Descent Into The Abyss

The 700km, two and a half day, drive from the Kenyan border to Addis Ababa was a great contrast to the previous couple of days of the rocky tracks and desolate landscape in northern Kenya. Kenya had exceeded expectations in many respects. While the natural beauty had lived up to its reputation, the alleged problems with the people had failed to materialise: the vast majority of touts, hawkers, tourist operators and taxi drivers were honest, competent and dependable. The locals, in general, were genuine, friendly and respectful. It was immediately obvious, however, that Ethiopia was going to be a different kettle of fish; not all negative, just different.

The border crossing at Moyale was arduous as (sigh) the Ethiopian money changers tried, unsuccessfully to renege on an agreed rate (to their detriment) and the immigration officials indulged a toxic mix of African-Middle Eastern-Italian bureaucracy in processing our arrival; requiring everything to be filled out in triplicate and taking three hours to verify & stamp visas which had already been painstakingly acquired remotely at consuls in the UK, USA & Australia. It was if time went so slowly it went backwards and, incidentally, it did: the date of our arrival in Ethiopia was 16 July 2003.

In the meantime we sat, trapped on the yellow tardis truck, surrounded by about 100 youths staring, loudly demanding money and shouting 'Farangi!' (Amharic for foreigner). Mzugu Derangement Syndrome had been supplanted by Farangi Hysteria - a slightly different mix of various delusions dominated by an awkward sort of mesmerised adoration and punctuated by bouts of screaming and shouting.

As the truck headed to Addis our presence was met hordes of screaming children: screams of 'You! You! You!' or 'Farangi! Farangi!' (or just plain ear piercing screaming, the sort not heard since The Beatles first US tour) could be heard almost constantly. Children would abandon their chores, play, livestock and their senses, descending from hillsides at such speed as to shame Gloucestershire's most expeditious wheels of cheese, and halting just in time to not be mown down by a 22 tonne yellow truck.

Children stare at Farangi truck

In response to "Farangi!", on the advice of the Bradt Ethiopia guide, I've taken to shouting "Habbarsha!" back at them. It seems to work. 'Habbarsha' is Amharic for 'Ethiopian'. It's odd that they call themselves that because it derives from the same Arabic word as 'Abyssinian', meaning 'Mongrel'. Nowadays, because 'Abyssinian' is deemed politically incorrect for Westerners, we call them 'Ethiopian'...which means 'Burnt Face' in Greek...

The Arabs were on to something. Ethiopian people are some of the most attractive you'll see - a beautiful mix of African, Arab and a dozen other ethnic groups.

The Land of Burnt Faces is one of the most populous countries in Africa with a high rural population density - there are people everywhere - so driving intervals between loo breaks were extended beyond two hours as it was almost impossible to find an area of roadside with any kind of privacy. When the crew did find a spot the truck screamed to a halt and the girls piled out to the sound of Andi shouting "This is not a drill! Go! Go! Go!". No matter where we stopped, however, it would be a matter of seconds before the first screaming children came sprinting down from a hillside, up an embankment or out of the bush to stare intently at the amazing spectacle of urinating Farangis.

Being the focus of Farangi Hysteria is like being in a low budget 80s teen horror flick. No matter where you are or what you're doing, no matter how hidden you think you might be, Ethiopian zombie children will hunt you down and find you at your most vulnerable moment.

As we ascended, the landscape became incredibly green with rolling hills as far as the horizons. With the hills came the rain and the night was spent camped in a quarry (second night running) as all other options for bush camping were washed out. The surprised quarry manager was more than pleased to help out and supplied the obligatory guards armed with Kalashnikovs. In return we cooked them dinner (spam & mash) and doled out a few beers. Their presence was very much appreciated when a snake entered the campsite after dinner. As per African style it was given no quarter and immediately clubbed and stomped beyond recognition.

Village on Moyale to Addis road

Stay away from the truck: Ethiopian child discipline methods

The next morning we dropped the manager and one of the guards at Sunday Mass and continued on our way to Addis. Ethiopian rainy season struck again and we were forced to abandon our planned bushcamp. Instead, we stayed in a government run hotel which, we later discovered, doubled as a knocking shop. The arrival of a truckload of Farangis beckoned the subsequent arrival of some particularly interestingly dressed (by Ethiopian standards) young local women. It then dawned on us as to why each room was supplied with four complementary condoms. The girls were luckless so our night's sleep was interrupted by loud mobile phone conversations, drunken arguments, shouting and excessive usage of the filthy shared bathrooms. A flooded tent surrounded by screaming zombie children would have offered better slumber.

