - more cute two-piece bathing suits, jog wear and cargo pants here than neteles, veils, or Muslim caps. The many children enjoying the resort are dressed just like American kids. Yuppie is as yuppie does.
The road peters out, and clearly turns into a parking area for the newest of the resort cabins. Almost no Ethiopians own private cars, but the small subgroup who do have their own vehicles are staying at Sodere. Perhaps if we were ferengi posted to Addis for a period of years, we would vacation here too.
Time to get back to town. In truth, we have been here not much more than an hour, but we seem to have seen it all. And the day is becoming steadily warmer and somewhat oppressive. We pass again by the swimming pools, a gift shop or two, some changing rooms, and we are now in an area of vervet monkeys. How do we know? The adult male has a pale blue scrotum. It is fun to watch them carefully groom each other, from beneath the tail to the top of the head. Several will combine for a good nit-picking on a single "customer" (maybe the massage staff has paid them off for a little subliminal advertising.)
Goodbye metal hippo.
And metal croc.
And rhino and snake.
We walk out, back to the stop where we were let off. There is a minibus waiting there. After about 15 minutes it fills, and we are off uphill. At the main road, we are put on a bus back to Adama - we know the drill by now.
In town, a few blocks before the bus station itself, we get off at a booth Carol had noticed during our trip to Sodere: "Iodized Salt for Women and Children." There are piles of bags of iodized salt, along with someone who will explain the importance of micronutrients. It turns out that Ethiopia is among the world's 13 most iodine-poor countries.When a mother has an iodine deficiency during her pregnancy, there will be insufficient amount of iodine for the production of thyroid hormones. This is a common cause of cretinism in people who do not have enough natural sources of iodine in their diets. Carol remembers well two older men with mental retardation at the program in southern Georgia where she worked in the early 1970s. Before US laws were changed, poor rural Americans used to save money by using uniodized salt. Ethiopia is landlocked and its soil is deficient in certain minerals. The country used to get its salt from the Eritrean port of Assab, where iodization factories added the nutrient. But since the war, most Ethiopian salt comes uniodized from the salt flats of northern Ethiopia. "It is estimated that almost half of Ethiopia's 80 million population faces iodine deficiency disorder (IDD). Of the 35 million people at risk, 40 percent are believed to have contracted goiter, a swelling of the thyroid gland in the neck."
It is lunch time, but two large glasses of juice (avocado for Mike, mixed for Carol) will do instead. So we stop in a crowded juice bar and imbibe.
After our juice lunch, we look again at a grocery across the street, which has a large placard depicting pigs and some words in Chinese. Inside, Mike discovers some frozen pork, some bottles of soy sauce, and bags of rice. For vegetables, in addition to the rich mix of Ethiopian vegetables, they sell napa cabbage, but precious else for true Chinese cooking. Is there a single store in Addis where the Chinese who are all over the country go to buy their supplies, 200 kg at a time?
Footnote: At home, Mike has the following for a minimal Chinese kitchen: soy sauce, light soy sauce, fish sauce, hoisin sauce, rice vinegar, xinjiang [chinkiang] vinegar, shao hsing rice wine, black bean paste, pickled vegatables, chili paste. Also, rice thread, bean thread, rice noodles. And for specialty dishes, Szechuan peppercorns.
It is now past 2:30 pm. After this morning's analysis of the contents of Mike's pockets, we are eager to transfer our 1200+ trip photos to a USB stick. We walk back to the hotel to pick up the USB stick and a transfer cord.
At the hotel there is an Ethiopian fellow absorbed in his computer. He speaks reasonable English. Mike asks him to call the number of the now-lost cell phone. Someone answers. Our caller says you have a stolen phone. The answering person stammers a bit, and the phone is turned off. Our caller spoke in Amharic, but the local language is Oromifa. Would we have had a different result if the call was in Oromifa? Fat chance, most likely.
Back in the center of town we find an internet café. We don't need our transfer cord for the procedure. We use a USB cradle that holds our camera memory card. Bingo: we are copying. It is slow, but finally all 1207 pictures and 5 short movies are on the computer. Then they are on the USB stick, headed for deep packing in Mike's backpack. Now if someone makes away with the camera, they get an old camera, and only the very newest pictures from the last day or so. Paranoia has its virtues.
It is now close to dinner time. A restaurant in the same off-road plaza as the internet café serves kikil for 30 birr. We sit down, relax, and watch the passing scene over two very tasty bowls of soup. Across the way in another restaurant patio are 4 Chinese men. Mike goes over and talks to them. How do they get supplies for Chinese cooking? It turns out that these guys are posted somewhere in rural Ethiopia; they are here in Adama for a conference or a meeting. It also turns out that one of their number is from Lanzhou, in northwest China, a major city on the Yellow River, the capital of Gansu Province. Well, this Lanzhou fellow was very good at throwing noodles: a bag of wheat flour, some water, and a little yeast, and they had Chinese meals. No need for all of the other Chinese kitchen items. Still no explanation of how the Chinese who are not from Lanzhou are eating.
Footnote: We have a New Lan Zhou Restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia. One of the owners throws his own noodles. This quite a process - make the dough, roll it out, stretch it, throw it, and stretch it again. Cut it into dowel shapes. Then fold in half, stretch it, fold it in half again, and half again (now you have 8 thick noodles). Then again (16), and again (32), and again (64 thin noodles). This guy in Atlanta usually gets 128 really thin noodles. Tear away the small ball of dough at the end, and throw the noodles into the pot of soup already on the stove.
While we are eating, the electricity goes out. This is fairly normal in Ethiopia, but not so good for folks who try to run internet cafes. Luckily, kikil soup tastes just as good without electricity as it does with electricity.
It is now past 7 PM and dark. We walk back toward Maya and find the Green Valley Restarant (recommended the Ethio-Indian family for its sundaes). It is located on the second level of a multistory building. The cafe tables on the patio facing the street turn out to be the places to see and be seen from the street below. We watch a table of young women friends, who seemed by their dress to be a mix of Muslim and Orthodox, carefully position themselves by the railing. We try to order a sundae. What came instead was a chocolate ice cream float. Tasty (and filling) enough. We didn't see anyone else eating sundaes, or see them on the menu. Oh, well.
Back to the hotel, just a short distance away. Walk side by side. Keep your eyes out for people coming too close. Carol spots the young beggar woman from last night. On closer inspection, is she holding a baby or just some artfully arranged cloth? The past few days have taken a toll on us.
Into the Maya courtyard. Up to the room, key in hand. And to sleep.
Over the course of the trip, the people inhabiting Carol's dreams have become less Caucasian and more African.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
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.
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