Addis Ababa

There are moments when I am sitting there and suddenly I am struck by how amazingly lucky I am. I get to spend a year hiking in and around amazing places. It is sort of unbelievable to me at times that this is what I am doing for a year. Unreal.

Yesterday I spent the day running errands and at the National Library looking through their collection of books by European explorers who traipsed up the Nile and through Ethiopia. It was great. I am going back on Monday. I also looked for anything they had on China, which is where I'll be in January. It was funny, being in Ethiopia, looking for books on China, in English. It does make you realize how great a University library system is (things like J-Store and Lexis-Nexis are even more incredible). I do miss that. Not that I am complaining about the nuances of the Ethiopian library...




This is a map of the Blue Nile and the area where I am working out plans to do some trekking and where, hopefully, I will get to spend some time.



This is a view from out my window in Addis. I hadn't thought about this until now, but I suppose that it looks like most roof tops in the world. I'll try for more interesting Addis pictures later...



Finally, this is a picture of the map that is included in James Bruce's five volume account of his "discovery" of the source of the Blue Nile. I use quotation marks because the word discovery always strikes me as Eurocentric and also because Bruce was actually beaten there (by 70 years or so) by a Portuguese guy. Anyway, you will see the source down in the bottom left corner.

To get a copy made, I had to explain to the librarian that I wanted a copy and, given the size, it was fine if it was done in two parts. He then took it to the copy woman and spent about five minutes explaining this to her. She finally made the copies, and I paid, but then they spent about five minutes debating what to do because they didn't have the forty cents in change they owed me. I wasn't worried, but this didn't really deter them. Then the librarian had to make a receipt, then the copy woman had to take this receipt and give me a new one. Finally I was given the copies and the receipt (on the receipt my name was spelled Sultt...but I wasn't going to fight it) which I had to present to security at the exit - and where everyone gets patted down. There don't seem to be metal detectors here, so you get patted down all the time. The post office, the library, even crossing the street last night the police were out patting everyone down.

Africa

A photo:



Southernmost point in Africa. And no, I didn't pee my pants...just got splased by a wave from both oceans.

Role(s)

I had a great talk with a good chunk of my family today. It is amazing that you can be in touch over such great distances. It is also interesting how much I look forward to those phone calls. As my sister mentioned, when you are out alone you have a lot of time to think...

In Ethiopia, more so than South Africa, and much more so than Namibia, people approach you begging, asking for money, selling things, trying to entice you to become one of their friends. It is much like Cuba in that sense. It is from those experiences that I have been thinking...this may be boring to some (no stories here of muggings, scorpions, or lions) but still worth saying.

One of the interesting things about travel is that, among other unknowns, a traveler is relatively unaware of the social norms for expressing gratitude. Take tipping. There are times and places at home when you tip. We all know these and we know how much to tip. A lot of times we do so without even thinking. I, however, am unaware of the norms for tipping taxis, even at home. I think that I have been in two taxis in my life in Colorado. In a foreign country I have even less of a clue. This is further complicated by the relative value of currencies. Is 10 birr a huge tip or a tiny tip?

Bigger than these struggles to know the correct action are the impacts of that action, whether it is "correct" or not. A tip can raise all sorts of other questions and issues. Does a high tip shift expectations and change the manner in which you are served and treated? Does it create an environment where someone will only help or do a good job if they expect a tip? Does it make people falsely friendly because their motive is to do a kind deed and extract a tip from you? Does it foster the view that tourists are money factories?

Perhaps these questions are extreme, but in another sense, they are very real and raise questions about tourism and the impact and role of a tourist. Sure, we all enjoy seeing new places, people, and traditions. In some ways it enlightens and enriches our own homes and traditions. But, when does our presence act as a positive force and when is it a negative force? There is a lot of talk about "responsible tourism" and I am inclined to think that when there are large gaps in culture and income tourism is more of a negative force (despite the money that it may bring into an economy). I feel this way perhaps more about individual travelers and "backpackers" than large managed groups or people who pay for thoughtful, experienced guides.

