the most wonderful time of the year

it's almost christmas and the pinna hotel across the street draped tinsel all over their flowering trees and set up a cardboard nativity on the sidewalk. they even erected a christmas tree in their restaurant where people sit and sip fresh fruit juices with lime and where the mosquitos feast on us when we decide to eat our injera and shiro outside. every day is flip-flop weather, people sell pineapples, mangoes, bananas and papayas on the street, and colobus monkeys eye our lunch and occasionally make a grab for it. it's much too warm for a log fire and instead of wassail we're drinking macciatos and eating homemade trailmix instead of sugar cookies.

this is definitely the most unique christmas i've ever experienced. even though ethiopia follows its own calendar, and christmas isn't until january 7, i still doubt that even then there will be mobs of shoppers or stand-in santas on street corners or carols on the radio.

we just finished a seven-day trek from dodola to adaba through the western corner of the bale mountains in southeast ethiopia. we stayed at a different "public use hut" every night--beautiful, amazing, fully equipped cabins with dishes, pots and pans, kerosene cookstoves, a table and chairs, and bunk beds that the hutkeepers would make up with piles of warm blankets and sleeping bags for the chilly mountain nights. the outhouses even had sinks and sit-down toilets...luxury. after hiking around 18 km each morning, mandy and i would spend the rest of the day lounging in the sun, reading, writing, playing cards and enjoying the quiet. no one shouted "you!" "ferenji!" or "where do you go!" at us for seven whole days, we cooked our own meals instead of eating out, and used our own legs to get around. it was paradise. now we're back in awasa for the third time and we head to addis in the morning to meet up with mandy's parents, who are flying here for christmas.

ethiopia. at first glance i was overwhelmed by this country--i thought it was crowded, uncomfortable, strange. now i think about having less than a month left here and i wish we could stay longer. i'm still overwhelmed, but now i'm overwhelmed by ethiopia's beauty, by its diverse and stunning scenery, by the kind and generous people we've met, by the interesting and amazing experiences we have every single day. we've discovered ethiopian food that we love (and that we plan on cooking at home), we've learned a bit of amharic, and we've found comfortable and compatible ways of traveling together.

christmas in ethiopia. i love it.

Volunteer in Ethiopia

The volunteer program is up and running:

http://www.volunteer.org.nz/ethiopia

Check out the photo of Lori at the bottom...

Ethiopian Time

In my family we have an inside joke: anytime someone is late we say they were running on “Africa time.” Our experience in Africa so far has been that time is something completely different from what we know it to be at home. In Ghana if a tro-tro (bus) is supposed to come at 8am you will most likely be waiting until 9:30 or 10am…if you’re lucky. In my experience there is a two hour to two day window. One time I booked a tro-tro for a youth group field trip and it came two days late! Patty and Allen (the folks) have had the same frustrating, ahem, I mean, patience-teaching experience in Sierra Leone. My first time to Africa I became an expert at standing in line, under the hot sun, for hours on end, waiting for my tro-tro to arrive. Often the line would stretch over a mile and we would inch up person by person as each tro-tro filled up and the sun went down.

Time, and the concept of it, became so irrelevant that the word itself seemed absurd. The word “time” in Ghana seemed to have nothing to do with the time/space continuum, rather more to do with fancy, a working tro-tro, enough drivers, and a road that wasn’t blocked by mud. The word “time” in Ghana, Sierra Leone, West Africa, and for all I knew, all of Africa, did not mean “time” as I knew it, and to continually conceive of time in this fashion made me crazy. So, in order to work on my patience and get through each day, I had to think of something else, instead of time. I could not think about how long I had been waiting, or whether or not it was time for dinner, or time to wake up; I had to zone out while in the queue for the tro-tro, amusing myself with daydreams and hissing at the ice-cream sellers to come my way. I had to wake up when my sweat soaked my sheets signifying the sun was up, and eat the evening meal when the laundry was done, the water had boiled, and the rice was cooked. Sunrise and sunset signified a new beginning and a time to reflect.

