Smelling the roses

Day 315

Milage 27,383 (43,812 km)

The twisting roads of Ethiopia

If  the path to success was simply a matter of combining hard work with ingenuity then Africa would be full of successful people, especially women. I am frequently reminded of how I have squandered opportunities afforded me by where I was born and the color of my skin. The people of Ethiopia are beautiful and they will proudly tell you it is because they are the only African country never to have been colonized. I have been propositioned by the most stunning women on many occasions but they are always honest about there motives, a new life overseas and an opportunity to prosper. I try to dissuade them, telling them my wife just ran off with another man because I was such a terrible husband but they don’t seem to be deterred. This country has challenged many of my preconceptions, there is heart breaking poverty everywhere but a cheerful positivity that belies the destitution and a ‘can do’ attitude that makes me feel humbled. It is anything but the war torn, famine ravaged wasteland we see through the lenses of our western media. The population is booming and there are children everywhere. Agriculture is the main employer and the vast majority of people still live in the fertile rural regions. Farmer’s markets are just that, it is not uncommon to see caravans of camels and donkeys being driven towards the nearest town carrying their seasonal harvest, sometimes a couple of days before the Saturday market. When the markets open there is a festival atmosphere fueled by a locally brewed alcohol and spicy snacks as thousands gather to trade and barter for all kinds of produce and goods. 

Prayer time in Lalibela

The quiet mountain town of Lalibela turned out to hold much more of interest than just its rock hewn churches and my original plan to spend a couple of days there eventually stretched to over a week. Stripping the bike of its luggage allowed me to explore some of the more difficult off road trails in the area and with the rear seat clear I’d often give rides to locals walking between the small villages in the region. Sadly I don’t have the space to carry passengers when the bike is fully loaded as it is nice to have a little company at times and the people I do pick up seem to appreciate it. On one search for fuel I picked up a young boy who promised me he knew where I could find it. We ended up driving over 30 km from his home, further than he had ever been before and on the return journey I pushed the bike over 160 km/h while screamed with joy and hung on tightly behind me. He asked me to drop him outside his school when we returned to his village as he couldn’t wait to tell his friends about where he had been. Finding fuel has become problematic in the more rural areas, what few petrol stations there are often run out although there is always someone nearby willing to sell individual liters of black market ‘benzine’ for twice the regular price and often half the purity. I carry a useful funnel which filters out debris and water and it has proved to be a priceless part of my kit.

I got to know a few of the residents in Lalibela and when I joked about my upcoming ‘Ethiopian’ birthday they threw a small party to celebrate with me. After attending a coffee ceremony in the morning I was invited to return to the same modest home later that day. When I arrived a freshly baked loaf of bread held several candles and I was given a homemade card and a hand carved cross. It often surprises me how those with the least are often the most generous, I was deeply touched by this gesture and reminded that I need to focus on becoming less selfish myself. The surrounding mountains had endless opportunities for some great hikes although by late afternoon heavy clouds would build and a huge electrical storm would unleash its raw power over the town. Power cuts were common and the water supply tenuous but the locals took it all in their stride and candles were never far from hand. I could have stayed much longer in this beautiful area but sometimes the magnitude of my journey makes me think I need to keep moving so after a week I loaded up the bike, said goodbye and took the road to Bahir Dar on the shores of Lake Tana.

More winding roads

Again I found myself rolling through spectacular countryside on delightful, twisting mountain roads before gradually dropping down into the flatter terrain surrounding Lake Tana, the source of the Blue Nile River. I stayed in the university town of Bahir Dar, considered by many Ethiopians to be their own Riviera with its broad streets lined with palm trees and its views of the sparkling waters of the vast lake. On my first day in town I took a walk out to the bridge overlooking the Blue Nile as it exits the lake and was soon snapping pictures of the abundant wildlife, downstream a pod of Hippopotamus wallowed in the cool, muddy waters while dozens of pelicans stood watch on the shore nearby. I couldn’t help but notice several of the locals crossing the bridge giving me funny looks, some shaking their heads while others wagged their fingers. Before long a policeman approached and I began to wonder if the Ethiopian authorities shared the same paranoia over picture taking that I had encountered in Sudan. The police officer enquired as to what I was doing on the bridge, with a sheepish grin I pointed to the river and then to my camera but as we glanced over the railing together we noticed a group of naked men scrubbing themselves vigorously in the waters directly below. He gave me a suspicious glare and asked me to move off the bridge immediately. Thirty kilometers from the lake the Blue Nile plummets over the waterfall of Tis Isat (Water that Smokes) although a hydroelectric plant has diverted much of the original flow and, while still impressive, it now appears as though it has smoked a little too much. I took the motorcycle to the beginning of a hike that would take me to the falls along a heavily rutted road that had long stretches of deep mud after the recent rains. It provided to be a challenging ride but the bike handled it all with ease. Lake Tana is also home to many island monasteries but with shifty boat operators hustling hard for business I decided to explore the area on a mountain bike instead. I rented one from a hotel in town and took off around the shoreline, within a few kilometers I was riding along narrow paths through thick forrest into villages where it felt as though they had never seen a white person before. Children would run alongside the bike laughing and waving, easily keeping up with my slow pace. With no gears and no suspension it was a bumpy ride and I would have been thankful for my own bike which sits gathering dust back in California. 

