In Search of the ‘Real’ Ethiopia

I woke up in the morning without a very clear idea of what I was going to do that day. I didn’t think I was going to do much. At most I thought I would have a cup of coffee, write in my journal, then ride into Bahir Dar and explore the city. As it turned out I never left the grounds of the hotel.

I took a blissful hot water shower, washed the dust out of my hair and then attacked the 5-day growth of beard. It was pretty thick and it took a few passes to get rid of it all. I put on clean clothes and when I stepped outside I felt like a new man, more refreshed than I had in weeks.

I walked along the shore of the lake till I came to a quiet spot sheltered by overhanging branches. A light breeze blew off the lake, cool against my sunburned skin. The sun was just barely above the horizon. I sat down on the exposed root of a large tree and watched as hundreds of birds whirled about in search of breakfast. Some hovered in groups above the lake’s surface. When a bird spotted a fish it flicked its tail and vanished into the choppy waves. Seconds later it emerged and resumed its position in the hovering flock. Others swooped along just inches above the water deftly scooping up whatever fish were careless enough to breach the surface. In the trees more birds flitted around from branch to branch snatching up insects with every flight.

I held my arms wide and tried to gather in the whole scene. A sense of well-being descended on me and I marvelled that I was still in Ethiopia. In a way of course I wasn’t. The Ghion was separate from the country I’d been cycling through, a lakeside sanctuary protected by a high wall and guards, a tiny piece of luxury and calm that I’d purchased for 90 birr a night. I only had to stick my head outside the gates for two seconds to realize that.

But as happy as I felt sitting there I also felt odd. Sure, the Ghion was comfortable, but was it really Ethiopia? By isolating myself in the comforts and privacy it offered wasn’t I betraying the purpose of my trip? I thought about it for a while and concluded that the idea of a ‘real’ Ethiopia was a crock anyway. Just because this was a beautiful spot and nobody was throwing rocks at me didn’t mean it wasn’t Ethiopia. I might as well enjoy the good as much as I suffered the bad. And what was the alternative? I could go stay at the East Africa Hotel which I’d heard was where all the backpackers hung out (though I had yet to see any in Ethiopia). It would be cheap and kind of grungy and that would be more in keeping with my world, but it wouldn’t get me any closer to being in the ‘real’ Ethiopia. The next step would be to stay with a family in a village and I could do that, but I still wouldn’t be any closer to the ‘real’ Ethiopia. I couldn’t be. Someone like me, I was an alien here and always would be.

And in a strange way I felt I owed it to Ethiopia to indulge myself in a few luxuries. It was pretty clear that cycling was the worst way to experience the country. When I stayed in one place and got to know people I had an enjoyable time. When I cycled I had a rather difficult time. And perversely I continued to cycle. It’s almost like I was choosing to see the country’s worst side. I owed it to Ethiopia then to wallow in a bit of luxury and enjoy its gentler side.

Content with that bit of twisted logic I got up and walked back towards the restaurant to get my own breakfast. I was comforted in a strange way to find that the staff of the restaurant in typical Ethiopian style were playing some really bad pop music at earsplitting volume over the restuarant’s blown speakers. It drowned out the wind, the sound of the waves on the shore and the birds, drowned out in fact, all that was pleasant about the spot. The walls and the guards couldn’t keep all of Ethiopia out after all.

Ann and Frank

As I ate my breakfast I noticed a middle-aged man and woman sitting in chairs by the water’s edge watching the birds. I walked over later and offered them the use of my binoculars. His name was Frank and his wife was Ann. They were American and both very nice. They were on a three-month trip around the world visiting what they called ‘perimeter’ countries, those places just a bit off the beaten path that for one reason or another they hadn’t gotten to in what sounded like a lifetime of travel.

Frank, I quickly found out, was the kind of guy who stood on his rights. When he came across something in a country that he felt wasn’t right or didn’t make sense he refused to go along. He dug in his heels and fought for his position. One story he told me came from their trip through South Africa.

He and Ann were driving a rented car from Avis. He pulled into a gas station when he saw that they had a Diner’s Club sign in the window. He asked them if they took Diner’s Club and when they said yes he filled up his tank with gas. But when he went to pay they refused to take his Diner’s Club card and demanded cash.

