Somehow I found a Tex-Mex place here in Tana. Last night I had something resembling a burrito. It was a little off but I appreciate the fact that they’re trying. In the end more disturbing than the watery guacamole was hearing myself say “l’addition, s’il vous plait” after eating Mexican.

For lunch I refused to eat the chicken I ordered so I was pretty hungry for that burrito. I’m putting my foot down—no more meat on bones! When I ordered from the French menu the waitres translated a word into “bread” from which I assumed I’d be getting a chicken sandwich. Instead, I got breaded chicken on the bone. There’s no meat on these chickens, so I didn’t even try. Luckily I was eating with a reasonable English traveler who didn’t let the breaded bones go to waste.

Tonight at dinner I was asked to leave the restaurant and eat in the bar because I ordered a “snack.” Since when is a cheeseburger and fries a snack?

In even less interesting news, it’s clear that I’ve began to think about coming home when I start trolling websites to find out the dates of upcoming concerts stateside. Unfortunately, one of my favorite bands, Sloan is in Chicago next week. Since 1995 the only time I’ve missed them was the year I was living in England. Lollapalooza is in early August but do I want to commit to such an early return, especially when ticket prices are at $195?

I’ve been in Antananarivo (hereby called “Tana”), Madagascar for a few days now. Coming in from the airport I was struck with the overwhelming character the town has compared to Addis Ababa or Nairobi. I can’t remember the last time I saw peaked roofs! The road into town reminded me of a mix between Africa, France and the Bahamas with peaked, shingled roofs and brightly painted houses. The central area of town, where I’m staying, is much more French-inspired architecturally with cast iron balconies and steep cobblestone streets.

By the time I arrived in town the banks were closed and I found myself without money, once again. I ate at my hotel and researched how to get money the following day. Because my Visa card was cancelled I only have Mastercard or American Express travelers checks. I tried The Hilton first but the Amex office that I read about didn’t exist.

The first bank I tried didn’t take checks and recently stopped taking Mastercard. The second bank did take travelers checks (not Mastercard) but wouldn’t cash the checks without a receipt. And, as it turned out, it only took Euro checks, not US dollars. I have used travelers checks as emergency funds for ten years and have never been asked for a receipt. In fact, I’ve never been issued a receipt when I’ve purchased checks—ever. And I’ve never seen anyone carry Euro travelers checks! Finally, the third bank took Mastercard and overlooked my lack of receipt, I could eat.

There’s not too much to do around town and I’m hanging around, waiting for a FedEx to arrive from America. Every once in a while I think of something else that I should have asked my mom to put in the FedEx (afterbite… ziplock bags!). The more time I spend sitting in the capital the more nervous I get about finding travel partners. I just need someone to take the river to Morondova with. Even if I could afford it alone it would be pretty boring that way. I have only met one budget traveler so far, everyone else being French-speaking with big pockets.

Well, folks it’s time. Tomorrow morning I fly to Madagascar. After some frantic emailing with Air Madagascar’s office in Nairobi I finally got a confirmed reservation when I checked my email in Moyale before crossing the border to Kenya. I spent the night on the Kenyan side and was ready to get to Nairobi the next morning along with the Australian woman who tagged along.

She had a lot of Ethiopian money left over and changed it to Kenyan shillings with the black market dealers on the Ethiopian side. Because she had so much we decided that I would borrow money from her until we arrived in Nairobi and I could use my ATM card. Surprisingly, in the morning while I was talking to truck drivers and arranging a ride South she made a call to some friends and decided to stay in Moyale to wait for them for a day or two.

I was shocked, not knowing this was even a possibility. If I had known I would have been mentally prepared to travel in a truck alone and certainly would have changed money. I was pretty upset, not liking sudden changes in plans. There was a group of Finns in a 4×4 who were heading South and they offered me a ride if nothing else worked out. I talked to the man at the bus window and he promised to save me a seat on the bus until after the bank opened at 9am. I was going to have to change my last $100 at a bad rate. I was also worried because the truck convoy was supposed to leave at 9am and I was worried I would be stranded.

So I impatiently waited outside the bank while men in uniforms with rifles guarded the door. Rain poured down and the entire population of the town crowded under the overhangs of the tin roofs staring and the muddy mess in front of them. Although I woudl have rather been in the 4×4 I figured the bus would be good—it went straight through the night to Nairobi and I would have a seat. Most of the truck drivers I talked to had already sold their front seats and wanted to stuff me behind the seats or in the empty cargo hold in the back. The bus sounded good.

By 9:10 I had cash and a bus ticket and was standing in the rain with my bag. I finally sat on the bus but nothing seemed to be happening. I kept my eyes on the 4×4 and waited until 10:30. Finally someone on the bus said something about tomorrow and I discovered the bus had been cancelled for lack of passengers. This, after I had been told the bus was sold out and after the ticket man acted as if he was doing me a favor saving me a seat. I was not happy.

