Back in Japan

After three flights, 23 hours and about 3 hours of sleep, I made it back to Japan from Ethiopia. I don't know why I was so restless, but that came with the benefit of having time to watch a slew of movies and television shows that were featured on Emirates "I.C.E." (information, communication and entertainment) system. The best one was probably "How to Lose Friends & Alienate People" which I watched half of from Addis Ababa to Dubai, and then the last half during the flight from Dubai to Osaka. I thought it was going to be about high school kids (since that's personally when I alienated the most people in my life), but instead I was surprised to find a goofy Simon Pegg (Shaun of the Dead) making me laugh in my seat. Naturally, it could have been the wine.

Back to Aladdin

Last night I decided to visit Aladdin, an Armenian restaurant, for my last dinner in Ethiopia. It's hard to find good Mediterranean food in Japan, especially at Ethiopian prices. We ordered the tabouleh, a greek salad with big green olives and chunks of feta cheese, and a mixed plate of kebabs, plus another dish that I can't quite remember the name of but tasted like beans crushed into a smooth paste and mixed with some light seasonings, which we ate with pita bread of course. We also ordered a couple Dashen beers, a local beer brewed outside of Gondar so not always available in Addis Ababa. We even ordered dessert, which for me was a sweet baklava variation and rich Turkish coffee. The bill came to more than we usually pay for dinner elsewhere, but a quick calculation and I realized it was less than $15USD each; this is the beauty of international eateries in Ethiopia!

Quick Fix

With an important delegation from the Japanese Ministry of Finance
(MoFED) coming to visit the water center today, everyone was hard at
work making sure the compound was in good condition. The head of the
center ordered that the cobblestone in front of the entrance to the main
building, which had shifted and become uneven due to heavy rains over
the years, be torn up and smoothed over. Since there was no time to get
masonry experts out to the center, a mechanic, a driver and one of the
guards set out with a couple shovels and a pick-ax to do the work. They
lifted the heavy stones and smoothed out the gravel below, then set the
stones back down and filled the space between with small pebbles and
gravel, occasionally testing if it was flat by laying a 2x4 across the
ground. After about an hour I came back out to see how everything was
going and they had finished, the cobblestone now level and hopefully
suitable for the VIP from MoFED to step across.

Calling it Close

On Tuesday, M was invited to speak at a water conference being at the
United Nations' Economic Commission to Africa. He was also leaving back
to Japan that evening on the 7:30 flight to Dubai, so the 5:30 start
time for his presentation was really calling it close. However, he
explained to the people arranging that particular event that he'd have
only 30 minutes or so and then have to exit early. When we arrived at
the ECA, we had to wait about 10 minutes until a person from the English
aid agency, DfID, who was running our event, could come down and vouch
for us, as the security guards were sticking to a strict protocol. The
conference hall was in the back of the compound so we walked past
half-a-dozen large buildings until we reached a curving road that swung
around to the entrance of the hall. Once inside, an international crowd
was milling about, the type you'd expect to see only at a United Nations
venue. After a visit to the ECA cafe, where M and the DfID rep planned
out his speaking schedule, we took a walk around to look at some of the
booths that were set up on the first floor. Finally, at 5:30 we entered
the conference room, which featured a huge oblong table with microphones
and headsets at each seat, and in the center, large, flat-screen
televisions facing all sides so that even the person seated furthest
from the conference host could see the presentation materials. At 5:40,
M gave a quick 7 minute presentation and then took about 4 questions
before we apologized and left for the airport, getting to the car just
at 6 o' clock. He already had his luggage in the car and he sat in the
very back of the Land Cruiser and changed out of his suit as our driver
raced through the streets to the airport. At a stoplight, a few beggars
came up to the car window, as they are apt to do, to hold out their
hands for spare change, although this time I'm sure they were surprised
to see a Japanese man getting dressed in the back. With Dereje's
excellent driving, we made it to the airport by 6:30 and M thew his
luggage onto a cart and raced up the ramp leading to the entrance of the
airport. Later, I received a text message that he had, indeed, made it
in time.

Alarming Rain

I woke up this morning 6 minutes before my alarm by what sounded like,
to me in my groggy state, the storm of the century. Luckily, after about
30 minutes, God seems to press the snooze button and the rain eases up.
It seems the rainy season has begun in earnest now, the intermittent
rain falling more and more harshly out of the sky, a few dark nimbus
clouds turning into a smoky, endless gray layer. The roads that are not
paved are turning further into a river of mud, those without shelter can
be see huddled under tarps while herds of goats stand under what brush
they can find.

Sales pitch?

This evening we ate at Ajanta "the jewel of India", which I maintain is the best place for dahl this side of the Indian Ocean. We started with soup (I had the palak soup, i.e. creamy spinach), followed by some of our favorite dishes there. After dinner we decided to order some masala chai, or spiced milk tea, so we called the waitress over. We ordered four teas, but she asked how many teapots we wanted. Not knowing how large the teapot was, we said, "four cups... four people." She responded by asking, "Do you want one-by-two?" We were still confused but figured that meant one teapot, two people, so we said, "two teapots, four people" thinking this had to be obvious.
A little while later she brought out 4 saucers, 4 slightly large tea cups and one medium-sized teapot. She placed the tea cups in front of each person and then began to pour tea into the first person's cup; she filled it practically to the brim. Later, we would all admit to thinking the teapot must be bigger than it looked to fill each cup that high. She filled my cup next; again, brimming with chai. Then she filled the next person's cup, practically overflowing. And finally, she began to pour the last person's cup, although by this point we all knew--even the waitress herself--that it wasn't a magical teapot. The chai trickled to a stop before the cup was even one-fifth full. We all looked at each other slack-jawed, and then at her. "Would you like to order another pot of tea?" she asked, to which we all burst out laughing.

Made-to-Order Macchiato

The way some people order their eggs sunny-side-up, overeasy, scrambled, hardboiled and so on, there are many things on a menu for which we might have certain, peculiar preferences. For example, my father is infamous for telling any waitress that he wants his breakfast bacon burnt. Of course, the cook will usually interpret this as being simply well-done, but he isn't kidding when he says burnt, so to avoid having to send it back, my father has developed a certain way to impress upon the cook just how burnt he wants it: "kill it twice and burn it three times until it's dead five times over". Well, I'm paraphrasing, but something to that effect.
Likewise, today when we went out to lunch with one of the course coordinators, he told the waitress how he wanted his macchiato (espresso and steamed milk). He said something in Amharic that made the waitress laugh out loud so I asked him what he said. He told me he likes his macchiato to taste almost like hot chocolate, so he always instructs the waitress to make it the same color as his face.
A few minutes later, much to his disappointment, the macchiato arrived with too much milk, looking more like my face. Trying to cheer him up, I suggested he help out whoever is operating the espresso machine by handing out wallet-sized photos of himself from now on whenever he orders.

Bakery breakfast

The guesthouse always serves an ample amount of fruit for breakfast along with pancakes or eggs, but once in a while we get something from Saay Pastry shop. Saay is one of the more celebrated shops in town, and sometimes you can see their corporate van parked around town probably picking up supplies or maybe making deliveries. Saay is a large, two-story building on Bole Road with both cafe and outdoor terrace seating, and always looks to have a good number of customers. I've never gone in for just a pastry, but sometimes the guesthouse serves selections from there for breakfast, taken from brown paper wrapping with Saay Pastry printed in red on the side. Last Friday we had Saay doughnuts, and this morning we had croissants. Both the doughnut and the croissant were not as sweet as something you'd find in America or Japan. The doughnut, which was about twice the size of, say, a Krispy Kreme, was very lightly fried, not oily and subtly sweet. Likewise, the croissant was light and chewy on the inside, but not flaky or buttery. Both of these went extremely well with the dark, percolated Ethiopian coffee, which is always prepared in an insulated pitcher sitting on the table. I have to say, I like the usual pancakes or eggs, but I look forward to the days we get something from Saay.

