Week 36 Update:
Bale Mountains NP, Lake Langanu, Addis Ababa.
Day 246:
It was absolutely freezing when we woke up and I was fairly surprised and mildly amused when I looked at the clock. It was 8:30 and we had agreed to meet our guide at 9:00. It was with some reluctance that I got out from the warm comforts of the mountain of bedding we were lying under. I peeked out the tent to see a brilliantly blue sky and an unbelievable view of the valleys surrounding our hill top camp site in the Bale Mountains. The only one of the other gang that was around was Mari. Pablo, her 22 year old son was still far away in Lala Land and so were his two friends, Innes and Manuel (Manu). I assembled our trusty MSR multi fuel stove and started the process of boiling water for the morning coffee ritual. We had been lazy the night before and left the dishes out as well. When I lifted up the dish washing bowl to do that chore I got another little surprise… It was frozen solid!
At 9:00 our trusty guide arrived and Mari managed to get the younglings out of bed. It was obviously going to be a slow day. What followed was a debate about what route we should walk and how far we could get. The French were all keen on walking to a waterfall in the park, but the guide insisted that we would not be able to do the return trip before nightfall. We eventually settled on a walk to a nearby grassland to look for antelope and enjoy the view. That suited me fine as we were at well over 3 400 meters above sea level and it meant minimal hill climbing.
We eventually set of around 10:00, only an hour later than planned and started by walking through the nearby village. It was still quite crisp in temperature and the village obviously did not like rising in the early morning frost either. It was fantastically colourful around the streets with most people either walking or on horseback. The children seemed surprisingly friendly and chatty and the begging was really negligible. On the other side of the village the ground opened up to vast grasslands with many horses and donkeys on. We passed some people doing their daily chores of collecting firewood and some young cattle and goat herders who were coming back from watering their herds. We came to a river deep down in a valley which took us about 10 minutes to descent. This was the Web River in a valley by the same name and I got a familiar tingling sensation when I saw the clear icy pools in between the fast flowing rocky rapids. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, wild Trout country. I was praying that the fish had not been caught out completely by unruly locals. However, that day we were not there for the fishing.
We found a bridge which could have been mistaken as the bridge to Brigadoon. It was made from huge logs and covered with stone and mud to make the construction heavy, but sound. It was an awe inspiringly beautiful scene to see people use this bride to cross the river with their livestock and donkeys. We watched a young father walk across with his child in his arms while leading a pack horse and a group of woman with their donkeys packed with fire wood before we braved the ancient way ourselves. On the other side we had to climb the hill to reach the grassland again which made every person in our party pant for the scarce and valuable oxygen at that altitude… well, the guide was obviously fine, and smiling at the suffering Farenji.
The wild grassland was littered with game! We saw Warthog wallowing in the muddy pools between the reeds and we saw Reedbuck herds running away from us while making their familiar whistling sounds. We also saw the massive and wildly impressive Mountain Nyalas with their body building muscles and huge horns. I managed to sneak up pretty close to a male who had nothing but procreation in mind and managed to get some half decent photos of the big boy before the lady in his life got spooked and ran away, with him in tow.
We reached the hills on the opposite side of the grassland before noon and found a suitable shady spot on an old horse trail to stop for light lunch. The sun was high and warm, but once we were in the shade and the wind blew ever so slightly over us every person started adding the previously shed layers of clothing back on. We took an alternative loop back to the town and reached that just after 14:00. Pablo, the growing and energetic 22 year old suggested a snack in a local food joint. I was slightly peckish, so seconded that idea. We asked the guide to point us to the best place for Tips (Fried goat meat on Injera) and were seated at dirty little plastic tables around the back of an equally grubby establishment. We were shown to a tap to wash our hands and served ice cold drinks which I guessed they only had to leave out at night to get to that temperature. The food arrived shortly after and what followed could only be described as a blissful feast!
The Injera, which reminded of a pancake with a half a meter diameter, was placed on a silver tray and the four men received a small bowl of Tips each. I had not been introduced to the proper and customary way of eating, so this was all quite exciting to me. Our guide tipped all four bowls of meat and juices onto the middle of the tray and on top of the Injera. We proceeded in using our right hands only (I had some trouble and decided to sit on my left hand for safety reasons) to tear pieces of Injera of the platter. We would then use the pieces as mittens to grab up heaps of the juicy goat and then stuff our faces with the result. For the less experienced amongst us (That’ll be me) it was fairly challenging to avoid having meat juice running down the arms and dropping bits of food between the platter and the mouth. It was fantastic fun and scrumptiously delicious eating! The girls, who had been seated at their very own grubby plastic table, shared a dish called “Shiro” which was made from chick peas, chillies, butter and spices on Injera. They had similar fun and excitement and Catt’s arms were in a much better state than mine at the end of it. We each had a Macchiato to celebrate the success of the feast and when the bill came I asked what our share was. It was…. Well… It was about $1.50 for the two of us.
With over full bellies we walked back through the village shouting “Ethiopian” to every kid who pointed and shouted Farenji at us. It was all good sport in that place and everyone seemed friendly and fun loving. We met up with an elderly man called Taha whom Pablo explained was the best and most known fly fishing guide in the whole of Ethiopia. In fact, he had so much praise for the man that I was beginning to think he was the father of all fly fishing in the world! Taha explained that there was a set fee to be paid for a fishing licence. It was about $12, but was valid for three days and because we were with Pablo he would be glad to show us the best spots. So the decision to go fishing in the late afternoon came easy. We walked back up to the camp site and after taking some minutes to recover to normal breathing we grabbed some gear and jumped into Mari’s 80 series Land Cruiser.
