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Ethiopia Part VII: Bahir Dar – The Ethiopian Riviera

13 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by Anita in Africa, Ethiopia

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Biking, Churches, Dancing, Solo Travel, Waterfalls, Women

Hiking the Blue Nile Falls in Bahir Dar

After the cold, high altitude hills of Lalibela, I was glad to find myself in the palm-fringed tourist destination of Bahir Dar, beautifully located alongside the shores of Lake Tana, the largest lake in Ethiopia.

As I mentioned in my prior post, Mike and I had considered beginning our Northern circuit in this city, but we opted to fly to Gonder instead because of the long distance we would have had to cover by road between the two places.  As it turned out, going to Bahir Dar as our last stop before Addis turned it into a truly pleasant last stop on the clockwise circuit we had covered.

Our flight was only 35 minutes long and very convenient, especially considering it cost less than road transport would have.  We hopped into a van offering free rides to the Palm Palace Hotel – since the “free” van to the hotel we had chosen on the plane had already left by the time we’d gotten our bags, and somehow paying for a cab to a destination that offers free transport just didn’t make sense.

We were bombarded, as usual, with a small crowd of screaming dudes who all claimed to represent the best hotels Bahir Dar had to offer and it was an all too familiar sales pitch that immediately irked me.  One particularly aggressive guy who would not leave us alone kept yelling and yelling that we should go with him, and only shut up when I point blank cursed him out to his face.  He cursed back at me and gave me the middle finger as we drove away in his competitors’ vehicle.  It somehow gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

I know, I was getting to the end of my psychological rope in Ethiopia and I was starting to feel ready to leave.

Palm Fringed streets of Bahir Dar

The Palm Palace seemed nice enough of a hotel, and I immediately tried to take a nap as I had been unable to sleep the night before.  I was growing increasingly frustrated as well, waiting on a text message that just wouldn’t come that would inform me whether or not a friend of mine in Accra was going to be available to see me – so I could spend my last few days in Africa somewhere that I really enjoyed instead of here.

Mike and I headed out that afternoon to explore and found a rather pretty walking path which lead around the southern edge of the lake.  We ended up grabbing an early dinner at a place called Desset – which had really attractive lakeside seating on benches overlooking the water.  In need of some comfort food – I ordered Spaghetti Bolognese which I scoffed with cold beer.  Mike was not feeling too well and that combined with my admitted grumpiness resulted in us having another sibling tiff such as we’d had in Lalibela.  I absolutely adore Mike and I think he is a fantastic person and amazing traveling companion – these things inevitably happen sometimes when you’ve been traveling with the same individual for six straight weeks – especially in a country where I was literally dependent on Mike to go anywhere because of how much hassle I would get if I went anywhere alone as a female (a state I didn’t, unfortunately, have much control over).

Wanting to be alone, I took my leave and headed back to the hotel on foot.  I told myself that since it wasn’t quite dusk yet, that I should be fine taking the same pathway along the water as we had taken to dinner.  About 20 minutes into my walk, I got grabbed by the arm and waist by a random man who opened with some version of “Hey baby…where you heading so fast?  Slow down and talk to me.”  I tried to wriggle free as a slew of verbal profanity came out of my mouth.  He resisted and then said “Come on baby.  I just want to bite your ass.”

Somehow, even amidst the fear and desperation to get out of his grasp, I remember thinking how absurd his suggestion was, and how much he must have been convinced that it would serve to seduce rather than repulse me.  He couldn’t have been more wrong and eventually he let go as I spun around and kicked him in the shin and screamed at the top of my lungs.

This was in daylight with about 30 or so people walking along or milling in the park.  Nobody flinched or moved to help or intervene.  My pulse was racing and I moved away, not looking back at a faster pace than before, cursing my stupidity at leaving Mike and walking alone.

Our lovely, if noisy and mosquito infested room at the Palm Palace Hotel

I got back to my hotel physically unscathed but had a really good cry to let it all out.  Unable to go anywhere else and not really feeling like it anyway – I ended up watching a movie on Mike’s laptop and drinking whisky that I’d bought in Lalibela.  Since it was a Friday night (Feb 23) – the sounds from various clubs in the streets below our room made it very hard to sleep.  Without a fan, we had left the windows open only to have to close them as we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.  At around 2am, I went downstairs and got a standing fan which helped a little.

In addition, we were awoken at 0500 to what sounded like the call to prayer, but after it hadn’t let up for over an hour – we realized it was an Orthodox church ceremony which are often broadcast from speakers set up all around the church.  In this case, it was coming from St George’s church which was literally a block away from our hotel.  The ceremony was a cacophony of wailing and singing, much the same in style as what we’d endured in Lalibela.  It went on for three hours and both Mike and I resolved that this was going to be our only night at this property.

