Ethiopia: Addis Ababa (Day 1, part 2)
Our goal in going to Arat Kilo was to see the national museum. The collection was quite comprehensive, ranging from contemporary Ethiopian art to historical and archeological pieces. The highlight of the visit for us both was the hominid exhibit, culminating with a display of Lucy.
Afterward we decided to seek out some lunch. We looked around the intersection close to the museum, and found many restaurants for locals. In spite of some misgivings on my part, we chose the most promising-looking one and just went on in. The atmosphere was a bit dark and we stood out starkly as the only foreigners in the place. The waiter didn't speak English, and our Amheric was at its nadir, so Julien traced a circle in the air and said, "injera", and the waiter sort of nodded and we were left hoping for the best. We were not disappointed -- Friday is one of two fasting days for the Ethiopian Orthodox church, so we received an injera dotted with a variety of vegetarian stews, all of which were spicy and delicious. There was a little sink at the back for washing up afterward, and we were thrilled with the bill (something like 10 birr) and the waiter was thrilled with our tip. All around, it was a highly satisfactory introduction to Ethiopian dining.
I suppose I should take a moment to explain injera. The staple of the Ethiopian diet is a grain called tef, which as far as I can tell, is unique to the country. Tef has a natural symbiotic relationship with yeast, so once the grain is prepared, no addition is necessary to induce fermentation. From the tef batter, a bread is made that is much more similar to Western pancakes than loaf bread. There is quite some similarity with Arabic laffa. These pancakes are called injera. They have a very light texture, like a thin pancake with lots of bubbles, and a distinctive sour taste. As far as I can tell, Ethiopian food is completely devoid of sweetness. They seem to have gotten an interest in cakes in a coffee context, but it certainly hasn't crossed over into the mainstream meals. Anyway, tef is always served with stew, called wat. There are three main kinds: kai wat, which is spicy and red, bland, yellow alicha wat, which we virtually never ate, and shiro, which most closely resembles Mexican refried beans, except made with chickpeas. At first I really liked kai wat, but as the trip progressed (and we got away from the high-quality food in Addis), I got fed up with trying to chew the rock-hard meat in the stew and started eating almost exclusively shiro.
Our taxi driver had told us that there would be a big celebration for the religious festival Meskal, which celebrates the finding of the True Cross. I must confess I never entirely figured out what that meant. In any case, it was supposed to begin at four, so we decided to kill some time. We purchased our airline tickets to Bahir Dar; we were a bit disgruntled that they were sold out for the next day, so we had to defer until Sunday. On our way out of the Hilton, where the Ethiopian airlines office was, we were joined by what Bradt calls a "plonker".
Plonking is a mainstream occupation of many Ethiopians. The strategy is basically to befriend a foreigner, provide him lots of unsolicited assistance, under the guise of sociability, and then demand outrageous sums. The last step can be indirect, by way of dragging the foreigner to a shop, restaurant, sight, or bar, but the overall theme is the same. Perhaps surprisingly, it is very difficult for Americans and Europeans to dump plonkers, even once identified, because of our culture. It may sound easy, but try telling someone directly to his face that he's obviously trying to rip you off and to go away. It if virtually impossible, especially because talented plonkers are excellent at making you feel exceedingly offensive, and they then capitalize even more on this guilt.
We eventually dumped our plonker by going into a coffee shop, and saying not very politely that we wanted to be alone together. He haunted the outside of the shop for some time before finally giving it up, but it wasn't an entirely lost cause as the coffee was quite excellent and we ended up returning there on several other occasions, due to its convenient location near Meskel Square.
By the time we finished our coffee it was getting to be around 3:30, and we could already see crowds, so we decided to head toward Meskel Square. There were soldiers guarding the entrances, doing very thorough searches, and I was a bit distressed to be separated from Julien to be searched in the much less crowded women's line, but we reunited easily. I have mixed feelings about our time at the Meskel celebration. First, the entire time we stayed, there wasn't much to see, formally. There were many processions of priests that came down the roads from all directions, and there were speeches, albeit in Amheric, and there were children dressed in red, yellow, and green, marching in formation to present the Ethiopian flag. There was an enormous pile of sticks; apparently the main method of celebration was to light great bonfires. But the sun was high in the sky, and it seemed to sink so slowly, if at all, and we were very, very tired from our long day.