Pablo did not have a driver’s licence and Mari was clearly not so keen to drive him to the river. This resulted in an obvious and mutual advantage where I could drive their car and everyone could be where they wanted to be. Their Maggie was much senior to ours by about 5 years, but actually had a little less mileage on. The biggest difference was that her steering wheel was on the wrong side. It took a few minutes to remember which side the gear lever was on. We met Taha in the village and organised a young boy to look after the car while we were fishing. I wasn’t convinced that the extra security was necessary, but the job creation was fairly harmless none the less. Taha guided us through the village and past some small farms to a point where the huge flat grassland disappeared into a crack in the ground. We had arrived at the sacred Trout hiding place and the confluence of the Web and Denka rivers. The canyon was so deep that the sun rarely reached the bottom and the water, although clear seemed almost black and oily from the freezing temperatures it had to endure. The bigger pools measured about 30 meters long and eight meters wide and were connected by fast flowing rapids over tyre sized boulders. It was deadly quiet apart from the sound of running water and the winds were never able to reach us in the narrow canyon. It was idyllically perfect.
I assembled my 4 weight and asked Taha which fly to choose from my limited selection. He pointed at a small nymph which I had acquired in Rhodes in South Africa and I quickly tied it to the line. I was then the first of the party of four fishermen to get my line wet. I stood on a rock a meter or so off the bank and casted away into the inviting waters. I retrieved and casted and retrieved and casted and with every cycle the excitement grew. I knew there was Trout there. I knew that the early evening would bring feeding time and I knew I had the best guide and the right bait. I repeated my process for about 45 minutes before the first fish became interested and tasted the fly. It spat it out before I could strike, but the concept of possibility was proven right there. Taha was fishing the same spot and expertly casted his fly right into the flowing rapid. With my limited experience in river fishing I was glad to have him there and followed his methods meticulously. He recommended that we move upstream after about an hour without landing a catch.
He pointed to a small cliff about a five minute walk away and told me that there was a waterfall. He said I should try there and change flies every 30 casts, so that was exactly what I did. The waterfall pool was round with a 15 meter diameter and a big overhang on one side. I found a rock which gave me a 270 degree casting angle and relentlessly fished on. There was another bite or two, but nothing positive enough to strike or hook. The sun hit the horizon with audible force right then so it was time to leave. I walked down the river to where the others were, disappointed that I did not manage to acquire dinner, but happy with the fantastic fishing experience I had had. Half way to the exit point I saw another small pool and decided to try my luck there for five casts. On the second cast I had a bite, yanked the rod up and hooked it solidly. The pool was only about three meters in diameter and I was jumping from rock to rock to keep the bugger from snagging the line. He was a fearsome warrior and relentlessly swam away from me and breached and jumped and curled his body out of the water. On one of the jumps he came almost a foot out of the water and jerked his head with so much force that my 2lb leader line snapped clean off. We had battled for ten minutes and he won… It was too dark to try again so I had to let him go with a promise to be back.
I found the others at the fist big pool and was told that Taha had managed to catch two Trout and Pablo one. Manu and I had not landed a single one between us, but Taha graciously offered us his catch for dinner, which we gladly accepted. The hike out the steep canyon was incredibly taxing for all of us. We took a while to recover once we reached the car and only once our breathing was normal did we start her up and drive back to the camp site. We arrived half an hour after dark and the ladies in our party were suitably unimpressed. The situation was however quickly rectified by the making of a fire for warmth, a fire for cooking and the promise of delicious fresh mountain Trout and vegetables for dinner.
I had only ever smoked Trout before, so grilling it on coal was a new concept for me. We decided to wrap the biggest of the three fish in tin foil as a safe option and experiment with the other two. It took very little time to cook the smaller fish and after I showed off my skill of getting the flesh of the bones we all had a try. It was mouth watering! A true feeding frenzy erupted where the six of us just could not get the food into our mouths quick enough and there was absolute silence. We polished off the fist helping in no time at all, and by then the bigger fish was also ready. It was nice enough, but not really as fantastic as the ones we grilled on the open coals. We still ate it all without pausing to say a single word and by the end of the meal the consensus was fairly simply described in one three letter word: Wow! I looked over at the table in the wish that there would be a little left over only to realize that we had completely forgotten to open the two bottles of wine Catt and I contributed. The food was simply so delicious that no one was interested in anything else. We still opened the wine of course and sat next to the fire chatting away about life and the universe while consuming it.
The last log went on the fire after 22:00 and by the time the last flames flickered into non existence and the last of the heat evaporated from the heap of ash it was time for bed. We had cleverly remembered to fill out hot water bottle to take the worst of the icy conditions out of our bedding and with the usual mountain of sleeping bags and blankets we settled in for the night. It had been a busy and eventful day and the first day in our Ethiopian adventure where I did not get angry and did not feel ripped off and got exactly what I asked for from every person who I had contact with. It felt blissful.
Day 247:
We had agreed with our guide to leave the camp site at 7:30. The French delegation wanted to drive to the Sanetti Plateau and had a spare seat for the guide and we were allowed to join them, again. The alarm woke us before 7:00 and just as the sun was peering over the horizon. It was freezing cold outside and packing the tent away was no fun chore! Both Catt and I were wearing multiple layers of arctic survival gear and decent gloves but still my fingers got so cold that I had to stop half way through to warm them. None of this mattered that much as I knew that we would possibly achieve three major goals that day: See the rare and endemic Ethiopian wolves, drive the highest all weather road in Africa and drive to the second highest point in Ethiopia, the Tullu Deemtu Peak at 4377m above sea level.
We picked up our guide at the agreed time and set of down the road. It struck me that every major route that we had travelled in Ethiopia had been under construction and this one was no different. We drove large sections of tar and long distances of wide, smooth compacted gravel. We passed detours of bush tracks and rough rocky roads and after about two hours reached the Bale regional capitol of Robe. Mari stopped for fuel while Pablo and our guide dragged me around some spares shops in search of new brake linings. It took little time to establish that we could spend a whole day shopping without success so I explained to them that I had disabled that problem brake and that I could drive it all the way to Addis Ababa provided that I went slowly and used the engine to brake most of the time. The fact that I obviously did not see the problem as urgent and that they were obviously getting hungry satisfied them enough to move on.
Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and foot long baguettes. We had two coffees each, ate to bursting point, fed a local mad person to keep him from bugging us and paid $1.20 per person. It felt almost criminal to be allowed to have that much food for that little money, but I argued that the law of averages was catching up on the times we had been ripped off in the same country. I left the waitress a $1.00 tip and we left happy.