St. George’s Church in Bahir Dar – with masses loudly broadcast to one and all unfortunate enough to be sleeping nearby

We wandered off in the opposite direction around the lake to check out a few other hotels that were on the eastern part of town.  None of them were too appealing but we did manage to locate and negotiate a decent rate for a private van to take us to visit the Blue Nile Falls which were about an hour’s drive south out of the city.  We decided to put all of our luggage into the van so that we could be dropped off at a new hotel on the way back.  Alternatively, there was a small chance my friend in Accra was going to get confirmation of his return to Ghana, in which case, I would head straight to the airport on an Air miles ticket and get out of Ethiopia.

The whole trip to the Blue Nile I was on pins and needles, trying to tell myself that no matter what transpired, it was all going to work out for the best.  Not having any 3G and being entirely reliant on totally unreliable Wifi was also taking a toll.  Not being able to make arrangements for any type of travel and having communication with anyone not physically with you be logistically challenging is a frustration I will not soon forget.  We take instant, fast, internet service for granted.  You don’t realize the extent to which it permeates every aspect of our daily lives until you find yourself in Ethiopia without it.

Crossing a bridge on the loop hike to the Blue Nile Falls

We elected to be dropped off on the trail towards Portuguese Bridge and then ended up walking the entire circular circuit which drops you back at the river where you can take a boat across the water.  Luckily we had taken our driver’s phone number and so could call him to arrange our pick up.  Getting out in nature and getting a nice workout on this trail was exactly what I needed.  After dealing with hundreds of requests to “show us the way” we steadfastly made our way along the trail entirely guided by the app maps.me (which is a revelatory help, incidentally, for any traveler who is offline and needs GPS) and managed to self-navigate for the entire trail.

We managed to get quite close to the falls themselves that we’d been told would be a mere sprinkle in comparison to its full rainy season glory.  For me, they weren’t disappointing in the least and we happily navigated the muddy ground to stand in the invigorating spray that formed a beautiful rainbow where the sun hit.

Getting up close and personal with the Blue Nile Falls

The only disappointing aspect of the hike was that little kids were trying to sell us wooden flutes along the way, and one particular girl decided to hit me with hers when I kindly declined purchasing one from her.  That had never happened to me before and I was quite shocked.

Overall, the falls didn’t disappoint and we arrived back to the van muddy, sweaty but smiling.  Driving back I couldn’t help feeling the stress of the minutes ticking by and considering whether or not I would make the last flight to Addis this evening if a text arrived indicating that my friend in Accra was available for a visit.  As it turned out, that text didn’t arrive and so Mike and I decided to check into the Jacoranda hotel and I immediately ordered a double gin and tonic.  This was the last chance I had to fly out and for the trip to be worth the four-hour flight since I would be returning to fly to London on March 1st.  We elected to eat dinner at our hotel, which we were delighted with – it had a lovely fire pit out front and was really modern and excellent value for money.

It helped restore my disappointed spirits.

The food was also great – I ordered a delicious chicken in mushroom sauce with mashed potatoes and spinach.  I felt re-energized, and after a shower, Mike and I headed out to the Checheho Cultural restaurant which was absolutely wonderful and featured a large and rather crowded audience drinking beers and watching/participating in a traditional dance performance.  This was still the strangely intriguing but somewhat perplexing “shoulder” dancing that we had seen in other parts of Northern Ethiopia, but since there were at least some women on stage, it was somewhat less weird.  Here is a link to some video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1xBbg_vNRI The crowd really got into it and it was a very pleasant way to spend the evening.

The following day we decided to rent a boat across the lake to visit some of the monasteries and churches that were considered the main tourist attractions of Bahir Dar.  We elected to take the “medium speed” boat which still afforded a nice 90-minute lake journey in the blazing sun.  We were told that the boat trip would cost us 1500 Birr (about $50) and would include visits to Azwa Maryam, Ura Kidane, Kibran, and the Blue Nile Outlet.  The first two monasteries were interesting and unique in that their design was circular – something we’d not come across in religious architecture here thus far.  Inside each building were hundreds of paintings of religious and biblical scenes which included the famous depiction of the torture of St. George.

Our boat on Lake Tana

The setting of these churches, close to the beaches of the pretty peninsula also added to their appeal, which was slightly marred by the row upon row of trinket-selling stalls which lined the paths from the boat dock to the churches.

On our way back from Ura Kidane, Mike and I opted to take a coffee before pressing on with our afternoon’s itinerary.  Upon getting our coffee, our boat captain indicated that it was perhaps time to “get back”?  We were confused as we believed the tour to be only half way done and asked him why we weren’t going to Kibran or the Blue Nile?  His face got sullen and he started saying how much farther that was to drive his boat, that it was late, etc. etc. to which we responded – yeah, ok, but we are not paying you the 1500 Birr we promised you for only ½ the tour.

