Vikos

Some photos of the Vikos Gorge where I have spent the past week hiking between the small towns that sit at its edges. The weather was the major event while I was there: the first few days were rainy, then it got sunny but incredibly cold, and finally I awoke to a foot of snow - and then hiked through it. I wished that I had a sled or skis for the descent into the canyon (some 500+ meters). The photos are in reverse chronological order.



Snow in Papigo. I took this photo as I set out to hike back through the gorge to Monodendri. The bottom of the canyon was also snowy but a whole lot warmer, which meant that the snow was sleet and raining down from trees onto my head in large clumps. I was thankful to return to a hotel, fire, and hot chocolate in Monodendri.



The Vikos Gorge from the viewpoint in the town of Vikos. The town is actually like fifteen buildings, one restaurant and two hotels. When I opened the door to my hotel room I discovered the window was wide open and it was freezing. But, with a couple of blankets and the heater on (until the power in Vikos went out) I was fine.



My major wildlife find from the day I hiked from Monodendri to Papigo through the bottom of the Vikos Gorge.



The viewpoint looking out over the Vikos Gorge, roughly 7km from Monodendri.

Mt. Olympus

On Nov. 13 I hiked Mt. Olympus. It is 2918 meters (9573 ft.)and I started hiking from 300 meters (984 ft.). It is a great hike, which starts in Litohoro and then follows a beautiful gorge for a while before going up a few ridges to the summit. Here are some photos:



It's always good to hike with a friend.



Summit.



Sunrise on the approach.


Some thoughts I had while climbing:

Mountains, rivers, canyons: they are not conquered, beaten, or owned. Thay are joined. They give their best and all they ask is that you do the same so that for one moment you can join them. When you meet them and their challenge you are the better for it. Physically, mentally, spiritually.

On top of Mt. Olympus I made an offering. First to Greece and the Greek Gods who make Mt. Olympus home. An offering of thanks for the weather, the mountain, the challenge, and the insiration of generations. An offering recognizing that I was permitted to be in the home of the Gods for an afternoon. Then not to Gods, but to real people who, in their love of adventure, nature, and the pursuit of perfection have taught, inspired, and shaped me. To Mark, to Paco, to Sylvia. On the mountain, in the challenge, they are there. The blue of the sky, the chirp of the birds, the silence of the snow. In them I find those souls, that inspiration. I am filled with their presence and their love. In these moments I join them. I join the mountain. I love.

Ethiopia

I don't have many interesting photos of Ethiopia, so here are a couple of the guys I hung out with and our daily activity: sitting on the steps of a store closed because of the strike or the window sill of the hotel restaurant. Notice the relative lack of people and cars in the background of one; usually the street is bustling.

Greece

My superficial understanding of Greek culture before I left the United States was based around toga parties and the letters Sigma and Nu. Now that I have been in Greece for 24 hours my superficial impressions are much more complete:

For Men: Grease your hair, ride insanely fast on something with two wheels, a leather jacket is preferable, wear large sunglasses and smoke. As you age you can grease your hair less, but smoke more.

For Women: Dye your hair streaks of blond, tuck your pants into tall leather boots, wear large sunglasses and smoke.

I don't smoke, because I find it gross and potentially deadly, but I have thought about carrying cigarettes with me so that as an ice breaker I can say, "hey, would you like to smoke?" This might have more success than the other lines I have tried so far, "Do you wear those sunglasses because your moped has no windshield?" and "Is that leather hard to maintain in this climate?"

Greece is a little bit of a shock after Ethiopia, and to ease my transition I decided last night to make it an early night with a meal that would remind me of home. So, I went to Subway and had a meatball sandwich and cookie.

Walking home my mouth started to itch, then the back of my throat, and then my whole esophagus. I could feel it tighten and I was quickly concerned that I might lose my ability to breathe. So, I induced vomiting, drank a ton of water, and figuring that it was an allergy to something I ate, I took two Benadryl. My systemic allergic reaction continued and I broke out in hives. Concerned, I called the US Embassy to get the name of an English speaking doctor. They told me to ask hotel reception...right...

I did, and then talked with someone at the pharmacy and we decided the solution was to take more Benadryl. I reviewed my WFR manual, agreed, took a few more, and slept for twelve hours.

All in all, a little frightening, but I pulled through. I guess after 3+ months away my body is now allergic to American Food (like Bryce is allergic to Canada).

The Real Reason

The real reason why I am going to Greece:

New York Times, November 9, 2005
Dollar Hits 2-Year High Against Euro

Goodbye Ethiopia

After a lot of thinking and a few warnings from Ethiopians and the U.S. State Department (officially called Public Announcements) I have decided to pack up and leave Ethiopia and head to some canyons in Greece, where I expect it to be quite cold. The canyons are near Albania, famous for its national anthem:

Albania, Albania,
You border on the Adriatic
Your terrain is mostly mountainous
And your chief export is chrome!*

*Actually, according to the CIA Factbook Albania's chief exports are textiles and footwear


It has been a bittersweet decision. I am excited to be going somewhere new where I think that I will be able to finally do some hiking. At the same time, it has been a major disappointment to be here and have planned and prepared for this time around the Blue Nile Gorge, only to have to turn around after three weeks in Addis.

