Adventuresam

Helen and I MISSED each other!  We hadn’t seen each other for over a month,  #DreamFlatmate #withdrawals. So, when Helen got invited to perform at the Midwest Queer Comedy Festival — and neither of us had ever been to Kentucky — we used it as an excuse to meet up. (we’re coming for you all 50 states). 

Horsing around.

Helen booked us in a fancy hotel ❤ And it became (very) apparent during our stay that Kentucky is obsessed with horses. It’s your classic chicken and the egg conundrum: What came first? Kentucky’s obsession with horses, or the Derby? 

At breakfast, we played “how many horses are in this room?” A woman who worked there saw us playing and wanted to join in. Altogether, we counted 30+ horses in one room. That’s a lot of horsepower. 

After whinnying and dining*, we went for a walk and noticed that there was a sign on a small theatre door that said “Closed. President’s in town.” Which president, we wondered. The president of the theater?

Close, but not quite…

*The author gets to re-write the order of events.

Donald’s entourage

Donald’s security detail gave it away. And while we weren’t excited about being in the presence of such a vile person, we didn’t mind being in the presence of such BEAUTIFUL, powerful men in very strapping and sleek uniforms. Helen and I almost couldn’t look away.  

Even the bike cops who made us feel like we were on a sitcom pulled up next to us and said, “Would you look at those guys? Mmmm. Mmm.”  

We lingered outside for a bit longer, conflicted about whether we actually wanted to see Trump.  Neither of us had ever seen a sitting president, but also —  EW!  He’s the worst.  But the thing was we literally had no other plans — our only plan all day was to enjoy each other’s company.   So, we kept staying “for the people watching”.  But wouldn’t it be crazy if….

Okay, so it turned out, that this event was a Republican fundraiser, and we got to watch the rich people going inside while we judged them about what they chose to spend their money on.

And almost as an act of rebellion, we went to grab coffee at a steal — we paid $.40 more for triple the coffee, high-fived, and ran back outside so as not to miss the Trump celebrity sighting, but rumor had it that this was a decoy hotel.

Helen and I were 50% sure that we were in the right place. We imagined that the exact same thing was happening at another hotel nearby and laughed at the thought of another police dog sniffing around for bombs to make sure that the other hotel was safe.

While waiting around, the news asked to interview us, and Helen coached me from the sidelines. At the end of the interview, we practiced for some shameless promotion. The interviewer asked:

“Anything else you’d like to say?”

I winked at Helen, “I’m in town for the Midwest Queer Comedy Festival!” 

(nailed it!)

TV credit, local Kentucky news.

The journalist told us it was going to be a while until a potential Trumps sighting — as the journalist had a direct line with the White House (super impressive)–  so we had time to kill and chose to dip into a Mexican joint for a bit of a refresh and to watch his Kentucky speech on TV.

Hail to the drinks.

In the end, we didn’t see Trump, but he WAS at the hotel, and it was a really interesting experience. But contrary to his online presence, he kept a low profile the entire time and went in and out of the back entrance. Apparently, they’d set up a tunnel through the hotel so no one got a glimpse of him.

At one point, we met a security guy at the same hotel who told us to come back later to take a tour, which we did. And then Helen and I continued our day and talked about the interesting experience. We grabbed our Bourbon Trail passports and tried to get as many stamps as we could gather.

Art museum on the Bourbon trail – thanks for the recommendation, Patrick!

This paragraph’s for us:  That night, we took a picture of a sign, which was how people knew we were tourists. We changed that picture to our phone background…and promptly changed it again in the morning.   #jellyfish #noadifferentone #STILLMATCHING  “Ever tried.  Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” — Samuel Beckett  

The next day, we Ubered to the Kentucky State Fair where we kept with the matching themes (always) and got some matching pins from a skeptical woman.  And upon seeing the size of the fair, we thanked our lucky stars that we’d thought to wear sneakers. It wasn’t the only thing that was huge though, check out the fruits and vegetables!

Fat Cabbage– Flabbage

The largest cabbage had won $8, but the winner was a pumpkin that weighed over 1,000 lbs and had won a dollar for each pound. #WinnerWinnerPumpkinDinner

Keeping with the food theme, we checked out some decorated cakes that were really fun to peruse. The cakes had won awards too, but they’d been sitting out for so long they’d started mold; not for consumption.

And after seeing the inedible desserts we made it our MISSION to find derby pie (famous in Louisville).

“Do you have anything that is not fried?”

But in the midst of Operation: Derby Pie, we found other cool things to do like walk through a corn maze (a maize maze), watch dogs perform tricks, and of course, watch horses prance.

It had taken a while to find the horses because we got wrong directions on how to get there (from a guy who worked at the fair, mind you). But, in the end, the woman at the door let us straight into the VIP seating. Wahoo!  We ended up sitting next to a woman whose granddaughter was in the show and won 4th place.  Interesting.  Although the competition…event? wasn’t the most intuitive; So we left with both a lot of questions, and, more importantly, enjoyable visual stimulation.

The fair itself was mostly indoors, had lots of things to see, and was full of (literal) pigs. It was the most pigs I’d ever been around. But there were lots of other animals, too, including this overly friendly, adorable goat.  It was here that I wondered…Does Pennsylvania have their own State Fair??

Nice to bleat you.

After seeing the animals, we got our annual checkups from the Kentucky State Fair as there were healthcare events like skin cancer screenings.  Helen and I were most excited for this: “You can tell we’re two people who don’t have health insurance.”

2 sweet thangs

The fair took a lot out of us, so the next day, we slept in, BUT it was also the day Taylor Swift’s new album came out!  Lover!  We laid on the comfy bed #luxury and listened to her entire album before going into the aforementioned horse room to have the famous Brown’s hotel breakfast.

As tasty as it is bad for you.

Besides being the day of Tay Tay’s album release, it was also the first day of the Midwest Queer Comedy Festival AND THE DAY VICTORIA WAS COMING TO TOWN!!

3 best friends

While Helen practiced her set, Victoria and I had a blast lounging and catching up.

We got to the show and watched Helen kill it, as she does. 

SO FUN(NY)!

Unfortunately, I had to duck out early to catch my flight back to Pittsburgh, but when I got to the airport, I found out that my flight had been cancelled, so I raced back to the show to get BONUS TIME WITH HELEN AND VICTORIA!

The three of us hung out all night, and they let me crash in their hotel room (thank you!!), and Victoria ordered us champagne and non-fried derby pie. I was SO thankful but also thought it was hilarious that it was right under my nose the whole time. Victoria is so generous and great at creating magic.

I snuck out in the middle of the night, whispering goodbye to my best friends, before anyone fully woke up, and crept out to catch my 6am flight, thankful that:

“In a world of ceaseless change, it can be gratifying to know that some things remain forever the same.”  –J. Maarten Troost
I’m talkin’ about best friendship.

Until next time,
‘mi 

Best friends fairever!

I headed solo to Togo!  And landed in Lomé, the capital.

To Togo I go go.

It was a direct flight from Addis Ababa (5 hours and 50 minutes) where watched some feel-good content to make me sob (i.e., the movie Max and, of course, Queer Eye).

I arrived at 10:30 AM, looked at my calendar to make sure I had penciled into my schedule a healthy dose of misadventure and bewilderment when I realized… drumroll please… I accidentally had left my passport with the customs officials when I left the airport. 

AHHHH!!!!

PANIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had already left the airport!  Thankfully, Togo is one of the only countries in the world where this didn’t seem to be too much of a problem.  I took the same taxi back to the airport, practiced my French, went the employee way through through several metal detectors, and retrieved my most valuable item.

After that stressful debacle, I was happy to check into my amazing hostel, which was reasonably priced, didn’t have bunk beds, and was situated right on the beach. It also had a huge, friendly tortoise as the hostel pet. 

hostel place with friendly views

Home for the night.

Really coming out of his shell.