The outside of Ura Kidane

Ura Kidane

This made our tour guide mad and he immediately contacted the agent we had used to arrange the trip.  He put the agent on the phone and the agent explained in broken English how “everything was fine now” because he had “talked with the boat owner and told him he MUST take us to Kibran and then to Blue Nile Outlet…and that there was no problem.”  We tried, several times, to explain that yes, there was a problem in that our driver shouldn’t need “convincing” to give us the services that we had already negotiated and that we were fine with going back now since he obviously didn’t want to elongate his afternoon and was in a foul mood.  The agent and our boat driver immediately started cursing one another and began a screaming match – all while we tried to sip our coffee in this idyllic lakeside forest-fringed location.  The tranquility was gone, and our fun quotient along with it.  The cell phone was thrust into our faces several more times which was making us ever more exasperated.  In the end, we insisted on being taken straight back to town, and we paid 1200 Birr on arrival and walked away, shaking our heads.

The artwork inside the monasteries…I was convinced this depicts a man pooping…but couldn’t get a confirmation either way!

In need of a cold Habesha, we checked out the floating barge “bar” at Mango Park and became instant celebrities to the locals hanging out on this hot Sunday afternoon.  Families were out and some folks were swimming in the lake.  It was a pleasant place to recover from our tourism-by-yelling experience of the afternoon.

We took a long stroll back to the Jacaranda Hotel and opted to order dinner in again since we’d had such a wonderful meal the night before.  Cue my hilarious Chicken Leg story that I wrote about in my first Ethiopian Blog post here.  After a few beers, I opted for an early night of writing and reading.

Sipping beer on the jetty

Mango park with the bar “jetty” in the distance

On our last morning in Bahir Dar – we decided to rent bicycles and head out to the famous viewpoint next to the Palace of Emperor Haile Selassie.  We had booked a shuttle to the airport for 2pm, our flight being at 4pm.  I would be spending 2 nights and 3 days in Addis before boarding my Ethiopian Airlines flight to London.  It was hard to believe that my time in Africa was coming to an end…though I wasn’t that disappointed to be leaving Ethiopia, I must admit.

We had only ridden bikes one other time on this trip and that was in Burkina Fasso during our visit to the Royal Court of Tiabele.  I do wish bikes were more readily available to tourists to rent – they offer such a unique way to see a city and get around – with a far superior vantage point than a bus or a car.

Island on Lake Tana

Initially we headed out on bikes that had been arranged for us by the same agent we’d used to arrange the boat.  However, it became obvious pretty quickly that these bikes would need to be traded in – Mike’s brakes barely worked and my bike frame was made for someone over 6 ft tall.  So, we found our way to the rental store and tried out other bikes.  I managed to give myself a frightful injury akin to a guy getting slammed in the nuts when I tried out a bike whose gears jammed and had me falling with my full body weight onto the “male framed” central bike spoke right between my legs.  Despite my pain and hurt pride, we found two more suitable bikes and headed off out of town on our mini adventure.

Luckily, the rest of the morning went smoothly except for some nasty school boys who decided it would be fun to try and hit me as I rode past them.  Never have I met a country of more violent children before!  Having survived this onslaught – we weren’t disappointed after our efforts to climb several steep hills gave us the reward of a sweeping view over the city and Lake Tana.  As an added bonus, there was a wedding party getting official photos there – so it was fun to witness that.

Mike, at the viewpoint over the city

After a sweaty ride back, I was happy I’d packed a change of clothes and that the hotel was kind enough to let me shower before we headed to the airport.  Despite it being largely unplanned, I had enjoyed our time in Bahir Dar – mostly!

Ethiopia Part I: Impressions from Ethiopia

27 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by Anita in Africa, Ethiopia

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Culture, Opinion Pieces, Personal, Women

Men chanting and singing during a church ceremony in Lalibela

I’ve now spent about three weeks in Ethiopia and one thing is for sure.  This is unlike any country I have been to in Africa.  It is a confounding place – it is both claimed to be more purely African than any other nation – since it is the only country on the dark continent that managed to escape the atrocities and impacts of European colonization.  On the other hand, it doesn’t feel like Africa at all – at least, to me.  So, I must state as my opening caveat to this post – these are merely my opinions and my impressions of this – my 21st African country.  Other tourists here may have totally different experiences, in fact, I hope they do.  These are just my own personal experiences, and I grant you – they might have felt different if this were the only country I was visiting on this trip.  Since we came here after having spent almost two months in West Africa, it was far easier to compare the people with those we had just had experience with.

Ethiopia is a staggeringly beautiful country – the geography is interesting and diverse and the history is rich and there is so much to learn and see for a history lover. It is an archaeologist’s paradise – ancient civilizations that have only just started to be excavated.  The potential for tourism, therefore, is immense and from what I can tell – there is an established tourist circuit in the north, and wherever we traveled – we met a lot of tourists.

