Ethiopia: Day 1, To Addis Ababa from Lalibela

Arose at 5:00 a.m. Insufficient water for shower this morning or last night.

Ready to meet the bus at 6:30 a.m. for its arranged arrival at 6:45.

Betty appeared, then Shin Su and Sank Su (I'm butchering the South Korean couple's names). No driver.

S&S went on a hunt for tea. Presently, I went to the hotel restaurant and ordered boiled eggs and toast to go. As I returned with the goods, passed the bus driver by the reception cottage and he asked if we were ready to go - as if he'd been waiting for us. I informed him, to the effect, "Well, gosh, you were late, so we ordered breakfast." Walked further down the lane and encountered this huge tour bus with some 50 seats, for the four of us temporary co-travelers. Also discovered that while I was ordering and awaiting our shared breakfast, S&S had gone down to the Unique Restaurant (renowned by Betty and S&S for its agonizingly slow service) for egg sandwiches.

So we waited for the egg sandwich delivery before taking off. Driver was Waschayo (another name butchering) and his assistant, Yonas, who I later learned is the son of Waschayo's sister's sister. (Complicated.)

We paid 200 birr up front, with the arrangement that we'd pay the remaining 200 birr upon arrival in Addis.

Waschayo cruised about Lalibela a bit to rustle up other travelers to Addis, to no avail. Once we left town, he did the same as we passed through other towns. We did pick people up at various places along the way. One poor sod had motion sickness; every once in awhile, Yonas headed back with a small plastic bag. Fortunately, the activity was quiet and non-odorous.

Shin Su objected to this, stating we were told last night by Mesfin the hotel manager that the driver might pick up a "few tourists," but otherwise, we were to be the only passengers. I declined to get involved, as it didn't bother me if additional passengers boarded this large bus, as long as I could keep my window open and not get packed into discomfort.

I also was not clear how Shin Su defined "tourist". At any rate, travel in other countries does wear on you at times, especially a country like Ethiopia - you can become distrustful and sometimes irrationally stingy over the smallest amounts of money. Certainly I've been in both those places.

The bus trip, by the way, at 400 birr is equivalent of about $24 US for a day and a half trip.

Some sights along the way on this first day of travel from Lalibela to Addis:

 

• A stream of people walking on both sides of the road, most women carrying decorative injera baskets or other containers on their backs. Waschayo learned they were walking to the funeral of a young boy killed in an accident.
• Wash day --> Clothes spread out over boulders in wide, almost-dry stream beds.
• Camels! First time I've seen them in Ethiopia. Carrying immense loads of sorghum canes. Saw a couple of camels taking a lunch break under a shady tree, munching bright green grass.
• Hundreds of sorghum stacks in the fields as far as one can see. Really, they must number in the thousands. The sorghum canes look like bamboo; the stacks are cone-shaped.

We stopped for the night at about 4:00 or so, in the town of Kombolcha.

Kombolcha is an interesting town - it is a major overnight truck stop and an intersection for travel to Addis, Djibouti, Lalibela, Bahir Dar, and other points. There are trucks, trucks, trucks.

The driver put us up at the Meron Hotel, same place he was staying. He negotiated a price of 80 birr (about $5 US), bypassing the usual faranji tax. The hotel is very pretty on the outside, a sunny pink with tropical-style balconies gated by open metalwork. A gated courtyard. Tiled stairs and open corridors. Sounds nice, eh?
The good news: Cheap. A bed. An inside toilet and cold shower. Electricity. Back in the day, it was probably quite pleasant. Now... Well... at least I didn't carry away any tiny stowaways when I left the next morning. So why am I complaining?


Betty and the S&S took off for dinner as soon as we shucked our gear, but I wasn't hungry yet, plus Waschayo's offer to take us later to a beer garden and dinner sounded appealing.

(We had stopped for lunch at an unknown town. We each had a delicious juice. I had a mango. Shin Su had "mixed", which means there was avocado juice as a bottom layer and mango juice on the top layer. Sank Su had avocado juice. S&S also had a piece of cake, and I got a delicious deep - yellow scrambled egg on a hearty-style croissant.)

When we were ready to go to the beer garden, I looked into cafes up and down the street seeking the others, to no avail. So off Waschayo, Yonas, and I went in the big bus to the beer garden. Where our hotel neighborhood was choked with trucks, dust, exhaust fumes, and a row of low-lying shanties, the beer garden was on a street framed by healthy green palms amidst fresh air. The beer garden is on the campus of the St. George brewery - nice courtyard, a boccie ball court, three rooms with pool tables and a lounge with a television, and an interior tavern. It's a great place for truck drivers (and tourists) to spend a relaxing evening after a long day's travel.