The sounds of waves crashing:

I paid $11 USD for a 6-person dorm and I was the only one there that night (#HomeAlomé). But the day was young (I had gained three hours of my life back traveling from Ethiopia), and I still had lots of exploration ahead of me. 

I was on my own again.  No one was expecting anything from me.  Also, no one was there to remind me how dumb it was that had I left my passport at the airport.

The first place on my to-go (haha, get it?) list was the largest Voodoo market in the entire world. Once I got there, I learned that they charge tourists to take photos, so I opted out of snapping pics and found some stock ones on the internet (Scrappy visits Togo). Here are photos that look exactly like the pictures I would have taken had I been willing to pay.

Sugar, spice, and…everything nice?

The market had what you’d need (I assume) for a voodoo ritual: fetish charms, porcupine quills, tortoise shells (thought back to my new friend at the hostel), baby hyenas, snakes. The whole place smelled like death mixed with dried herbs. You best believe I used hand sanitizer after being there.  Not to mention my loss of appetite.  The smell of decaying skin was pervasive.

Voodoo market for all your voodoo needs

My initial observations in Togo: 

I still don’t, in fact, speak French (although I tried);
I love how it sounds when Western Africans speak English;
The men here are gorgeous.  Striking.  Not that I notice those things anymore, I’m just letting you know for descriptive purposes;
People kiss their teeth when they’re mad;
Women mostly keep their heads uncovered.
Motorbike taxis are a game changer — giving me a sense of freedom. They were everywhere in Togo!
Paved roads:

Dirt roads:

They see me rollin…and snoozin…

I left the Voodoo market to check out another market in Lomé; the largest market in Togo.

How many coconuts can you carry on YOUR head?

The market was insanity!  It was one of the busiest markets I’ve ever seen.  It was gorgeous and, bonus!, it didn’t smell too badly. (I admit, the voodoo market before might’ve clogged my nostrils).

Compared to Ethiopia, this market was way less muddy and there weren’t coffee stands (they were missed).  

This market was hectic!  I was only able to take pictures from the outside as I couldn’t focus on anything other than what was happening. Including walking.  I had to focus intensly on walking, which was crazy because unlike other women at the market, I wasn’t even carrying anything on my head.

At the market, THE FOOD LOOKED AMAZING (especially compared to Djibuti). The variety and smell far surpassed what I had been seeing in other African markets.  I was so tempted to eat, but I had flashbacks to being sick in Ethiopia. So I was wary.  Especially since I couldn’t see any of it being cooked and none of the food was actually served hot. In fact, most of it was on people’s heads.

I needed a break from the hustle and bustle. I popped inside the courtyard of a church.  The famous cathedral was gorgeous (but not super photogenic), so I’ll let you use your imagination.  The church was yellow, if that helps.

I met a guy in the church yard who was dying to practice his English, so I asked him about food. I tried to say I needed food “with fire” because “cooked” wasn’t getting through to him. To be fair, I also don’t know how to say “cooked food” in French.

Nice guy.! Bad at english. Same could be said about my french.

Apparently, he understood what I was communicating, so he took me to a spot…

Time to try to order some food.  Bon chance.

Before the woman put any food in my bowl, she nicely washed it, and I — very obnoxiously  (but understandably so) — grabbed it to dry it out with the tissues I’d just purchased, because I wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any water left in the bowl.  You know, so as not to upset my sensitive Western stomach.

Before eating, I didn’t wash my hands with soap (can’t wash with what you don’t have), but I did douse them with heaps of hand sanitizer and made sure they were dry before I ate becauseee….. I had to eat with my hands (GULP). No silverware. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore eating with my hands, yinz know me, but keep in mind, I’d also just spent a day walking (and motorbiking) around Togo with no hand washing. 

If I get sick, I know exactly where it happened.

When I got my meal, I didn’t technically see any fire as it was being cooked. I felt the food with my eating hand, aka my right hand.  At least the rice was hot! But the meat was cold (literally).  But not like from ‘straight from the fridge cold’.  So that was gonna be a ‘no’ for me.

Not typically the way I like my hot/cold combo

I ‘ate’ my 85 cent meal, pushing food from one side of the bowl to the other, mashing it up.  Eating rice.   I toyed with not posting the food pic on here because, well, look at it.  But I wanted you to know.

After ‘eating’, I’d had enough exploring for the day and took a harrowing motorcycle back to the hostel. Not all motos and motodrivers are created equal.   In fact, I had to switch drivers along the way.  That evening, I got my adrenaline fix for the year.

Now, from the get-go, I could tell that the best thing about Togo was the people. TRULY!  The people are grand! Not only are they really nice and friendly, but they also didn’t follow or bother me. Even the children don’t tail me around.  Except for one time (there is always the one time) some random guy started following me home. Luckily, one of the lovely things about the people in Togo is that they always ask you “ça va?” (You good?)   So much “ça va-ing”. It’s pleasant.  This country is great.

Anyway, that night, when I encountered a stranger who asked me “ça va?” I pointed to the man who’d been following me and said, “No! Bad!” I tried to explain my situation, but again, my French is rusty, so most of it got lost in translation.  The stranger came to my rescue, talked to my stalker, and I ran home, thankful. I’d like to reiterate that this story was an anomaly during my week in Togo.  THE PEOPLE THERE ARE WONDERFUL!

At my hostel, I got into bed and dreamt of Blue Apron.

The next day, I woke up and prepared for another day of brain-frying linguistic excursions.  I was going to head north to  Kpalimé.  Later, I will insert a link here to the blog.  But after Kpalimé, I circled back to Lomé for my last two nights on this Togolese visa.  And I’m just gunna keep this blog post about Lomé.

For one of those later nights that I spent in Lomé, I found a Couchsurfer named Deynee.

My gracious host!

I met Deynee at his clothing shop, where I sat with him for two hours doing absolutely nothing. He hadn’t made a sale that day – between 7:30 AM and 9:30 PM. I guiltily switched between feeling awful for him and feeling annoyed to be just sitting there. I was aware of my privilege but also wishing I had brought my book. 

During a break from the store, Deynee took me to his place and showed me where I’d be staying. Apparently, we were going to be sleeping in the same room, in the same bed, with no air flow. Once he realized that I’d just realized we were going to be sleeping in the same bed, he offered to sleep on the floor. But of course, I wasn’t going to displace him.

At least the bed is big…? Not pictured: The stagnant air.

While he went back to his clothing shop, I had some time to reflect. 

Inside thoughts while alone in his room:
I have no idea how to use the bathroom.  It’s shared with 20 other people. It’s a yard.  Is there an out house? He hadn’t mentioned how to use it (because why would he think to?).  I really have to go.  But I don’t have good sleeping bottoms for a public outing so I need to get dressed again.  Also, Deynee must brush his teeth but where?

At least I’m alone in this room for now. Thirsty? Too bad.  Can’t drink water ‘cause I’ll have to pee and just thinking about going out there makes my bladder tighten.

Feelings update: Proud to have figured the bathroom situation out.  What a relief, I was going to explode. I might even be able to go out there again and brush my teeth now that I see what it all looks like…

The bright side? I hadn’t gotten sick from any food – so I didn’t have to spend the night here.

I could hear mosquitos. All.over.  All.night.long.  They buzzed so loudly they kept me awake.  Or was it the lack of air flow that contributed to my lack of sleep? Or the rambunctious kids outside my hosts window?  

“I’m just on general high alert.” I wrote in my journal, as I continued taking malaria pills.

Finally, Deynee came in.  He started snoring so loudly.  Louder than the mosquitos.  I laid awake and awaited day break.

The next day, as you could probably guess, I was up bright and early.  After a brief tour around Lomé, Deynee and I went to get breakfast at a nearby restaurant. Afterwards, I headed back to the market to get my shoes cleaned (the height of luxury, remember?) as well as to get my toenails painted (for $1).  Then, I headed back to the only hostel I knew in Lomé.  