The last town we drove through was Gobe and as soon as we bounced through the last pot hole and left town we started climbing the mountain. I switched the display on the GPS to show our current altitude and my heart sank into my shoes. We were at a shade over 3000 meters. I knew we had about 16km to travel to the highest point and feared that Maggie’s old normally aspirated 4.2l diesel engine would suffocate before we got there. Within a few kilometres we also seemed to be stuck in first gear. The road was good and well travelled, but so steep that any other gear could simply not cut the mustard.
We stopped at a control point where it was blatantly expressed that you were not allowed to continue without a guide and then entered what was obviously the National Park. The road kept climbing and the altimeter read over 4000 meters when we stopped to soak in the view. It was breath taking! It looked like we were on the only high ground for as far as the eye could see and the flat land thousands of meters below looked like what a child would imagine Lapland would look like in summer. It was littered with patchy green and yellow fields of healthy crops and dotted with small round shapes of settlements and huts in the middle of the fields. The horizon was hundreds of miles away, but clearly visible and we could even make out the towns and cities we had driven through to get there. We found a radio antenna and a few solitary pools of the coldest clearest water imaginable right where we though the top of the mountain should have been. We were still a thousand meters lower than the peak though.
I opened the car window to get a better view of the water and closed it faster than you could imagine. It was, if it could be possible, colder there at mid morning than the coldest part of the night where we had camped. The wind was blowing lightly but if felt like it was coming straight from an arctic freezer. We spotted some Wattle Cranes and Batteleurs and Peregrine Falcons and suddenly, just like that a movement caught my eye and a dream instantly came true! We saw a pair of Ethiopian Wolves. Our guide had explained to us that they had lost a 100 of those to rabies the year before and that sightings had become a rarity since. He also said that the Wolves were denning down and not venturing out that much and that we would we extremely lucky to spot even one. Even he was frantic with excitement when we spotted them. They were said to be the rarest dog family in the world and before they got hit with the rabies outbreak there were only about 600 left in Ethiopia of which 200 used to live on the Sanetti Plateau. They were small in size and reminded more of a Jackal than a Wolf. In fact, their Amharic name is “Ky Kebero”, which translates to “Red Jackal”. One of the ones we had spotted had just taken a hare for breakfast so we had oodles of time to watch it feed and trot proudly around the escarpment. It was a rare treat for us to be so close to a species of mammal that was so near extinction and we stayed with them until they had finished their food and moved on. So did we.
We crested the highest part of the pass at a shade of 4 200 meters above sea level. At this stage vehicles and humans alike were fighting hard for oxygen and poor Maggie’s engine sounded pretty rough to say the least. She had also developed a ridiculously bad smoking habit which was not helped by the dirty fuel we bought in Sashamene the week before. Every time I got slightly worried about our collective condition I drove close to Mari’s vehicle to find that it had exactly the same symptoms. That made me feel a little better. We were however passed by a couple of brand new 200 series Cruisers with a bunch of Russian tourists in. They did not seem to suffer from the altitude and were flying over that hill. They stopped in a cloud of dust and asked if we had seen some wolves. Our guide calmly explained to their guide, who was from Addis Ababa and not local, that when you are patient and drive slowly your chances increased. He also explained where we had seen the wolves. That resulted in an almost wheel spinning start, a massive roar of big V8 engines and a huge cloud of dust as they raced of to the spot we had been. Some people would never understand…
We left the main track in the middle of the plateau and started heading up another steep slope. We were predictably stuck in 1st gear once again and at some point Mari decided to stop to take a photo of some rare Lobelia plants on the slopes. That seemed like an innocent enough idea, but at that altitude and at that angle both of us had to work very hard to pull away. Some serious clutch control later we were off again and climbing steadily until we reached a radio mast and radar station right at the top of the hill. We had arrived at Tullu Deemtu Peak and the altimeter read 4 377 meters above sea level. (That’s 14 379 ft) It was higher than the summit of Mt Elgon in Kenya and the highest place in Africa you could actually drive to. I was amazed that we made it and turned the engine off with some scepticism about being able to ever start it again.
The landscape was unbelievable! The only other time in my life I had ever seen anything like that was on the summit of Mt Kilimanjaro some months before. We were the highest thing around for as far as the eye could see. It was freezing cold and the sun was so bright that all of us squinted despite our sunglasses. There was ridiculously little vegetation and one could easily understand how the locals called it a moon landscape. You could spin around on one spot and have a 360 degree panoramic view of the plateau and the mountain peaks in the far distance. You could see all the way down to the camp we had stayed at the previous evening and when looking up into the sky it was as if you could see the end of the universe. It was a barren, dry, colourless, hostile, awe inspiring, beautiful place. We spent an hour walking around speechless and had some fun taking photos of the strange looking plant life and the far away horizons before heading back to the vehicles. It took some effort to get Maggie started again, but at least the way down was easier on the engine than the way up.