Coming to Ethiopia I had “Africa Time” on my mind. I knew it would be another exercise in patience; maybe another three months would do me good. Yet again, I was surprised. Unlike like West Africa, Ethiopians seem to actually value punctuality! Here when we are told that we need to be at the bus station at 5:30 am, they are serious: the gates open, people trample each other, pushing and shoving to be the first to the bus, and madly press as many bodies through the small bus door as humanly possible in order to get the best seat. If someone tells us that they will meet us for coffee at 10am, they are there at 9:45am…so much for “Africa Time.” I think I will have to travel throughout all of Africa to find out where the “time” line is, dividing West from East, and late or whenever, to on-time and now!

There is one quirky time anomaly in Ethiopia, however. Ethiopians run on a 12 hour clock, but not the way we think of it: “12:00 in the morning” is 6am and “12:00 in the evening” is 6pm. This was incredibly confusing when we first arrived. There are two forms of time here: Ethiopian time and Western time. Therefore, when you are asking someone what time to catch a bus, or what time a restaurant opens, or even what time it is at any given moment, you must clarify which time they are referring to once they have given you a response. Lori and I have gotten used to adding six hours when someone tells us the time, but it is often the most baffling when we are in an internet café. Invariably some computers are set to Ethiopian time, some are set to Western Time, and some are not set at all, and the time is completely random. So, the two of us will be engrossed in our emailing, knowing that we need to catch the minibus at a certain time, and realize well over an hour into surfing that we have different times on our computers. From here we try and decipher the time by looking outside, and when that proves fruitless, we ask someone, and then decide whether or not they have told us Ethiopian time or Western time…a vicious cycle! So, not only does Ethiopia have a 13 month calendar, it runs on its own time. I am back to my pondering on whether or not I can even use the word “time” at all…

It’s as if we have entered a different world coming to this country and I am struck by the beauty of Ethiopia’s obstinacy. I have never been somewhere that had not yet converted to the western scheme of time, in general. Ethiopia would rather just have both: when you go into an office, the desk calendar has the Western date and the Ethiopian date. They are straddling two different times and dates, rather than picking one or the other. (Did I mention they are seven years behind us? Yep, it was the Ethiopian Millennium this year! So, does that make me seven years younger? Maybe I’ll stay…) I love the pride in their voice as they tell you, “It’s 2:00” with a smile. (That’s either 8am or 8pm depending on the angle of the sun.)

Since coming to Ethiopia my concept of “African time” has changed, just as my worldview has changed. Each day we get a little better at telling time the Ethiopian way, and each day as we sink into this time and place we feel a bit younger…

More Photos - November

Photos from November...
The camels coming out of the desert on the salt caravan

Day one in the Danakil Depression: the eerie sulphuric hot springs

More of the Mars-like sulphuric structures

Solomon, our killer driver, with Lori and the Land Cruiser

Day three in the Danakil: Erta Ale, an active caldera volcano

Finally! Photos! (From October)

Photos from October...finally...The amazing ceiling mural at Debre Bihan Selassie church in Gonder

Market Spices in Gonder, used for making Bere Bere

Sunset at Gich Camp, day three of our Simien Mountains Trek

From the summit of Immet Gogo, one of the boys who came to greet us on the precipice

The summit of Rash Dashen! Tired from the altitude (4533m): Mandy, Mike, Lori and our lovely armed scouts!

Man and Beast

One of the things I have been struck by since I have been in Ethiopia is animal power. In Ghana everyone carried everything on their heads. I saw people carrying everything from a tub of coconuts weighing more than me, to an entire tree trunk, centering themselves in the middle of it for balance. Daily I was humbled by their strength. Were Ghanaians endowed with superhero strength in their necks and heads?