This time, there were more people staying, which was nice. I met a fellow traveler, an ambitious guy who’d wanted to find some nightlife in Lomé.

This screenshot sums it up.

Despite not finding anything to suggest that Lomé had a nightlife, we went out.  It was a weekend night, and we thought we might be able to find something.  

I had the “middle seat” on our motorcycle.  If there was a safe place on a two wheeled vehicle, I guess this was it.  

We drove to a place called Privilege bar, where we played air hockey and drank castle beer (it’s South African). It wasn’t what we were looking for, so, we walked 1.5k to a place called “Mad Complex,” (aka a food court), which, according to a google review, was “the best thing to happen to nightlife in Lomé”. LOL.

When we got there, we (immediately) turned around….and walked 1.5k back to Privilege bar to get a mototaxi back to the hostel. Police stopped us on our ride and asked for a bribe but my new friend – in perfect french – told them that we did not have a fun night out in Lomé and that we didn’t owe them anything. Amazing what being male and speaking the language can do.

The very next day, I packed for the airport. EEEEEE!!!!
IT WAS TIME TO GO HOME!!! (Is this my favorite part of any trip lately??)  I got rid of both the skirt and a top that I’d acquired in Ethiopia and it felt GOOD.  They permanently smelled bad; they were ugly; they weighed my bag down. #BYE.

[This coming from a girl wearing pants that hadn’t been washed and had recently been swimming in a waterfall (in a country where I don’t trust the water enough to drink).]

On the flight to Newark, I sat next to someone who stank — B.O. stank.  It got so bad that I had to ask the flight attendant for a baby wipe that I could put over my nose.  I was not going to miss this.

I didn’t sleep a wink.  2 flights. 0 winks.  (and not just because of the B.O. stank.)
I couldn’t wait to come home!  I finished my book and watched three movies, including Valentine’s Day (’cause I was feeling romantic). During my layover, I’d never been more excited about airport food; it smelled delicious PLUS I knew it (most likely) wouldn’t get me sick.  THIS IS THE NEW ME.

When I touched down in America, I embraced the feeling of coming back home. I’d been looking forward to speaking a language where I didn’t have to think twice about verb conjugations. 

To Togo I went,
‘mi

As an American, I could only get a 7-day visa for Togo.  

There is a possibility of extending your visa at the embassy, once you arrive, but when expensive, big ‘ticket’ items are involved, like plane tickets, you don’t want to run the risk not getting approved before making your travel plans.

Bonus info:  There is a direct flight from Togo to Newark! (How cool is that?!) But it only leaves every other day.  So, while I had a 7 day visa to Togo I was only able to stay for 6.

You can read about my Lomé time here.

Kpalimé, Togo.

This blog is about when I headed to Kpalimé for cooler weather, hikes, and great views. 

Once there, I hired a motor taxi and went on an adventure near Ghana.

Vroom vroom

I went on a solo butterfly excursion. It was hard to get any pictures ‘cause they were tiny; the size of moths. But I did manage to capture some wildlife in the form of ants.

And found a nice restaurant, where I got to try the famous West African fou-fou.      

The fanciest spot I could find.

A no thank fou-fou taste.

The next day, I took a motorbike to Mt. Agou — 2,234 ft. (986 meters)– which is the highest point in Togo and in the Atakora mountains.  I was going to hike it instead of bike it, but the views from the top were too foggy and not worth the extra time.

Refreshing.

Really mist out on a good view.

The next day, I took yet another moto taxi to see a waterfall.

Chasing waterfalls on dirt roads.

And even though all of my friends (and me) make fun of the bad camera I have on my phone, my guide loved it — he was very impressed.  It’s all relative…and nice to get some perspective.

Photoshoot!

My guide suggested that I go swimming at the above falls but I told him (in subpar French) “I am scared of crocodiles”.  But ended up just imitating a croc with my hands and pretending to attack.  He assured me that there weren’t any here, but I knew that there ARE crocs in Togo.  Eventually, after much insisting, I did go in…it was hard to resist.  I kept all of my clothes on because, unrelated to crocodiles, this is still a conservative country. 

I tried not to get any water in my mouth, least the water make me sick.  Strange how I was afraid to get water in my mouth but apparently I deemed my crotch safe.  I kept laughing to myself, these were the pants I was going to wear, sans washing, onto an international airplane. 

On the way back to town, we stopped for my first ever taste of fresh cacao. It was SO good.

Probably my favorite fruit.

Back in town, I went walking and stumbled upon another market. Again, I noticed that the variety of street food in Togo FAR surpasses that of Djibouti. And don’t even get me started on the smells. 

Variety is the spice of life, after all.

FOOD WITH FIRE

My favorite item to get at the market is pictured above: fried yummy things (as seen in the pan). They were hot and fresh, but I never did find out what they actually were.

Every time I ate, I took a picture. That way, in case I got sick, I’d remember everything I had eaten that day.

Here, I ate some eggs.

Coca-Cola in a glass bottle with a side of inspiring woman.

I also met some Couchsurfing friends in Kpalimé who I hung out with for a few hours, during which time they helped me practice walking with a book on my head.  As long as I walked as slowly as a snail I could handle one, single book. 

Some other Kpalimé moments:
There are no donkeys in Togo!  I showed off our donkeys pics.
The goats in this country are noticeable shorter. For real.
There was a medium sized crocodile (recently killed) for sale on the side of the road. Actually, there was lots of food that I’d never seen before for sale.
Not enough (hardly any) girl moto taxi drivers.
In the taxi-car from Lomé, we drove 4 in the front seat and 6 in the back. 

After three FULL days in Kpalimé, I took public transportation back to Lomé.

Ça va?
‘mi

Falling off the map can be good for you.

Patrick and I headed to Djibouti, a country we knew virtually nothing about. All we knew was that it contained the lowest point in Africa, and that this was probably the closest to Somalia (Somaliand) that I’d ever get (less than 30km).

When we arrived (neat video), we learned several things right off the bat:

1. Djibuti is hot as hell. It was 108 degrees Fahrenheit.

2. Their flag has the most gorgeous color blue in it.

3. We were confident that we would only be at Djibouti International Airport twice in our lifetimes: once when we landed, and once when we departed.

4. We were going to get ripped off on on the ride to our hotel because we hadn’t looked up the exchange rates. Djibouti, we learned quickly, is an expensive country. 

Djsweating my booty off.

Pimp my ride: Djibouti Edition

Early the next morning we met up with a Couchsurfer, Jon from Turkey, who offered to drive his company’s four-wheel drive for an adventure across this desolate part of the world to Lac Assal — the 2nd lowest point in the entire world (the first being the Dead Sea).

Scenes from the long drive.

I spy with my little eye something tan

Salt road > dirt road 🙂

On the drive, we played the question game. One question was, “When was the last time it took you longer than you thought it would to get somewhere?”  Jon decided that the next time he had to answer that question his answer would be this trip to Lac Assal.  Because it did take us a while to reach the Lac — there were so many trucks and traffic — Djibouti has an important location directly next to the Red Sea, with an Italian, French, Japanese, and US military base. Fun Fact: The Japanese Djibouti base is their only overseas base. It was crazy to see all the military in this small country and, as always, it drove home the point that there are so many things I don’t know about this world.

We also passed a lot of trucks heading to Ethiopia to deliver goods on land, we saw a (maybe) antelope, and a truck carcass on the side of the road as if it were some kind of warning about what was coming up (read: desolation).  We also noticed barrels of water being delivered to the very few people who lived along the road out this way.  Water is a precious, precious commodity in the desert.  And no one actually lives in Lac Assal because it’s uninhabitable as it’s…well, it’s salt.

Djibuti call

Pro tip: Don’t shave before you get in the water.