The French delegation had convinced the guide to take us down the other side of the plateau to an ancient forest called Harenna. That was said to be a primal forest and home to some Bush Pigs, Giant Forest Hogs, the endemic Menelik’s Bushbuck as well as Lions and even Wild Dogs. The forest itself had never changed since time begun and had lain undisturbed at the southern end of the Bale Mountain National Park. The road took us… well… down really. It was as if we were dropping of the face of the planet and with our brake situation I got stuck in first gear once again to maintain a non life threatening speed. We passed some village with the standard begging children and pretty huts from grass and reeds and turned off the main road amongst some bizarrely shaped trees of a much younger forest. We parked at a camp site which was inhabited by a large group of locals and had a bite to eat before debating the time scale we were working on. It was 14:00 and I simply could not believe that we would be able to walk around for an hour and still make our camp site before dark. The guide totally agreed with me and made no secret of his opinion that it was no clever to drive after dark. He explained that Ethiopians believed that turning your headlights on consumed more fuel, so they usually just drove without them. With me not wanting to break rule no 1 again I voted against the walk as did the majority of the others. It was a beautiful place and it was shame that we did not have the time, but sensibly we took some photos of the pretty cliffs and trees from where we were parked and started the journey back up the mountain. The altimeter read 2 300 meters where we were and I knew what lay ahead…
Mari asked me to lead the pack with our slightly heavier vehicle to ensure that we were not left behind. For the following half an hour I had the gear stick firmly in first gear and my foot flat against the floor trapping the accelerator in the maximum power position. I could not help but think back at the signpost at the bottom of the Carlylehoek Pass close to Rhodes in South Africa: “Engage lowest gear, keep revs up, take corners wide and drive confidently” It was good advice then and I employed the same technique on the climb to the high altitude of the Sanetti Plateau. At the top the sun was behind us and lighting the environment beautifully. The sentinel like and endemic Kniphofia Foliosa, a member of the red-hot poker family plants dotted the horizons like soldiers on their way to battle. They were not in flower which made the colour fairly dull. That in turn fitted in perfectly with the steel grey shrubs that managed to withstand the harsh winds and sub zero temperatures. We did not spot any more wolves along our way, although we did caught a quick and rare glimpse of a bush pig as we started our descent towards the entrance gate. The valleys below were bathed in perfect late afternoon sunshine. The wind blew some dust of the plains which made it a little hazy, but in turn filtered the sun to a deep scarlet red above the far away end of the earth. I could have stayed there forever but also recognised that we probably would have froze to death if we did!
We passed back through the towns and cities we had braved earlier in the day and it became a race against the setting sun to get back to camp. Driving with some care not to use the brakes unnecessarily we made it though. The GPS announced sunset as we stopped by the showers at the Dinsho Lodge, less than 100 meters from our camp site. Our guide had assured us that the showers were not only for the use of the campers, but it also boasted hot water. It had been a long, tiring and dusty day so a hot shower sounded fantastic! I found a member of staff and had the following conversation:
Me: Is this where the showers are?
Man: Yes.
Me: Are they available?
Man: Yes:
Me: Are they working?
Man: Yes.
Me: Is the water hot?
Man: Yes.
So I opened the tap and did not manage water temperature above zero. I walked back to the man and said: Perhaps I am doing something wrong because I am not able to get hot water from the taps.
Man: No lights… No Power…
I was obviously not asking the right questions as I did not ask if the water was hot right at that moment.
We stopped on the hill with the fabulous view and pitched our tent in the last bit of light. We managed to make a small fire for heat and between us and our new friends we pooled food recourses and came up with yet another fantastic culinary pasta feast! By the time we had completed that and drank a hot cup of tea it was pitch black and bitterly cold. There were more stars around than I could ever remember seeing and the only sounds were the distant laughing of Hyena and the far away barking of the village dogs. Pablo invited me fishing the next morning so going to bed early after such an unbelievably rewarding day was definitely on the cards.
Day 248:
The alarm woke me before the sun had a chance to peek into the far away skyline. The birds were still asleep, but the nearby Muslim priest was broadcasting his Call to Prayer at top volume. The only thought that was strong enough to coach me out from underneath the mountain of warm and comfortable bedding was the promise of catching my very own wild mountain Trout. I had prepared everything the night before and simply got up, got dressed, poured some coffee and started the process of getting Mari’s Land Cruiser started. It also did not like the altitude and it definitely was not a fan of the cold!
I did manage on the third try and with the engine warming up Pablo appeared and we set off down the mountain. We picked up Taha and another young boy as car guard in the village and drove on past the last houses and through the grassy fields with the horses on. We stopped at the edge of the deep and steep canyon at the exact moment that the sun broke free, but there was no heat in it. It was still bitterly cold! I was however well prepared with enough layers of warm enough things and a pair of fleece gloves to keep my hands from getting frost byte. We walked down into the valley, assembled our gear and once again I was the first eager beaver to start the process. I was casting away in the big pool by the confluence while the old and wise Taha stood watching me with his hands in his pockets and his scarf pulled over his nose. Right then I envied the time and patience that he obviously possessed but at the same time I was possessed by a desperate need to succeed in my quest. After every tenth cast I let the fly soak for long enough to warm my fingers inside my pants. It was, as can be imagined, slightly uncomfortable, but better than loosing digits to frost byte.
The gloves helped incredibly much, but obviously got soaked with the icy water, which did not contribute to healthy circulation. After one hand warming session I tried to cast but the line wouldn’t slide though the eyes n the rod. When I had a closer look I saw that it was frozen to the metal rings. In fact, ice had formed around the metal until it managed to close the loops and only then did the line freeze to that. A vigorous shaking manoeuvre sorted that out but from then the ice started forming on my gloved finger as I was retrieving the line after every cast. I had a good look at the water and even noticed bits of ice floating past me. The sun had been up for at least an hour but it was nowhere near reaching the bottom of the narrow and deep canyon where I was. Taha was still watching me, smiling at my idiotic determination I suspected. He suggested that we return to the waterfall and work our way back to the exit point and as my hands were in desperate need of warming up I agreed.
At the waterfall pool I took position on the rock I found the previous day and started the task of casting once again. I had learnt the exact distance from where I was to the place where the water flowed out of the pool and I was concentrating my efforts on that. I changed flies a few times and even gladly accepted an unfamiliar fly from my friendly guide. He had started casting by that time and between us we were covering the pool in every direction. The sun was getting closer and I was getting very excited about feeling those first warm rays and while I was daydreaming I felt a sudden jolt and instinctively yanked the tip of the rod into the air.
I had hooked my second trout and it was a solid and secure contact. All the cold and icy fingers and the absence of warm sunny rays disappeared and pure concentration took over. I left my perch and made my way to a shallow bank of rocks where I could easily land my quarry. The fish however had other ideas! It was fighting and jumping and swimming away as hard as it could. I gave it lots of space and lots of line, never allowing any slack from my side and played and fought it for as long as it wanted to. It was incredible! I could not believe the strength of that one fish and it took an insane 35 minutes to land it. Taha was audibly impressed and congratulated me on the expert way at which I handled the fish and the great patience that I showed to land it. I was pretty sure he would have said the same to any client. As I unhooked my catch and placed it in a natural keep he mentioned something about calling Pablo closer to fish the same pond and disappeared. I washed my hands in the freezing water and stood there with numb fingers down my shorts waiting for feeling to return to them.
