Ibn Ibn Battuta

Mulling It Over or: I Lost My Passport in Kombolcha

Soon after our return to Addis Ababa and our subsequent decision to return to the US, I dug around for my passport so we could head to the airline offices. Not in that pocket, nor in that pouch, nor in that bag. Hmmm...

The passport, it turned out, was in a hotel room back in Kombolcha, a long day's drive northeast of Addis. The hotel promised to hand it off to a driver who was heading this way, and told me to sit tight.

So I sat. I sat for a whole day in the lobby of our hostel on Mundy Street.

The wait - in a country with such abysmal internet connections - finally provided

A Great East African Odyssey, Abbreviated

From Lalibela we drove a day to the town of Kombolcha, from where it took the better part of another full day to reach Addis Ababa. Our northern road trip was over, and it was time for Jacqueline and I to decide on our next move.

The plan, of course, was to continue south overland, to Kenya and beyond. But since our arrival in Ethiopia, Jacqueline's desire to travel had been rapidly waning, due to a perfect storm of factors.

First, Ethiopia had racked up quite a few strikes in her book: the fleas, the higher-than-expected costs, the unfamiliar and unvarying food, the shoddy hotels, and the long rides on rough roads.

An Ill-Fated Walk in the Simien Mountains, Part III

The next day we woke early and broke camp to begin the 20 km (12.4 mile) long hike to the village of Geech. On this day, the muleteer obligingly strapped my backpack to the top of the mule, significantly lightening my load.

As we progressed deeper into the park, the views grew even more stunning, and the wildlife more plentiful. We saw a pair of klipspringer in a wooded thicket, passed springs and waterfalls, and by the time we stopped for lunch on the bank of a small river, had seen so many gelada baboons that we no longer bothered to turn our heads to watch them.

But all was not well in paradise.

An Ill-Fated Walk in the Simien Mountains, Part II

The ridiculous packing process was soon bested by a yet more absurd scene: the two clients carrying bags (Jacqueline had our daypack with lunch and water, and I my trekking backpack) and traipsing off down the road, accompanied by a small army of locals who, despite ostensibly being there to help us, walked empty-handed.

We soon turned off the road, following a path along a massive vertical escarpment.

For the next several hours, the sheer dropoff loomed to our left. Behind it, a dramatic view of the mountains floated in the midday haze.

An Ill-Fated Walk in the Simien Mountains, Part I

Gondar, the northern town that was Ethiopia's capital in medieval times, still boasts a series of imperial castles that look like they were lifted straight out of old Europe. But Jacqueline and I weren't here for sightseeing - Gondar was our jumping off point for a multi-day hike in the Simien Mountains, several hours' drive north along a rough gravel road.

Along that route, we passed the village of Wolleka - the former home of Ethiopia's once sizeable Jewish community (known as the Falasha) - and then mile after mile of the same Ethiopian farmland that we've been driving through for several days now.

Page Loading... Page Loading...

Remember the dial-up noise computers used to make? Here in Ethiopia, they still do:

"... Connections in Ethiopia are among the worst on the continent. It can easily take an hour to download one simple, two line e-mail. And that's in Addis! To avoid frustration it's better to assume that while in Ethiopia you will not be able to get online." -Lonely Planet: Ethiopia, page 250

Truer words were never spoken. Just wish I'd read them before I arrived!

First Days in Addis: Dealing with Diplomats

 Next time we'll make sure not to visit Addis Ababa during an African Union summit.

Our first three days in Ethiopia's capital have been dominated by the presence of several hundred dipomats and heads of state from around the continent. Roads are blocked, hotels are full, and ATMs are tapped. The upside is increased security: a policeman or soldier with an AK-47 is stationed every 50 feet along each side of every street in the city, ushering along the motorcades and traffic.

Despite the unexpected disruptions posed by the conference (which apparently occurs here three times per year), Jacqueline and I got off to a great start in

Farewell, Fes...

It was supposed to be our final visit to Fes, a city with which I now feel we share a long and tarnished history. In truth, it was no more than half a year, rendered longer by the harsh weather and still harsher social climate (which I've described before - see "Running the Gauntlet: Street Harassment in Fes").

Jacqueline and I visited the few friends we have left in the city, poked aimlessly around the medina for an afternoon, and picked up a few cheap gifts. Long under renovation, the 14th-century Medersa el Attarine (مدرسة العطارين) was newly reopened, so we checked it out, too. Staying with our friends Jon and Jen was, as always, a highlight,

Ramadan Reflections: Diversity in Morocco, and the Myth of the Universal Majority

Catfights aside, I actually tend to enjoy Ramadan. In some years past, whether in Jordan, the US, or Morocco, I've even chosen to fast.

Of course, part of me enjoys the challenge, but the greatest motivation of all is not personal, but social. In any Muslim country, Ramadan presents one of the surest opportunities to get "in" with the locals. Fasting far surpasses the "gesture of solidarity" realm - it's not easy, as Muslims know firsthand. Because they fast out of religious conviction, many show respect for any non-Muslim with the capacity and willpower to partake voluntarily. In this most generous of seasons, that respect translates into a lot

Though the Meter Man Lurks, Lisbon Still Delights

Lisbon map

Why, oh why, did we decide to drive?

I first began to ask myself this question on the highway just outside Lisbon, as we sat in full horizon-to-horizon gridlock, creeping imperceptibly toward the Portuguese capital.

Strangely, when we finally reached the center of the city it looked almost deserted. Late on a Sunday afternoon, most shops were closed and the pedestrians were few.

So too were the parking spaces. Thus, while Jacqueline and I walked around downtown searching for a suitable place to stay, our rental car sat in a garage, racking up a substantial bill. We finally opted to stay in the brand new Shiado Hostel, on

Nor Common Sense, Nor Crowd Control Shall Stay Them

My full-speed-ahead east coast tour last week left me wholly drained, but was well worth the effort. After eight months here in Morocco, it was a treat to spend a week with family and friends.

Only two factors made my brief reintegration to American life difficult. The first was light switches being just inside, not outside, of each room. All week long I consistently found myself walking into dark rooms after having just turned on the light in the hallway behind me. The second, less mundane factor was English – specifically, the fact that everyone was speaking it. Here in Morocco, I have become very accustomed to hearing

A Fruitful Shake of the Trees in Rabat

Morocco map

Apartment hunting makes me miserable under any circumstances, but the process is especially depressing in a rain-soaked North African port in the depths of winter. But Jacqueline was entering the second phase of her research; our move from Fes to Rabat was approaching. So last month Jacqueline managed to drag me through a weekend of scouring the capital for housing.

Until then, I had never struggled to find housing abroad. But in Rabat, there was no language school to help me, and unfortunately no Craig’s List either.