Frank simply stood on his rights and said no. He was quite firm about it to the point of calling in the local police. The police mediated between him and the employees of the gas station and even the owner of the gas station who they got on the telephone.

The way he told the story he did not get angry but was determined to wait them out. He told them that they could have the gas back. They could get a hose and siphon it out of the gas tank. That was fine. If the gas was staying in his tank he was either getting it for free or paying for it with his Diner’s Club card. It was one or the other and the choice was theirs.

Eventually they came to a compromise position where he agreed to pay cash but on the condition that they scrape the Diner’s Club sticker from their window. He stood over them while they did it and then paid for the gas.

Frank told a number of stories like this particularly where soldiers or bureaucrats tried to shake him down and he refused point blank. As far as they were willing to take it he was willing to match them and go the distance. He had a simple code of justice. Some things were right and others weren’t.

After each story my response wasn’t to judge his behaviour and decide whether I thought he acted correctly or not but to marvel at his energy and endurance. I had encountered all the same situations he described and when I thought about standing on my rights as he did I just got tired. There’s no way I’d have the energy for it. In most cases, like most people, I wimped out and let it go. Perhaps that’s why when we travelled we continually were sold first class tickets for trains that did not have first class (indeed had no classes at all), were sent into incomprehensible bureaucratic mazes with ‘service charges’ at every turn and had windows slammed in our faces after being told simultaneously that there was no bus today, the bus had already left, the bus was full, the bus was coming, the bus was empty and wouldn’t leave till full, there were no tickets, tickets must be bought the day before, come back in an hour, come back in a day, come back in your next lifetime. Perhaps if we acted more like Frank these things would cease to happen.

Frank quickly discovered that despite my ‘discount’ I was paying more for my room at the Ghion than anybody else. I waved it off as unimportant but Frank promised to have a talk with the manager and see that what I paid was brought in line with what everyone else was paying.

Martin

At lunchtime I found myself sitting with Martin, a Phd student from Holland who had just begun a 2-year project studying certain fish populations of Lake Tana, Robert, a freelance photographer from Austria, and the wife of the Swiss Ambassador.

Martin noticed a book that the Swiss Ambassador’s wife was carrying. It was a new publication on the ecology of the Simien Mountains and Martin was curious about where he could get a copy. He borrowed the book from her and stared writing down the details. He wrote down everything. The full name of the book, the publisher, the authors, the ISPN. Then he found some more information and he continued writing. By then the Swiss Ambassador’s wife had to leave and mentioned to her husband, the Ambassador, who was nearby, that Martin had the book and was writing some information down. The Ambassador was in a hurry and he came over and stood at our table anxiously waiting for this book. Martin meanwhile had found a new address and he wrote down the phone number and the fax number and then the email address.

I sat there looking from Martin to the very annoyed Ambassador and wondered what was going to happen. The Ambassador finally broke in and asked Martin to please hurry up because he had to leave for an important meeting. Martin said he would hurry but continued at his measured pace till he was sure he had all the information he required and only then did he return the book.

When the Ambassador left I asked Martin about the whole scene. I mentioned that the Ambassador was in a big hurry and had gotten more than a little annoyed. Martin said he knew that, but he hadn’t finished getting the information. He figured the Ambassador could wait till he was done. There was no problem. And as it turned out he was right. There really was no problem. Five minutes later I saw the Swiss Ambassador sitting just three tables away from us and he was there for two hours. His big meeting had either vanished or had never existed in the first place. Martin took that as confirmation of his philosophy. He said that if you spent your life worrying about what other people want all the time you’d never get anything that you want.

By the time I finished lunch with Martin, Ann and Frank had come back from their day’s explorations in Bahir Dar. I laughingly told them that I hadn’t even once left the restaurant, only moved from table to table as more willing conversational victims had showed up. They offered themselves as the next sacrifice on my conversation starved altar and I willingly took them up on it. It was exactly the kind of day I needed.

Tags: Bahir Dar, Diner Club, Ethiopia, Ethiopia Bike Trip, Swiss Ambassador