Castel and a third beer), which I found less tasty than Dashen. I sampled a samosa, a fried triangle of dough that encases lentils. Tasty, albeit greasy. It was also kind of weird when I broke it open - the lentils, small, round, and dark, spilled out onto the plate as if they were eggs spilling out of a gutted, pregnant fish.

A fellow tour bus driver joined us. We got onto the subject of the various merits of tourist nationalities, from the tour bus drivers' perspective. Generally, Americans enjoy a good reputation for two reasons: 1) friendliness and openness, and 2) don't care too much about money. The Germans' reputation is, sadly, not so good, again, from the tour group drivers' perspective. Too walled-off, too concerned about money, and allegedly racist, perceived as a carryover from Germany's history.

From the beer garden we went to Tekla Hotel Restaurant, which is reputed to be the best restaurant in Kombolcha. While I liked the bread, my lamb tibs were only so-so. (In fact, I've been pretty disappointed by meat in general in Ethiopia. Probably a cultural taste thing.)

When we got back to the Meron Hotel, Betty and S&S were sitting in the hotel restaurant's veranda. Turned out they had gone to the Tekla Restaurant for their dinner.

Off to bed I went after a cold shower. I took care that not too much of my stuff touched the blanket on the bed. The toilet seat was hopeless -- pieces broken off, cracks, and stains -- that I'd earlier lifted it to just sit on the porcelain basin rim. Set my alarm and slept fine.

I will note that although the hotel was the worst thus far on my trip, the hotel staff were friendly and kind.

Ethiopia: Meltdown in Lalibela, Part 2

The evening before, Betty, an American woman I met briefly in Gonder, showed up at the Seven Olives Restaurant. She said she and her two temporary companions, Shin Su and Sank Su (I am butchering their S. Korean names, unfortunately), were trying to put together a minibus for either Mekele (a jumping off point for the Danakil Depression) or to Addis (and then to Harar). I listened and asked Betty to keep me posted.

So this evening, I assumed I'd learn Betty's progress on leaving Lalibela.

In the meantime, appeared the German couple with whom I'd shared a minibus from Gonder to Lalibela, Renate and Hans. Poor Hans had fallen ill en route, with fever and sore throat and generally feeling miserable. Turns out that he'd only just emerged from his sick bed 24 hours after our arrival in Lalibela.

Renate remarked how wonderful I looked. So healthy! So youthful! Yesterday, she said, I looked rather tired. I laughed inside, thinking I must be aglow from my terrible, horrible day, including the interminable trek up the hill in the hot sun. Renate had a drink, and the couple moved on to return to their Mountain View Hotel.

Betty came by (she and the S. Korean couple were staying at the Asheton), saying she and S&S had a line on a minibus or 4x4 or something that would take us to Addis in one day (normally a two-day operation). I told her I was in! Keep me posted. Betty moved on.

Sunset in Lalibela from Seven Olives terrace

As I continued to sit on the Seven Olives' flowery terrace, presently along came Sarah and Henry, the other couple (Danish and Swiss/Indonesian respectively) with whom I'd shared the minibus from Gonder to Lalibela. I shared a bit of my day; we compared notes on our respective hotels; Henry and Sarah lamented they wanted to do the TESFA trek outside of Lalibela, but cash was required, and they only had a VISA card. Lalibela had only one facility that would give cash on the card (the Mountain View Hotel) and it charged a 25% fee! Henry and Sarah had pretty much resigned themselves to paying the fee, but they weren't happy.

The three of us ordered dinner. Betty returned with more information: A minibus, 7 other passengers and we four (Betty, S&S, and I), all in one day to Addis. I asked how she found this arrangement, and she said she just asked guys hanging around the entrance to the hotel. I asked what "our" guy's name was - it wasn't, by any chance, Abiy? By this time, S&S had walked up also, and Betty replied that she thought maybe it was, and when I described him, she said she was pretty sure it was him. I said, "Go as you wish. Hope it works out. But this guy lied to me last night and I'm going to take a pass on him."

Betty said, "Well , he's supposed to bring the vehicle over here so we can actually see it. When he comes, you can look, too, and also see if this is really the same guy." I agreed.

My dinner (grilled veggie sandwich) arrived, and I took a few bites when Betty returned. I had brought Henry and Sarah up to date on this get-out-of-town saga, so when Betty asked me to come take a look at "the guy", I asked Henry and Sarah if they'd mind watching my stuff. They said, "Yes! We want to hear how this all turns out!"