Having said all of that – I would recommend to anyone wanting to visit Ethiopia to consider coming here on a package tour that is organized and paid for by a western company – OR – be prepared to need nerves of steel.  In order to fully appreciate each and every day, it is important to have a “separation” from needing to deal with local tour operators, guides, and almost any type of service staff.  The reason for this is there is more hassle, difficulties, price-gouging, unfair treatment, lying and horrible service here than anywhere else I have traveled.  Some of it, of course, can be attributed to the language barrier – but this does not explain all of it.

Stunning landscapes and beauty of Ethiopia

Before I launch into descriptions of the struggles Mike and I have faced, I would like to point out that we did have a handful of positive local interactions.  Our driver in Tigray was a 22 – year old called Sneetchie (spelling?) and though he didn’t speak English, he was always cheerful and helpful.  In the Danakil, our driver was the exact opposite of everything I’m going to describe here – but to the extreme.  Sisay, constantly asked if we were okay, did we want the windows down or AC?  Did we want to stop for a photo?  When we responded, he would verify our answer by re-asking the same question 3 or 4 times.  It was overkill – but at the very least, he was extremely caring.  I will give him a great review on Trip Advisor – because these two individuals were absolutely the exceptions to the general rule.

Just last night, at our hotel in Bahir Dar, I decided to order the same dinner I’d had the night before because it had been so delicious.  It was a chicken breast with a mushroom sauce and mashed potatoes.  The meal arrived but it was a chicken thigh and leg served with rice.  Looking at the menu, it was a totally different meal.  The waiter came over and I asked if it would be possible for him to bring me some mashed potato?  He said “of course” and went away.  Fifteen minutes later, a woman arrived (who I presumed is the restaurant manager) and asked me “what is the problem?”  I said, “there is no problem, it’s just that I got a different dish to what I ordered and could I have some potato?”  She pointed at the menu and told me that I had the dish I ordered.  I said, “no” – this isn’t a chicken breast.  To which, she responded “Yes, this is chicken breast – it has just been flattened out.”  I laughed because I thought she must be joking.  “No, this can’t be a chicken breast because there are bones.”  “No bones, madam.” “Yes, bones…look!” I said, holding the chicken leg up for her to see, “…this is a chicken leg, right?”

“No,” she replied, “this is not a chicken leg. It is breast.”

This went on for a few hilarious minutes while she continued to deny that what I had on my plate was a chicken’s thigh and leg.  I told her I didn’t care about the chicken (I had only wanted some mashed potatoes instead of rice) but what I did care about was her lying to my face that the chicken leg was breast meat.

She simply didn’t care, and walked away.  The waiter also just walked away.

I sighed and ate my meal.  Then, without being told anything, 20 minutes later a fresh plate of food arrives – and it is the dish I had ordered and the one I’d eaten the night before.  Of course, now, I wasn’t hungry – just exasperated.  I thanked the waiter and told him that next time, it might be a good idea to TELL the customer that you are planning to replace a dish.

Traditional Ethiopian coffee being served street-side

This is an extreme example, but Mike and I experience hassle and trouble here with logistics and site-seeing on a daily basis.  Vendors pester us with a persistence that is mind-numbing – you can say “no” 15 times and they still come after you to buy whatever it is that they’re selling – even super strange things like, in Axum, a round rock split in two filled with purple-looking gemstones.  Or wooden flutes.  Or strange-looking hats with a giant pointy bobble on top that we are told are “traditional Ethiopian hats” – yet we haven’t seen a single person wearing them other than the vendor pressuring us to buy them.

Even with the kids.  We have come across kids selling items and/or begging all across West Africa.  Here, they follow you, not taking no for an answer.  It goes like this: “Sir, you buy?  I give you good price?  Please.  Sir, you buy?  You want this?  Sir?  Madam?  Where you from?  You have pen?  Give me pen.  Pen. Pen.  I want pen.  Money.  Give me money.  Hey, money!  You.  You.  You give me pen?  Money. Pen. Pen. Pen.  Sweets?  You have sweets?  Madam, Madam, Madam….” This entire time, you’ve been walking away, fast, and they keep up with you, not tiring out.  I have had to take to stopping, looking them in the eye, and yelling “NO!!!!!” to get them to stop.  The other day, while visiting the Blue Nile Falls, a young girl no older than six, actually hit me in the legs with her bag of wooden flutes when I told her “sorry” but that I didn’t want to buy one.  Mike had rocks thrown at him.  Today, a school boy hit me in the small of my back as I rode past him on a bicycle.  It is really, really sad situation – that I’m actually afraid of groups of children here.