Plan B

Today I planned to go to Aladdin for lunch; it's one of my favorite restaurants in Addis and the one I chose for my last night in the city last time I was here. When I go out with my Japanese colleagues, we almost always share our dishes (a hard habit to get them to break), so today I thought I'd sneak over there by myself with a novel under my arm and pig out on my own! On my way over, I took a back road and passed by a soccer field with about half the neighborhood crowded around as spectators. There was a great game on, which I assume was just amateur level, but they were pretty darn good; a couple times I had to suppress a jeer at the opposing team's defense line. However, my grumbling stomach got the best of me and I continued my trek to Aladdin... only to find it closed for lunch on Sundays.
Plan B, I headed down Bole Road to try and find Loti, a French restaurant that had an interesting review in my guidebook. Just across from the JICA office, I walked into the nondescript building and took the elevator up to the third floor. There was a sign that showed Loti Bar to the left and Loti Restaurant to the right, and I headed to the right. The place was empty except for a distinguished-looking, French-speaking African family of four at the far end of the restaurant. I took a table and perused the menu. The prices were a bit on the high side, but I figured if I was going to splurge on a lunch, now was the time to do it. I ordered the roast leg of lamb, a glass of merlot and a small bottle of water (it was a bit hot outside on the walk over).My dish arrived under a silver platter cover, which the waiter removed after placing the plate in front of me, revealing an eloquent looking meal. The lamb, which was prepared slightly rare but cut easily, was covered in a rich sauce and accompanied by steamed carrot, spinach and zucchini and a rice pilaf shaped into a little plateau. I tried to savor every bite, but it didn't take long before I was patting my lips with my napkin, and the afternoon was still young so I asked for the dessert menu. Ten minutes later I had a plate of four miniature choux a là creme and an delicate cup of espresso. The dessert wasn't quite as exquisite as the meal was, but struck a fine balance with the bitter sips of espresso and the view of the city from the large window in front of me. I sat back and read a few more pages of my book before paying the check and heading back to Chez Glo, very full, very satisfied and now wondering where I will go for my last dinner in Addis on Wednesday night.

Afternoon out

Today I took a minivan taxi to the Hilton Hotel to use their ATM machine and then grabbed a taxi over to Tomoca coffee shop. Tomoca was packed with people so it took a while to get the attention of the one woman behind the register. I finally got my turn and ordered some of the different coffee beans they had on offer, Jima, Harar, Sidama and Weliso, along with a cool postcard of dog with the figure of Emperor Haile Selassie (1930-1974) in the background. As I waited for my buna beans to get bagged, a few other out-of-towners strolled in: one bought six 500g bags of coffee beans, another bought 4 over-sized postcards, and two bought cappuccinos before asking me if I knew any good artifact dealers in town. After I was done at Tomoca, I headed back to Chez Glo and knocked on the gate. No one came, so I knocked a few more times and waited, but still no one. Soon, the gardener appeared, but on the wrote side of the gate. He also knocked and we both waited, until he suggested I call M who might be in his room. Luckily M came out and opened the gate for us, exactly 3 minutes before the heavens opened up and it began to pour rain.

Bole Rock

Last night we went out to Zebra Grill for dinner, a barbecue place that I had been to once before that, surprisingly, serves a pretty good beef burrito. After our meal, one of my colleagues here, "M", said he was going to head over to Bole Rock, a jazz club with live music every Friday night. "M" started going there last month (after I'd already left back to Japan) and said it was a lot of fun, so we all decided to join him.
When we arrived the 6-piece band was playing their hearts out, with keyboard, drums, bongos, bass, guitar and baritone saxophone. We ordered a couple dark beers on tap and sat on the big sofas located in the center of the club with a great few of the band. The waiter also prepared a plate of popcorn and pound cake and brought it to us free of charge, which was nice.
When we sat down, M gave a wave to the band and the sax player waved back. Later in the song, during his solo, the saxophonist walked around the club playing for people in the back, sitting on the arm of the sofa with us for a couple moments, and just getting people tapping their feet. The whole place was really into it and there was a great vibe.
A few minutes later, M was taking something out of his backpack, and I realized it was a shakuhachi, a Japanese wooden flute. When the next song started up, M hopped up on stage and started riffing with the band; it sounded great. At one point during the jam, the shakuhachi and the saxophone were playing off each other and then the guitarist followed up with some quick fingerwork. They were really in full swing, and when the song came to an end, they got huge cheers from the audience.
Since M practices his instrument in the evenings after work and on weekends for about an hour each day, I knew he was pretty good, but with the jazz band, his talent was obvious. We were all glad to have come with him and had the chance to see him play, and I was happy for M to have found this group of musicians since he is assigned to Ethiopia so often. Plus, they apparently recorded the jam session so, who knows, I might be able to post it on the blog sometime if I can get myself a copy.

Devoid of variation

Most Ethiopians eat pretty much the same thing day in and day out: injera (flatbread) and wat (stew). When my colleague S was in Ethiopia some 30 years ago as a volunteer, he was stationed out in the countryside for extended periods of time. He said he had no choice but to eat doro wat (chicken stew loaded with copped onion and spices) and injera for breakfast, lunch and dinner; that was simply all everyone ate. They would make a big pot of doro wat and then simply re-heat it for days until it was gone... and then likely just make it again. Thus, S suggests that Ethiopians generally stay thin because there is very little urge to overeat when you are eating the same thing all the time.

Tolerance

According to some accounts, the Muslim population of Ethiopia is about
30% whereas the Christian population comes to nearly 65%. However, a
look at Ethiopian history shows there have been periods when Muslims
were coerced to yield to a predominant Christian culture, so the
accuracy of these numbers is up to interpretation. Nevertheless, no one
can deny that Ethiopia today--where Muslims and Christians live
side-by-side--demonstrates the kind of tolerance that is necessary for
real religious freedom to flourish. For example, a Christian may marry a
Muslim, but it is not necessary for the couple to chose one type of
ceremony over another. Instead, they may freely chose to combine the
traditions so that leaders from both religions may be present and
participate in the ceremony.
At least one of the instructors, E, at the water center is Muslim and he
told of his studies in England when he lived with four other Ethiopians
in a house owned by a man from Bangladesh. This landlord would come in
the morning to collect the rent when the men were sharing breakfast, and
they invited the man to join them. The landlord was a Muslim and,
inquiring about everyone's names, he came to realize that two of the
roommates were Christian, so he asked E how he could share food with
these men. Up until then, E had never considered it to be a problem;
only from this man's intolerance did he realize that some people would
find offense. So from then on they no longer invited him inside, they
only provided him with his rent money. One can only hope that this
landlord also learned something, since he did allow them to remain
renters, and considered the tolerance between these Ethiopian Christians
and Muslims as something that is possible, peaceful and desirable.

Traditions through language

When we enter the cafeteria, people will say "noor" to welcome us to sit down and join them. The proper response to this is "begezihar" (pronounced--at least to my ears--"bug-ah-zee-are"), which is "Thanks to God" since, traditionally, people do not say "thank you" but give the gratitude to God. Also, conventionally, people share a meal that is placed on one large plate with strips of rolled injera bread, such as we ate at Habesha restaurant last night (here). In the cafeteria everyone receives their own dish, but still, people might say "enbla" (pronounced "un-bu-la") to initiate the meal so everyone can start eating.