Tired, weary & smelly (after no shower in 7 days) we arrived into Addis and checked into the very quaint, but very run down, Taitu Hotel. Built in 1906, it boasts as Ethiopia's oldest hotel. Although the lobby and restaurant were quite plush, the rooms and bathrooms appeared to have not been touched since. That said, they were up to expectation: Ethiopian bathrooms are the worst we've seen in Africa, which is quite an achievement.

Our shared bathroom, Addis

Addis itself is an odd place to Western eyes. A city of close to three million people, it's by far Ethiopia's biggest city. But far from being a big bright metropolis, it's more like a huge rural village in all but a few streets. Mud-brick houses & shops with tin or thatch roofs dominate the city, surrounding a few run down government buildings, foreign government & NGO missions, churches & mosques, dilapidated tenement blocks and a couple of Western style hotels. There are alot of students, beggars, pilgrims and annoying touts, and livestock and pack animals are wandering throughout.

The touts are incredibly persistent, dominant & annoying, so unfortunately meeting genuinely friendly people is rare and made difficult because many tourists are defensive from the outset.

On the positive side the food in Addis was excellent. As well as great local dishes, good quality Italian food (pizza & pasta) is cheap and widely available; the only positive legacy of the brief, shameful and particularly nasty invasion & occupation of Ethiopia by Fascist Italy in the late 1930s.  The Italians, confronted by people armed with both sharp weapons and spines, settled the argument with mustard gas.

We were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the museums in Addis. The first we visited was the newly opened Red Terror Museum. During the mid-80s while the likes of Bono & Bob Geldof were smugly inciting an orgy of mass delusion & self congratulation, otherwise known as Live Aid, the Communist government of Ethiopia, with the help of Cuban, East German and Soviet advisors, was busy with other matters. They deliberately & systematically starved millions of already drought stricken Eritrean peasants and murdered hundreds of thousands of "enemies of the revolution" - teachers, doctors, students, priests, nuns, monks, farmers, lawyers, engineers, tradespeople, civil servants, politicians, you name it, of all ages and sexes. The death toll from the purges alone exceeded half a million people. Many others were tortured and maimed. The famine toll was equally devastating. Trucks and food from Live Aid were commandeered by the government and used to enhance the killing machine. The images, displays and other evidence was vivid, graphic and heart wrenching. It's interesting that this was ignored at the time and is still virtually unknown today outside of Ethiopia. Alot of people should admit to being terribly wrong but they won't. Celebrities and luvvies are never wrong. Ever.

On the way back to the hotel from the Red Terror Museum we were accosted by three boys apparently trying to sell little packs of tissues. They were intruding our personal space quite badly and I started to get annoyed and uneasy. As I turned to say "No" for the tenth time, one shoved a cardboard box into my chin as an obvious distraction. Then, suddenly, Zoe called out "Hey!". We looked down and saw that one of the boys had unbuttoned Zoe's trouser pocket. Unperturbed, one of the boys brazenly reached for Zoe's pocket again. I threw my half empty plastic water bottle and kicked with my right leg. The bottle connected with the head of one and my foot connected with another's backside; so hard that that he flew through the air. Clutching their head and butt respectively they skulked away. The job was finished by a local Good Samaritan who then chased them up the street shouting abuse.

The next museum we visited was the National Museum. Despite being a small establishment it contained some excellent displays - including a replica of Lucy (the oldest fossilised hominid), more fossilised remains of the entire timeline of "missing link" species, beautiful art and some excellent Axumite treasures.

That night we celebrated Heather's 30th birthday with a dinner at a local restaurant and a few drinks at a nearby pub. We had a great night, the highlight was Kirstin out-dancing a local who held his own dance floor skills in quite high regard. All were in good spirits, even the local hookers who gave up trying to sell their "wares" and joined the girls on the dance floor.

Birthday girl, Heather enjoying some Ethiopian plonk

Kirstin cutting the rug

The next day we visited the Ethnological museum at the University of Addis Ababa. Housed in the palace of the last Emperor, Haile Selaissie, the museum exhibits a great collection of tools, craft, weapons, instruments and attire from the many various ethnic and religious groups of Ethiopia. It's considered as one of the best museums in Africa and certainly lives up to its reputation.