Thank God for Mike – he saved me from most of the hassle and dangers I would have faced if traveling here solo

As for issues with money and pricing for all things needed to see this country – I don’t even know where to begin.  As a foreigner, we are called “Faranji” (or even more hilariously, “China”) and everywhere you go, service providers will name a sky-high price that is sometimes 3 or 4 times what the standard price for a service should be, just on the off-chance that you don’t know this and you’re a stupid tourist who will fall for the quote.  In Lalibela, I was quoted 100 Birr for a tuk-tuk ride that I knew to be 30.  In Gonder, we wanted to buy a beanie hat for the mountains, and they asked us for 700 Birr.  That’s over $25!   We laughed and walked away.

While visiting the Rock-Hewn churches of Tigray, we negotiated with a scout who told us we needed his services to get up the steep trail to the church Abuna Yemal.  Our driver had told us we should pay no more than 100-150 birr in total.  This scout tried to charge us 300, but we managed to negotiate him down to 200 birr, with him explaining that entrance to the church was separate at 150 Birr each.  After carefully repeating this back and confirming that there would be no additional fees or costs, we agreed to head on up the trail.  At which point he asked us if we wanted him to bring a rope?

“A rope?  What for?  Do we need it?” we asked.

“If you want, I can bring” his response.

“But will we need it?”

“It’s up to you.”

“But we haven’t seen the trail – do most tourists use the rope?”

“Some do, some do not.”

“Ok, well, then, let’s bring it and then we will have it if we need it.”

“Then that is extra 100 Birr.”

“Oh. Isn’t it your rope?”

“No, you have to rent the rope.  It’s 100 Birr.”

Mike and I look at each other, exasperated.

“Ok, but if we pay you another 100 Birr, that is EVERYTHING, right?”

“Yes. Everything”

So.  We pay him the 100 Birr for the rope and move to get going.  He then stops and says:

“No, it’s 100 Birr EACH to use the rope.”

“What on earth?  Why would it be 100 each?  It’s one rope!  You said we have to rent a rope. You can’t charge per person for a rented rope! That’s just ridiculous.”

“You pay each…”

Me, ascending sans rope to the Rock Hewn church of Abuna Yemal

And so it went on.  Mike walked away, his energy for talking to this guy having evaporated.  I told the guy, we’d pay for the rope, and I would see if I needed to use it.  In the end, I climbed without the rope and Mike used it, however, the whole “rope rental” cost was a total fabrication because our scout LEFT the rope up there for other tourists to use who came by.  Other clients who shared our car in the Danakil told us they were charged 150 birr each for the rope going to this church.  It feels like those who work with tourists simply pull prices out of the sky whenever it suits them – depending on just how much they think they might get away with charging.

So, you can see, it is quite tiring having to negotiate for each and every little thing.  Everything is a discussion.  Everything.  Nothing is simple.  Nobody ever apologizes.  Ever.

We have had some very shady/incompetent/mendacious tour guides during our time here.  The owner of the tour operator we booked with to go to the Simiens got into an argument with me when he claimed that almost no-one ever suffered symptoms of altitude sickness while hiking to 4500 meters – I told him that not only was he wrong, but that saying that to less experienced hikers could actually be dangerous.  On our first night – over half of our camp had symptoms of AMS.  The same guy who promised our main luggage would be stored safely for us and returned to us, at no additional cost per his website (our trip cost us $300 each) – had the audacity to yell at me on the phone and tell me that he had never claimed our bag storage would be free and that we would have to pay 120 birr to the hotel manager to get them back.  He had never mentioned this additional cost and we were lucky that we had spare cash on hand at the end of our 4 day trek – but seriously?  Why would you argue with a client who’s just paid you $600 for a four-day tour over $4?  On the last day when we were scorched, dirty and exhausted?

On our boat trip to the Zege Peninsula in Bahir Dar – we negotiated to pay 1500 birr to visit two monasteries on the peninsula, then visit one of the islands, and the outlet to the Blue Nile on the way back.  After we’d finished the second monastery- our boat captain informed us we were “going back to hotel now” – and when we pointed out that we’d only covered ½ of our promised itinerary, he rolled his eyes and started getting pissy.  We called our hotel, who had arranged the trip, and explained that if we were going to be taken directly back, we wanted a discount (thank goodness I had refused to pay the full 1500 Birr before the trip, stating that a tourist typically pays for a day trip at the end.  They finally agreed to letting me pay 1000 up front and I would owe 500 at the end.)

Me and our lovely driver, Sissay, in the Danakil Depression

At this point, the trip was ruined anyways and we didn’t want to visit any more places with a boat captain in a foul mood.  The guy from our hotel asked to speak to the boat captain who proceeded to start yelling into the phone for a good five minutes while we tried to calmly enjoy a coffee at a tranquil lakeside location.  After giving us the phone back, our hotel person said that there was “no problem, and he would take us to all the promised places now, no problem” to which we explained that “yes, there was a problem in that we didn’t sign up to have to listen to him arguing about giving us the service we’d agreed upon.”  There was more yelling and calls back and forth, and we had to insist he just take the boat directly back to the hotel, whereupon we got out giving him 300 Birr less for the hassle we’d suffered.