Once we left to go find me a bathroom -- the soldiers were kind and helpful, and, as far as we could tell, let us enter a pay-only conference to use the facilities. They also let us return without hassle, and we managed to find a better place to stand near one of the stone aisles. The arena itself was simply tiered earth, with stone at the edges, and you could sit on the stone, but it was a bit damp. We got rained on more than once, and I chastised myself for leaving my raincoat in the hotel.
We entertained ourselves with people-watching. Almost everyone had tapers, which they were saving, unlit, presumably for the bonfire. The energy of the crowd was wonderful -- we could feel the deep emotion of everyone surrounding us, and part of the Ethiopian culture seems to be a delightful respect for personal space. In spite of the crowding, people made efforts not to jostle one another, which made the entire experience much more pleasant. In spite of this, I was still occasionally nervous by the force of the population, especially as the soldiers were apparently supposed to keep the aisles clear, and I worried what would happen as people tried to sneak across, in both directions. Usually they'd be chased back, with a severe reprimand from a soldier, but once, like a flock of birds, a critical mass accumulated and there was a great rush of bodies dashing at once in either direction, crossing, and the soldiers were overwhelmed. Yet there was no violence.
Eventually we realized that, although we'd been there probably three hours, it would be much more time before anything would happen, and we decided to go home. We later discovered that I had erroneously adjusted my watch one hour back, which explained our confusion about the schedule. As we walked back to our hotel, we were astonished by the empty streets, filled with still more people walking toward the square. We stopped by a very cheerful and inviting restaurant for dinner, which appeared to be a fancier place, but still for locals. We had beer and more wat, and returned to the Plaza completely satisfied. We fell asleep immediately and slept straight through the festivities, in spite of our room's view out onto the road, much to the dismay to people who asked us about it later in other parts of the country.
Afterward we decided to seek out some lunch. We looked around the intersection close to the museum, and found many restaurants for locals. In spite of some misgivings on my part, we chose the most promising-looking one and just went on in. The atmosphere was a bit dark and we stood out starkly as the only foreigners in the place. The waiter didn't speak English, and our Amheric was at its nadir, so Julien traced a circle in the air and said, "injera", and the waiter sort of nodded and we were left hoping for the best. We were not disappointed -- Friday is one of two fasting days for the Ethiopian Orthodox church, so we received an injera dotted with a variety of vegetarian stews, all of which were spicy and delicious. There was a little sink at the back for washing up afterward, and we were thrilled with the bill (something like 10 birr) and the waiter was thrilled with our tip. All around, it was a highly satisfactory introduction to Ethiopian dining.
I suppose I should take a moment to explain injera. The staple of the Ethiopian diet is a grain called tef, which as far as I can tell, is unique to the country. Tef has a natural symbiotic relationship with yeast, so once the grain is prepared, no addition is necessary to induce fermentation. From the tef batter, a bread is made that is much more similar to Western pancakes than loaf bread. There is quite some similarity with Arabic laffa. These pancakes are called injera. They have a very light texture, like a thin pancake with lots of bubbles, and a distinctive sour taste. As far as I can tell, Ethiopian food is completely devoid of sweetness. They seem to have gotten an interest in cakes in a coffee context, but it certainly hasn't crossed over into the mainstream meals. Anyway, tef is always served with stew, called wat. There are three main kinds: kai wat, which is spicy and red, bland, yellow alicha wat, which we virtually never ate, and shiro, which most closely resembles Mexican refried beans, except made with chickpeas. At first I really liked kai wat, but as the trip progressed (and we got away from the high-quality food in Addis), I got fed up with trying to chew the rock-hard meat in the stew and started eating almost exclusively shiro.