As soon as the feeling returned I decided to cast away while waiting for the others and found my perch for the third time. I casted to the same spot and was looking down the valley to see where my companions were. On the third pull of my retrieve I hooked another fish. I could not believe it! This one was slightly smaller than the first, but had the same fighting spirit and offered the same challenging enjoyment to the fisherman. It took another 30 minutes of strategic play to land that one, but I enjoyed every millisecond! By the time Taha returned I had the second fish in the keep and said nothing. He suggested that we move downstream of the exit point where Pablo had found a great spot and it was only when he picked up his rod that he saw the second fish. If the man did not have ears his smile would have reached right around his face! He seemed like a proud father, or teacher and I was more than happy to play the role of the student, or son.
We found Pablo ten minutes later and the pool he was fishing seemed absolutely perfect! It was in between two fast flowing rapids with a clear inlet and outlet. I could see a few Trout swimming near the inlet and even saw one jump out the water by the time I had taken my preferred position. By this time the sun had actually managed to reach us and the process of fawning out had begun. The warm rays were fantastically welcoming and after as little as ten minutes I could even remove my wool hat and my ski jacket. I casted a few times and had a single, tentative bite, but the time to leave snuck up on us once again. The walk out the valley was no less tiring than the day before, but at least the drive back to camp was in the light and once we reached the hill it was comfortably warm in the sun. Catt had spent the morning the Mari while the other two had gone hiking. She was suitably impressed to have another meal of fresh grilled Trout to look forward to as well, so I made a fire and started the process. It was even more delicious that the previous time! Perhaps the fact that it was my own catch had something to do with it, but we feasted until the last scrap was off the last little fish bone before surrendering.
It was past mid day when we decided to enquire about those hot showers again. Taha’s wife, a fine and beautiful lady called Sophia came to our camp to chat to Mari. We asked her about the state of affairs and she in turn used the ancient art of shouting at someone at the bottom of the hill to find the latest news. It was confirmed! There was electricity and the showers were hot! So Catt and I gathered our things and marched the hundred meters or so down the steep and slippery slope and entered the shower room. I was very positive about things as I could clearly see that the little red light on the bottom of the boiler was illuminated. I stripped down and opened the hot tap and… nothing… not a single drop of water came out. I tried the other tap thinking that perhaps they had swapped them over, but that offered no moisture either. So I got dressed again and walked to the lodge and found the manager. I told her that the showers had no water and asked if perhaps there was a tap or a valve or something that I missed. She walked back to the showers with me without a word, went inside and turned the electricity off... Oh well, we obviously did not ask the right questions again. There was no water. We marched back up the hill and reported our findings and started to pack up to leave.
Sophia had other plans. She had painstakingly carried her coffee ceremony goodies up to the top of the hill to entertain us with her skill. We sat down in a circle around her and watched the process start. It was so incredibly natural, unexpected and impressive that we simply had to stay until the end. She used a small charcoal fire in a clay stand to roast the raw coffee beans. Once that was done she poured them into a mortar and added some incredibly nice incense to the coals. She waited for the beans to cool before crushing them into a fine powder while the water was heating up. She offered me the mortar after every action to take in the awesome aroma and relished in the fact that I enjoyed it so incredibly much. She took her time and expertly prepared the finest coffee I had ever tasted right there on the mountain. I had heard about these ceremonies and read about the etiquette of them before but never actually expected to become part of one in such a spontaneous way. I had seen the tools of the trade in lodges and hotels but bluntly refused to pay the Farenji prices for the false friendships and to join the parties. Our private and utterly spontaneous ceremony lasted for two and a half hours and I loved every second of it.
It was approaching mid afternoon by the time we managed to tear ourselves away from the fantastic place we had made home over the previous three nights. We bounced down the track and spilled onto the road through the village, waving and smiling at the inhabitants we had come to recognise. It was almost sad to leave, but it was time to move on. The rough gravel next to the newly prepared surface waiting tarring was not a great joy to drive on, but there was only one way to get through it. We persevered for an hour or two, checking the tyres in every village until our slight paranoia yielded a result. We had another puncture! The rubber was flat on the ground and I did not really see a way to do a quick field repair. We opened the back and got out the jack and started the dirty process of changing wheels.
Within three minutes we were surrounded by locals. There were about four or five men who really wanted to help and it took all my patience and calm explanation in a language they could not understand to keep them from snatching the wheel spanner from my hands. I kept on shaking my head and saying “no thanks” and graciously refused any help of any sort. It took less than ten minutes to complete the change and while I started to pack things away I asked Catt to start the car. As the engine roared into life the first man started asking me for money. I tried to explain that I did not ask for help, I did not accept help and therefore I should not have to pay a penny. That did not go down well at all and the basterd even got aggressive to the point of pushing me. I found that quite brave as I was the one with the wheel spanner in hand. I took an aggressive stance and stared hi right in the eye. My next reaction was one of the very few phrases I had learnt in Amharic: “yeullem” meaning “Not available”. I repeated this as I elbowed my away through the mob who had gathered by that time, increasing the volume and return aggression with every word. I managed to get to the driver seat, engaged gear and drove off argy and disappointed! In every country we had travelled we had helped at least one local person out of severe trouble without ever asking any compensation for our trouble. We had gladly accepted help from locals when we needed it and were never asked for money for a simple favour. These idiotic parasites (Only just description I can think of) could not even watch me and Catt change a tyre without demanding payment for the pleasure and that was after we were charged top dollar to visit their traditional villages. There was something seriously wrong with the Ethiopian society and after three days of bliss I hated returning to the reality of the shitty country!
We found the brand new tar before my boiling blood had time to cool and I drove as fast as Maggie would let me to try and burn the last of the dirty fuel we had acquired at another fine example of Ethiopian honour. We reached Sashamene an hour before dark and decided to push on to a camp site that had been recommended to us by the crazy Irish we had met in Nairobi a month or so before. The name was Karkaro Beach Campsite and it lay on the shores of the expensive and exclusive Lake Langanu. The way the Irish had explained it we were really looking forward to a day or two of relaxing on a sandy beach next to a beautiful lake in total isolation. We arrived ten minutes before the sun was down and were greeted by Jazzy, the Canadian/Ethiopian lady who co-owned the restaurant and troop of six dogs with her Canadian husband. They were welcoming, friendly and accommodating and I could see why the Irish liked it there.