In the Danakil, we stayed for one night in a hotel, and after several days in the hot dusty desert, I was eager to take a shower.  I didn’t have a towel with me as we’d been told we’d be camping for each of the 3 nights.  But the hotel gave us a double room, which, unfortunately, only had one towel on the bed.  I took the towel to the manager, and asked if I could possibly get another towel?  He said he would go get one for me.

Half hour later, I still didn’t have a towel.  I went out of the room looking for the manager.  I spoke to five housekeepers, showed them the towel, and asked for another towel.  “You want water?”  “No, just a towel.  A TOWEL.”

Five women commence a long and loud conversation in Amharic.  It goes on and on and on and on.  Eventually, they point me to the restaurant where I see the manager sitting and eating a meal and having a beer.  All five women follow me into the restaurant.  I ask the manager for a towel, again.  He just stares at me.

Then, his phone rings.  He leans back in his chair and takes the call, completely ignoring me.  I look at the women, who start to laugh.  I ask them again, pleading, “Please?  May I have a towel?”  One of them says “Office is closed.”

Oh, God.

I’m about to lose it, when a GUEST of the hotel who has observed this whole fiasco, gets up from his meal, apologizes to me, says something to the douchebag still on his phone, then something to the five housekeepers still standing there gawking at me and laughing, and proceeds to go behind the counter of the reception, grabs a key hanging from a hook, saying “Come with me.”

We walk down the hall to another hotel room, he unlocks the door, grabs the towel from the bed and hands it to me.  I thank him profusely.

Guys being guys in Ethiopia – Friday night cuddles in the bar

These situations – unfortunately, have become very common interactions for us as independent travelers.  The bigger downside, is, however, that I feel I have my back up, and I’m already on the defensive whenever someone approaches us, or offers us a good price for something we are actually interested in doing.  When most of your experiences with vendors is bad, one can’t help tensing up, anticipating getting lied to or ripped off.  The problem then becomes that I can inadvertently come across as hostile or nasty to someone who genuinely wants to help.  I admit that – the effect of this daily hassle has been cumulative and I’ve almost reached my breaking point.

It is a real shame, because as I said earlier, this is a stunning country with so much that is worthwhile to see and visit.

That covers what it feels like to be here in Ethiopia as a tourist. Let me tell you a little bit about how it feels to be here as a woman.  First, I have been hassled, ogled, stared at, whistled at, called after, yelled at, and grabbed (once) during my three weeks here.  It has been the worst in terms of unwanted male attention compared with anywhere else in Africa.  I get this attention even when I am out with Mike walking along the street together.  If I am separated from him, it gets much worse – to the point that I would probably advise any white woman thinking of traveling to Ethiopia alone – to not.  I even got hassled when riding a bike today.  Almost every 20 meters, a guy or group of guys would call out, ask me where I was from, tell me I was beautiful, stare and say “hey, Baby!”, and the funniest of all…every tuk tuk would pull over next to my bike, even on a crowded bridge where driving close to a bike could be dangerous, and the driver would try and get my attention in any way possible.

It is exhausting and a little unnerving, even if it is flattering – which I’m not even sure about.

The shirt I should have worn every day in Ethiopia to ward off unwanted male attention

I was grabbed in a park a few nights ago in Bahir Dar and the guy said he wanted to spend the night with me and would I let him bite my butt?  I mean, what the hell? Luckily, I swiveled around kicking him and told him to “fuck off” sharply and loudly enough that he let go – but it was in a crowded place and no one even noticed.

From Gonder to Debark, from Axum to the Danakil – everywhere we went – whether in the cities or in rural areas (though it is worse in rural areas) – men are abundant in number, be it on the street, in restaurants, bars or cafes.  Men are everywhere.  Women ? – not so much.  Yes, there are a few, and definitely more in the markets selling goods.  But for the most part there are at least 10-15 men out to every 1 woman.  In Debark, we went out to the bars after our hike through the Simiens and got to witness the famous “shoulder dancing” of the north – but it felt super strange to me because all the men were only dancing with other men.  Some even “coupled up” and never once broke eye contact as they gyrated their shoulders and bodies in time with one another.  I asked our guide where all the women were – he remarked that since the next day marked the first day of their 55-day fasting schedule – the women were probably at home preparing food for the family and caring for the kids.  Whatever the reason, women simply are not out in public as much.