Zenab=Rain

The past three days we've seen rainfall. This is very unusual for the
month of May, which is usually one of the hottest months of the year.
The rains usually begin in June, and even then, only sporadically, but
we've been getting those intermittent bursts of rain and it's only
mid-May. Tuesday and Wednesday we saw rain in the late evening, but
today we saw a downpour during the lunch break. We watched from the
safety of the cafeteria and luckily, as we sipped our macchiato at the
end of the meal, the 15-minute storm came to an end.

Chatrooms

During a morning coffee break, we spoke with some of the staff here about some "counterculture" activities in Ethiopia; specifically, stimulants. Indeed, coffee itself is a stimulant, and Ethiopia is considered the home to the buna bean, but this morning we were discussing a narcotic plant. Overall, I feel that Ethiopia projects an exceedingly sober country, which could in part be an effect of their mild climate; however, Ethiopia does have a culture of chewing a leaf called chat. Apparently there are chatrooms around town where you can go to buy and chew this stimulant following a short ceremonial preparation. In total, a proper chat ceremony can take up to 6 hours, while the effect of this narcotic, a feeling of euphoria and clarity, a state of mind they refer to as merkana, lasts about 2 hours. The description reminded me of what people say of the hashish bars in Amsterdam. At the Ethnological Museum I visited last Sunday, there was a display of medicinal plants used in the various regions of Ethiopia and, of course, chat was among them. This plant obviously has a long history in this country, maybe much akin to the coca leaf amongst Andean mountains tribes, and so remains legal here despite its addictive properties, although in the country's urban areas I would guess it is not used with the same deference as it may be in the rural areas. Nevertheless, every place in the world harbors such counterculture and it was refreshing to hear a straightforward description of this without a gloom of shame.

Habesha

Tonight a group of us went to Habesha, widely recognized as the best Ethiopian restaurant in Addis Ababa. I expected something a bit high-class, but the atmosphere was more comfy than classy, lit mostly by candles and dim lights. We sat around two low, round pedestal-footed tables and ordered a round of taj, or Ethiopian honey wine, and two dishes of injera (flatbread) and various types of wat (stew) and kitfo (meat). Since you are supposed to eat with your hands in Ethiopia, the waitresses brought out a porous metal dish with a bowl underneath to wash our hands. There was a bar of soap on the dish and they poured water from a jug over our hands as we washed them at the table.
During dinner there were various performers singing traditional Ethiopian love songs along with a keyboard player, and at one point and man and woman dancing duo showing the customers some traditional, but lively dance steps. The taj wine supposedly packs a pretty strong punch, and although I felt fine, one of my colleagues jumped up and did a jig along with the restaurant dancers. It was rather unexpected, and will probably be talked about for months to come, but no harm done and fun nonetheless. We ended the meal with a round of buna (Ethiopian coffee) and a few slaps on the back. Four of our colleagues will be going back to Japan this Friday so we bid them farewell and wished them a safe trip, then headed home.

"Po-tsoon po-tsoon"

"Po-tsoon" is the Japanese onomatopoeia for big, fat raindrops hitting the ground. Since yesterday, it seems like we've suddenly entered the Ethiopian rainy season as both nights it has begun to po-tsoon rain around 8pm. Tonight the rain is accompanied by thunder and a fairly impressive light show in the sky with no signs of it letting up. And to add to the excitement, the power suddenly cut so my room is now illuminated by a single candle, the glow of my laptop and the occasional flash of lightning visible through the thin, white window drapes.

Four-lane feat

If the first time I was in Addis I thought the donkeys were funny, this
time it's the goats that are cracking me up. The other day K and I took
a side street on our way to Ajanta to avoid the cars and pedestrians on
the main road, and instead we ran straight into a herd of about 20 goats
turning a corner. Today I saw a man crossing the 4-lane main highway
dragging a goat in each hand. He reached the waist-high median wall,
scooped up the goats under his arms and flung them over, then hopped
over himself and traversed the rest of the roadway to the pavement on
the other side. It was an amazing show of acrobatics by both beast and man.

Full Course Meals

Both yesterday and today I went out to lunch at places that offer a full course lunch menu. The portions are generally more than I would usually order and the price of both places was 75birr, which is expensive for lunch here, but in reality, less than $7.

Yesterday: Crown Hotel
Just a few minutes drive from the water center in Kality, this hotel was built some 30 years ago and has been kept in good condition. The first floor restaurant offers Ethiopian fare while the second floor offers a more European selection. We were the only customers and an older gentleman in a vintage looking suit attended to us. I chose a selection of salad, cream of chicken soup and roast beef, which also came with a basket of rolls and coffee. The room was octagonal and softly lit by diffused sunlight coming through the balcony doors along the outside wall; since we had the place to ourselves, we propped open one of them to get a nice breeze.


Today: Il Caminetto Restaurant
A hidden gem located behind a shopping center just after the roundabout coming from Bole International Airport, the sign boasts an "antique Italian flavour". Walking through the compound walls that surround it, you feel like you're in a little village. The restaurant is made up of three large hut-like structures made of thick, painted reeds, which does not remind anyone of Rome, but was pleasant nonetheless. The course came with a pasta and a main dish; I chose the penne ragú and fried fish, which turned out to be excellent. They served a basket of lightly toasted French bread as well, which I used to scoop up the leftover meat sauce from my pasta. The lightly fried white fish came with half a lime, potatoes and steamed spinach leaves. To finish the course they served a glass dish of fruit salad and coffee.

Now, the only problem with these extravagant meals is that, even with a cup of coffee after the meal, despite efforts-- loosening your belt buckle, rolling up your shirt sleeves--there is no escape from the lethargy of a full stomach in the afternoon.

Procession

On Sunday, as I was walking down Bole Road (the city's main trunk road)
I saw on the other side of the street a procession of people marching
where traffic should have been. I quickly tried to snap a few photos of
the 50 or so people parading down the road, followed by a pickup truck
with a half dozen soldiers in the back holding rifles.
A few minutes later I was in a minibus taxi headed in the same direction
of the parade. We soon caught up with it and I noticed most of the
people were wearing shirts that said Red Cross on them. They were
marching to Meskal Square in the center of town where I could see there
was some kind of event in progress.

Jack be nimbus

As we filed out of the office to head home for the day, I looked up and saw a sky threatening rain. With the exception of two or three afternoon sun-showers back in March, I hadn't really seen it rain in Addis Ababa while I've been here. However, there was no mistaking that the nimbus clouds above weren't going anywhere. At 7pm, when my colleagues and I usually meet to go out to dinner, it was a night sky, cool air but no rain.
We walked about ten minutes to Botan-En (Peony Garden), a Chinese restaurant located on Bole Road between the airport and our guesthouse. After a failed attempt to get the large table in the upstairs dining area (there were only three of us), we headed back to the first floor and were seated at an equally large round-table, but in a private room... Well, private except for the fact that the framed glass door contained no glass so that there was simply a door frame with a door handle which the waitresses stepped straight through to serve our food. After finishing a simple meal of fried rice, pot stickers, mabo tofu, hot & sour soup and a couple Castel, I glanced through our door frame and out the restaurant's front window; I could see cars had their windshield wipers waving back-and-forth.
We decided to wait out the rain at La Parisianne, the café/patisserie across the street. Although they had officially closed 15 minutes earlier, at 9pm, they were still serving fresh juice to non-umbrella holders. I had tried the coffee at La Parisianne before, but next time I will definitely order the half-and-half juice again: freshly-squeezed orange juice topped by a layer of strawberry smoothie in a glass mug, replete with bendy straw, for only 12 birr (about $1). Twenty minutes later it was still raining, so we covered our heads and waved down a taxi in the rain, slightly damp but free of incident. 

