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

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