Men getting it on, I mean “dancing”, on the dancefloor in Debark

Incidentally, the shoulder dancing is really something to see.  It reminds me of “pop and lock” dance – which I’m sure was influenced by this very traditional form of dancing.  When it is just guys – like it was that night in Debark – I find it altogether very strange.  And, of course, it just looks so different to me as dancing is such a culturally below-the-waist activity (for me) – and in Northern Ethiopia, the movement is concentrated above the waist.  We did go see some traditional dancing in Bahir Dar and this was far more enjoyable to watch – the movements are so intricate and fast it almost defies belief.  I will try to upload some video to YouTube! so you can see what I’m talking about.

The country as a whole is predominantly Christian and very very religious at that.  Women, however, are even kept seated in a whole other section of the church during mass, many churches don’t allow women inside (because they might be menstruating – oh the horror!!!) and choirs that sing during mass are all made up of men only.  So, there’s discrimination even in the practicing of their faith.

In Mekele, after our trip to the Danakil, I went to get a haircut and met a group of six female students from the university there.  One of them spoke very good English and asked me what my general impression of Ethiopia had been.  When I mentioned this lack of women, and also how men had treated me here – she immediately sympathized and nodded with understanding.  She agreed that a female is still treated as a second class citizen in much of the country – but she was positive that change was coming.  She explained that a large portion of girls, especially those in the countryside, don’t get educated much past the age of 12 and often are married and starting a family by the time they are 14 or 15 years old.  She said that many women just accept what men expect of them – that they belong inside the house and nowhere else.  Again, she said she was happy to be getting her masters’ degree because it meant she at least had the chance of getting her own job so that she wouldn’t have to get married just to be supported.  We talked about how educating girls was the key to progress – and she assured me that even though it was difficult, women were starting to be able to compete for jobs.  Twenty years ago, she said there were almost no jobs available to women.

I hope she was right and that things are improving for women here.

Yummy traditional food

On a final note – I’d like to tell you about the food here.  For the most part, it has been quite delicious, though typically very hot & spicy – notably our first meal in Gonder at a restaurant called the Four Sisters – it was a vast array of traditional foods like Ndjera that was served with Lamb Tibs, lots of different sautéed vegetables and a variety of side dishes.  However, on the day after we completed our trek through the Simiens – Ethiopian Christians began their 55-day Fast for Easter/Lent – and this meant that many restaurants now would only serve “fasting food” – which is a paradise for vegans or vegetarians because all the dishes did not contain any animal products whatsoever.  So, no meat, no eggs, no dairy, no butter.  Meaning, rather bland vegetable based dishes only.  As a consequence, we have had to seek out non-fasting restaurants or stick to more touristy places where we can satisfy the unavoidable cravings for food from home, such as pizza or a burger.

Oh!  You can buy delicious juices everywhere here too – that has been a huge hit with Mike and I.  We love the avocado, guava, mango and banana combinations!

Coffee has a very long history here, and it is served everywhere on the street and at makeshift huts lined with grass on the floor and always a little stool where a woman boils the coffee in a traditional pot over hot charcoal before pouring out an espresso sized blackest of black liquids into a tray of waiting cups.  I’ve grown more accustomed to taking one of these strong black coffees in the afternoon, but in the morning, I still crave my coffee a little less strong (I just add hot water) and with some milk.

It has been quite a feat trying to get all 3 items in the morning when we aren’t at a hotel serving a breakfast buffet.  I bought packets of powdered milk which I use sometimes, but even in a 4-star international hotel, when I ask for one coffee, and some hot water on the side – the servers just stare at me and begin a debate with all of their co-workers that lasts at least 15 minutes.  Eventually someone brings me a coffee and then I pour it into my to-go bottle and ask again, with different hand gestures for more water?  They just stare at me and laugh.  What is this woman doing with her coffee? – they must be thinking.   Hahahaha…I guess it would be easier for me just to learn to take my coffee strong and espresso sized.

My remedy at the end of a day being a woman and a tourist in Northern Ethiopia

The language barrier has also been difficult – moreso with guides who claim they can speak “very good English” but, as it turns out, they can speak English but they cannot understand it spoken to them, and cannot answer the simplest of questions.  So, communication has been a little bit of a struggle.  My favorite exchange was in Bahir Dar with the aforementioned mean boat driver (before he got mean).  I asked him where he lived, and his response was simply:

“Hippo?”

Burkina Fasso Part I: Swine by Candlelight

08 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by Anita in Africa, Burkina Fasso

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Culture, Indigenous People, Transport, Travel Days, Villages, Women

Entering a traditional home in Tiabele

We ordered a private taxi to take us back to Domango where we would pick up a minibus heading back to Tamale and then north from there to the Burkina Fasso border. We asked that he make a stop along the way to a famed mud and stick mosque that’s over 700 years old in Larabanga – and it’s still in use today!

Here are the photos. These types of structures are most famous for being located in Mali, but they do occur in other places across this latitude.