Sunday Rush Hour

Late Sunday morning I ventured out to both the National Museum and Ethnological Museum. Afterwards, I decided to drop by Piazza and see if I could buy some coffee beans from Tomoca Coffee and also another Ethiopian jebena coffee pot. When I was ready to head back to the guesthouse, it was about 5pm. I tried to catch a minibus taxi and waited near an intersection where I saw a number of them stopping. However, they were either too full or seemed to be going in a different direction, so I decided to hike over the hill and stop at the Hilton Hotel to hit the ATM machine there. The walk was a little further than I had suspected, so when I was done at the Hilton I tried to catch a regular taxi, but all of the ones that passed appeared to be occupied. I walked down another hill down to Meskal Square, which is basically in the center of town. There, I stopped by a refreshment stand, paid 3 birr (27¢) for a lukewarm 7-Up and downed it.
I had already walked a few kilometers from Piazza, crisscrossing through town, up and down the slopping landscape. Now it was past 6pm and the traffic, both auto and pedestrian, seemed heavier than ever. I approached a crowd of people standing on a street corner trying to catch a minibus taxi; when one would stop, people would hustle as quickly as possible to the sliding door to try to get a seat. However, since each vehicle only had enough room for one or two more people, it seemed that the crowd was merely growing and I resigned myself to the fact that I'd either have to beat some old woman to the seat or keep walking. I trudged another 10 minutes before I could flag a taxi, jumped inside and asked him to take me to Rwanda Street, thankful to finally be able to rest my legs.

Return to "the Don"

Tonight was my third visit to Don Vito Italian Ristorante in Addis Ababa, and my third time to have their cannelloni de ricotta. At first I was worried because they no longer had it on the menu, but luckily, when I asked the waitress, she checked with the kitchen and they said they could make it. We also tried their lasagna and two spaghetti dishes--carbonarra and champignon--all of which was excellent. Antica Italian restaurant wins hands down for their spinach lasagna, but Don Vito gains major points in upscale atmosphere, prompt seating and their insalata di frutti fresca con gelato, i.e. fruit salad with a small scoop of "ice cream" on top, that I had for dessert. In addition, two of my colleagues ordered caramel creme puddings and went on and on about how amazing it was, such that I have a feeling this won't be my last visit to "the Don" this time around.

Lucy Cafe

After an hour or so spent at the National Museum, where the 3.2 million year old bones of Lucy lie in a display case (well, the actual bones are in the archives and a cast is presented in the case) laid out in the formation they were found, I headed over to the Lucy Cafe located next to the museum. The place is like a safe-haven against the urban chaos outside its gates. It is an outdoor restaurant with a parkland atmosphere, paths winding along a row of booths to the left when you walk in or straight ahead to a cluster of round, glass tables under canopy umbrellas. Uniformed servers brought me a menu and I see they have Bedele beer, one I hadn't tried yet. It was already past lunchtime, but I'd not yet eaten so I decided to get a medium chicken & avocado pizza, my grumbling stomach assuring me that I could finish it. The other restaurant patrons, judging from what I could tell, seemed to be from China, Europe and other African countries. Since I was not alone as a tourist in this setting, I unabashedly pulled out my travel guide and read through it as I sipped my beer in a glass goblet. I studied the maps for Addis Ababa and then read the sections on Lalibela and Mekele, two towns up north I have yet to visit. My pizza arrived; big slices of avocado, chunks of chicken, green peppers and bubbling mozzarella cheese and over the next 30 minutes or so I savored each and every slice. If Lucy was alive today, I'm sure she would be proud to have such a fine restaurant named in her honor, although, realistically, since she lived before the discovery of fire, she would probably have ordered something like raw lizard and a bowl of rainwater.

Developing Atmosphere

Last Saturday for dinner we decided to hit Ajanta (previously here and here), probably the best Indian restaurant in Addis Ababa. When we left the guesthouse, there was no indication of a power outage, but by the time we got to Ajanta, it was dark inside. However, in a slowly developing country like Ethiopia, where the electricity is prone to cutting out at a moment's notice, you learn to expect the unexpected. I couldn't tell if it was the whole town or just that restaurant, since it is set back from the road quite a bit, but we sauntered inside nonetheless. There was no one in the reception room, so I poked my head inside. Every table and every surface in the restaurant seemed to have two or three lit candles, which gave the place a calm, yet cave-like feel. There was no one else in the place, but I asked a girl standing at the end of a hall if they were open, and she rushed over to show us a table smack-dab in the center of the restaurant. We took our seats and ordered a couple Meta beers and then perused the menu by candle light. I ordered the yellow dal bhat with maharaja rice, which is saffron rice mixed with raisins, cashews and cheese, and K ordered an egg curry. Later, when M joined us, we also ordered a chicken curry, which reminded me slightly of Ethiopian kaiwat. Since there was no one else in the place, it felt as if we were enjoying a secret, special dinner, with three waitresses standing at the side of the room just waiting if we needed anything. However, about halfway through our meal, the lights came back on. Almost immediately, a group of 4 and another table of ten came in, and the place was hopping. The mood was altered instantly, with the candles now removed and lively conversation all around us, it felt like we were sitting in the center of a hip, new restaurant.

Out to Lunch

Today for lunch we decided to forgo the canteen and head into town. We went to Rainbow Korean restaurant, a place we usually frequent in the evenings since it is so near the guesthouse, and I had never been there in the afternoon. We decided to grab a table outside since they have 4 or 5 booths on a raised level, all covered with only a simple roofing material for shade. I ordered a stone-cooked binbimbap, which contains green and white vegetables atop white rice, and this one also had a small fried egg on top. It was quite good, along with a few appetizers of sweet boiled peanuts, cabbage, sprouts and kimchi. It was nice to take a break and go to a restaurant for a quiet lunch, but now, back to work.

Blog Comments

A note on comments:

Today I managed to get on to the Blog settings page through the Internet. I haven't seen any of the comments that a few people said they wrote, so I double checked the settings and it should be possible to leave a comment without moderation; all you have to do is type in a code shown next to the comment box (to prove it's not spam).
I can't promise I'll be able to respond to comments directly on the blog, but will receive them by email and appreciate anything people feel like adding or commenting on. I can always respond via blog post or email directly to the person.
Cheers, S

Naming Ceremony

While at the National Museum the other day, I ran into one of the guys
stationed here with UNICEF. I had met him at two planning meetings and
once at his office to directly discuss collaboration with our project,
so he was sure to know my face, but I hadn't seen him for about two
months. He was with his wife and two young boys playing daddy as he
explained to his sons that the extinct wild boar skull wasn't a
dinosaur; not exactly the most opportune time for a colleague step up
and say hello, not to mention that I was looking a bit disheveled in my
cargo pants, short-sleeve flannel and sporting a red Manchester United
backpack I'd bought in town (the only one that I could find on a
Sunday). However, there was no reason to avoid him, plus, I was in the
last room and the only way to exit was to walk back through the previous
rooms, so it was inevitable that we would end up face to face. With mild
trepidation, I lingered around the last room and, when he entered, gave
it a couple seconds and then, "Oh, hey, how are you?"
Now, I know the rule of meeting people you have networked with: if
enough time has passed, you should immediately give your name again to
save them the embarrassment of having to guess. However, I used his name
to call his attention, and he immediately broke the ice and said, "Oh,
hello. So, do you come here often?" I quickly replied that I was just
out exploring and it was actually my first time there. As I spoke, I saw
his face draw up slightly and sensed it might be too late to state my
name now; he had already settled on what he thought it was. I figured,
well, at least this is a good opportunity to hear someone's impression
of what your name might be; a sort of pseudo naming ceremony as if in a
parallel life. "Was it Tim?"

