Unwelcome adventures

Bahir Dar & getting home

Lake Tana

on an island on Lake Tana visiting monasteries 

monastery

monk with his antiques

hippo!

lush Bahir Dar

the first bridge to get to the falls

the second bridge to get to the falls

Blue Nile Falls

(Dec 15-16^th) With its warmer, wetter climate, mosquitoes, and large, sweeping palm trees, Bahir Dar felt like the tropics, a nice break from a week of cold nights in the mountains. I met a whole crew of characters at the hotel: Doug, a beekeeper; Ann, a lawyer from New York; Lorenz, a rocket-topper salesman; and Robert, a surgeon working in Bahir Dar and Addis, with whom I visited monasteries and hippos on Lake Tana and the Blue Nile Falls in Tis Isat.

Doug and I ventured out into Bahir Dar to reserve a seat on a bus leaving for Addis the next day (Friday). We finally found the ticket office, however, it was locked. I am perpetually confused by the seemingly illogical ways that businesses work in Ethiopia. Despite the office being closed, a young man that claimed that he worked for Sky Bus was hanging around the locked office. He told us that the Sky Bus was full for the next two days, but that another van would be leaving for Addis the next day. He led me down a particularly stinky alley to another “office,” a corrugated metal hut that resembled a child's lemonade stand or a backyard chicken coop. I felt unsure about the whole transaction, but anxious to get back to Addis and ready to leave Bahir Dar, this seemed to be my only option. He assured me that the van would pick me up at my hotel at 4am the next day and bring me to my home in Ayat. He even had me meet the driver and look over the van, excited to sell me on the facts that the van possessed seat belts (!!) and a TV. I was still concerned; a feeling of uncertainty was bubbling up from my gut. He made sure to escort me as I completed all of our other errands—buying bread, changing Doug's flight, visiting the bank. When Doug left, he asked me to marry him, “we'd have macchiato babies.” I turned him down repeatedly while Doug continued to bargain for my hand, jokingly saying that I could be his for a few bags of grain and a cow. The fake wedding ring that I don't dare to remove does nothing to deter these persistent men, hoping to secure a visa to the states. I see less and less humor in these proposals after receiving my fourth in the last three days. We finally got rid of the ticket salesman and completed our errands without him, only to find him back at our hotel when we returned. Hi friend stated that he missed me and asked if I would go to his house for a coffee ceremony. No thank you.

I went to bed that night and slept little, knowing that I would be waking up in only a few hours, hoping that the van would indeed show up. At 4am, I sat in the dark at the entrance to the hotel, waiting, the guard next to me dressed in the typical dirtied fleece, draped from head to foot. Eventually, a car pulled up to the gate, headlights blaring. I looked around the courtyard of the hotel, knowing that no one else but the guard was around, I felt reassured that my ride was finally here. I peeked out of the gate into the dark street and realized that it was not a van, but a Jeep. This was not the van that I had been introduced to the day before, nor was it the driver that I had been expecting. The guard (who did not speak English) shut the tall, metal gate behind me and I was instantly flooded with fear, alone with this unknown car on the dark street at 4:15 in the morning. I asked the driver the name of the passenger that he intended to pick up and he looked at me mystified and seemingly annoyed. Then I asked the name of his company and he responded in broken English that he was not a company, his anger growing. A man inside the Jeep opened a door, grabbed my backpack, and threw it behind him. I felt as though I was standing on a divide, that I needed to make a timely decision whether to hop in the Jeep and pray that Addis was indeed the final destination or declare it a lost cost, give up the money that I had already paid, and find myself stuck in Bahir Dar for two more days. I jumped into the Jeep.

We drove around Bahir Dar for another hour, passengers jumping in and out. Two women dressed in traditional white cotton stood beside the road. In the darkness, I could not see them until we had pulled over to let them in. We picked them up and after a few more loops around the town, dropped them off to join a crowd of women standing in the dark beside the road. Everyone else in the car seemed unfazed by this seemingly illogical and time-consuming game of musical Jeep. I was ready to get started on the eight-plus hour (and currently every-increasing) ride to Addis. The driver snapped his fingers at me from the front seat, a signal that it was time for me to pay up. However, my uneasiness was growing and I was becoming less sure that I would indeed make it safely to Addis. I scrounged up all of the courage that I could muster and refused to pay the second half of the fare, explaining that nothing was as I had expected it to be and that I would only pay it when I had arrived in Addis. This thoroughly irked the driver. After picking up yet another passenger, he looped by to my hotel, stormed out of the drivers seat and around the back to my door, whipped it open and began furiously yelling at me in Amharic. I was terrified. What had I gotten myself into? I started to cry, which was my best move yet that day. Immediately, this changed the game. The most recently acquired passenger began yelling back at the driver while holding onto my shoulder telling me that everything would be alright. He somehow got the driver to close my door and retreat back to the driver's seat. I tried to stop crying and whenever my new friend thought that I was continuing, if he caught a glimpse of a tear wipe or a sniffle, he again tried to reassure me. Despite the early hour (it was now around a quarter til 5), he called a friend that spoke entirely comprehensible English to further comfort me, explaining that he would meet me in Addis and make sure that I was alright (which he did). Here comes the fifth proposal.