This is a video of pure salt:

We explored, tested the waters and tried to float.  We found some natural salt balls.  And, at one point, I fell into a hole, got some cuts.  Ouch.  The salt was sharp and rubbed into my wound.  Patrick, on the other hand, was feeling playful in the water, like an otter; he was loving the opportunity to float IN THE REAL WORLD.  It was sensory deprivation but with no boundaries. 

Afterwords, we all rinsed off with some dear fresh water, we had bought extra for this exact purpose.  The salt was so strong you wouldn’t want to let it sit on your skin for any length of time.  

Salt safety 101: wear shoes

When we got back from our salty excursion, we said goodbye to Jon and met up with another Couchsurfer, Douchan, who owned the best restaurant in town and graciously let us sleep in his spare bedroom.  Douchan was working the whole time and was also hosting a Spanish and a French couchsurfer — two solo female travelers in Africa, which I thought was pretty awesome. 

Fish two ways

Will risk getting rabies to pet.

For the next few days or so, we tried to figure out what to Dj-do in Djibouti. It was tough, actually, there wasn’t much to see AND it was atrociously hot outside.   We assumed the most popular Tinder profile in Djibouti would be something like: I have AC and a backup generator. #Heartbreaker.  We went to some markets, but when we found something we wanted to eat, the smell around us was so bad that we already had lost our appetite. 

We would wake up and for no reason I would still be tired.  It was the heat.

And, although we were there during “rainy” season, it only rained once while we were there…but we did witness locals taking full advantage.

Even a professional scientist wouldn’t be able to tell you how dirty that water is.

We took advantage of the water too… but instead of swimming in that garbage, we went to the Red Sea to take a dip.

Contemplating a midnight swim.

While we were swimming, some trash (most likely) kept bobbing around (so much for not swimming in garbage), but we weren’t totally convinced that it wasn’t a sea monster so we got out. We found out later that it might’ve been a giant turtle, and in that case, “we got out because we’re environmentalists”. – Patrick, the king of a spin story 🙂

The next day, we headed to the most luxurious place in all of Djibouti, the movie theater. Probably the only movie theatre in the whole country.  Because of all the army bases in Djibuti, this theatre showed several movies in English. (We saw two).  Spiderman and the Lion King, the former we liked better but the latter  was awesome to see while we were actually in Africa.   We spent the (much) better part of our day here.  It had air conditioning, which was crucial, and a grocery store attached, called Casino, WHICH SOLD ICE CREAM! (also crucial) This place was our home for almost 8 hours, I kid you not. (Not that you thought I was kidding.)  While at the mall, we read a children’s story where the heroine, a literal heron, dies of starvation. Dark… 

Not a single other person in the theatre; it was fantastic!

This air conditioning day was also a day of food variety!  We had pad thai for lunch and ate a small veggie pizza for dinner.  Never mind that none of it was that tasty.  The ice cream throughout the day MORE than made up for it all.

Besides all of that food that I have already mentioned, we also got a large caramel and salt popcorn mix in what I like to call a “Sammi’s stomach is about to hurt combo.” But actually, Patrick’s stomach started to hurt. Plot twist.

—————-

On our last day in Djibouti, Patrick wanted to get his hair cut …in a shipping container on the side of the road:

A haircut– Djibouti style. We pointed to the coolest picture on the wall and Patrick got his African style on. 

That night, we were able to afford a delicious lobster meal (thanks to our generous host Douchan who helped us save money ) and I got to do one of my favorite things: eavesdrop on foreigners living abroad.

The next morning, we walked to the airport (the 2nd and final time I would be at Djibouti International), and arrived 1.5 hours early. Because we were too early, they made us sit outside of the airport and wait for our flight.  When we final did get inside, a cat greeted us with meows and we did have to do some more waiting for our tickets to be issued.  When we finally got on the plane, we realized that it was just as hot on there as it was outside. Good bye forever, Djibuti.

We landed back in Ethiopia where both Patrick and I had layovers (but we couldn’t leave the airport) before heading on our separate adventures. Patrick had 12 hours before he was off to a trumpet festival in Serbia, while I had 24 hours before heading to Togo. While we waited, we watched the worst episode of Queer Eye — Below Average Joe — and were amazed how we were in a major international airport and no credit card machine would work. At least for awhile.  Eventually they did and Patrick and I shared one final meal in Ethiopia.

Lest we forget…
Bugzaire. Norrrn.

‘mi

Welcome, everybody (but mostly Patrick), to Hotel-thiopia. The place where I document how we broke down and ranked all the places we stayed in Ethiopia (and Djibouti) using 12 categories.  Can you say…”time on our hands?!”

-Toilet 
-Shower
-Utility
-Towels (super stingy w/ towels in Ethiopia)
-Bed
-Lighting
-Noise
-Space
-Cleanliness
-Cost
-Location
-Hospitality 

Great news! We didn’t stay here!

This place in Lalibela got 88 total. Downside is that you can’t hear the gorgeous chanting of the monks in this photo. MINUS 12 POINTS.

Here are the full scores for each place, again, for our own memories.

Ethiopia (out of 120)

Addis: 7, 7, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7, 3, 6, 9 = 82

Mekele: 5, 4, 5, 5, 2, 5, 2, 3, 3, 6, 3, 4 = 47 39% (where I got sick)

Axum: 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 3, 4, 3, 5, 7, 4, 4 = 46

Gondor: 0, 0, 1, 3, 7, 5, 6, 2, 0, 1, 10, 9, 7 = 51

Bahir Dar: 8, 9, 7, 4, 7, 8, 7, 9, 9, 5, 9, 8 = 90  (won in the tie breaker)

Lalibela: 7, 6, 4, 5, 9, 3, 10, 9, 9, 8, 8, 10 = 88

Dire Dowa: 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9, 8, 6, 8, 9, 8, 7 = 86

Harar: 2, 0, 1, 0, 2, 2, 3, 6, 9, 6, 10, 8 = 49

Djibouti 

AB:  10, 7, 5, 10, 9, 9, 10, 6, 10, 0, 4, 4 = 84

Douchann: 10, 7, 6, 8, 6, 8, 8, 6, 5, 10, 6, 10 = 90

I know, I know, this is so cryptic.  Whatever, it means something to me and it’s my blog.  I’ll end with a photo-thiopia.
❤
‘mi

Camel’s on the menu.

While we waited for our camel meat to cook, people offered us RAW meat!  They were eating it as is.  Both Patrick and I politely declined — it was already a big day for our stomachs.

Celebrating hump day the right way.

Overall, it was pretty good!  The glass bottle cokes and spicy sauce added to the experience.  

All gone.

Making eye contact.

A size up.

Question: Where was this gun when the hyenas were around…

Extreme bird watching:  The only thing that makes it extreme is that we went all the way to Africa to do it.

Searching for elephants.  PS.  Intentional camouflage?

Smile! You’re on camel camera!

The local community.

Ethiopi-baahh

The safest street food in town.

The high-fashion/scary models of the animal kingdom. Just look at those cheekbones.

Committed to a life full of adventure.

[Yes, I’ve written these in whatever order that has suited me best.  Yes, I’ve skipped the 4th blog post about DONKEY.  It’s coming.  In the meantime, here is post 5 (of 6)]

Our next stop in Ethiopia was Dire Dawa. We landed in Addis Ababa, didn’t leave the airport, AND CELEBRATED THE APPROVAL OF OUR E-VISA TO TO DJIBOUTI by eating bourbon cream cookies.  They were not good.  BUT we were incredibly excited that in just a couple of days, we’d be heading TO DJIBOUTI (!!) and a flurry of booking ensued.

To Dire Dawa we go!

But first thing’s first: We had to survive (…and enjoy ourselves) in Dire Dawa. We headed The African Village (check out the rating here), where Patrick and I forged marriage documents so that we could stay in the same room (fan included).  After settling in, we went to dinner at an Indian restaurant with a pool, which we described as “dank.”  I’ll spare you the photos.

Luckily, the pool wasn’t indicative of the food.  We enjoyed our butter chicken & co. (which cost us double what we had paid for our room).

