Ethiopia Letters (Part One): A New Flower

(In the following series of posts, I revisit a journey to Ethiopia, with a brief pause in the United Arab Emirates, that I took in early 2007. Armed with a journal and Canon G5 camera, I ventured out on my first trip to the African continent.  I was apprehensive but excited - Ethiopia is one of the most rural countries on earth, a society with deep Christian roots, marked by a violent history of invasions and civil war, home of some of the world's finest coffee. Here are some of my dispatches that I sent to friends, family and colleagues.)

January 27, 2007

Friends,

I have arrived in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, after long haul transit that was both grueling and fascinating. Grueling because as a tall man, air travel and its cramped seating make for self-induced agony.  Fascinating because our flight path from Dubai to Addis followed the Iran-Iraq border by night, the ground illuminated by hundreds of flare-offs from oil wells.  In the north these lit up mountain villages covered with thick snow, while in the south the vast desert landscapes were dotted with little flickering oil candles, casting an eerie orange haze across the vastness of the Iraqi desert.  In the distance was Basra. I can only imagine what kind of chaos I was flying over.  As the skies lit up in the morning we flew over the raw landscape of Yemen, with its jagged naked mountains, intersected by long winding roads and the occasional town.

The friendly staff at Martin's Cozy Place

I am staying at Martin's Cozy Place, tucked away down a dimly lit road, just off Bole Road, one of the main streets that eventually weaves its way into the centre of Addis Ababa (translation: "new flower").  It's a small place, well placed and with a German touch (this means beer and german food on the menu). Martin, a transplant from Frankfurt is jovial and perpetually smoking, always sporting a cleanly shaved head and in search of a great spa. It is a bit of an oasis from the busy Addis roads just around the corner and also affordable. Finding reasonably priced accommodation in Africa in general is not too difficult, but finding a well run place with friendly staff, clean sheets and decent security can be tricky. Lacking the low-budget backpacking crowd (they are here but in much fewer numbers than, say,  Southeast Asia) accommodation tends to range from dingy, brothel-like dives to four star hotels, with much less to choose from in between.  This was a word-of-mouth gem and not in the Lonely Planet (ed: now it is).

Addis is buzzing.  The African Union is holding a conference for the next few days and preparations are visible throughout the centre. The blue fatigued military is everywhere now, one every 10-15 metres on the main roads.  Mostly they stand around with their AK-47s looking bored.  Right outside our guest house is a brand new and formidable-looking water cannon. It has been in the same spot for days and its bulk is an ominous and powerful presence.  Read: if you are having any ideas, don't bother. I steal a glance at the brand and I think it's German-made.

I have spent the last few days touring around getting a feel for the city.  It is a sprawling mass with few traffic lights, choked by diesel fumes.  Main roads are paved, but side roads are not, the worst offenders being a bone jarring mixture of lumpy rock and potholes.  According to a recent census, Addis has three and a half million residents.  It's probably double that. According to Martin, the city has expanded tremendously over the last several years, and rampant construction is everywhere, fuelled by a white hot real estate market. Occasionally a patch of serenity can be found amongst the hustle bustle: one being the Addis Ababa University campus, with its large gardens and places to sit.  The other being the Trinity Church, burial site of Haile Selassie, the former emperor of Ethiopia and, according to the Rastafarians, the manifested resurrection of Jesus.

The King of Kings

The University is on the old palace grounds.  It hosts the Ethnological museum, which is Haile Selassie's former mansion, which is actually not too much to look at.  The artifacts on the other hand are incredible -- the top floor consists of an absolutely stunning collection of Ethiopian art, dating back to the 13th century. I think that art historians would be both amazed and horrified seeing some of these pieces -- the artistic quality and beauty of stories depicted, in contrast to the fairly abysmal way much of these artistic pieces are maintained, many of which are fully exposed to air and light ( which equals a slow death for pigments).  Here we see depictions of St. George, the saint of Addis, slaying the dragon, as well as his subsequent martyrdom (killed either seven or eleven times, depending on where you read).

Equally fascinating is a tromp through Haile Selassie's private chambers, the pinnacle being the emperor's bathroom.  His Majesty's personal bidet and toilet surely would have been something gold-plated (it's standard for despots isn't it?) but no, the fantasy was shattered - only gaudy circa 1950s blue porcelain.  Haile Selassie ruled Ethiopia from 1930 to 1974, where he was overthrown by the Derg, the Marxists led by Mengistu, who 'socialized' Ethiopia until the early 1990s.  It is rumoured that Mengistu himself strangled Haile Selassie to death with his bare hands.  His body was only found in 1992, buried unceremoniously under Mengistu's toilet. 

Enjoying a buna at the National Museum

As the subject heading suggests, I discover pizza in Addis.  This is not merely a western fast food import but a historical leftover from Ethiopia's association with colonial Italy. I say "association" as Ethiopia was never colonized and remains one of Africa's few historically independent nations, a historical legacy that is also a source of great national pride amongst Ethiopians. The Italians may have tried to colonize Ethiopia but were unsuccessful - what they left behind was their cuisine and their espresso machines. Now some enterprising Ethiopians are even building their own machines out of old ordinance.  There is a little restaurant down the road that makes a mean tuna pizza for about two dollars (no cheese unfortunately, but plenty of spicy peppers).

If I'm lucky, I'm off to the south on monday to explore some southern towns and maybe even a bit of jungle.  En route we will pass Shashamene, the home of the rastas who "returned" to Africa.  


your nomad,

CA

travel diary: asia through motion

A blustery icy spell has blown into the west coast and everyone is in shivers.  I watch snow fall outside my office window, blown up by big gusts of wind, listen to the sound of idle office chatter: the irritation of driving in the snow, the cold in people's bones, those early days when snow fell every year. I sit in the auditorium of a former convent for a meeting and feel the cold creep through my legs, to the point at which it is uncomfortable.  I like cool weather but I am not used to this, yet. I must move, shake up, walk.  I must move to remove myself from this. 

And I thought of travel - the heat, the humidity, the dust and sweat in your hair.  Of a scene in the Italian film Baaria where the Torrenuova family, searching for their own escape from a punishing hot and humid day, removed all the furniture from their living room, stripped down to their underwear, and lay flat on the cool white tiles.

It all brought me back to last spring, travelling through warm climates, where movement provided respite from the heat. And so I find myself revisiting those moments, where warmth and movement also brought memories.  Asia through Motion is a video travel diary of some of these fine moments as I travelled through regions of Cambodia, Laos, Bali and Thailand.


As I pieced these memories together, I found myself watching the clips over and over, pulling small details with each viewing that in themselves brought their own sensations.  I took myself back momentarily: to karst mountains and green rice paddies, to the wet smell of charcoal and incense, to the rumble of dusty motorbikes, to a split second image of a hunter making his way into the hazy Laotian jungle, crossbow strapped to his back.  

One of the great memories is roaring through the old jungle roads in southern Laos, discovering one waterfall after another, with not a soul around. A segment of that journey is here.  And I also loved traveling through Phnom Penh at night, breezing past the glorious-at-night national monument whether by moto or touktouk, which is also captured.