At the Mud and Stick Mosque

Once we arrived in Domango we found a minibus that was slowly filling up to take people to Tamale, but it was progressing rather slowly and something just didn’t feel right to me when I was told that this was the “only” form of public transport going to Tamale. In looking for a bathroom, I stumbled across the public bus station and lo and behold but a large bus was about to leave for Tamale for the same price!! I was so mad and told them to wait before having to run back down the road, scream at Mike to come and demand our money back from the lying minibus driver before just making it and finding seats.

Though the bus was slow going and rough going over those famous Ghanaian speed bumps, we were glad to at least be moving, and we might have been waiting over two hours for the first form of transport to depart.

Once arriving in Tamale, rather strangely in the middle of a food market (what the actual fuck) we took a cab to the Tro Tro station that served northern routes to Bolgatanga. Since the Tro Tro was full, we were offered a private car for 25 cd’s each, but we had to wait for it to fill. So, we decided to pay for 3 seats so we wouldn’t be squashed in the back and we could leave sooner.

The driver of this taxi turned out to be a total douchebag and tried to charge us mid-journey another 5 cd’s each for our luggage in the trunk. We argued that since we’d bought the middle seat in the back, we would happily move our luggage to occupy the empty space between us – and he started arguing “what IF a third person was sitting back there – THEN where would you put your luggage?” I really lost my temper at that point and told him that the time to inform a passenger of ALL applicable costs was BEFORE the journey commenced and that he could take his illogical hypothetical nonsense and shove it because he was being an idiot. If he didn’t like it – we would get out of the car there and then.

I could feel Mike cringing next to me, but I’d had enough and was unwilling to let patience and politeness rule the day with this man. Fortunately, my abrasiveness paid off – he didn’t know what to do or say to me and kept quiet the rest of the way, even showing a willingness to take us further on to the Burkina border for a reasonable fare.

I guess he wasn’t used to having a woman stand up to him.

I was initially nervous about the border crossing and traveling there as Burkina Fasso had recently experienced an enormous drop in tourism since the two terrorist attacks by the Northern African branch of ISIS in 2016 and 2017. Over 30 people had been shot at the popular coffee spot “Cappuccino” on Kwame Nkrumah avenue and the Splendid hotel across the street in Ougadougou in January of 2016, then in August of 2017, 18 people were killed just down the street at Aziz Istanbul restaurant. Both attacks had targeted westerners/ex-pats and Burkina has seen a sharp drop in tourism since then.

At the Burkina Fasso Border Crossing

As it turned out, the border crossing was simple, and the customs guy on the Burkina side was overjoyed that two Americans were coming to his country. Plus, it was nice to speak some French again.

We had arranged to visit a unique set of villages in a place called Tiabele, which was only about 60kms or so from the border. A guide named Arnaud had been recommended to us to arrange accommodation and a tour of his home, made famous for both its culture and for how they are made out of mud clay and then painted in a variety of symbolic artwork and color.

We took a very very old and rickety taxi to Po, where we would be meeting with Arnaud. Burkina turned out to have the oldest ramshackled vehicles on the trip thus far, with drivers using brute force to change gears, or even open a window (with a wrench kept in the glovebox for this purpose.) Since we didn’t have a sim and we were running about an hour behind schedule, I borrowed the driver’s phone to let Arnaud know that we were on our way.

I was hot, dusty, exhausted and thirsty when we arrived and the very last thing I wanted to do was have a long conversation in French. However, when Arnaud suggested we start with a cold large beer for refreshment, that certainly perked me up somewhat.

Arnaud seemed very genial – he explained that his village system had a royal court/family and that he was a prince (ooh la la) and we would be staying at an Auberge only 100m from his residence in a traditional style hut with rooftops where one could take a mattress on hot nights to sleep outside. He suggested we get showers and a good meal tonight and then tomorrow he would plan a full day’s activities for us.

Once acquainted, imbibed, and a guinea fowl purchased (alive and presumably for Arnaud’s family dinner) we hopped in his rented vehicle and drove to Tiabele, arriving as it was getting dark.

Arnaud driving with the shortly doomed Guinea Fowl

We showered and walked over to the restaurant that Arnaud had arranged for us. It was a couple’s home, with a few tables and chairs laid out in their garden. The host was super gracious and friendly, and fixed a candle to the table itself by pouring hot wax first to hold the candle firmly in place.

Our bed for the night was a mattress on the roof of the traditional style home. In the morning, goats were frolicking about.

Our meal could only be described as maize based white sticky paste and a side dish of brown mush that may have contained some nuts and meat. It was edible and another beer helped wash it down.   It was the ambiance that was so indelible, and I joked with Mike (who is like a brother to me) that we were really missing out on this opportunity to gaze at each other, and drink some wine by candlelight in this romantic spot.

He laughed and looking around and seeing the family’s chickens, goats, cats and pigs all meandering around us, he replied, “Well, we do have SWINE by candlelight, for sure!”

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anitagotravel

anitagotravel

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