On the street, I saw people using sign language and couldn’t help but try to engage. However, when I’m signing, I can only pay attention to signing — and loose track of my surroundings.  So I didn’t chat for too long because it fell on Patrick to do all of the safe keeping.

BUT I will say, after talking to those deaf people, I realized that I had SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS. Like…DO THEY SPEAK AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE IN ETHIOPIA?!  Why could I understand them?! And, more importantly, I had forgotten to ask, “Where can we get ice cream??” Over the next couple of days, staring out the bus window, I pretended I saw those people again and practiced what I would sign. 

Anyway, that evening we continued wandering around the city but by dusk, things were getting uncomfortable, and locals began fending off kids and scary guys. We were grateful because the locals came to our aid (almost before we needed them to) — but it was clear that we needed to head back to our hotel.  

We called it a night and watched Queer Eye to fall asleep and were awoken the next morning by a caged bird.  For (free) breakfast we had  fuul + an egg — Great combination — Although the honey for the tea was not very sweet and very viscous.

With enough fuul for the day (hehe, get it?), we headed out to conquer some more public transportation (but not in a colonialist sort of way).  We headed to the (wrong) bus station which was tragic because the station in Dire Dawa was Jamaicain-style aggressive — people gathering, yelling, ‘ductors fighting over you and trying to grab your bag. It was then that I decided that I should wear a head scarf. Even though lots of women had their heads uncovered, I realized that I blended in more when I wore one because you couldn’t see what type of hair I had, so it wasn’t as immediately obvious that I was a foreigner. Eventually, we got to the right bus station which would take us to conservative, Muslim city called Harar, with over 80+ mosques.

Let me repeat: 80+ mosques

On the bus memories:  We were overcharged but only by 35 cents (total). When we got overcharged, half of the locals on the bus started speaking up, not letting the ‘ductor get away with taking advantage of us. Thank you very-thiopia much.  A fluffy lady came and sat next to Patrick, which changed our situation for the worse– there was no cross seat– but she sat anyway.

During the ride, people kept trying to touch us from the windows, but the locals on the bus came through YET AGAIN, and protected us. During this very stimulating ride, we learned what khat (pronounced ‘chat’) was — a green plant that makes people feel like they’re on speed. Ethi-dope-ia.

Once in Harar, Patrick and I solidified our holy matrimony by buying rings in shops with no people…but then people came in. We purchased rings by the gram.  To make it more convincing, Patrick rubbed his ring on the wall to get it scuffed up. Five years of marriage, amiright?

After the wedding ceremony, we arrived at our guest house:

Colorful courtyards

Later, at our homestay, Patrick told me to tell the French guy staying at our hostel that I was a dancer.  

Me: I’m a dancer.
French Guy: Yeah, I can tell.
Patrick: WHAT!?
*cue me glaring at Patrick for almost giving me away.
Patrick: …I mean, what do you mean you can tell?
Me [telepathically]: Nice save.
French Guy: I run a dance school.
Me [telepathically]: s***
French Guy: What kind of dance do you do?
Me: …Modern.

Welp.  On that note we went for a walk around Harar.  While we strolled, children– whose children, I never know — ran all around us begging. Money seems to be the universal word everyone knows.

We saw (lots of) people with sticks on their backs, animals, garbage heaps overflowing from the dumpsters, wheelbarrows, tuk tuks, and vehicles moving in all directions through the cobblestone. 

To be honest, Harar was a complete assault on our senses. It was extra noisy, and we felt like we had to be aware of everyone and everything around us. People were yelling “faranji” from every side, and “at any given point, in any direction, something could happen that would be completely unwelcome”.  I couldn’t take pictures for so many reasons, pretty much all of the reasons, actually. 

On the flip side, the atmosphere was incredibly interesting with the sea of colors, adorable goats, people on top of vehicles, and tuk tuks overflowing. Even though it was overstimulating, it really put us in the moment– we couldn’t think about anything else except what was going on in that very instant. We had to process the experience later because it was impossible to do in real time. 

So, the atmosphere in Harar was INTENSE, but most tangible when we removed ourselves to go into somewhere quiet.  Luckily, we found a hotel (that we promised we’d go back to if we got sick) to take a breather before we headed out again to find another spot for lunch.  A place where we could wash our hands. But here’s the catch: it was stagnant water (strike one). It had been sitting out and developed a grimy film (strike two). The soap was disgusting (strike 3). But we probably would’ve struck out even harder if we didn’t washed our hands.   So, we did it anyway and hoped for the best. 

With clean(ish) hands, we ordered everything we wanted — including 3 meals (2 pastas and half a roast chicken), 2 cokes, a huge bottled water, and coffee that came with popcorn. The whole thing was $13. #WinnerWinnerHalfRoastChickenDinner.

But, nothing was that delicious.  Or hot, like, to the touch.  We took guesses on whether our rice was spoiled — and made a list of reasons why we should be scared for our stomachs.

But, alas, I’m writing this from the future AND WE WERE FINE, GREAT NEWS!!!!!!!  

As we finished lunch, we headed out to brave the streets yet again.  We were met with more of crazy khat eyes, begging from every direction — even from grated slots (what horror movies are made of) — and just general overall chaos. We checked out the street food — dirty fruits and veg laid out on tarps with garbage all around. Plus flies and dirty hands.  The bananas were just okay — the selling point was that they had skin, but even so, everything had a layer of grime or “perfume,” as the taxi driver in Addis liked to call it.

We needed another break.  We stopped in a second floor cafe where we also waited for the guide we’d hired through our guide book. And while waiting…. WE MET A DEAF PERSON NAMED ABDUL!! I must have manifested him from all the practice signing I had been doing. I unleashed ALL my sign language on him and was thrilled because AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE IS THE SAME AS ETHIOPIAN SIGN LANGUAGE.  It was truly a revelation!  A local we could talk to and communicate with in THE SAME LANGUAGE?!  How ideal!!  Plus I was in a place where I didn’t have to focus on anything else except signing! 

This cafe also had a public restroom…that was through a construction site.  Patrick stood guard while I held my nose and went for it.  It wasn’t the first time I’d found myself day dreaming about how nice our gas station bathrooms are in the United States. Being in Ethiopia kept us not only really present, but also really grateful.

When our guide, Hailu, arrived, he introduced himself and spoke PERFECT ENGLISH. Which was amazing because it was someone we could both talk to.  We liked him right away.  Also– quick promotion, here’s his email in case you ever find yourself in Harar (hallu_harar@yahoo.com). Seriously.  Hailu was so amazing that we ended up hiring him for three days in a row. 

That night, we were supposed to go and feed wild hyenas, but it ended up being the hardest rain Harar had seen in three years. “Watch. The lights will go out in a minute.” – Hailu.  And then BOOM, the lights went out, right on cue! (And, in the privacy of darkness, your girl put even more sugar in her tea). This guy clearly knew what was up.  We were impressed.  Hailu asked us if we’d ever seen a river flood.  We hadn’t so he invited us to be flood chasers (an unofficial class of storm chaser). And all 3 of us went to the river, where “a wet person doesn’t care about the rain” – Amheric.

Patrick and I felt alive!

Later that night, back at Anisa’s guest house, Patrick and I, with our host family, all watched some Turkish TV and then retired to our room where we prepared for the next day, which included meeting Hailu for a thorough tour — including the many tastes — of Harar.  

At this point, Harar had been hard.  But Hailu changed everything!

In fair Harar where we lay our scene.

The next morning, the three of us walked through the walled city and down the winding cobblestone roads that jutted out. Occasionally we came across water that smelled atrocious. To offset the terrible smell, however, there were a bunch of crazy colored buildings, which were beautiful or cool (depending on which one of us you asked). Walking down the street, lots of people called us Faranji (foreigners), and eventually we learned the word for ‘local’ (Habesha), so we started using it right back.  A small joke but… a joke’s a joke. And I’ll take all the laughter I can get!