Anything one could possibly need could be found on another’s head. Never was I in want. I could be sitting in a tro-tro (bus) waiting for it to fill up and eat a three course meal: pineapple as an appetizer, tofu or meat on a stick as a main course, and ice cream in a bag as dessert; all from different vendors calling out their wares as they walked by. Having spent so much time there, I thought this is how they did it in Africa; not so in Ethiopia.

Here the animals easily outnumber the humans, which is hard to believe for the third largest population on the continent. But for each person walking down the road there are easily four or five donkeys using the same freeway. Horses, mules, donkeys, cattle (many different kinds), sheep, goats, camels, use the same streets and sidewalks as humans and are carrying all the weight. Each donkey that passes is laden with towers of eucalyptus bundles or large plastic jugs of water. The horses are tired from carting the humans to and fro on rickshaws up and down the hill towns. Mules are burdened with stacks of backpacks, stoves, and food for the eager trekkers in the Simien Mountains. Cattle perform gravity-defying angles on sheer cliffs, carving out the sides with tracks for the crops. Camels tower above them all caravanning the salt hundreds of kilometers. The humans walk alongside the beasts cracking the whip. Isn’t it a sign of society’s advancement when they trade human labor for bestial labor? Or is it just that the climate in West Africa is too inhospitable for animals of this quantity?

Either way you look at it, it’s better for the people here, but not so good for a lazy shopper like me. Lori was looking forward to the machete-cut pineapple and green drinking coconuts that I promised her would be at our beck and call, and I am not used to planning ahead before a 12 hour bus ride. Where are all the vendors outside my mini-bus window with everything at the perfect height for someone sitting on the bus? Now I must buy my Hip-Hop cookies, oranges, and nuts before I get on the bus at 5am. This type of lucidity is hard for me, even the day before. Supermarkets are great when walking around town and camels are pretty rad animals, but I’ll take my 5’9” super-human-powered store any day of the week!

Mercy Children

mer·cy /ˈmɜrsi/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[mur-see] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural -cies for 4, 5.

1.	compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one's power; compassion, pity, or benevolence: Have mercy on the poor sinner.

child /tʃaɪld/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[chahyld] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural chil·dren.

1.	a person between birth and full growth; a boy or girl: books for children.

It's amazing how innocuous the english language can be. Before Lori and I left for Ethiopia I searched for months for somewhere for us to volunteer while we were here. I googled "volunteering in ethiopia" and came up with next to nothing. I was flabbergasted that in the third largest country on this poverty-stricken continent there was no one looking for help. Maybe there was just no one with internet capabilities? Finally arriving at the Travel Abroad website I was presented with a couple options, only one that looked remotely legit or even worthwhile: Mercy Children. I emailed the organization using the online form provided, frustrated that there was no direct email address, and waited. Nothing. A month went by, and then another month, still nothing. So, I tried again, time was running out. Still hearing nothing we left for our trip, but I still hoped to find something when we got there. The night we arrived in Ethiopia we checked our email and I had a response! I was excited at hearing from them, finally, they had been having problems with their email server, yet we had already decided to leave the capital the next day. Promising to call when we returned, Mercy Children was put on the back burner.

After having spent the last two weeks with Obsa, Metiku, Yohannis, Getauhun, Sami, Mikyas, Ermias, and Asnake, the definitions for "mercy" and "child" seem like gibberish. These eight boys started as eight faces and eight hard names to remember and have become quite dear to our hearts. Even now, being 275 km away in Awassa, we can't help but wake up at 7:20am out of habit, thinking it is time to say "good morning" to the boys and wait for them to finish their kinche for breakfast before we can walk them to school. What better way to start a morning that holding on to two tiny hands swinging back and forth?