All work and no play

It is a common sight to see a pair of donkeys carrying heavy bags of
grain on their backs along the main loop road as we drive to work in the
morning. However, this morning I was surprised to see two donkeys
actually running up a slope, lightly bumping into each other. It almost
seemed as if one of them challenged the other to a race to the top of
the hill.

Miki & Mulaku

I wandered around the campus of Addis Ababa University, a calming place
of green lawns, trees and pathways. I saw a sign that pointed to the
Student Union and walked over there. Soon I was walking past a row of
five-story dormitories. Two students passed me on the way to their
building and said hello. I asked them if these were indeed the
dormitories and they said yes and asked me if I wanted to see inside. I
politely declined and thanked them for the offer, but I was just looking
around campus on my way out. They introduced themselves; Miki was a
foreign language major and spoke English and French, and Mulaku was
studying psychology. Addis Ababa University is the most prestigious in
Ethiopia and the students here were polite, friendly and would
eventually work in the upper echelons of society either here or abroad.
After chatting about a few places famous for sightseeing in Ethiopia
(they suggested Lalibela in January when they perform traditional and
ancient religious ceremonies) I thanked them for their time and headed
off again. It was nice to have a friendly and casual encounter like that.

Moving Target

I hopped into a minibus taxi with a dozen other people also headed
toward Piazza. There were no more seats except for the last spot on the
right rear wheel well, so I sat there. In front of me, the attendant--a
kid who calls out to tell people where the minibus is headed and
collects money from passengers--was hopping in as well, getting ready to
slap the outside of the vehicle to let the driver know to go. Behind me
a guy was trying to slide open the window next to me, then was passing a
few coins over my head. I held my hand out to take the money and pass it
on to the attendant, or so I thought I would. Instead, the coins fell on
the floor of the minibus, but near the attendant. The bus was already
moving slowly along the curb when I realized that the guy had been
trying to pass a few small coins to an old man who had been begging at
the door of the minibus a moment before. We had started moving faster
and the old beggar was nowhere near us anymore, but the gesture had been
made--it would have been odd to leave the money on the floor, or return
it to the guy behind me. The attendant picked up the coins, leaned out
the side door ever so slightly, and chucked the two small coins back
toward the beggar. There was no way the beggar was near enough to get
the coins. I imagined the two coins rolling to a stop in the middle of
the street, where no doubt, someone would eventually pick them up.

No koso

Warning: this post talks about the consequences of eating raw cattle meat and may make some people feel squirmish.

We joke around about whether to order our kitfo, an Ethiopian minced beef dish, prepared raw, lightly cooked (laub laub) or, cooked well, since it has been known to contain koso, i.e. tapeworms. To most people, these parasites are not a laughing matter, especially if you consider they can grow to 6 meters long. As we talk about it, I clench my hands together to stop myself from covering my mouth to mock nausea, but this is a simple reality, so I listen and learn. Even ten years ago, koso were quite common in Ethiopia apparently; however, today, meat is more often inspected than not, and people order kitfo prepared laub laub when in question. This has managed to reduce the cases enough so that in recent years the mention of koso seems like a throwback to an undeveloped time in Ethiopia's history that people now seem slightly embarrassed by. There is medicine--quite strong drugs, actually--available in this country to help people expel the parasite, which people talk about as a last resort as one would talk about a morning-after pill.
One of my Japanese colleagues tells our Ethiopian counterparts that there is actually a diet technique in Japan where people drink a potion containing tapeworms as a measure to keep thin. The men all nod their heads and say, yes, koso are believed to eat the bad bacteria in the body and are not considered dangerous, per se. They tell us about a member of the Japanese Embassy years ago who bragged about his koso, which he had named and often brought up in conversation. After the diplomat was reassigned to another country, he sent a postcard which mourned the death of his little friend. A disturbing story.
Acknowledging the fact that people were playing up the fear factor for my benefit, I managed to stop myself from running straight to the airport. The following day, S and I take all the instructors out to a kitfo restaurant, one that is known for its fresh--and regularly inspected--ox meat. Nevertheless, I order mine cooked well and add "no koso please" under my breath. This erupts laughter around the table and becomes a phrase people repeat for the rest of the afternoon. Five minutes later, our dishes arrive and we toast with glasses of Coca-cola diluted with Ambo mineral water. Four members of our group ordered injera with large chunks of raw ox meat, served on the ubiquitous aluminum platters and along with long, sharp knives which they use to cut through the flesh, wrap in injera and then dip in a red-brown berbere sauce. It is an almost eerie sight, but the smiles on their faces makes the meal look delicious. Even so, I wave off their offer to try a bite of the pink meat with the "no koso please" line and they let me off the hook. I join the others eating tibs, sliced lamb pan fried in garlic and butter, and hand-minced meat cooked thoroughly in butter and thyme.
If I keep eating like that and don't gain any weight while I'm here, I suppose I'll have to think of a good name for it. ;-9

BS Catering

I have no idea what it means, but there is a roadside sign on Bole Road
that indicates the location of BS Catering, a restaurant and cafe not
far from our guesthouse. Maybe "BS" are someone's initials. However, in
any case, after a visit there last week, the place certainly has charm.
Walking down a slope through the large iron gates and past the guard,
who greets us by tipping his hat, we approach a large mansion-like
building. The steps to the entrance lead past an outdoor terrace that
sits in front of a cafe area with a glass pastry case along one wall. We
are seated in the restaurant area, which is actually a series of rooms
that are laid out like a labyrinth throughout the floor of the house. We
weave through the hallway until we get to the last room, large enough to
sit maybe 20 people at most, and take a table along the back wall. The
food is pleasant and I can easily imagine party hosts asking BS to cater
an affair. We finish our meal and shuffle back along Bole and down
Rwanda Road. I arrive back at my room, my private space while here in
Addis that caters to my needs, nearly the same size as the one I'd just
eaten in, and get ready for bed.

Those sleepless nights

Random note about the entertainment provided by late-night satellite television here. This past week I have watched, at least partially:
Holy Smoke! (an alarmingly strange 1999 movie starring Kate Winslet and Harvey Keitel that remains unrated on rotten tomatoes but made me wonder where either of these actors had the courage to show their faces on screen afterward),
City of Lost Children (although I've seen it before with English, this time in French with Arabic subtitles),
Barbershop 2 (the sequel to an Ice Cube comedy; appropriately aired in the middle of the night), and
The Paper Chase (a 1973 Oscar winner law school film starring Timothy Bottoms, Lindsay Wagner and, best supporting actor, John Houseman).

Unplugged

I found out that the schedule for the planned blackouts this time of
year in Addis Ababa are not set for certain days. The national electric
agency cuts off certain zones on a 5-day rotation (more or less), which
is why we had no electricity last week Tuesday, then Saturday and again
on Thursday. This makes it a little easier knowing that we'll be
unplugged again on Tuesday (or Wednesday, depending on if Sundays are
counted). Since the water technology center has a generator, this
doesn't pose much of a problem for me, but the center secretary told me
that the big hassle for most households is that they are left with no
power for their refrigerator every five days. They have to follow the
schedule and make sure they finish off all their perishables/spoilables
in due time according to the blackouts. This reminded me of when I was
younger and we'd have the occasional power outage after a big storm.
Without television or lights, it was a bit boring, and always an added
challenge for me not to prop open the fridge and look for something to
snack on, as teenagers are prone to do.