While walking we speculated that maybe the posture of women in Africa is better because as they grow up they carry water (and all sorts of things) on their heads.

Khat me while you can

Everyone watched us going down the street.  There were people quarreling, guys arguing, vehicles overflowing with humans and animals, lots of dirty water, uneven steps, and men sitting on the side of the road drinking beer. There was a cacophany around us 100% of the time.

In a single stroll through the city, we experienced weeks’ worth of living.

 

Foodies beware

 

As you walk forward, there were multiple assaults on your senses.

A working school room.

Per usual in Ethiopia, there were also coffee stands everywhere. Yum!

Different kind of fuel

 

 

Having Hailu around really gave us the confidence to both take pictures (thank you, Hailu!) and to try the street food, since he knew the ins and outs, the language, the city, the people, the flavors, and he gave us all the tips.   Truly,  he gave us our street food mojo back. Which, up to this point, we had’t fully recovered from.  See blog post: When Sammi got sick.

Yes, we ate that.

 

And it was delicious!

 

Everyday is market day.

I can not reiterate enough how much more confident having Hailu nearby made both of us feel.   We were able to see, do, taste, and learn so much more.

This is what khat looks like. It’s a leaf that you chew.

Tailormade.

As we made our way through Hrar we sampled all of the tastes. Including samosas (multiple kinds like potato and lentil), smokey french bread straight from the oven, and soursop. But we couldn’t help but notice that Ethiopia does not do dessert well. Even with Hailu, there was NO ice cream and the treats were not very good.  We sound so spoiled as I read it now.  At the time though, we had a hankering for something sweet.  We were in Ethiopia for 3 weeks, after all.  One time, we had a solid lead to head to a place called the Ice Cream Mermaid, but just like mermaids in real life, it was non-existent.  They had run out of ice cream days (or was it weeks) ago with no plans on getting any again soon.

Domino? More like DominYES.

PS: Hailu gave me a bunch of recommendations (which I’m just gunna leave on here): Deadly Water the book, a honey bird documentary, the movie Face to Face with Hyenas, and the Planet Earth episode also about hyenas because, spoiler alert, the next and final installment-thiopia is about, you guessed it, hyenas.  

Here we go! Patrick and I were on the road again, this time heading to Aksum. The way there was so gorgeous, even the driver wanted to get out and snap some shots.

Did you know Ethiopia was so green-thiopia?

THE most beautiful scene

On our way to Aksum, we stopped for fuel (aka food) and got some Fuul aka an incredible baked bean dish.

More than an eye fuul

During breakfast, I bought a religious sticker for my notebook (for one bier aka two cents) — and then we were back on the road.  Hey, why don’t you come along for the ride:

Later, we stopped for another memorable meal comprised of 8, 12, or 10 things. Patrick couldn’t remember exactly — but it was definitely an even number.

Or, is this THE most beautiful scene?!

That night, when choosing a place to stay, apparently, we double-downgraded. At first, the eco-lodge was closed.  Rainy season.  Not my fault.  Then, we had a nice room for 500 bier with our own beds, a brand new toilet, and internet. But then, as Patrick puts it, I “ran to him like lassie” to tell him about a cheaper place.  In my defense, we saved 200 bier  – that’s 200 stickers – and everything was fine, albeit dirty.  

With the 200 bier we saved, we bought ourselves a bottle of wine called “Gouder.” So even though our room was dirtier, the outcome was gooder. #worthit

Overall, our hotel in Aksum ranked 46 on the rating system that Patrick and I created for the places we stayed. What’s that you say?  WHAT RATING SYSTEM?!  Oh.  Here’s a link. The Hotel-thiopia blog.

The next day, we started by going to another hotel to have Boona (coffee in Ahmeric), because that’s what you do in a country that’s obsessed with coffee. And not in the way that the USA is obsessed with their coffee. In Ethiopia, you don’t have coffee without a ceremony which includes burning incense to please the spirits during the ritual.  It’s incredible! And tasty.

Let the ceremony of the grounds commence!

While Patrick and I contemplated ordering a grande coffee with a side of ceremony at Starbucks, and serving coffee with popcorn at the next furries event, we sipped on the best coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.  And it wasn’t necessarily the taste– it was the FEELING. I got the best body high where I was alert, but calm and patient while still vibrantly aware. Felt like drugs… but I guess caffeine is a drug.  It was a great start of an extraordinary day.

Patrick and I walked around feeling SUPER stimulated — even without the coffee it’s almost impossible to not feel this way in Ethiopia. We bought natural toothbrushes on the side of the road, and Patrick got his shoes cleaned before our next stop: a castle.

The height of luxury.

Natural toothbrush: Say Ahhhhfrica.

From the guidebook, we read that when this castle was occupied they had long tables and wiped their hands on bread instead of napkins (brilliant), and they fed each other balls of meat from a (very) recently alive cow. They chewed loudly, which meant they were enjoying the meal, and made lots of noise while they were eating.  Inside, Patrick and I did dramatic reenactments.

MYTH: Africans only lived in mud huts. 1790.

After the castle, we visited another cool rock church sans the treacherous climb. Some of the churches had a separate entrance for men and women.

Church rocks

Patrick and I enjoyed the church art, particularly what was on the ceiling. And, with the snoring priest in the background, we sort of tripped out over the repetitive angel faces..

can’t look away.

Meditating on what’s above

Later that night, we mixed our piety with a dose of debauchery (#balance) and headed to an illegal shisha place. It was on the 4th floor of a random building, which was actually pretty dangerous because we would have no bargaining power if we were caught by the police.

The establishment was like someone’s nasty living room, and Patrick came back from the bathroom saying it was the most disgusting toilet he’d ever seen. We met a guy who worked at a Citgo in the USA, and had a obligatory drink while PRAYING that the ice wouldn’t make us sick… and then got the heck out of there.

We walked around figuring out our plans. I (as if I hadn’t risked it all with the ice cubes in our drink) contemplated getting a hard boiled egg at a stand on the side of the street but decided against it. Our night wasn’t over, yet… We headed to an underground nightclub in Gondor called The Platinum Lounge. Kuba sarcastically wondered if he’d be able to get in with his sneakers.

Travel can be all about putting yourself in a situation you wouldn’t normally be in, and so even though the club hit me with a wall of B.O. as soon as we walked inside, the group decided to stay and break out our shoulder moves. The African guys wanted to dance with all the men in our group.  Definitely a not normal (for me) situation.

The next day was public transportation day. How do you turn 25 minutes into an hour? A bus. How do you make Ethiopia time? Add 6 hours.

We discussed how there should be a word for being immobile on a bus– for being trapped and helpless but resigned and settled in. A girl tried to steal my watch out of the bus window, good thing it was attached to me.

The scariest thing that happened was the fight which broke out between the guy behind Patrick and the conductor. There was a lot of yelling; we weren’t completely sure what was happening, but the men were FURIOUS about the police taking their IDs. A woman tried to calm them down while the ‘ductor made the van stop and ran outside to grab a giant rock as big as his hand. Everyone tried to hold him back. And then there was us, sandwiched in between it all, with the yelling in a language we didn’t understand, the B.O… it escalated quickly.

Eventually, the bus continued on its way… we never really found out what had happened. Nevertheless, we arrived in Bahir Dar truly grateful to be alive. We chose to stay in one of the nicer hotels that night. (Check out this one’s rating in Hotel-thiopia).

The next morning, we decided to go for a boat ride to a peninsula despite it still being the rainy season.

Yup, still rainy season.

But the ride was amazing. It was near the mouth of the Blue Nile mouth where we saw hippos in the wild and fed some pelicans.  

Pelicans be hungry.

On dry land, we walked through lush, muddy forests to get to church. Inside, if a church had a blue body painted on the wall, it meant that the person depicted was a sinner (not a saint).