From the moment Eyob (Amharic for Job) took Lori and I to the Mercy Children Home to show us around and see if we were, in fact, interested in staying there and volunteering for sometime, I knew we were in the right place. I was impressed with the compound, caught contagious by his smile and spirit, and was ready for the change of pace I like most: volunteering. We saw the room we would share: a simple square with a bunk bed and two tables, and after talking it over we decided to stay. We committed to stay one week; Lori was skeptical: "What will we do?" I already knew the patience it takes to settle in to volunteering and hoped she would soon become intoxicated with ideas too. The next day we moved in and waited for the boys to come home. We had lunch, sat in the sun, and caught up on our journaling. I was outside washing my lunch dishes when they arrived home and I felt their innocent and pure joy flood the house immediately. Soon I was surrounded by boys shaking my hand and introducing themselves, my smile joining theirs. I looked across the room and saw Lori's smile was as big as mine and we laughed out loud.

And so it began; our relationship with eight incredible boys. Eight boys who had experienced more in their seven to forteen years that we had in twenty-eight and twenty-six. Each with an incredible story of living on the street and begging for food for their entire lives so far. One of the boys has two blind parents; one of the boys came from Gonder (almost 700km from Addis) and has no idea where his family is; the newest member came because both of his parents died of AIDS. And now they have a new life, in a safe home, three meals a day, school fees paid, and even karate lessons three times a week. The intensity with which they conduct their own Bible lessons each night shows how grateful they are, that they will remember, every day, how different their life is now. These boys have made such a wonderful impression on both Lori and I that we could not envision a short experience with them; we already thought about their futures on day three of being with them. Who would do times tables with Obsa over and over, and over (and over) when I am gone? Buying flash cards just isn't enough. I make him start all the way back at 8X1 when he can't tell me 8X6! I know I frustrate him as much as my dad frustrated me when I was learning multiplication! So, we had to do more.

Thankfully, I still have an incredible relationship with GVN (The Global Volunteer Network: www.volunteer.org.nz) since I first "met" them in 2003 when I started a volunteer program on the refugee camp in Ghana. Now, they are the ones I go to when I need someone to believe in me and my ideas. Lori and I worked diligently on getting together all the information GVN would need to send volunteers to Mercy Children, to help them grow and give them financial and human support. We left overjoyed that this little non-profit, struggling to pay the rent each month would soon be in want of nothing. GVN will launch their new Ethiopia Project in December and we hope to have five volunteers there each month by February! We hope Mercy Children can now achieve their dream of moving into a huge compound and taking in many more children. I just had to share this story because we are so excited! If anyone wans to see Mercy Children's current website, check it out: http://mercyethiopia.org/

I wish the connection here was faster so I could share photos! Soon enough you will all be able to see a killer photo of the boys and Lori on the GVN website! We feel so lucky these boys came into our lives and already miss them tremendously...

From the heights to the depths

“Ferenji, give me pen!” In Ethiopia I am a ferenji. In Tanzania and Kenya I was a muzungu. In Ghana I was an abruni. No matter how you look at it, no matter how tan I get, I am white! This is my fourth trip to this continent and I am struck by new similarities and differences between countries and experiences each day. Last night I concluded that Ethiopia has my ideal climate; something I never thought I would say about somewhere in Africa! Every time I have been here I have been hot, and usually, even in my sleep, continuously sweating. Not here. Ethiopia is dry, and most places we have been are at a higher altitude than I have ever lived, or even spent this much time at. We are usually above 2000 meters and the temperature is cool and the air is dry. At night we put on our long-sleeves and our light scarves before dinner; this I can get used to. Ethiopia’s mantra is “13 months of Sunshine!” and this is no lie. 13 months is no figure of speech either; here each month has 30 days and the “leftover” days comprise the last month. And each day we have been here, just about a month now, we have had nothing but sunshine. We have come to love this country.

It’s hard to fathom we have only been here short of a month. We have already done and seen so many things, that for me it’s going to take a while to process. Lori and I have been going and going almost since the day we got here; acting as if we don’t have a leisurely three months to experience this incredible place. It wasn’t intentional. Wonderful and amazing connections fell into our lap and we couldn’t pass up the opportunities. Months before we even left we were reading our Ethiopia guidebooks and putting colored paperclips on pages of interest. We thought we would take our time meandering from place to place, but as it turns out we have already summited the highest peak in Ethiopia (Ras Dashen: 4500m) and the lowest point in Africa, and one of the lowest places in the world (The Danakil Depression).