Leaving Addis we headed north toward Bahir Dar on the edge of Lake Tana, the brown source of the Blue Nile. The countryside was dominated by beautiful green rolling hills with crops, livestock, farmers & shepherds everywhere. It must rank as some sort of macabre achievement for the Communists to have starved this country. Its incredibly fertile and every square inch is devoted to farming and grazing. Interestingly, in all Ethiopia we've not seen a single piece of farm machinery. All farming in Ethiopia is done manually with oxen or horse.

The Japanese had helpfully built a road so we made good time to the Blue Nile Gorge. On the way, we successfully evaded a large boulder pushed from a cliff by some kids as we passed beneath. Destination guides warn of Ethiopian kids throwing rocks at Farangi vehicles but this was ridiculous.

An hour the other side of the gorge we came to a halt on a flood plain which was...flooded. In the middle of the flowing water sat a minivan with about 12 occupants too many. Andi, Hastie, Lee, Ryan and Alex went to investigate our chances of fording. When they approached the van the occupants asked Hastie if we could tow them. When Hastie said they needed to get out and help and secure a tow rope they uniformly protested. One passenger loudly declared that he worked for the Defence Ministry, it was beneath him to help and he didn't want to get wet. Hastie decided that the truck could cross and, when we eventually passed the van they still had not moved from their seats, let alone secured the tow rope. Once the locals had witnessed our safe passage they jostled for position all over both sides of the road such that they blocked us from leaving. It was 30 minutes until they moved their trucks so we could pass. That, in a nutshell, is Africa.

Surveying flood

Picking up Lee & Alex from the floodwater

The delay meant we bushcamped in a roadside lay-by. Conveniently, it rained which kept the local busybodies at bay.

Bahir Dar was reached by midday the next day. En route we passed by abandoned, rusting tanks and armoured vehicles, slowing down to take photos. We didn't stop as local children know tourists usually stop for photos.  As a result. they tend to stray too close by the roadway. Farangi Hysteria proved fatal on last year's trip when a child ran across the road for a stare and was cut in three by a bus traveling in the opposite direction.

Civil war Soviet T-54/55 tank with zombie children

Bahir Dar was nicer than expected. It seemed more modern than Addis with wider, cleaner streets and lacked the annoying touts. Being the 29th of July I headed to the market and purchased some local crafts for Zoe's birthday - an amusing pouf made from cow hide and a banana leaf collage of an Ethiopian village. I wrote on the back of the picture as there was not a single greeting card to be found in Bahir Dar.

We camped in the grounds of a lake front hotel. That night the heavens truly opened up and we woke up early on Zoe's birthday with puddles of water in our tent, sleeping bags sodden. Though, it wasn't the water that initially woke us. It was Saturday, one of the two the Ethiopian Orthodox Sabbaths.

Not to be outdone by the Muslims in the annoying god botherer stakes, Ethiopian Orthodox churches are similarly fitted with PA systems to broadcast sermons and hymns at unholy hours. So at around 5am on Saturdays & Sundays, to the detriment of everybody but masochist insomniacs, a liturgical caterwauling duel breaks out between the local priest & muezzin, probably something along the lines of:

Muezzin: "Mmmm-Mmmm-Aaaar-Uuuur-Eeeee...My imag-inary friend is more power-ful than your imag-inary friend..."

Priest: "Eeee-Oooo-Aaaa-Yaaa...I have three imag-inary friends in o-one...beat that..."

Muezzin: "Oooh-Laaa-Mmmm-Waaa...At least our reli-gion isn't based on one wo-man's in-abil-ity to just ad-mit to an af-fair..."

Priest: "Mwaaa-Heee-Yaaah-Mmmm...At least our guy did-n't mar-ry a six year old girl...case closed..."

Muezzin: "Aaaa-Laaa-Beee-Daaa...You smell like ca-mel wee..."

Priest: "Oooh-Mmmm-Zeee-Eeeer...Your mum..."

Etc, etc for anything up to four hours.

Anyhow, we broke our no upgrade policy, citing multiple acts of godlessness, and moved into a hotel room.

On Zoe's birthday a group of us took a boat trip on Lake Tana to visit some isolated 12th century island monasteries. What unfolded is a classic example of how frustrating and fraudulent (historically and otherwise) tourism can be in Ethiopia. The agreed plan was to visit five monasteries before heading back to the campsite for some of the group to visit Blue Nile Falls. The quoted cost was $4 each for the boat and $3 each for entry to each monastery. Keep in mind that the cost of living in Ethiopia is very low, the average daily take home wage being $3. As it turned out we only made it to two of the five. We spent three and a half of the five hours putting around in a boat with a 9 horsepower engine; completely unsuitable for the task.