Feeling hut hut hut

Note from video above: Nature sounds and people chanting

Natural paintings of archangels on goatskins.

Then, we drank wild coffee (ceremony included) plus ate some delicious home-cooked shiro. 

There’s popcorn in that pot.

We saw, clearly, a family and the progression of a young child’s role: from eating the popcorn, to making the popcorn, to making the coffee, and finally to overseeing the whole process. 

Back to the mainland for dinner.  We ordered fish that came wrapped in tinfoil, lit on fire. Patrick was in heaven.

Fish flambe

That night, we went out to see some more traditional dancing. It was all VERY interesting.   Hardly anyone used a phone to videotape the dance, there was no clapping after any of the performances, and beer bottles just accumulated on everyone’s tables because culturally, I guess you’re just supposed to leave them.

As you can hear in the videos, the music they danced to was repetitive.
As you can see in the videos, the dancing was MUCH more about the upper body than the lower body. The shoulders are the star.  It’s more jerky than smooth, more spastic than controlled. Fascinating and cool.

Some final observations:
A routine was performed on stage for about 20 minutes, and then the dancers joined the audience one at a time — where they were more likely to dance with men than women.

We wondered:
When in the United States can you just go up against a professional dancer?

Completely in love with our days,
‘mi

We’d had a fantastic night in Ethiopia, and the next morning, we had a teensy headache but filled with excitement we were ready to make more mind-blowing puns. We headed to the airport for our trip to Mekele and had some pizza which wasn’t cooked all the way through… and that, my friends, might’ve been my demise. (More on this later,)

We took a casual flight on Ethiopian airways – they didn’t ask to see our IDs once.  Not.a.once. Have you ever been to an airport and then onto a plane where they didn’t check your ID??

E-view-thiopia

We’re here-thiopia

We landed in Mekele and went out to eat. Every time you travel to a different place, some kind of fruit or vegetable is in season, fresh, and cheap. In this case it was prickly pears and we had our first one of the season. SO delicious. (Perhaps this was the start of my demise?)  They keep track of how to charge you (4 for 10 bier) by counting the skins. If we were using USD, they cost pennies to eat.

We had some orange fanta straight from the glass bottle because the actual drinking glasses are served wet here. (Unrelated, all sodas in Africa are served in glass bottles). It’s considered good form to show tourists that the cups have been recently washed. Ironically, that just means there’s still water on it, which is extra dangerous for us. But it’s the thought that counts, right?  (It might have been the glass bottle that led to my sickness…)

While we wandered, we signed up to go to the Danakil Depression, also known as THE HOTTEST PLACE ON EARTH (cue dramatic flames and hardcore metal music). *It’s also supposed to be one of the most beautiful and interesting.

When we checked into our hotel, I started to feel sick. Really sick. Awful sick. 

As J. Maarten Troost reminds us: “Good luck seeks no antecedent, but bad luck demands an inquest.” And so detective Sam was on the case. Who was the culprit? Was it the uncooked pizza dough? The glasses we’d drank from? The mysterious muck on the side of the fanta bottle? The communal spice (which had been sitting out for god knows how long) I’d poured on my rice? The knife used to cut the side-of-the-road prickly pears??

But sometimes, my friends, you don’t get closure. Sometimes, you just have to spend the entire night throwing up and moaning loudly over a toilet bowl. I was VERY uncomfortable, to say the least.  MISERABLE, the kind of sick where you bargain with god.

Overall, I’d made 6 trips to the toilet that night for some unadulterated, good old fashioned retching. It wasn’t great.  Patrick was forced to stay awake too. There was no way he could sleep with me in audible misery.  

The next day, you can imagine, I was still sick.  Patrick was fine though! Yay! We spent the entire day in the hotel (I really had no choice) and discussed what we were going to do with me.  The next day it was our big trip– the Danakil Depression– which we’d come all this way to see. But I couldn’t go. The HOTTEST PLACE ON EARTH?! (cue dramatic flames and hardcore metal music).  I couldn’t do it. My body was still suffering through sweats, I could not imagine trying to survive in rugged Africa. I told Patrick to go on without me because I was out of the “might-actually-die” phase.  We could both see that I was on the mend and it was totally fine to leave me on my own.

Supplementary / concurrent pictures.

Patrick went to see this:

Stock image. But this is what Patrick saw.

While I enjoyed my view (a la Handmaid’s Tale):

What a nice chair.

While Patrick was gone, I didn’t leave the hotel for 3 full days. What I had started out loving, soon became a prison.  On the 4th day, though, I ventured out for some french fries. And learned the only cool fact I’d heard in three days: Ethiopia uses different time. They’re on a 12-hour clock, so school starts at 2, even though it’s 8am our time. So how many days in Ethiopia time was I really sick? Good math problem.

Patrick returned 3 days later, and I was feeling much better but also stir crazy. I hadn’t had human interaction for quite some time — even though I’d tried. But I didn’t speak Ahmeric and no one spoke English. But it was no matter– Patrick was BACK from the Depression to ease my depression. We went for a walk and discovered fresh avocado juice.
Our guidebook (and I’d had time to read it cover to cover) told us what to order and as soon as we took a sip, the angelic chorus descended from the sky. It was just what the doctor ordered after being so sick and in THE HOTTEST PLACE ON EARTH (cue dramatic flames and hardcore metal music), respectivly.

Avocado juice. Conclusively the best juice.

Patrick told me that during his trip, he’d met two Polish travelers and they’d invited us to travel with them the next day.  (Reminiscent of Kazakhstan and the Germans.)  Always up for an adventure, we agreed and decided to meet Tommy and Kuba at 6am for a jeep excursion out of town and beyond.

Toot toot, jeep jeep

We headed out bright and early to get our church fix (on the rocks).

It was AMAZING. We literally had to rock climb (as in scale literal rocks with harnesses and belays) to get to these churches.  Later when I had wifi and told Collin about the trip, he said:

Collin: Do people climb to church?

Me: Literally yes

Col: Wow. My church was 3 minutes from my house and I barely went.

In the beginning of our climb, our guide singled me out as not being a good climber.  He said, “Are you sure we’re not going to be too slow” …..whilst giving me the side eye. Ouch. 

When we made it to the top, Kuba took an epic drone selfie (my first!). It rocks.

[Entering a magic zone]

Dedicated churchgoers

We spent all day hiking (7 hours), and visited 3 churches overall (some of which were 1600 years old).  We met priests and we’re given tours of old books and churches. It was an amazing mix of history, culture, and nature. We all agreed it was one of the top 10 best travel experiences that we have ever had.

“5 Stars!” – News Weekly
“Gotta be the best church I’ve ever been in” – Patrick
“If I were to make a church of my own, this would be it.” -God

In the end, I’d not only seen these beautiful churches, but I also received validation from the guide who had questioned my rock climbing ability. He’d told me I was a good trekker, and that made me feel redeemed. Seemed fitting to feel that right after church.

“Sammi’s an AWESOME trekker. Best I’ve ever seen.” – Guide on the tour

The experience with these rock churches was so pure.  It was both religious and spiritual.  There was less of an emphasis on reading and writing, in the art, the images were not depicted as white.  And it made me feel closer to the source.

No words to describe it..

Brb- hiking to church

Bunch of rock stars

Taking 3 points of contact to the next level: 4 points of contact.

The views from the tops of these churches were truly incredible and added to the majesty of the experience. 

At one church, we even met a 95-year-old priest who helped us to open wild prickly pears while we walked.  Food from the heavens. 

What wasn’t quite so majestic was the priests asking for money. It was hard to blame them, really, but our guide had already paid and they just wanted more. It was sort of off-putting but understandable, and we tried not to let that shade the experience.

Prickly pears, rugged views

During the hike, we also learned that people in Ethiopia drink holy water after fasting (every Wednesday and Friday) and before eating. How do you make water holy: Is it blessed in church, or do you just boil the hell out of it?