Trekking in the Simien Mountains was an awe-inspiring experience. We spent almost the same amount of time getting to the summit of Ras Dashen that I spent on my Kilimanjaro trek a few years ago. However, it was completely different: on Kilimanjaro we were going up, up, up, on one big mountain, and in the Simiens we were crossing mountain passes, going from 1800m at camp to 3500m midday and back down to 2600m at the next camp. It was difficult and exceedingly rewarding. We had frost on our tents in the morning, and a beating sun on us by mid-afternoon. We met Gelada baboons along the way which we lingered and watched for as much time as we could, taken aback by their similarities to lions, and had our path crossed by a bounding Walia Ibex. We learned the essential Amharic words we needed communicate with our dear Scout Mula, like “aruk” and “ategeb” (far and near) as well as “muk” and “kaza-kaza” (hot and cold)! And we were humbled by the altitude the last hour of our summit, but the top was a panorama to remember.

Going from the highest point in this country, to the lowest point was pure luck. The Danakil Depression is no easy place to get to, and arranging a trip there is arduous and expensive. Having left Debark (the town where we finished our trek in the Simiens) we headed north to Axum, planning on spending a few days there relaxing and seeing some sights. However, after breakfast on our first morning Lori was approached by a Canadian woman looking for two more people to join her on a trip to the Danakil. When Lori told me I was psyched, but we both thought it was bit out of our price range. Deliberating a few hours we decided to go for it. And then next thing we knew we were scheduled to be on a minibus the next day with 5 others to Mekele where we would stay one night before getting in our 4X4s to head into the desert. There are many rules associated with making a trip into the Danakil, to name a few: You are required to take two 4X4s, no less; you must have an armed Afar scout who (is supposed to) knows the roads and can communicate with the forceful Afar people; two armed and official policemen are also required to accompany you; and you must bring in all your water, food, fuel, etc. as there are no supplies out there. I will have to write more about this trip later since there is so much to say, but to put it simply, each day was a sensory overload. From walking amidst Mars-like sulphuric structures and fluorescent green and yellow gurgling pools, making us feel as if we were scuba diving in the sea, to climbing down into an active volcano in the middle of the night to witness a churning caldera of black with what seemed like teeming veins of blood constantly changing direction, we were bug-eyed the whole time.

At the moment we are in Mekele again, and have been here for two days. We are finally taking the time we promised ourselves to chill out, and have spent the days eating leisurely breakfasts, over-indulging in Ethiopian coffee and pastries, reading, and yes, usually the internet. Forgive the long blog; this is the first time we have been able to access it in Ethiopia at all, and who knows when we will be able to again. We are intensely happy, loving this country, and looking forward to the next two months.

Love to everyone.

hallelujah! it works!

After not being able to acces our blog for a month, it is suddenly, randomly working at a random dial-up internet cafe in Mekelle! So, for those of you I've pestered with mass emails, I apologize.
Ethiopia is...amazing. It's so different than i expected, and we've covered so much ground, seen so much and done so much in the last month that my head is spinning. We landed in Addis Ababa, spent one night, and fled in the morning, much to my relief. The capital city was too much for me...to crowded, too noisy, just too much, and i wasn't mentally ready. It was nice to get on the road, to stare out the bus window at lush, fertile farmland, thatched-roof homes and something new and amazing everywhere i set my eyes.

We spent our second night in the tiny town of Chancho--much to the dismay and confusion of everyone we talked to who assured us there was "nothing in Chancho!" But Chancho was beautiful. We caught a ride down a dusty, windy road to Durba, where a self-appointed crew
of little boys led us through misty rain to Muger Gorge, a chasm as wide and deep, it seemd, as the Grand Canyon, but hung with greenery and spewing waterfalls and housing the first of many gelada baboons we've encountered. Upon returning to Chancho later that afternoon, we sat in front of our room on the edge of a hill that overlooked town and watched the sunset. Everything was peaceful and perfect aside from the still-howling nearly-dead dog that someone had pushed to the side of the road after it was hit by a truck. Still, we enjoyed the sunset. We spent the evening having a drink in the little hotel cafe and playing "injera," an Ethiopian card game we learned from a few people our age who worked at the hotel. It's amazing how people can communicate and joke and laugh and even poke fun at each other without speaking each other's language.