We were pointed to the camp site and explained where the basic and cold water shower was. We had not had a shower in three days, so even that was a mad luxury! The track to the camp site required some more fancy footwork as it was steep and slippery and we had not managed to fix our brakes yet. We found a level spot on a piece of lawn, pitched the tent, inspected the long drop but very clean toilets and headed to the shower. The water was freezing and the room filthy! It was however falling on us at a decent rate and we did manage to get the dust and grime off us. I actually caught myself thinking that it was a perfect way to save water as no one in his right mind would ever spend a single second longer than absolutely necessary with the taps open.
With clean bodies and clothes we marched back up to the restaurant for dinner. We both would have preferred to cook for ourselves that night but bizarrely we had not seen any vegetables for sale since entering Ethiopia. We had seen many fields of many crops, but not a single stall by the roadside. The restaurant had no menu and Jazzy simply gave us a choice between fish with rice or cheeseburgers. That was not a difficult decision and when the burgers arrived we were well impressed! You could clearly see the Canadian influence in the massive pure beef burgers and the French bread it was balanced on. It was delicious! Before marching back down the hill to take our place in our comfortable and slightly warmer tent we drowned a couple of drinks each and paid the bill with a smile. It was expensive for Ethiopia, but it was only about $8 I caught myself thinking….
Day 249:
We did not get up early! In fact, we waited for the sun to heat the tent up so much that we became uncomfortable inside before we braved the outside world. It was a fantastic night’s rest and the only sound I could remember hearing was the gentle lapping of the lake’s water on the shore nearby. We got up and made coffee and started considering our options. We needed desperately to have the brakes fixed and found one or two other fun issues with Maggie, including the fact that we had used both our spare tyres and had not fixed any of the leaking ones. We decided to move on… Two guys came by to collect the camping fee for the night and charged us a whopping $6.50 for the night. Again, cheap in the world, but extortionist for Ethiopia where you can easily get a room in a Pension for five times less. I did not want to say it, but I could not help thinking… Oh well. It’s only… the national saying of Ethiopia. I started suspecting that all Ethiopians who had anything to do with tourists were convinced that us Farenji were idiots who never bothered to find out what the going rate for things in their country was.
Mari had referred us to her trusty mechanic of 17 years in Addis Ababa and borrowing Jazzy’s phone we established the area where he was situated. We hit the road by mid morning and loved every kilometre of smooth new tar. We stopped in a sizeable town to try and buy a sim card, but failed miserably, so moved on to the town bordering Addis for a spot of lunch. We selected a biggish hotel and checked their menu carefully for inflated travesties. There were none so we ordered our usual traditional meals of Tips and Shiro, had coffee and paid the $5 total bill, including a compulsory 10% tip with warm and happy hearts. The onslaught of Africa city traffic stared us right in the face from there on.
It was after 15:00 by the time we reached the city centre and I could not believe what we were experiencing! There was hardly any traffic at all and the road users whom we were sharing the lanes with almost seemed friendly and courteous. It was very unexpected and I did not trust the calmness for one second even though we made it to the biggest Toyota dealer quicker than the GPS predicted. We got a quote for the brakes and left in search of Giorgio the friendly Italian mechanic we had been referred to. The problem was that we did not have any means of communication and he was not on a named street we could find. To top that it was approaching 16:00 and we were absolutely convinced that we were going to hit rush hour traffic any second. We made a decision to find accommodation instead.
The only place we knew about to camp was called Wim’s Holland House which was close to the main train station. It had received a pretty terrible review on one of the forums we had been reading, but it was very close to the area we needed to be in and we decided to brave it as it would only be for one night. The GPS maps showed a road that did not exist any longer, but we found it without much trouble. We were met by Wim’s wife and showed a parking spot inside a yard with high fences and a security guard. At first I was not impressed! It reminded of a mechanic’s back yard and came complete with vehicle inspection pit we had to navigate around. There was one other vehicle there, but we could not see the inhabitants at all. It was clearly the back yard of the house Wim and his wife lived in and they even had an office on one side. I kept on thinking that it was only for one night and it was terribly convenient.
Rachel, Wim’s wife was clearly in charge! She met us after a few minutes and marched us over the road to another house to introduce us to a group of travellers. That was the place that I had seen on the website and reminded of an old house with tin roof and small un-kept garden. It was charming though and packed to the rafters with vehicles, so I understood why we were banished to their own back yard. She showed us the restaurant and bar and then I was impressed! It was sizeable yet cosy with a really nice atmosphere and very friendly staff. We sat down immediately and ordered half litre draught beers for less than $1 a pop. We had managed to buy a shopping bag of tomatoes and some onions from the road side before the city, but decided to eat in the restaurant anyway. We ordered some traditional food for very little money and feasted until we came close to bursting point once again. We met the group of other travellers that evening and had one of those interesting and fun evenings swopping stories and information about the places we had been.
Their group consisted of 4 vehicles: Two Land Rovers from Sweden and one from the UK rented by a former military man called Kev. The fourth was a very shiny fairly new 110 series Land Cruiser owned by Rob, a yacht designer from Ireland. They had all met up in Egypt and had been travelling together ever since. It was a large group consisting of 8 adults and four children under the age of five. They were also contemplating the Turkana route we had completed the week before but were warned about security issues. I had to giggle about the inaccuracies of the grapevine information. Our chat to Charles, the police chief in Illiret gave us current and accurate information about that and we assured them that there were no issues on the roads that we had travelled. We promised to make an effort to give them detailed information the next day and snuck of to bed a shade before midnight.