Nevertheless, I have had a good send off, drinking a few cold beer with the neighborhood guys at the local bars - which double as brothels. On an academic level, the whole structure of the prostitution industry (if you can call it such) is quite interesting. There are all sort of informal rules, regulations, and norms, and yet it also is very much free market. By that I mean that I am told you can negotiate or bargain for prices with the prostitute. It is especially interesting because it is so open here, while in the United States it is a hidden industry. People accept that 100% of the women in bars are prostitutes without batting an eyelash.

For me, I found it a little awkward - especially when one insisted on dancing with me to a Tigraian Traditional song (yes, this means that you are supposed to do a traditional Tigraian dance). We danced for what seemed like an eternity in a small bar where I was the only foreigner. The longer the song went on, the fewer people were dancing until it was just the two of us with the rest of the bar watching. Talk about being self-conscious: trying to do some sort of a traditional dance in an Ethiopian bar with a prostitute!

Once the song ended I thanked her and went back to hanging out with the guys, who all stood and clapped as I came back to the table. In the end, all she wanted was a dance, and it will certainly be a fond memory I take with me from Ethiopia. Happily, I retreated home alone to pack and prepare for the next adventure, which I hope doesn't include too much dancing!

All quiet

Today it is all quiet in Addis. There are still lots of Federal Police around and a strong army presence, but there haven't been stories of violence as in the past few days. It is nice to have a day with no gun shots in the distance, although now even a slamming door can get people jumpy. Virtually everything in Addis is closed in part because of the strike/demonstrations and in larger part because of Ramadan.

Last night the police came through neighborhoods rounding up all the young men they could find, regardless of whether they had been involved in the riots. Thankfully they avoided hotels. I have heard some neighborhoods are now void of young men - some are hiding and others are in jail. In my neighborhood a friend told me he was taken to jail with some 5000 other young men, but he ran away when it was dark and the tired guards weren't paying attention. I can only imagine that when the rest of the young men are released or escape they will not be happy.

But, for now, all is quiet and all is well.

Riot

My list of things to do for November 1 read something
like this:

- Email Watson Office regarding changing location
- Store luggage at hotel
- Track book on Amazon.com
- Adventure

I'd say that I did everything on the list, but that
the last item was a bit more than I bargained for.

I was all set to head out to the north of the country
to begin exploring some canyons, when Anthony (a local
Ethiopian) told me that there was a rumor that there
were some university student demonstrating near the
bus station. In my mind I had the vision of our
anti-war demonstrations: chanting, singing, signs of
protest:

Nothing to be too worried about.

So, Anthony and I went to the bus station in a
minibus. I reluctantly agreed that he could accompany
me, thinking he might be of some help in finding the
right bus and not getting overcharged.

As we approached the bus station I noticed to our left
a street full of federal police and down a ways some
people and smoke. At this point I was concerned a
bit, so I elbowed Anthony. I was guessing that the
smoke was tear gas (it was actually burning tires or
buildings). Anthony quickly looked up from his
newspaper to note that the street we were on was
virtually empty of cars and that all the shops were
closed. Great.

We arrived at the bus station, hopped out of the
minibus and walked to the corner where a police man
said something to Anthony. We turned the corner
and ahead of us about 125 yards saw a line of riot
police with their backs toward us. They were facing a
fire in the middle of the street and a group of young
men jumping out from behind buildings to rain rocks
down on them. It was surreal to turn the corner to a
riot.

Anthony and I quickly decided that we should get back
to the hotel as quickly as we could. The only problem
was that, as noted, there was no transportation on the
street. We had taken a bus directly into the lion's
den and now had to walk back out. As we walked it
looked like every small side street had people, fires,
and federal police.

Occasionally there would be a rush of people that
would run out of a side street and disperse on the
street we were walking down. Occasionally, from
somewhere, we would hear a shot fired.

Eventually we got close to the city center and made it
back to the hotel. Anthony told me that he had been
happy to be with a faranji (westerner) because that
meant he was safe from the police. I told him that I
was happy to be with a habesha (Ethiopian) because I
too felt more safe.

Back at the hotel we watched as people would
occasionally come running down the street and the shop
owners would scramble to put their iron doors over
their windows. After a while it seemed like things
were all clear so we walked cautiously up to the
Piazza. Things seemed pretty normal.

Then, around the corner, again about 125 yards away
there were more federal police, guns drawn and pointed
down a side street. As we turned to hurry back to the
hotel they fired down the side street (not at us, but
perpendicular to us). The area leading up to the
police was littered with rock debris. Rocks vs. guns:
it was like the combatants were from different
centuries.

Later, back at the hotel we were told that a friend
from the neighborhood had been shot. We had likely
seen the shot fired.

Everything is pretty tranquil now, much like a Sunday
afternoon. Shops are closed, but people are on the
streets and all is peaceful. I walked down to the
area where we had seen the shots fired and it was
still teeming with police, although they too seemed
drained from the day's events. There are still rocks
on the street.

Nevertheless it seems like life as normal. As John
Moore says (about violence in schools in Miami), the
veterans shrug and go back to work while I am still
reeling.

The US embassy has advised avoiding the Mercato area
for the next few days (which means the bus station
too). So, I guess I will head back to the library and
see what kind of progress I can make on James Bruce's
five volumes.

It's funny, the adventure came, but not in the sense
that I was expecting. Also, it seems that the
adventures are getting bigger - I hope that this is
the top of the arc. First an airline strike, then a
scorpion sting, then a mugging, now street riots...

In any event, I am safe, in good health, and am being
quite careful. Perhaps I'll leave adventure off the
list next time.

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