The next morning we headed to Debre Libanos, and it turned out to be a long day of walking, walking, walking. We rode the bus as far as it would take us and then got off and walked with our packs, thinking we couldn't be any farther than one or two kilometers from our destinaton. So we walked. The scenery was stunning, the people were friendly, the air was cool and mild, and we walked. And walked. For about two hours we walked before we decided that maybe Debre Libanos wasn't as close as we thought. A empty school bus took pity on us and picked us up, dropped us at our hotel (at least another 10K down the road) and then we set off on another walk. This time we walked down a dusty, hot road through fields of baboons to our left and fire-wood-laden donkeys to our right, through a smokey, dusty village and to a great cathedral which was, of course, locked up for prayer hour. So, after admiring the exterior for a couple of minutes we turned around and walked some more. Later that day we set out to look for the Portugese Bridge, which our guide book said was on a "clear, unmistakable path", and ended up walking, walking, and walking a little more before we found the completely unclear pathway just off the road. We crossed the arched bridge and climbed to the top of a bluff and sat in awe at the massive gorge in front of us. Another amazing day.

After Debre Libanos (where I encountered the first animal i now completely despise: the flea, who apparently loves me as much as i despise it because it's traveled with me for at least half of our trip...it's an exercise in self control to keep myself from scratching scratching scratching) we took a loooooong all-day bus ride to Bahir Dar, where we met up with our first travel partner Mike from Atlanta, a guy we met at our hotel in Addis. We'd decided to trek through the Simiens together to save on costs. Bahir Dar was nice; a hotel room with a sit-down toilet, a
luxurious mosquito net in our room, and tasty spaghetti. We spent a couple of nights there before heading to Gonder, one of my favorite towns so far, where I could happily go back and spend a few weeks relaxing, eating pastries, drinking coffee, and walking through the hilly streets of town. We wandered through some castles, stared slack-jawed at a celing mural of winged cherubs, and relaxed for a couple of days. After Gonder: an early morning bus ride to
Debark, the jumping-off-point to the Simien Mountains, where we organized our mandatory scout and mules and mule handlers and gear.

The Simiens were grand: sunny and nice during the day, with fields of long orange and yellow flowers that looked like upside-down Big Stick popsicles with leaves, austere peaks that receded, receded, receded into the distance like the regal giants that all mountains are, stunning sunsets and freezing cold nights where we'd slurp down our pasta dinner and hot water with honey and jump into our sleeping bags the minute the sun went down. Our tents would be crusty with frost in the morning when we emerged just before sunrise, and we'd break down camp and grouchily ignore each other until the sun came out and thawed us all out. We trekked for six days, and I was surprised by all the people we encountered. There are villages everywhere; on the top of a mountain, in the middle of a desert, we inevitably see people and homes and livestock and it still surprises me. On the fifth day we staggered to the top of Ras Dashen, the highest peak in Ethiopia, with our amazing scount Mulo who spoke no English but was hysterical and kind and patient. We caught a huge truck out of the mountains a day early and relished our first shower and fresh meal in days.