Suddenly Michael Jackson

Friday morning I walked into Sultan's office (yes, that's his real name)
for our meeting. He was sitting at his computer working on a complicated
document I was was titled "Trigonometrics". When he saw me, he quickly
closed the document and began searching for the file that contained the
brochure which we were scheduled to discuss. Before he could open the
document, a Kaspersky warning popped up asking if he wanted to permit
the program Google Talk, which I found odd since his office desktop has
no Internet access. I sat down and Sultan asked me if I knew Michael
Jackson. "Yeah, sure," I answered. He quickly fumbled with his cell
phone that was lying next to the computer mouse, and a moment later a
Michael Jackson song began to play from its surprisingly clear speakers.
Sultan continued, in his raspy voice, "I think he plays a concert in the
UK." He was obviously a big fan and I think I had seen something on the
BBC a few months ago about that. "Now Michael Jackson has a lot of
money?" he asked. "I think he used to, but he spent it all and is
selling his things. Maybe the concert in England is to make some money."
The MJ tunes continued to play as we looked over the brochure and then
he saved it on his USB memory and handed it to me to print out. As I
left his office, Sultan reopened his Trigonometrics file and continued
to work, with his handful of Michael Jackson songs apparently on loop.

Dished up

This past week I've become a little adventurous in trying Ethiopian food again. Encouraged by my coworker, S, who has been coming to Ethiopia for the past 30 years and can blend in like a local in his habits (visually, of course, he stands out like a sore thumb) but still remains cautious as a non-native, I ordered a platter of injera & kitfo at the center canteen last Thursday. It arrived moments later, the crepe-like injera bread spread out over the aluminum platter with a side of kotcho, a beige colored square made from a root known as "false banana", and a plastic white bowl full of cooked kitfo and the local dry cottage cheese sitting on top in the center. Most Ethiopians mix the kitfo and cheese and then dump it onto the center of the injera, sprinkle it with a red spice ("to kill germs"), and then devour it with their hands. I mixed my kitfo and cheese and then scooped it out of the bowl with the injera to avoid everything turning into a spongy goop when mixed all together.
I'd have to say, I truly enjoyed the meal. I don't know if it was because everyone around me was eating it and smacking their lips with pleasure, or if I have become slightly accustomed to the taste of the national dishes here, but I finished the entire serving. Then, in customary fashion here, I ordered a macchiato (espresso with milk) and chatted with the local staff about how "false banana" kotcho is good at lowering your cholesterol. Who knew?

Baby got back

Every so often I see men trailing goats behind them by grasping the
animal's front legs. Yesterday I finally had the chance to ask Dereje
about this. "They are showing the goat off. You can't really see the
shape well when it's just standing, so they do this to see the animal.
Especially, people look to see if the goat has a fat tail." Indeed, some
of the goats in the herd we were passing had quite pudgy backsides.
A little further down the road, we were driving behind a man who was
cradling a goat and walking it toward a car, seeming as if he was going
to place the animal in the backseat. As we passed them, another car
anchored toward the curb and blocked the man holding the goat, enough
that the man lost his grip. I looked behind us and saw the man chasing
after the goat as it ran away, apparently wise to the designs on its
life. The goat scrambled to get lost in the herd again, but it had a big
fat tail that would give it away in the end, I'm sure.

Meta Beer

The Ethiopia is an old government-owned hotel on the northwest side of town. Walking through its lobby, you can tell its heyday is behind it. However, the place maintains a certain elegance, if only through the silver-haired gentlemen in tuxedos milling around in the nearly empty dining area. We sit at a table covered in a gleaming white cloth on the far side of the room and glanced at the menu; it was the kind of menu that encouraged one to order a soup and a salad along with your entrée, so we did. It was still early in the afternoon, but we ordered a beer called Meta Beer that I hadn't seen anywhere else. Apparently it's brewed just 20 kilometers outside of Addis and a favorite around town despite its rarity. Later, I was told that they also have a premium label, but its been increasingly hard to get your hands on even the regular brew lately. Although our food--a french onion soup, green salad, and beef medallions with steamed carrot and zucchini--at the Ethiopia Hotel was excellent, the beer highlighted all the flavors. We could probably have polished off a few bottles each, but I savored that one glass.

What the world needs now

Speaking with our driver on the way home the other day I asked him what
he thought of Aljazeera news. He said that every news source has its
bias and we have to keep that in mind when getting our news, but he
personally listens to a radio show for Ethiopian listeners that
broadcasts out of Germany, which apparently allows them a bit more
freedom. He also said that he respects Aljazeera as a news source to the
extent that they were the only ones to report in detail the violence
that occurred against private citizens after the 2005 elections in
Ethiopia, which many people consider a turning point for the country--a
turn for the worse, unfortunately. I asked him what he thought was wrong
with the government since 2005 since, essentially, it has been the same
government since 1991. He said that for the past 18 years the regime
hasn't changed, and although they were doing a good job before, they
fell into corruption in recent years. According to him, the problem most
African countries face is that their leaders are uneducated and so they
cling to any positions they rise to, doing absolutely anything to avoid
being ousted from their seat of power. In an educated society, the loss
of position does not necessarily mean loss of power, and one can usually
bounce back with a bit of effort. So his idea is that more education is
the solution to eradicating corruption. Change is something that should
be inherent in a healthy political system, and education allows for that
change to take place. Wise words, I say, for a driver who himself has
claimed to be in need of higher education.

Full moon, full stomach

The electricity was out all day today, maybe because we had electricity on Tuesday (a holiday) and they had to make up for it. Nevertheless, the generator at the water center was working fine so at least we had power at the office. After work I made use of the remaining daylight to read another chapter of "Three Cups of Tea" (great book) and then met my colleagues for dinner at 7pm, as usual.
We decided to go to Antica, a little Italian restaurant and expat favorite, for their stone oven-baked pizza. On the way there, since the streetlights weren't on, we had to walk as close to the side of the road as possible to avoid the people, cars and minibuses sharing the pavement. Antica isn't far from the guesthouse, but it is located at the end of a branch road that runs through a wealthy neighborhood. Walking along past the massive homes, most of which were lit up by personal generators, I looked up and saw a full moon assisting our sight somewhat. A few steps ahead of us a man led two of his donkeys loaded with supplies through the moonlit street, and ahead of him a woman with a scarf covering her hair (a style here usually unrelated to religion) walking home. I looked up at the moon again and felt a twinge of excitement as I realized I was walking on the African continent.
We soon arrived at Antica and the three of us decided to share a few dishes. We started with a few Castel beers, some garlic pizza bread and a mixed green salad, until the steak pizza we ordered arrived. It was baked to perfection, topped with tomato, onion, cheese and green peppers along with strips of steak. If that wasn't good enough, next came our spinach lasagna, a rich creation checkered with tomato and spinach sauces that seemed to melt in your mouth. Antica has a reputation for slightly rude service, and I have to say the first waiter that greeted us at the door lived up to that reputation, but luckily a polite older gentleman stepped in and made sure that our empty plates were cleared and everything was to our liking. Even so, the food was amazing; enough to pull back even picky Japanese patrons.
We walked back with full stomachs arguing which place in Addis, Don Vito or Antica, had the better baked pasta. The electricity wasn't back on yet, but at that point I figured I'd just plop into bed as soon as I got home. However, as luck would have it, the power came back on moments after getting back to Chez Glo... and hence, a blog post.