Our taxi driver had told us that there would be a big celebration for the religious festival Meskal, which celebrates the finding of the True Cross. I must confess I never entirely figured out what that meant. In any case, it was supposed to begin at four, so we decided to kill some time. We purchased our airline tickets to Bahir Dar; we were a bit disgruntled that they were sold out for the next day, so we had to defer until Sunday. On our way out of the Hilton, where the Ethiopian airlines office was, we were joined by what Bradt calls a "plonker".
Plonking is a mainstream occupation of many Ethiopians. The strategy is basically to befriend a foreigner, provide him lots of unsolicited assistance, under the guise of sociability, and then demand outrageous sums. The last step can be indirect, by way of dragging the foreigner to a shop, restaurant, sight, or bar, but the overall theme is the same. Perhaps surprisingly, it is very difficult for Americans and Europeans to dump plonkers, even once identified, because of our culture. It may sound easy, but try telling someone directly to his face that he's obviously trying to rip you off and to go away. It if virtually impossible, especially because talented plonkers are excellent at making you feel exceedingly offensive, and they then capitalize even more on this guilt.
We eventually dumped our plonker by going into a coffee shop, and saying not very politely that we wanted to be alone together. He haunted the outside of the shop for some time before finally giving it up, but it wasn't an entirely lost cause as the coffee was quite excellent and we ended up returning there on several other occasions, due to its convenient location near Meskel Square.
By the time we finished our coffee it was getting to be around 3:30, and we could already see crowds, so we decided to head toward Meskel Square. There were soldiers guarding the entrances, doing very thorough searches, and I was a bit distressed to be separated from Julien to be searched in the much less crowded women's line, but we reunited easily. I have mixed feelings about our time at the Meskel celebration. First, the entire time we stayed, there wasn't much to see, formally. There were many processions of priests that came down the roads from all directions, and there were speeches, albeit in Amheric, and there were children dressed in red, yellow, and green, marching in formation to present the Ethiopian flag. There was an enormous pile of sticks; apparently the main method of celebration was to light great bonfires. But the sun was high in the sky, and it seemed to sink so slowly, if at all, and we were very, very tired from our long day.
Once we left to go find me a bathroom -- the soldiers were kind and helpful, and, as far as we could tell, let us enter a pay-only conference to use the facilities. They also let us return without hassle, and we managed to find a better place to stand near one of the stone aisles. The arena itself was simply tiered earth, with stone at the edges, and you could sit on the stone, but it was a bit damp. We got rained on more than once, and I chastised myself for leaving my raincoat in the hotel.
We entertained ourselves with people-watching. Almost everyone had tapers, which they were saving, unlit, presumably for the bonfire. The energy of the crowd was wonderful -- we could feel the deep emotion of everyone surrounding us, and part of the Ethiopian culture seems to be a delightful respect for personal space. In spite of the crowding, people made efforts not to jostle one another, which made the entire experience much more pleasant. In spite of this, I was still occasionally nervous by the force of the population, especially as the soldiers were apparently supposed to keep the aisles clear, and I worried what would happen as people tried to sneak across, in both directions. Usually they'd be chased back, with a severe reprimand from a soldier, but once, like a flock of birds, a critical mass accumulated and there was a great rush of bodies dashing at once in either direction, crossing, and the soldiers were overwhelmed. Yet there was no violence.
Eventually we realized that, although we'd been there probably three hours, it would be much more time before anything would happen, and we decided to go home. We later discovered that I had erroneously adjusted my watch one hour back, which explained our confusion about the schedule. As we walked back to our hotel, we were astonished by the empty streets, filled with still more people walking toward the square. We stopped by a very cheerful and inviting restaurant for dinner, which appeared to be a fancier place, but still for locals. We had beer and more wat, and returned to the Plaza completely satisfied. We fell asleep immediately and slept straight through the festivities, in spite of our room's view out onto the road, much to the dismay to people who asked us about it later in other parts of the country.