Day 250:
The night was a lot colder than we had expected! Addis Ababa was about 2 300 meters above sea level and it was winter. We definitely needed an extra blanket which we were both too lazy to get through the night. We had a fine rest none the less and got up before 8:00. Our mission was to get hold of a local sim card and then find Giorgio. It was rumoured that in Ethiopia it was impossible for a foreigner to buy a sim card and this was confirmed by Rachel who offered to send one of her staff with us to do the paperwork. Wim however assured us that we would be able to acquire a legal card from the Hilton Hotel, so we ventured that way.
The guard at the gate looked at us and Maggie in her very dusty and dirty state right down his nose and asked to search the vehicle while rudely yanking at the door handle to the back seat. I smiled and told him to calm down and slow down. The doors were locked and I was not about to unlock them for that monkey. I opened a window so he could see and when he was faced with the packing system full of our belongings he simply gave up and waved us through. We walked through some serious airport style metal detectors to gain access to the hotel and found the information centre. It was fairly straight forward to buy a sim. We needed a copy of a passport and two photos, about $5 and three minutes of time. We even managed to change some currency at a very reasonable rate and phoned Giorgio from the car park within 15 minutes of arriving. His workshop was only five minutes away so even that was completely effortless.
Giorgio was the perfect picture of old school Italian motor mechanic. He was about five foot tall, a little plumb and probably about fifty years old. In the same sentence as saying “Bonjourno” he informed us that our rear shock absorbers were dead and that we had bad fuel in the tank. I said hallo and confirmed his instant diagnosis with a nod. The inspection of all things to do with Maggie took about half an hour and showed a few very troubling things: We knew about the brakes and that was easy to fix. I suspected the shocks were dead and they were also easy to get hold of and replace. I had seen a leak on the power steering pump which went on the list, but most worrying of all was the fact that the body panel of one side of the nose was cracking because of the weight and bad installation of the second battery holder. Turkana had taken its toll! I explained the tyre issues as well and Giorgio made his list. We had two flat tyres, one leaking rim and four wheels that were in serious need of balancing. He seemed unperturbed by it all and simply nodded with his understanding and assured us that it was all things he would be able to sort out. We made an appointment for the next day as you could not hurray an Italian mechanic and left impressed and confident that he was the right man for the job.
That left us in idle mode with very little to do for the day and it was before mid morning, so we decided to take Maggie for a wash. Giorgio had recommended a place near by and for less than $10 we had the engine, chassis and body washed to a perfect shine. I was impressed! The process took almost an hour, but the man doing the work took obvious pride in what he was doing. That also gave us time to admire the ancient Fiat 127 hatch back that had been totally restored to its original condition. The owner was nearby and very proud and totally impressed that I liked his car.
We made it back to Wim’s before lunch and feasted on our newly acquired tomatoes, the last of our Kenya cheese and some crackers. It was nice to eat something so simple and relatively healthy for a change. We decided to brave the reported cold showers which usually ran out of water when you had shampoo in your hair. What we found was the total opposite and was an unbelievably pleasant surprise. The water was piping hot! The geyser was full and the temperature indicator on the outside showed maximum. We had the best shower of Ethiopia in the one place we had expected not to shower at all. We immediately decided that the reports we had red were totally unjust and a little unfair. It was no where near the awesome standard of Jungle Junction, but then again, the place set a great example of what things could be like in Ethiopia.
We spent the afternoon in the bar chatting to our fellow travellers and working on the thousands of photographs we had taken in the week or two before. It seemed an impossible task to edit them, so I simply made a wide selection and gave up on anything more complicated. We were planning on eating elsewhere that evening. Wim’s restaurant was nice, but it definitely charged a premium for the pleasure. However, we predictably got stuck at a table with the others and even met up with Charlie. He had been cycling the world for nine years and we met him first in Nairobi. Afternoon became evening before we could make any plans. We decided to treat ourselves to Pizza that evening and it was worth every single Birr. It was fantastic! After dinner we got a little stuck drinking fine single malt with Rob the Irish man and by the time we staggered across the road to our tent it felt like we had made a bunch of new friends. We were still sober enough to remember an extra blanket and fell sound asleep in no time at all.
Day 251:
It was car fixing day and we set an alarm for 7:30. We had agreed to be at Giorgio’s by 8:30 and I was a little scared of the early morning rush hour. We went to say good bye to our new friends, wished them safe and happy travels, paid our bill without getting a shock or feeling ripped off, which was rare, and set off at 8:00. We stopped in front of Giorgio’s grey gate at 8:15. I could not believe it! Addis Ababa seemed to have no traffic at all!
Giorgio immediately set two mechanics onto the task of brake disassembly and inspection. The front pads were found to be in perfect condition. The one rear brake that I had inspected was completely worn out due to a spring that had dropped out because of the rough roads we had been travelling. I knew all that and was not surprised. The opposite rear brake was however also in perfect condition, which made me feel a little better about the work we had done in the great metropolis of Springbok in South Africa in the first week of our adventure. What we did however find was that the hand brake cables inside the drums were hanging on to a single thread and were going to fail any day. We inspected the rear shocks and there was absolutely no doubt at all that they had zero effectively left. So Giorgio and I set of in search of parts. We took the drums to an engineering firm to be skimmed, the brake pads to a specialist to have new linings put on and we found some Toyota heavy duty shock absorbers in a dealership.
Back at the workshop the mechanic fitted the new shocks and spent half an hour under the car tightening every bolt he could see. We had to wait until 15:00 for get the brake parts back, so spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in idle mode. Giorgio’s son arrived with the parts and told us that he had to order the hand brake cables, but the rest was done and could be fitted. He also took me to a tyre place to see about fixing rubber and changing rims. By 16:30 we were ready to hit the road. It had been a very successful and productive car fixing day, but we obviously needed another.
We knew Mari and her family were due back in Addis in the early evening and she kindly invited us to stay at their house, so we headed that way in what was supposed to be rush hour traffic. The 20km amazingly only took us half an hour to drive. I was still finding it very hard to believe that a capitol city in Africa could have so little traffic, despite the fact that both Giorgio and his son was complaining about the amount of cars on the roads.