After eleven hours, we finally arrived in Addis, the driver having not said one word to me nor having looked in my direction throughout the drive. We stopped only twice along the way, the first for “breakfast,” which consisted of shiro and lentils, and the second, for coffee. After a long Higer ride through the city from Mexico to Ayat, picking up kale and injera from street markets for my dinner along the way, I finally arrived at the gate to my home. I heard the maids running to open it. They immediately gave me big, warm hugs, and unburdened me of my luggage, their faces bright and excited. One even did a dance for me! All of the knots that had developed in my stomach over the past two days immediately dissipated and I was overjoyed to be safely home.

Trekking in the Simien Mountains

(Dec 8-14^th) I was able to find two other English-speakers in Debark with whom to venture into the Simien Mountains—Shinyi from Canada and Albert from Spain. They had both recently quit their respective jobs, Albert as a cosmetic laser salesman and Shinyi as an interior design coordinator. They had both been traveling for many months with dreams to continue for many more, hoping never to return to the reality of a paying job and permanent home. We arranged our trek at the park office, hiring our cook, two mules, mule men, and scout (who was perpetually clutching his gun). We left the next morning, going ahead with the scout while the mules were loaded up with our food and gear.

our scout.

I never saw this scout not smiling--he does have 5 wives.

It was luxurious trekking. Carrying only a day bag, to arrive at camp with my tent already set up by the mule men, a table laid out with tea and popcorn made by our cook, Lemlem, with dinner to come shortly, I felt like a mountain queen. The next morning, hot breakfast was prepared for us and our lunch bags were ready by the time that we started hiking. This much be what my FOPpers felt like on trips that I led—ha!

We saw baboons everyday and they were as exciting to see the last day as they were the first. We were also lucky enough to catch glimpses of ibexes. I was surprised by the number of local people that we came across on the trail, mostly trying to sell us cups, baskets, and other trinkets. The views stretched farther than I could comprehend, mountain beyond mountain beyond mountain.

Ibex
 

salesmen along our trekking route

One night at the campsite, we enjoyed chicken that was killed on site. The same evening, I watched the mule men slaughter two goats for a large school group, an impromptu anatomy lesson in the mountains! They seemed shocked that I took such an interest. To close out the days, we sat around the campfire in the cooking hut. Twelve Ethiopians and I sat, faces aglow (mine more than theirs due to its blaring whiteness), them speaking in Amharic, me trying to grasp the little that I could understand.

around the fire

goat

dinner.

the butcher and I.


     

After hiking for five days, Shinyi, Albert and I decided that we would rather get a ride out than walk two days on the road back to Debark. A guide advised us to pretend to be sick, as it is illegal for Ethiopians to transport faranji in the back of trucks, however, they would take pity on a sick foreigner. We were unsuccessful in bargaining with a truck at the campsite that morning, which demanded 500birr per head to transport us back, and we instead succumbed to walking for at least the first day. However, about an hour into our walk, as were going up a steep section of the dirt road, a truck passed us and then stopped at the curve ahead. Albert declared that our cook, Lemlem, was standing in the middle of the road! The driver happened to be the same man that I had sat next to on the long, bumpy bus ride from Gondar to Debark (and would later ask to marry me and take me to dinner, both of which I refused). He charged us 100birr per person and we were each boosted up into the back of a truck already heavy-laden with sacks of beans, barley, jugs, and people. We hunkered down into the mass, excited to be off of our feet. Lemlem gave me a scarf to wear on my head to conceal my faranji-ness. One man sitting behind me did not think that the scarf was sufficient camouflage; he kept pushing down on my head, like an overzealous smack-a-mole player, much to Lemlem's dismay, who had my comfort in mind and yelled at him repeatedly. I felt like a fugitive slave on the Underground Railroad After two hours of my bumpiest riding yet in Ethiopia, we slowed and then applause sounded from everyone sitting around us in the truck; we had successfully passed the park offices undiscovered! Lemlem told me to keep the scarf as a parting gift.

leaving Debark

the great escape!

Shinyi, Albert and I ventured on to Gondar together to spend a day visiting the castles in the Royal Enclosure.

castles!

Shinyi and I in the lion cage--Albert wanted us to stay there

The Simien Girl Runners

(Debark; Dec 6-7^th) We went to training at a leisurely 9am to the most beautiful spot that I've seen yet in Ethiopia. A large field stretched out, mountain views on all sides. All of the athletes were immediately welcoming. About 500 meters higher than Addis, I could feel the altitude.

Children sat around watching the runners on the dry, hard grass. Sitting quietly, observing, evolved into cuddling, arms around the neck of a neighbor, hands on a friend's thigh, which further evolves into wresting and karate chops, to begin all over again.

The athletes and spectators were very interested in my camera. The girl runners posed with broad smiles and dramatic poses, one pointing to the Ethiopian flag on her jacket with pride for every shot that she could secure. In contrast, the young boys made tough-man faces and did handstands, each one trying to top his friends to gain the attention of my lens.

We gave out the running shoes and shirts that Marco brought and the GGRF T-shirts and Runners World magazines that I brought for the runners. All of the athletes were thankful and excited to receive their loot. That evening, Marco hosted a dinner at or hotel for all seventy (I think) of the athletes! He put on a slide show of photos that he had taken over the last few days. With every photo that went up, there were giggles or hoots. Photographs are a rare thing in Ethiopia and the athletes were overjoyed to see themselves on the screen. I sat with a group of the girls and they tried to teach me more Amharic, interjected with demands of “be” (eat) and them insisting on feeding me.