The next morning we crammed ourselves into a delivery truck before the sun rose, and drove 11 hours to Axum. The ride was beautiful even if the company was not. We (Mike, Mandy and I) were deathly sick of each other and had no choice but to sit RIGHTNEXT to each other, sweating on each other, bumping elbows and gritting our teeth. Getting off the truck was pure ecstacy. We had a proper meal with some of the people we'd met while trekking (my favorite people so far: two hardcore amazing Austrian girls who were taking time off from their medical jobs to BIKE through Ethiopia. Wow.) Axum was a ho-hum city, but it was so nice to do our laundry, sit on our sunny balcony, eat pastries and feel the sun on our faces. We were planning on stopping and staying for a few days until I was approached one morning in the street by a French girl who was a very, very good salesperson and who proposed that Mandy and I join her and four others she'd recruited on a trip to the Danakil Depression. I'd read about the Danakil during our trip planning and was intrigued; it sounded so hot, so forbidding and eery and otherworldy and cool, but I figured since the trip required two 4x4s and a guide and scout that it was totally out of our price range. However, with seven of us, it was almost manageable, so after contemplating it for the afternoon, we decided to go.

We set off the next morning in a mini bus headed for Mekelle in high spirits. It was Halloween, a hot and sunny day and we were all getting to know each other. We stopped in Adigrat for juice and snacks then got back on the bus, and thus began the worst day of traveling i've had so far. I puked probably 20 times, out the window of the bus, much to my dismay, in front of the five people i'd just met who I was to spend the next six days with. I was mortified, grossed out, and SO SICK. I don't remember much of the day but I'm glad it's over and now I appreciate my health so much more. I'm sure it won't be the last time I puke in an uncomfortable place, but at least now I know I can do it and it's ok.

The Danakil was crazy. It was hot, dusty, sweaty, bumpy, amazingly beautiful and incredibly interesting. We hiked, in the middle of the night, up a mountain and down into a crater where we watched red-hot lava roiling around in a massive washing machine on a slow, crushing spin. We slept on rocks and ogled bubbling pools of water and alien salt formations and stared at camel caravans slowy making their way into a red, setting African sun. We watched men toil
in the hot, dusty sun, wrenching huge slabs of earth from the salt flats, whittling the dirt off of them and chiseled them into managable sizes and shapes which they then stacked on their camels and walked to the nearest village a week away to sell them for around 10 cents each. I'm so glad we went, and I'm so glad we're back.

We've been in Mekelle for the last three nights, relaxing, emailing, gorging ourselves on food (hmm, what to choose between "meet stew, meet goulash, boiled meet, meet sandwich, or spaghetti"?) and sleeping in. We leave tomorrow for Lalibela and then...who knows. We still have the entire southern half of the country to explore and I can't wait...

Until next time...

bikes, bikes, everywhere bikes

biking around anchorage did NOT prepare us for biking around amsterdam...

we rented cruisers yesterday thinking how great it would be to bike around like the locals, utilizing the red bike-specific sidewalks and bike lanes that are on every single street. at first it was great--we covered distances in minutes that, from the map, we thought would take hours; we biked to the anne frank museum; we made it to the ocean where hundreds of amsterdam commuters lock their bikes on the pier and hop on ferries to get to work; and we cruised to the red light district and decided it'd be easier to get around on foot. after eating lunch, checking out a secret attic chapel and wandering around for awhile, we decided to hop on the bikes again. that's when things started getting a bit difficult...

it must have been rush hour in amsterdam. at first we were just navigating through hordes of tourists, which was an obstacle course in itself, but once we hit the main streets we found ourselves biking with dozens--no, HUNDREDS--of other bikers, bikers eager to get home from work on a friday night, and they were not pleased with our speed or our confusion. i have a new found sympathy for clueless tourists on the coastal trail. WE were those clueless tourists who were crossing busy multi-lane roads when there was probably a bike path very nearby. i'm sure amsterdam is an amazing city to bike in, but knowing your way around would make things exponentially easier. we made it back to our hostel safely and breathed a sigh of relief once we locked our bikes to the wrought-iron fence that borders vondelpark. when we ventured out again for dinner we stuck to walking.

amsterdam is beautiful and amazing... you have to admire the parent who bikes around with a baby on the front of the bike and a toddler on a seat in the back, and the girl who bikes in an extremely hip miniskirt and knee-high boots. it's sunny and nice out right now and we're going to eat lunch in the sun and then catch a tram to the airport...