Mari’s house was a modest family home right on the edge of the city. Half the house was built from mud and plastered over and the rest from brick and concrete. Her one boundary bordered a forest full of wildlife and the other three were bordered by neighbours with similar houses. Her three Ethiopian dogs were fantastically friendly and cuddly and insistent on attention as only family dogs could be and her friendly security guard introduced himself, told us that he had expecting us and gave us access to the house. We immediately abused the modern and hot shower and by the time the family arrived we had settled into some serious R&R in a room they refer to as the Somalia room. It had a big TV in one corner with a low coffee table in the middle. The floor was covered in cushions and traditional tribal seating implements. It was fantastically African and we loved spending the bulk of the evening there. Poor Mari told us that she had been driving none stop for three days and she was so shattered that she went to bed before 8:30. Catt and I on the other hand had a simple dinner we whipped up in five minutes and retired to a hotel sized suite which Pablo kindly vacated for us. We even managed to watch a movie on the computer before falling asleep feeling kind of normal. It was amazing how quickly we managed to adapt to life within four solid walls.
Day 252:
It was day two of operation car fixing and I hit the road towards Giorgio at 8:00. The morning traffic was much heavier than the day before but it still only took me 40 minutes to complete the 20km journey. Giorgio was waiting for me when I arrived and the mechanics sprang into action without delay. We stripped out as much as necessary from under the bonnet and found the root of the evil nose braking problem. The main battery mount had cracked and crumbled completely and offered absolutely no support at all. The panel beater that worked for Giorgio did not even really looked surprised and simply got stuck into fixing and welding the problem without delay. By 10:00 he proudly announced “Baka” (Done) and invited me to inspect his handiwork before applying a coat of paint. I was impressed once again! I did not know much about welding and brazing but what he did seemed ten times stronger than the original bodywork. I felt confident that the problem was solved once and for all and gave my seal of approval to the man who did the difficult work. They quickly and expertly painted over the mended parts to keep the rust away.
The bits we had stripped to get to the cracks were put back together in no time at all and by the time that was done the hand brake cables had arrived. With the help of a huge trolley jack we lifted the rear of the car and installed the cables. That all brought us to the mechanic’s lunch break, so I suggested that I go off to tend to the tyre issues. There was a place nearby and in the none traffic it took me about five minutes to get there.
The guys there were super efficient! They had a price for everything and charged balancing fees by the gram of lead used. They balanced five wheels, fixed one puncture and supplied me with a suitable sized inner tube as backup. The total cost was 550 Birr ($33) and took half an hour. I had time to fill the fuel tank before heading back to the workshop to have the last little issue looked at: The leaking power steering pump. When I got back Giorgio was manically busy trying to meet the deadlines of his many clients. It was obvious that he was a very well known, successful and popular mechanic. We drove Maggie over the inspection pit and found the problem straight away: There was a tiny leak in a seal which was only a problem when the wheels were turned to full lock. Giorgio made a phone call or two and told me that we needed to order the part, so the work had to wait for another day. I was satisfied and made an appointment for the next week when we were passing through Addis Ababa anyway.
The total cost breakdown looked like this:
Two new Shock Absorbers: 1 360 Birr
Skimming of two drums: 200 Birr
Lining of four brake shoes: 265 Birr
Drum Brake Seal Kit: 245 Birr
Hand Brake Cables: 730 Birr
Total labour including welding and painting: 900 Birr.
That came to 3 700 Birr or about $225.
Catt had spent the day with our fantastic classy French lady host and dually informed me that I had to meet them at a restaurant/coffee shop for 4 O’clock drinky poos and Nutella Crepes. She had managed to abuse Mari’s washing machine which took the whole day and was in serious need of pampering… Apparently. The place was, predictably, very arty and very French and the food and drinks were, equally predictably, absolutely fantastic! On the way back to the house Mari introduced us to her secret Green Grocer. It was the first time we had seen a wide selection of fruit and vegetables since crossing the border from Kenya, but even a major shop in the capitol had no where near the quality or variety of produce of the standard Kenya street market. We did manage to stock up on some stuff and to be honest, the price was so little that they almost could have given it away. Our bag of goodies cost just less than $1. We also bought two bottles of local wine and had to pay about $1 a piece for the deposit on the glass bottles, which was quite strange, but apparently the norm in those parts.
The delegation had to tend to their busy social lives while Catt and I were allowed to hang out at the house by ourselves. We cooked some dinner in the typically French kitchen and sipped away on our wine, not forgetting to keep the bottle safe. It was another cold night in the high altitude city so we decided to seek warmth in the comforts of the big double bed fairly early. The day had been deemed productive and successful yet again and we were almost ready to continue our adventure.
If I had to do it all again:
The Bale Mountains and the region around it was as I dreamed Ethiopia would be. The people were friendly, the landscape invitingly awesome and the activities rewarding. Everything we did there was absolutely fantastic!
Lake Langanu was just that: Another lake. I could see that for travellers coming from the north the place would hold some spectacular refreshment from sand wind and dust, but honestly, East Africa offers many more and much more spectacular places by the water without ripping you off. I started despising the concept of paying more simply because of the colour of my skin and Langanu was a fine example of that kind of racism. It was a good place to stop over for us, but perhaps we should have braved another cold night in the mountains, left early the next day and skipped that place all together.
Despite the bad reports we had read, Wim’s Holland House was perfectly located, friendly and efficient when we were there. Once again I think people travelling in the opposite direction would experience it differently as they would not have been used to the power and water cuts of normal daily African life. The place was quite expensive for Ethiopia, but the quality of food and drinks and the restaurant and even camp site and facilities were of a much higher standard. It was dirt cheap compared to the other countries we had visited.
Car issues will always creep up on a journey like this and I believe that we have completed the worse roads and the vehicle wrecking corrugations. Maggie is 14 years old as well, so things wearing out or breaking is part of the game. We have calculated that our maintenance have totalled about $0.05 per kilometre so far which we find fairly acceptable in the bigger scheme of things. I was very happy to meet the fabulous Mari and her family and to be introduced to Giorgio the fanatical Italian mechanic. Rob from Ireland was charged 5 700 Birr ($345) for an oil change on his Cruiser by another workshop, so we definitely found the right person.
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