I jumped off the bus and all the trucks and the 4×4 were gone. I was stranded. Standing in the middle of the dirt square in the rain I looked around in despair. A few locals came up and asked the typical “are you fine?” This time I said “no, I am not fine” and threw a small tantrum. One of the guys around my age told me he would look for a car and took me to a shop where a car was waiting in the back. “Look, it’s a Landcruiser, very good.” It was a 4×4 car but the back was a pickup with a large cage welded on top. The front seat was taken and after five minutes insisting that I would only pay half beforehand I was pushed into the cage. The entire floor was covered in suitcases, boxes and bags but there was only one woman and her two small children in the back with me. Since I was paying the same price I would have to ride in the front of a truck I figured that we would be alone in the back. I was wrong.

Usually I ask all the questions needed during negotiations but I was so frazzled that I was just happy to be leaving town that day. As soon as we pulled out of the back we stopped and 15 more people got in. The crowd yelled at me through the cage to put my small backpack on the roof and when I refused (it had my camera and other electronics in it) they told me I was selfish and that they are paying as much as I am and so on. Seeing as the bus was 1,500 shillings and no one wanted to ride I can only assume that this was a lot cheaper than the bus—not the 8,000 they claimed. I paid 2,000 and knew it was too much. It wasn’t getting off to a good start.

We finally left town and went through no less than 15 police checkpoints between Moyale and Isiolo. We drove for six hours straight to Marsabit with no stops and no opportunity to stretch our legs. Seeing as my knees were around my shoulders and two different people were sitting on my feet I could barely walk when our cage was opened and we were freed. This wasn’t what I had agreed to. I had assumed we’d spend the night in Marsabit but we continued on after dinner.

The driver was nice and didn’t flinch when I mentioned I couldn’t sit in the back anymore. I suggested that I stay in Marsabit and get another ride the next morning but he happily suggested I sit in the front next to the breastfeeding woman. He assured me that the man sitting there wouldn’t mind. He tried to talk me out of it but I left Marsabit in the front seat. Despite the fact that the woman was talking up much more than her share of the seat and her 7 year-old daughter had to sit on my lap with my bag on her lap I was happy to have my legs stretched out.

It was tight but sitting next to the window watching the stars while listening to my music was amazing. We stopped about three hours before Isiolo and the man came back and starting yelling at me to “go back where I belong.” I simply stood next to the door and suggested that I was where I belonged. He continued to yell at me “not to argue” when he was the only one even speaking. I stood my ground and the driver told me to sit down. That meant that the woman sat next to the window and I had to balance the girl with one leg outstretched and the other bent over the stick shift. It started to rain.

We arrived in Isiolo at 4am, 16.5 hours after leaving Marsabit. It continued to rain and the woman next to me had fallen asleep on my shoulder while her daughter fell asleep on my lap. I was holding the woman up with my shoulder, the girl back with both of my arms so she didn’t hit her head on the dashboard and my bag up against the front window. After all of this the passengers were still cold to me and the woman next to me refused to get out. I tried to maneuver out of the driver’s side and got stuck between the steering wheel and the driver’s bag. Finally I pushed out and didn’t look back. My large backpack was still in back but definitely more flat than when I had left it. Later I would fine that my laptop’s screen had developed a flicker.

The 6:30 bus to Nairobi was sold out but the men at the window promised “to find me a seat.” I sat around for two hours and finally got on the bus and realized just how bad I smelled. I ended up in Nairobi by noon and managed to bargain down a taxi driver to a reasonable rate to my hostel. It’s a whole different world down here, not only do they drive on the other side of the road but many people are walking around in business suits and I haven’t noticed one person sleeping in the middle of the highway. Still, Nairobi is notorious for it’s crime and poverty and I’ve stuck to the hostel at night.

Yesterday I ran errands around town, picking up my ticket to Madagascar and buying a guidebook and French phrasebook. I haven’t had enough time to update my site completely and I only hope that the screen flicker isn’t an omen of my laptop’s final legs. It only needs to last a few more months! I’m starting to get excited for Madagascar, despite the French and the costs. Even my family told me they watched a special on Madagascar tonight so I think we’re all ready for some lemurs.

To tide you over until I finish my post about The South Omo Valley here are a few fun facts about Ethiopia that I’ve noticed:

Ethiopians have a different calendar and the current year is 1999. The year 2000 hits this September and I’ve seen a handful of places named “millennium cafe.” Some stores are having millennium sales.

Time is also counted differently, with Ethiopian time running six hours behind international time. So when it’s 7:30 in the morning in Ethiopia it’s really 1:30 in the afternoon. This makes things difficult sometimes and leads to the inevitable “your time or my time?” conversation.