Seven hours later from when we began, we got back in the jeep and saw some wildlife! It was a group of Gilda baboons, and quite the meta experience because Patrick had just been watching a video of them in the car. 

We also saw some camel road kill, which was less exciting but still interesting and then saw another camel being used as a plow for the fields (versus the more traditional cow).  The scenes outside Ethiopia were so neat!

We stopped at a few roadside stands to get coffee-flavored things, since this country is OBSESSED with coffee. We bought various coffee cookies that we wanted to be good (they weren’t).  And noticed how lots of entrepreneurial people opened up coffee stands (sits).

As we drove to the town called Axum, where we’d be spending the night, I noted how, surprisingly, wasn’t tired. One minute later, Patrick asked if I was tired, and I clarified, “You mean since I said one minute ago I wasn’t?”  Sometimes you take too long to respond and sometimes you respond too quickly. Classic.

When we finally got to Axum, we were pretty impressed. It’s the oldest civilization in Africa and lined with huge grave tombstones. (“is this how we get modern gravestone shapes?”) There are also rumors that this is where the Ark of the Covenant is hidden — but Patrick has his doubts. They won’t let anyone see it!

We walked around a bit and saw some people selling street food– including hard boiled potatoes. Hard boiled potatoes had never been more tempting to me.  I couldn’t eat them still because my stomach was not at a full 100%, and I was trying to be gentle. I whispered to Patrick,” I’m desperate for that.” But it was off limits to us… for now.

God bless (but in a good way),
‘mi

The day had come!  A hard trip!  It was time for me to embark on a 3-week adventure to Ethiopia (E-3week-opia, if you will — and you should if you’re gunna keep reading). The only hard facts I knew about Ethiopia were:

1. It was the only African nation that wasn’t colonized by a European power.
2. Its name lends itself to word play.
3. And we needed to be prepared for kids to throw rocks at us.

Not a lot to go off of so you’d think I would have, at least, checked the weather.  But I didn’t.  As I boarded my international Qatar airlines flight…what was directly in front me captured my attention: The quality of this airline I’d never flown.

Attentive attendants? Great food? WONDERFUL MOVIES? By the end of my flight, it was clear that Qatar is a 10/10 airline. The only thing that I’m still not certain on is… how to pronounce Qatar. 

I landed 12 hours before Patrick in the Addis Ababa domestic terminal (not the international one, which caused some initial confusion).  I sorted myself out though, and headed to the very nice hotel (that I’d pre-booked) to get some sleep.

A place that calls to mind far away adventure!

The official language they speak in Ethiopia is Amheric.  Below is one of my favorite videos from this trip….Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You, in Amheric, filmed in the backseat of a moving vehicle on the streets of rural Ethiopia.  It was SO much fun hearing an English song in another language. Enjoy 🙂

View from the hotel, which belies how nice our hotel actually was.  Alternate caption: I should have brought a raincoat. There, I said it.

Once Patrick arrived, we went to the market and bought me an umbrella.

Speaking of Patrick…Here we are!

But I’m getting ahead of myself. A lot happened before my best friend, Patrick, arrived.  And by a lot…I mean I tried to get a Ghana visa at the Ghanian embassy. When I showed up, they told me I needed to show proof of my United States residency. You’d think a US passport would’ve been enough. You’d think.

 After they turned me away because it wasn’t enough proof (did they want a photo of the dream flat?), I ended up going to the American embassy to ask what else they thought I’d need. They recommended I show the Ghanian embassy my passport. After a quick facepalm, I abandoned my Ghana plans and decided to go to Togo (hehe). #naturalpun

So. Right. Now, back to me and Patrick 🙂 Walking around, we had fun noticing how reality met (or didn’t) our expectations. Thus far, I’d noticed a lack of harassment (compared to what I was expecting). It was there, but not as vulgar or persistent as I’d been bracing myself for. No rocks yet, either. It also didn’t stink as badly as I’d thought (except for in the markets. More on that after I show you my Ethio-utfit). 

Going for a “1” on the attractive scale.

The markets, while STIMULATING and interesting, were usually gross with uneven steps that added the possibility of stepping in sewer water. EWWW! There were limited fruits and veggies, lots of dried beans and dehydrated red peppers…and an odor. The kind of odor that one smells in almost every third world damp and musty market. The kind of odor that makes one think ‘Maybe it’s a good idea to avoid the meat.’ It was really overstimulating, at various points we wanted to sit so that we could remove one sense — moving. Overall though, it was enjoyable and the vendors were really nice.  Not as pushy as I thought they’d be.  One time, we overpaid for a skirt, and the woman gave us back the extra bill.

Other things we noticed:

• Tuk tuk is a universal word (even if we don’t have it in the US)
• In Ethiopia, the tuk tuks are more closed to protect from the rain, which was a pro (staying dry) and also a con (it trapped the heat).
• The people were really friendly!
• Patrick and I felt like celebrities with how many people were greeting us and checking us out in the streets.  
• There weren’t as many stray dogs as we were expecting (although there were more in the west).
• Even though this wasn’t something we witnessed, we learned that volleyball is their national sport. 
• In Ethiopia, they say “yes” by breathing in like a gasp, and it’s a cool sound.

An unfortunate take away:

• “By far, the dirtiest money that I have ever held”- Patrick
  It’s called bier and it is, essentially, cold hard trash.
  Just think of the dirtiest money that you have ever touched. Vietnamese dong?  ALL the money is worse than that. We had to check both sides to determine…money or garbage?   The kind of money you can’t tell “is it wet?” it’s so dirty.  

As we learned more and tailored our expectations with reality, we also learned some language. The first word we learned was “Amesegnalaw” (which means thank you — phonetically sounds like “ahmeh sar guh nar weh.” You’re welcome).

We used our new word HEAPS, especially when we headed out to eat at a traditional restaurant called Dashen where we exchanged our bier for beer and YUMMY food.  Like that giant shared platter we were supposed to eat with our hands. All I could think about was how I’d been touching the money (gross), and was pleased when waiters came around with at-the-table hand washing supplies. Amesegnalaw. 

The menu was enormous. We had to take a picture of it and then use Patrick’s phone to cross things off because there were SO. MANY.CHOICES.

Family Style-thiopia

We ranked each dish (of course), but our favorite was a cabbage dish that we never found again. Injira, we trust.

After dinner, there was a traditional after-dinner workout. We thought it was just a performance for the tourists, but boy were we wrong.  I’ve got two words (and two videos) for you: NECK DANCING

The next day, we visited the Ethiopia National Museum… and, not all national museums look as good as you think they would.  HOWEVER, this museum was were Lucy (discovered in 1974) and Selam resided.  It was really cool seeing the skeletons.

What’s left of Lucy.

After some bone browsing at the museum, we went to the Fendika cultural  center where we met the owner, Matteo.

Matteo is a dancer and raised himself on the streets. His story was incredible; we had an amazing time talking with him. 

 “What I love in life is when people take risks and go. That is life.” – Matteo

That night, we learned more Amharic words: “Bugzaire,” which is when you leave the table, and “Norrrn” (when you return). RIP Buen Provecho.

We also had quite the adventure.

Check to make sure the car looks like it’s in good condition before you get inside — Peace Corps

We heard music by a one-stringed cello, met a comedian (just seem to find ‘em no matter where I go), and hung out in the same vicinity as other foreigners who were visiting from Eritrea (first time meeting anyone from Eritrea!).  

Patrick and I felt safe and decided to accept beer whenever it was offered to us. We drank Habesha and, with Matteo, asked each other GQs — but soon upgraded to BQs (beautiful questions).

My best friend and I also spent the night coming up with (what we thought were) genius puns like: truethiopia, Ethijokia, uniquethiopia, clapthiopia. You get the idea-thiopia.

And we tried tibs for our first (and definitely not the last) time. Tibs is a cooked meat dish. Here, I took a picture of the rosemary tibs.

As you can see, it was a great start to the trip!

‘mithiopia