I am certain of none of this, except that I am one of those independent travelers, one of those "backpackers." My cultural background is far from that of an Ethiopian, and my economic background even farther. I question my impact on this society, on this neighborhood where I am staying. I hope that my material wealth and my "differentness" (not to mention my tips - high or low) doesn't foster more begging, robbery, sloppy or half-hearted work, rudeness or anger. It isn't as easy as just hoping, but takes care and thought. I don't give to people begging when I am only approached because I am a foreigner. I don't give to the beggar who grabs my wrist and won't let go until I forcefully twist it away from him because he expects me, as a foreigner, to give him money. I will give if someone can't work, or if the target everyone in their begging. I also do tip - and buy people coffee and a soda when we sit down to talk. But that is only a start, and has implications of its own. How, when I am trekking along a canyon do I shape how future trekkers are treated, how tourists are viewed, and how the local economies I come through react and are shaped?

Maps

My time in Southern Africa is over. I am now in Ethiopia, which brings a whole new set of challenges and interesting areas. I am working on hiring a guide, scout and donkey to do a ten day trek down a section of the Blue Nile. But, that's a different story for a different day. I will share my excitement of the taxi I took from the airport. It was a Russian Lada: just like so many in Cuba!

While I have been adventuring, hiking, fishing, and the like I have also been making maps with people. Not too many, as they are hard to make. You really have to know someone before they make a map for you. But, every map I have has been an important part of my travels, my project, my understanding of canyons and spaces. Maps, in fact are the major part of my exploration.

I was hesitant about posting them as they are personal and I am even more hesitant to explain who made them, how I knew that person, and what I got out of the maps. I don't know why, perhaps because they are special documents to me and I don't think I could do them justice on the blog. Nevertheless, here are two:



Blyde River Canyon. Map by Elson.



Fish River Canyon. Map by Amos.

Fishing+

Perhaps it is obvious why I never catch anything when I am fishing.

There are no pictures of Blyde River Canyon available because I took them on my camera's memory and not on my memory stick and I sent the transfer cords home. In any event, the canyon is different. There is a large uplift - like a plateau or mountains, and the Blyde River cuts down out of it, but only for a short distance. It is therefore something of a canyon, and something of the end of the escarpment.

In other news, the mountain biking has left my hands a little bruised from killer descents and my legs a bit tired. I also have rented a car to take me to remote areas around Blyde River Canyon and ultimately back to Cape Town where I leave for Ethiopia (nine days from now). I am looking forward to it, although I feel a bit unprepared - that applies both to Ethiopia and driving a stick shift to Cape Town.

While waiting in Nelspruit for the rental car company to pick me up a group of six or eight guys also pushed me into a corner and tried to rob me. The didn't have knives or guns, for which I am thankful, and they actually didn't manage to steal anything - my kicking and yelling was enough to fend them off (perhaps that's why my legs are sore). But, sadly, they did tear my UPS t-shirt. The sleeve is just about torn off. But I am just fine.

Now it is a few more days hiking and exploring in this area - hopefully I can take a tour of a timber mill here - a major business in the area.

Sabie, South Africa

As Fish River Canyon is now closed to hiking, I have
left Namibia for Sabie, South Africa. Sabie is a
small mountain town about three or four hours east of
Johannesburg. There is a lot to do here, including
mountain biking, fly fishing, and hiking, and the town
lies just to the south of Blyde River Canyon.

I am planning a trip up to the canyon for some more
hiking, but first must wait on a credit card to be
shipped in from home: mine melted in the sun yesterday
while I was out on a mountain bike ride.

I have struggled to form some sort of a thesis on
Namibia and South Africa - countries with prominent
colonial and racial struggles and histories. This is
especially true after reading about such events in the
United States like hurricane Katrina and the racial
component to its destruction.

In order to think more on the issue I am going back to
my introduction to South Africa, the book Cry, the
Beloved Country by Alan Paton. It gives a lot to
think about, and although it is 50 years old there is
still a lot of truth in it, especially what he writes
about fear. In Johannesburg you can see the fear
where houses are covered in barbed wire and electric
fences.

That's why I love the mountains, the canyons, the
countryside. Fear doesn't live here like it does in
the cities, and as such I can really live here. I do
not limit what I want to see or do or who I want to
talk to. My only fears are falling off the bike on a
steep descent or the fear that I'll actually catch a
fish when I'm fly fishing. I don't know what I would
do then.

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