No elaboration needed

(Warning, this post has a significant gross-out factor. Nothing
repulsive, but slightly gut-churning.)

I don't think I can ever look at ice cubes in the same way again.

The other night I went out with my colleagues for a drink and I ordered
an Absolute Citroen and tonic. When the drinks came, both mine and my
colleague's order, a glass of Chivas, came "on the rocks". Since he
didn't ask for ice, S requested that they bring him another Chivas with
no ice. I figured it was no real harm and, if anything, the alcohol
would kill any bacteria. Boy was I wrong!

I didn't sleep comfortably that night and the next morning my stomach
felt like it was full of wholesalers lined up for a liquidation sale, so
I had to--let's say--run to man the cash register. Afterward, I took
some medicine that I had brought with me and decided to stay in bed. By
mid-afternoon I was feeling better but decided to stick to water and tea
crackers for the rest of the day. The following day I was feeling back
to normal and told S that I should have had the ice cubes removed from
my drink like he did. He wholeheartedly agreed. "The problem is not
necessarily the tap water they are making them with. You never know
where they are storing those ice cubes. Plus, they put them in your
glass with their bare hands, which are not always clean, especially in
the evening after a full day." I stopped him there before he elaborated
any further.

Extreme Trickle Down

For the average Ethiopian, a sordid political history has left them in a
difficult situation. When the authoritarian, socialist government known
as the Derg of the 70s and 80s (which was closely aligned with the
Soviets) was taken over by the current government in the mid-90s (now
closely aligned with western heavyweights), people were happy for the
regime change.
In terms of development, the country had been monumentally stunted
throughout the socialist era, and people were under extreme political
duress. Nevertheless, the proletariat--if you will--maintained a certain
quality of life which comes with a flattened system like socialism. We
know that in America the Regan-era trickle down economy left the average
person no better off while the rich got richer. Here, under the current
political system, the government is driving growth, but leaving the
commoners behind to fend for themselves in a capitalistic system where
there is little to no foreign currency available. These days even to
those with great political might have been put in a stranglehold thanks
to the worldwide economic implosion.
Currently, there is barely a foothold for the average Ethiopian to
prevent him or herself from slipping out of poverty and into extreme
poverty. That's the difference between having barely enough to eat and
care for your family in unsanitary conditions, vulnerable to water-borne
and other disease, to scrounging for scraps in positively squalid
conditions with disease quickly closing in around you. For the nation's
poor--a huge percentage of the population--even though they are told the
country is prospering more than ever since the Derg was toppled, with no
safety net in sight, they are terrified looking at the abyss that awaits
them should things take a turn for the worse.

A modest proposal

The rainy season in much of Ethiopia starts in July and lasts through
September, getting between 16 to 40 inches of rain in those months
alone. Given that Addis Ababa effectively has no sewer system to handle
the rates of precipitation, that means the streets turn into rivers. The
minibus taxis become essential to traverse even a small stretch of road,
and even the little blue Lada taxi cabs cart people around as their
floor mats float adrift. Given Ethiopia's connection with Italian
culture, one wonders if the city planners shouldn't take advantage of
the situation and organize some inflatable gondolas to carry lovebirds
throughout the city on their summer honeymoons. Addis Ababa could be the
Venice of East Africa.

How to tell a fake

Now and again you meet a certain type of businessman in Addis Ababa;
someone who wants to start something but doesn't have anyone behind him.
I suppose it's a common challenge most entrepreneurs will face. "Come
meet my friends. They're all from California," said the guy with
dreadlocks, trying to urge us from the sidewalk to a little open-air bar
on the side of the road. He had first approached my colleagues and I
trying to speak the few words of Chinese he must have picked up along
the way in his quest to befriend people. My colleague "M" just smirked
and it almost made me want to end the suspense and just tell the guy
'they are not Chinese!' However, then he asked me if I was American. I
asked him where he was from and he said Portland. I said I was from
Chicago, to which he replied, "Ah, Illinois, right?" I have never met an
American in my life that feels the need to confirm that Chicago is in
Illinois. It reminded me of when people ask, "Oh, I have a friend who
lives in America. Do you know John Mekkonen?" As we walked away, he
called out behind us, "Don't front, it's all good in the hood."

Pump out the Volume

Today for lunch my colleague S and I went to a restaurant on the second
floor of a nearby office building. We grabbed a wide table in the corner
by a large window and ordered a few dishes to share: green salad, fried
fish and steak fillet. As we ate, we talked about the massive street
construction project going on slowly-but-surely down below. From the
second floor I could see that they'd made significant progress
transforming an old tire dump into a park with a fountain in the center
of a lush green lawn.
As we were finishing our meal, someone turned up the volume on the
television hung on one wall. There was a soccer game on and the voice of
the commentator became excruciatingly loud. We soon gave up speaking at
all and just motioned for the check. On the way back to the office, S
said that long ago he noticed this habit of blaring the volume on the
television in public spaces. I asked him if he had any idea why, since
the people in the back of the restaurant were certainly within earshot
at even a quarter of the volume, but at these proportions, even the guy
operating the bulldozer on the street below could probably follow the
game. S guesses that they probably enjoy the excitement of having the
volume turned up so loud that they feel as if they are actually at the
stadium.
As a music lover, I can appreciate the excitement of loud,
speakers-stacked-to-the-ceiling concerts. I can revel in an explosive
action scene while sitting in a surround-sound equipped theater. I
recognize that the roar of a crowded stadium cheering for the home team
can be exhilarating. However, I have witnessed Ethiopians watch
political deliberations on the news with the volume at a masochistic
decibel level that conjures up the feeling of having the hair on the
back of your neck stand on end and then jump to its death, your head try
to submerge itself into the quiet of your own chest cavity, and your ear
drums attempt to escape the madness only to get lopped in half with a
guillotine upon exiting your head. Personally, the blast of a
politician's turbulent proclamations or sports commentators cacophonous
clatter at a volume not heard since Gladiators battled in the Colosseum
provides no feeling of euphoria whatsoever.

Honking and Beeping

Saturday, as I walked around town with my colleague S, every so often a
string of Mercedes would drive past with large ribbons tied to the hood
and beeping their horns in celebration. This is the relatively new
tradition for weddings in Addis Ababa, and we must have seen at least
five of these processions in a single afternoon. Again, just now, on
Sunday evening, I hear a half dozen cars beeping and honking along the
road in the distance and I know that's what it is.

Sunday gathering

"Mukaja, zena zena, sarr, jebena." This is what I repeat to myself over and over after today's coffee ceremony trying desperately to remember the names of the different paraphernalia used. The jebena is the clay coffee pot, sarr is grass that is spread on the ground where the ceremony is performed, and mukaja & zena-zena are the wooden mortar and pestle used to pulverize the roasted coffee beans. There are other objects as well, but I resigned myself to learn them little by little.
During the coffee ceremony today, the owner of the guesthouse came by along with her daughter, who are Rwandan, and her daughter's boyfriend, who is Italian. They are really wonderful people, and I sat with the daughter and her boyfriend and we traded different stories about the places we come from and places we've visited. It was a nice time to sit back, sip our coffee and snack on a bowl of popcorn and just enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Coffee at Dusk

As I mentioned earlier, Saturday we had a planned blackout from 7 am
until half past 7 in the evening. I wish they would plan the blackouts
from 6am to 6pm because it gets dark around 6:30 in the evenings here. I
had been immersed in reading a book, and since the lights weren't back
on yet, I lit a candle. However, soon there was a knock on my door; it
was Birkay, the housekeeper, and she had a candle in each hand. I told
her I still had my candles from Tuesday, but she replaced a short candle
on my nightstand with a new one she had brought. A few minutes later,
Sintayehu came up the stairs and said I could join them for a
spontaneous coffee ceremony downstairs if I liked. I followed him down
and found my coworker K already sitting there in candlelight, along with
Birkay, the gatekeeper Ato Malica, and Max the dog. I took a seat with
everyone and waited as they prepared the coffee in small china cups. We
drank the first cup and chatted, Ato Malica trying to teach me a few
words in Amaharic, and then had a second cup. After 30 minutes or so,
with renewed energy, K and I excused ourselves and headed off to catch a
minibus and get dinner somewhere in town. As we walked along the road,
the streetlights slowly flickered to life just slightly ahead of schedule.

