run Helen run: 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.