To the reception cottage, Betty and I went. S&S were also there. I didn't see it, but Betty said the minibus was truly filthy, stuff all over the floor, which reduced her confidence in the ride. When we got to the reception lobby, Betty pointed to the arranger and asked me, "Is that him?" Sure was. I said, again, maybe it's all legit, but I'm not going with him.

Now! Enter the hotel manager, who I'd seen around the premises, but didn't know his role. His name was Mesfin, the same as the irritating guide tout from earlier in the day.

Mesfin knew I was the Meltdown Woman. He agreed that Abiy was not trustworthy. Indeed, several men around the hotel entrance had previously told Betty that Abiy was untrustworthy. (Of course, who is one to believe in Lalibela?)

We explained to Mesfin that we wanted to leave Lalibela tomorrow, preferably in a one-day operation. Mesfin made some phone calls and told us he'd arranged a 4x4 for us at the cost of 400 birr per person. We'd leave at 6:30 the next morning, but it was not possible to do it in one day.

The other three demurred a bit about two days versus one day. I said, "I need to trust that if the driver says it takes two days, then there's a reason for that. It wouldn't make economic sense to incur the expense of an overnight stay otherwise." S&S weren't happy about the cost of this 4x4 versus just taking the public bus (also two days), but reluctantly agreed.

Throughout this process, the assistant manager and Mesfin the manager and I had rehashed some of the day's events. I said, "Why are you letting these known liars onto your grounds to harass your customers?" "Why is it that this guy Mesfin (the other tout) can sit right there in your lobby and bother people? When you let them do this, you are giving approval to their activities."

The assistant manager said some bullshit about this being a public place, blah, blah, blah, then pointed to a sign behind the registration desk to the effect that the hotel is not responsible for high prices charged by guides. I said, "Tourists will just view that sign as pertaining to your room rates, not other activities."

When I suggested each hotel maintain the list of registered guides and their phone numbers, Mesfin the manager said, "Oh, we don't trust all of the registered tour guides."

At this, I just threw up my hands at the absurdity of Lalibela. Especially when Mesfin the manager had said minutes before that there are good people in Lalibela. Yes, I believe this, of course, but how would anyone know how to identify them when everyone badmounths everyone else?

Anyway, Mesfin asked me to call the tourism manager, as he had called Mesfin earlier in the day and really tore into him, as I had dropped the name "Mesfin" in relation to the hotel. Ohhh, I got it! The tourism manager thought I was complaining about Mesfin the manager! Mesfin dialed the number for me, and when the tourism manager picked up, I introduced myself, "Hello, this is the crying woman from today. I want to thank you again and to let you know that Mesfin the manager is a different man from Mesfin the man I complained about." He asked if all was well, and I assured him thus.

Our business concluded, I returned to my dinner and Betty joined me. I brought Henry and Sarah up to date and they left shortly after. Betty ordered dinner, and Mesfin the manager came by and comped me a glass of wine.

Presently, I went to my dark room. Undressed to take a shower. No water.

Ethiopia: Meltdown in Lalibela, Part 1

Arose from my bed at Seven Olives, ready for a hot shower and breakfast. Oh, no water? I opened the door and queried a passing staff person, who assured me water would be available shortly.

So I walked over to the restaurant, with its pretty view of the city, its floral terrace, and happy birdsong. I ordered the oatmeal with banana and honey, and upon being informed there were no bananas, I shrugged and said that was fine.

No so for a fellow guest. He began a one-sided argument with the wait staff about how they should reduce the price of this menu item if the banana component was missing. His voice climbed a little as time went on and his frustration increased. I cooly thought maybe he was having a bad tourist day (we all have them), and did not let it ruffle my generally upbeat attitude toward the coming day in Lalibela.

I'd successfully shrugged off the aggressive touts from the evening before, too, and I had my plan in place to see the historic churches for which Lalibela is famous.

But first I'd go online - even though it cost 1 birr per minute! (in Addis it was only 20 cents per minute; in Gonder 30 cents per minute, except at the pirate Tilahun's private little lair, where he also charged one birr per minute.) So after a good oatmeal and coffee breakfast, I checked the water, found it on, and took a lukewarm shower.

Then I walked over to the reception cottage where there was the PC to use. A man sat in a chair in the lobby. As I embarked on a very slow boat through a sludgy internet hell, this idiot starts the "where are you from" dance. I responded politely, but shortly, and indicated I was busy trying to access my email, where every minute of nothing happening still cost me one birr.

Finally, I gave up on the internet connection, and this same guy said there was a fast internet cafe around the corner, and he would escort me. I demurred, saying I could find it myself, but he accompanied me regardless. The "fast" cafe was closed; we entered one next door. My new best friend got a chair and parked himself outside the cafe while I got started on another fruitless attempt at a decent (well, any) internet connection.