Lada trouble

Friday night my coworker K accompanied me to the German restaurant
Garden Brau for some bratwurst and micro brew. We had one each of their
light (blondy) and dark (ebony) beers and talked about other places we'd
traveled and our impressions of Ethiopia. After dinner we decided to get
a little blue taxi back to Chez Glo guesthouse. The first taxi we
approached signaled that his friend was there first so we should go in
his cab, so I asked him how much to Rwanda Rd. I'm used to paying a
little bit more as an out-of-towner, but he quoted me 10 birr more than
what we'd ever paid before so I started to walk away. As expected, his
price suddenly dropped to what we're usually charged.
So we jumped in his small Soviet-made Lada and he headed down the road
toward Bole Road, where we would then turn and go another five minutes
to our guesthouse. However, as we reached Bole, the Lada sputtered, and
at the turn, it stalled. The traffic on Bole wasn't upon us just yet,
but K was already reaching for the door handle, preparing to run from
the car lest we get hit by oncoming cars. When the driver unsuccessfully
tried to get the car going again, I joined K and we hopped out. The
driver leaned out his window and asked if I could please give him a
push. I thought it was probably a good idea not to leave his car as it
was, since he'd drifted to the center of Bole now and headlights were
now visibly getting nearer. We gave his car a few shoves and he steered
it off to the side well in time. He leaned out his window again and said
for us to wait, as he tried to turn the engine again. We waved him off
and traversed the remaining 4 blocks to Chez Glo firmly on foot. I guess
he had been trying to negotiate a high enough fare to fix his taxi, but
it's probably better to find a Toyota or a Peugeot at the very least
next time and leave the Lada parked along the curb where they belong.

St. George from start to finish

Friday was a public holiday, so after breakfast, my colleague K and I headed out to explore Addis a little bit. Our first stop was St. George Cathedral, so we took a minibus taxi up to Arat Kilo and asked around for directions. By chance, we ran into Esa, a new trainee at the water technology center, so he walked with us and chatted on our way up to the gates of the cathedral. We bid Esa adieu and ventured through the crowd to see the 100 year old place of worship dedicated to Ethiopia's patron saint. Less a place for sightseers, we didn't intrude on those rejoicing for too long, but took pleasure in seeing small groups of people crowded around a man beating a drum and leading them in song. Other churchgoers headed through the doors of the octagonal building to worship indoors, but we decided to forgo entrance ourselves since we were wearing casual clothes and sporting our cameras.
After we left St. George Cathedral, we went up to Shiromeda to try and find a hiking train, but to no real avail. We did do quite a bit of walking around though and saw another church, but this one hidden back behind a little shantytown. A few local kids gathered behind us and began asking for birr, but an onlooking adult scolded them and told them to scatter, which they did immediately. In Ethiopia, beggars are generally unobtrusive, and if they get too adamant, nearby locals will often intercede by calling them off. The country, despite its poverty, keeps a firm grip on its pride.
K and I got back to Bole Road and headed over to Elephant Walk cafe (previously visited here) for lunch. We ordered fried rice with perch fish, but the waitress came back a minute later and told us that it was no longer available. I ended up getting the chicken sandwich again and K ordered plain fried rice, and we ordered a couple of St. George beers as well. Ah yes, the patron beer brewed locally in Addis Ababa.

Energy independence

Addis Ababa runs on hydroelectricity to a good extent, and since this is
the dry season, there are scheduled blackouts throughout the city.
Tuesdays and Saturdays there is no electricity from 7am until about
7:30pm. This is during the daylight hours for the most part, so no real
inconvenience unless you are planning on watching television. But most
Ethiopians have too many things to do, and for a visitor in town, why
would I not take advantage of the time to go out and explore.
I met up with S, an independent consultant who has been coming to
Ethiopia for the past 30 years. He's well acquainted with the town and
is fluent in the local language. He recommended that we grab a taxi up
to Piazza, a somewhat posh street lined with jewelry stores and
traditional furniture and souvenir shops, and just walk around. As soon
as we arrived, S and I stopped at a fruit stand and I watched as S joked
around with the shopkeeper, eventually buying a small bag of oranges.
Although it is the dry season now, the rainy season is only a month or
two away and soon there would be countless watermelon, papaya and mango
lavishly displayed in similar stands around town.
Piazza used to be a bustling part of town, sort of like Ginza in Tokyo
or State Street in Chicago, but has since lost some of its luster as the
younger generation filters down to Bole Road, the main strip that leads
through the heart of the city. But Piazza had plenty to offer in terms
of people watching, window shopping and sightseeing. After going to a
few shops, we stopped for a Pepsi and had our shoes shined along the
side of the road. After walking a little further, S and I headed to a
celebrated Ethiopian coffee shop near a cluster of government offices
called Tomoca Coffee, a small space with a steady stream of customers
who would order a small cup of 20 cent joe and sip it as they stood
around the counter top tables along one wall. A few other
out-of-towners, like ourselves, came through and ordered bags of roasted
beans--a large selection of beans from around Ethiopia, such as Harar
and Jima. We added a little sugar to our short glasses of black coffee
and sipped it as we philosophized and talked politics under a yellow
sign that quoted Balzac, "When you drink a cup of coffee, ideas come in
marching like an army."

Backstreet Boys

There were 5 of us, so three of us jumped in our rent-a-car with our driver and the remaining two guys grabbed a taxi. We agreed to meet at the Ethiopian version of Starbucks called Kaldi's Coffee. For whatever reason, our driver drove straight past Kaldi in the far lane, so it would have been pointless/dangerous to tell him to pull over at the last minute. I told him to take a right at the next street and pull over. Since Kaldi was not our final destination, I asked my coworker M if we should just meet at the restaurant instead.
I had been to the Chinese restaurant we had agreed on once before (here) and thought I might be able to retrace the way. However, it had been in the afternoon last time I went and now it was pitch black outside. As we drove down the road, I told the driver to take a right after Alize jazz club and go down that road. He did, and then--without being told to--turned right again at the next road. We pulled up to a trendy looking Italian restaurant and he stopped the car. The two colleagues in the car with me said, "Oh, this place looks nice." I broke it to them that we were looking for a Chinese place with blue and red Christmas lights on it and asked the driver to go around past the jazz club again and try a different road.
After 10 minutes we were completely lost in the backroads, so we called M again and he directed us to turn right at Kaldi's Coffee, then take the next left and a quick right down a road that was under construction...or at least it appeared so (hard to tell in Addis) because rubble piled up along both sides. Our small sedan rumbled down the road until we saw the place up ahead, parked in front and piled out. I looked down the road and saw that we had been less than 300 meters away when we took a right before. I sighed, then signed the driver's timesheet and bid him goodnight, and then joined 7 of my coworkers at a large table, complete with the familiar lazy susan, just as they had ordered a round of St. George's beer.