Dan & Matt shelter from the rain, Lake Tana

Locals on fishing kayak, Lake Tana

When we arrived at the first island (after a painful hour and a half boat ride) we were told that the group had to pay an additional $12 to the local community to step onto the island and $6 tip to each guide at each monastery we visited. We were then led through the bush to the first monastery church, an impressive circular mud brick building with a thatched roof adorning a large orthodox cross. Inside were canvas wall paintings reputed to be 400 years old. They simply were not. They had been created or totally redone very recently. On the bottom corner of one wall which the guide tried half heartedly to stop us seeing there were sketches drawn on blank canvas in preparation for painting. There is no doubt as to the skill of the artists but it dampens the experience to be confronted with such a blatant fraud and treated like a fool.

Retro medieval art, Bete Maryam Monastery

 

Bete Maryam Monastery Church

Goat skin bible & crown, Bete Maryam Monastery

Additionally, the guide was a graduate of the Captain Obvious School of Tour Guiding, so we were treated with a perfunctory explanation of everything...

"That is Jesus"
"This is Mary"
"That is a lion"
"That is a dragon"
Etc

We were then led to the treasury to view some gifts given by various emperors on pilgrimage. Before we arrived we were made to stand for 10 minutes in the torrential rain while someone allegedly found the key. In reality we were waiting for a souvenir stand (filled with genuine replica Chinese-made local crafts) to be set up by some locals on the path to the treasury. Nobody purchased anything. The treasury, a wooden shack attended by a priest and two Kalashnikov wielding guards contained several crowns, crosses and bibles donated by various emperors going back 800 years. I seriously doubt the authenticity of the 'older' items.

Disappointed, we tipped the guide $3 (a day's wage) for 30 minutes work. Naturally, he complained that it wasn't enough...

After another 30 minute ride we arrived at the second monastery. Our guide there was far superior in terms of knowledge and earned his fee. Once again we were shown '400 year old' paintings. However when someone pointed out two angels holding bolt action rifles(!), our guide went on the defensive claiming that 16th century Portuguese missionaries had guns.

Who knew there were bolt action rifles in the 16th century??? Those sneaky, ingenious Portuguese!

St George Monastery Church

Anyhow, by the time we were done running the gauntlet of hawkers who'd set up a blockade on the path to our boat it was time to head back to Bahir Dar missing out on the other three monasteries. Absolute nonsense from start to finish.

Zoe & I passed on the trip to Blue Nile Falls which turned out to be a good idea. Those who went said it'd been the worst hawker/tout/beggar hassling experience they'd had in Africa. Yet another achievement.

Just before dinner I distracted Zoe for long enough to allow Kirstin, Jen and Heather time to decorate the truck with balloons and a Happy Birthday sign, and hand out whistles. The subsequent celebrations reached a crescendo with Zoe donning "The Birthday Suit" and hat, adopting the persona of Janine, The Cockney Landlady (I was Bazza, her Aussie squeeze), and setting up an East End pub in the back of the truck.  The pub was given the highly inappropriately name, "The Black Boy".

Birthday tequila shot

Aftermath

Cutting Gary & Jo's birthday bread

More shots

Matt & Jonno hook in

Not to be left out - Me & Mandy

The Birthday Suit, a gold full body leotard, is a truck tradition - worn on birthdays by anyone wanting to get into the swing of it (thankfully for the group, in the interests of good taste, I refused to indulge on my birthday). It was originally acquired when Hastie & Andi went clothes shopping in Togo. Inquiring at a local clothing store for a suit appropriate for meeting an embassy representative about a serious matter, the shopkeeper helpfully produced the now infamous gold leotard. Hastie is yet to wear it but several truck passengers, male & female, seem to use any excuse to slip it on.

Janine larging it up

Dangerous measures

Oi! Drink up!

Janine & Bazza at The Black Boy

The Black Boy's opening night was a raging international success with guests from Britain, the USA, New Zealand, Australia, Ireland, Germany and Canada.  The international drinks menu featured Namibian & Zim beer, South African goon, Italian fizzy plonk, as well as Kenyan gin-like substance, a Zimbabwean rum-flavoured moonshine & carbonated Ethiopian vinegar. However, as per English custom, it ended way too early; we were sozzled, and, despite protestations, Janine turfed us out at 11pm:

"Ain't you farkiiing peeople got any faaarking homes to go to!?"

"Um. Not really. No."