I left, frustrated, only to have my best friend (Mesfin was his name I now learned) encourage me to hire him as a church guide. I shook him loose.

Before starting my church tour, I revisited my room to freshen up. My, it was dark inside, even though the sun shone intensely outside. I turned on the overhead light, which added no discernible brightness. Depressing.

Now feeling quite disgruntled, I started walking down the hill to old Lalibela.

On my way, I was accosted relentlessly by boys and men wanting money from me. I kept peeling them off like so many sticky burrs gathered on a woodland walk, but I was getting more and more irate. It was just too much! My Bradt's Guide map for Lalibela showed two relevant offices - the ticket office and the tourism office. The tourism office allegedly had a list of registered guides (and I had received, erroneously, the impression that a guide was a virtual necessity in Lalibela). As I approached the ticket office, I saw a sign for the tour guide association, but that building was shut tight. I went into the ticket office, but could not find out how to get the list of registered guides. The important factor in my psyche was that I trusted no one in this cursed town anymore. Starting the night before, I had been lied to, heard so-called guides disparage other so-called guides, and heard the same song from each child:

1. Where are you from?
2. Obama!
3. I need ........ ($$$$$)

It now became my mission to reach the tourism office, which lay at the bottom of a long, turning hill. Because by God, I was going to register my tourist feedback about this tourist hell. On my way, I stopped to get water (and escape the kids) and try a 3rd internet cafe (no go). Finally, I found the office.

[A sidebar: I hereby curse all tourists who give money, pens, or candy to the kids on the streets of Lalibela. Children here skip school to beg.]

The tourism office looked closed up, but I knocked anyway. When there was no response, I knocked again. And again. Miraculously, a man appeared, and he let me in. He informed me he was the accountant for the tourism bureau. I started explaining my grievance - that what went on in this town was nothing more than harassment. Then the tourism bureau manager arrived and I shared my story - about Abiy, who told me he was the hotel guide (a lie), about Mesfin, who followed me to the internet cafe and back; about another guy who said he was associated with Abiy and who told me how bad another guide was, and so on.
And then, embarrassingly, I started to cry. This cause great distress to the two men, who wanted to make things right for me. (Or just to get me to stop crying.)

The tourism manager sought to set me up with a guide and tour by calling the president of the guide association. He couldn't reach him and we started to walk up the long, curvy hill. Sun. Heat. A fly sent by the Devil himself to torment me. Altitude.

At one point as we trudged upward, I suggested we get a taxi at my expense. That's when I learned there are no taxis in Helltown due to the incline and the cobblestone pavement. But the kind tourism manager attempted to call the town mayor (!) to use his vehicle. Unsuccessful. We trudged on.

We passed a couple of policeman (who among other things, are supposed to look out for and stop the constant harassment), and they and the tourism folks exchanged some words.

We trudged onward. Finally we reached the ticket office where the tourism men talked with a guide and another person. They seemed to be arguing about taking me on a tour, and this was just too much. I had expended all my mental and physical energy on my pilgrimage to the tourism office. I started to say to the man, "Stop. You've done enough. you have been too kind. But I just want to go now." But I was about to cry again, and didn't want that, so I wrote three items on the back of my notebook:

1. Thank you.
2. You have done enough for me.
3. Just change things for future tourists.

I held this out to the men and pointed to it. They protested, saying no, we want to arrange this tour for you! I said, "No, I am going to cry again. This is embarrassing to me. You've done enough." I pointed again to the notebook. And I started leaving, crying anyway, and this again caused great distress. So we were all distressed. The two tourism men accompanied me all the way up to the hotel, one even apologizing about the satanic fly. I tried to reassure him that, being from Missouri, I am no stranger to flies, even vicious, biting horse flies.

We finally arrived at the hotel, where more conversation occurred between me, the tourism men, and the on-duty assistant manager.

I went to my room, to my dark, depressing room, and discovered it hadn't been cleaned. Returned to the reception lobby, discovered that the custom is to turn in my key when I leave the hotel, so the staff know to clean it. Oh! Then I said, really, I need a different room. It is just too depressing. The assistant manager accompanied me back to my room. When we entered, he moved to turn on the light and I exclaimed, "The light is already on!" I said, "This is the room you give to someone who no longer has the will to live!"

Well, he "managed" me pretty well, uttering soothing words that well-trained staff give to customers on the brink of implosion.

I surrendered to Lalibela, acknowledging its victory over my whupped-ass self, and went out into the light of the restaurant terrace.

I couldn't get out of this town fast enough.

.....to be continued.

Ethiopia: To Lalibela from Gonder