Tis Isat, Blue Nile Falls

After four days exploring Bahir Dar I packed up and took the road southeast to the capital, Addis Ababa. Yet again, I underestimated the distances, terrain and conditions and soon I found myself racing against the clock, determined not to get caught out after dark. There is a noticeable lack of privately owned vehicles on the roads here, cities are swarmed by buzzing tuk-tuks, three wheeled motorcycle taxis that ferry people around at minimal cost. The tuk-tuks compete for custom with the larger mini-vans which race around impossibly overloaded, inside and out, these have become a baneful nuisance as they often race each other to the next customer, stopping frequently without warning and often pulling out with no regard for who is approaching. Then there are the white Toyota Land-cruisers of the myriad of NGO’s that thrive on Ethiopia’s misfortunes, mostly empty they speed between towns only to gather outside the ritziest hotels by nightfall. To top it all off there are the big buses and trucks that lumber slowly along belching copious amounts of diesel fumes and kicking up vast quantities of dust. Getting stuck behind one of these ancient behemoths leaves you sucking in lungfuls of smoke and sand before summoning the courage to blindly break out of the cloud and into the oncoming traffic, hoping your timing won’t prove fatal. I had the closest call of the trip on the road to Addis as this very maneuver left me face to face with a stubborn bull who refused to move from the road, I missed one of his horns by inches and he was a big enough beast that he would have probably ruined my day and not just my underpants.

Roadside village

As I approached Addis Ababa the dark clouds that had been building all afternoon finally released their contents and thunder, lightning, rain and even snow, yes snow, accompanied me on the final descent into the capital. By the time I reached the city the streets had become overwhelmed by the deluge, darkness had fallen and I was left cold, sodden and hungry as I attempted to navigate the way to my accommodation. Rivers of refuse raced to the lowest point in the city accompanied by the fetid odor of raw sewerage. First impressions were not going so well and on top of all this large portions of the city centre had been torn up to accommodate a Chinese sponsored railway project so when I did stop and ask for directions even the locals were confused. Tired, cold, wet and hungry, I finally found my destination, a cheap backpackers on the south side of the city, and as I checked in large puddles formed around my feet on the reception floor. I am often asked why I have undertaken this journey and on days like this I sometimes ask myself the same question.

After a day on the south side of the city I moved into the centre and pitched my tent at Holland House, an over-lander’s haven behind the old bus station. As I pulled my motorcycle into the secure compound I noticed another bike, almost identical to mine, parked under a tree. It belonged to a young English rider called Ross who I had heard stories of from the BMW crew in Egypt. He is on his own adventure from London to Cape Town so we had plenty to talk about as we shared a cold beer later that evening. I hadn’t been there more than an hour before another two F800GS’ turned up coming from Cape Town with the friendly German couple, Katrin and Michael, finishing the last stages of their own round the world adventure. Suddenly we had four identical motorcycles parked at Holland House and plenty of stories of how bikes and bodies were holding up over each of our respective journeys. Our first night out together lasted well into the early hours of the next day and over the next few days we completed some overdue maintenance while comparing notes on any small issues we have been having with the bikes. Overall it was a hearty thumbs up for the F800GS, each of us had had concerns over the new untested machine as it has not been on the market long enough to gain the reputation of some of the older, proven over-lander bikes but all of us were impressed by how tough and capable the bikes were in all kinds of terrain. St Patrick’s Day just happened to coincide with our little gathering in Addis and Wim, the Dutch owner of Holland House, took it upon himself to take us on a thorough tour of the city’s liquor stores in search of a bottle of Irish whisky. Not a single bottle was to be found other than behind the bar of the plush Sheraton Hotel so we settled for local beer instead. 

St Patrick's Day at Holland House, Addis Ababa

I’ve been in Ethiopia for over a month now and I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. The people have made my stay a memorable one and I still have much more to see. The roads are exceptional although time will tell how durable they really are, trucks overloaded well beyond there intended capacity are already causing noticeable damage but, off the main highways, there is still plenty of off road adventures to be had and the terrain is simply breathtaking. I had never imagined Ethiopia to be so interesting and diverse, the variety of flora and fauna is simply stunning. Cheap and cheerful, it is a perfect destination for the more adventurous traveller but a question mark still hangs over how well the tourism industry will be managed. Sustainability seems to be a low priority at many of the popular destinations and the damage off overuse is beginning to show. With a motorcycle the entire country open to exploration and getting off the beaten track is as simple as turning the handlebars. As I plan to move further south I know I will miss what is behind me but if I slow my pace any further I will never reach Cape Town.

A flock of 800's