next stop: ethiopia.

laughing out loud

the stewardess (is the correct term air hostess now?) thought the milk was unopened and so she shook it fervently to mix it up. she and the man in 32C were surprised to find out it was, in fact, previously opened, and it want all over him. now you may be thinking how insensitive of you to erupt in seat-shaking laughter at his wet misfortune, but you would be missing the context. not only had this older gentleman been annoyingly flirting with this hostess for the past few hours, but he had done it openly, and he was crushing lori's knees with his heavy frame. so not only did we laugh, everyone laughed, even the good natured man. i mention this quip, not because it was the most significant part of our trip so far-hardly-but because this is a good sign. lori and i had been laughing all day. laughing in the face of difficult situations:

it all began with the indian embassy changing their visa policy on october 1st, unbenounced to us. being the planners that we were we had researched this back in may and were confident we would get our visas the day before we left. what we didn't know was that they had begun outsourcing this process and the embassy was no longer a part of it. and since we are alaskan residents our office was in san francisco. we pleaded our case anyway-arriving at Travisa a few minutes before the door began, at 8:55am, the day of our flight. they would "try"we were told, and instructed to come back around noon. however, the rule was that you dropped off your application between 9am and noon and picked it up between 4:30pm and 5:30pm. not possible for us since our flight was at 5:43pm and we needed to arrive 2-3 hours ahead. noon held no visas and no passports. at 2pm we told them we had to leave for the airport in order to be 2 hours ahead, and we needed our passports to board the plane. not laughing yet. but as we raced through D.C. traffic with the manager sitting beside allen in the front seat of the trusty minivan, we knew all would be well. we got those damn visas, we got our passports, and we were going on this trip. so it was no wonder we planned a scheme to arrive at the aiport with a roll of large bags for putting large backpacks in and freely giving them out, auctioning them loudly in front of the teller who told us that "they couldn't just be given out freely" when we asked for a second one. (after she ripped a hole in the first.) and it's no wonder we laughed so hard when we realized that we did not bring our hotel details for amsterdam as we were an hour from our destination; we would figure it out, laughing. we laughed late into the night last night, and we know that this is an indication of what's to come. we already love travelling together.

anticipation

we're currently at mandy's parents' house in virginia awaiting our departure tomorrow morning. we re-packed our bags one last time, bought an amharic phrase book for ethiopia, and by 3 p.m. tomorrow we'll be bound for three days in amsterdam. hopefully we'll be able to get our indian visas pushed through before we leave tomorrow. we'll see.

this is our itinerary so far:

oct. 11-13 amsterdam
oct. 13 fly to addis ababa, ethiopia's capital city
jan. 13 depart addis for delhi, india
may 15 leave india for d.c. and finally home to alaska

we don't have many set plans, aside from the month of february, which we'll spend volunteering in kolkata. we're really excited...it's going to be amazing. we'll keep you posted.

we got the itch

Saturday, July 7, 2007


Here's how it started:We were driving back from a snowshoe to Symphony Lake.

Mandy: "I should just admit to myself that I just want to travel. I just don't have a travel partner..."

Lori: "Well...I'd like to travel, too. Let's do it."

Mandy: "Seriously?"

Lori: "Totally! Let's just do it!"

The next day we sat in Shannon's room for a good hour, tracing various routes on her wall map of the world, looking at plane tickets and fantasizing. Our original plan included about 15 countries; after further research we realized that wasn't the kind of trip we wanted to do. More time whittled our choices down to four; eventually, we settled on two (although neither of us are willing to forfeit a few days in Amsterdam as a kick-off to the trip).

And here we are. It's July, I'm discovering how terrible I am at saving money, and we've got three months. The India and Ethiopia travel books have been living on the bathroom floor for easy and frequent access. My bank account is slowly, slowly growing. I'm consumed with excitement even though I think I'll actually miss Alaska winter. There will be plenty more...