The Orthodox Christian majority of Ethiopia is much more visible than the sizable Muslim population here. Many women, even in Addis, tattoo their foreheads with crosses and their jawbones and necks with geometric designs.

Most of Ethiopia’s religious treasures have been stolen or sold off in the past. Churches still have tall crosses left, some made of gold and others of brass or silver. A gold cross weighing 7 kilos was stolen from a Lalibella church in 1997 and then recovered.

The ark of the covenant is supposedly housed in St. Mary of Zion Church up in Aksum. It is not on display to the public. Many monasteries around the north claim to have once been the resting place of the ark or possible the intended resting place based on murals and decorations. Many monasteries do not allow women tourists to enter.

The most popular American TV show here, based on posters, is Prison Break. Rental shops also have 24, Lost and sometimes Alias. I was most surprised to see the entire series of Dark Angel, which was not popular in the US. The shopgirl told me that it’s very popular in Ethiopia. It costs 5 bir to rent a DVD and 3 bir to rent a VCD.

Outside of Addis I rarely saw any women with relaxed hair, most wore their hair in tight braids.

The most popular “sport” is foozeball. Local men and boys stand around in the middle of small towns playing on the dilapidated tables.

No one is proud of the Italian occupation during WWII, but most people say “chow” when saying good bye and the macchiato is the national drink.

One of the more strange, but often repeated, comments I got from over-eager English speakers was “where are you from” followed by “is that a developed nation? Ethiopia is a developing nation.” Sometimes “developed nation” was replaced with “first world.”

Prostitution is not as socially forbidden here as in the West. Cheating (by men and women) is common. As much as 50% of prostitutes are HIV positive. Outside of Addis Ababa a women in a bar is almost always a prostitute.

All of my photos from Ethiopia are up in the gallery. I think it’s an eclectic group but the South was still my favorite.

I really appreciate all of the emails I’ve received recently from my readers. It’s taken me a while, but I think I’ve answered all of your questions. My, a lot of you are trying to program websites yourselves. My best advice it to keep it simple. Remember that you don’t need as extensive site as this one unless you will have the content. Also remember that I’m a professional designer and have some experience with web programming. You can’t learn this overnight, but you probably don’t need to if you just use a blog software like WordPress.

If you’ve sent me an email and I haven’t replied please try one more time—jumping from country to country and switching between webmail and downloading email onto my computer it’s possible I’ve overlooked an email or two.

My bank told me yesterday that they would re-activate my ATM card for 24 hours. They lied.

I tried my card late in the afternoon and again after dinner with no response. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, and assumed that there was a delay on the Ethiopian end but in the morning I was still money-less. Before I walked across town to another ATM I stopped into a branch of the bank to see if they could use the card. The card reader printed out a tiny receipt that read “authorization failed.”

The teller suggested I try the bank next door “because they call Kenya to get authorization.” I did and the card still failed which means that the ban was never lifted by my bank. Luckily, this bank took Mastercard (maybe the only one in Ethiopia) and I was able to use my second ATM card from my other bank to withdraw money. Of course, the pleasure of using a Mastercard cost me 6.5%, not to mention the 3% my bank will slap on.

With a bag of cash I ran off to my hotel, collected my things and hopped on a minibus as close as I could get to my chair. I had to walk the last 10 minutes uphill and was sweaty and tired when I stepped into the shop where I bought the chair two days ago. They wrote up a receipt for the chair and a few other things I was sending (for customs, although it was never requested) and tied the box together with a rope. The box was put on top of a taxi and I was off to the airport.

I’ve done a little looking and for large things Lufthansa Cargo is the cheapest service—cheaper than Ethiopian cargo or the post office. There’s no sea mail because to the wars going on to the east so it has to go by air. I would much rather pay less and have it arrive in five months, but air was my only option as far as I could tell.

The customs, weighing and payment process at the airport took about 1.5 hours, which wasn’t as bad as I expected. The staff were very nice and helpful and I paid two porters 35 bir (about $4) to pack the outside of the box up properly with straps and a bit of tape. The woman checking my package for export barely glanced at the chair and commented on one of the woven mats I bought. She didn’t even open the bag of stuff I threw in there. It seems like customs is hit or miss with it’s severity.

My box weighed in at exactly 20 kilos, but the cost is based on volume, not weight. Because of the dimensions I was charged for 42 kilos—$165. Yes, it’s a lot of money but I spent only a bit less to send 6 kilos from Kyrgyzstan not so long ago. For me the cost was worth it. It’s on tonight’s flight and will be in Frankfurt tomorrow morning and in Chicago the following day.

I had my taxi driver (who had waited through the entire process) take me clear across town to the bus station but I wasn’t able to get a ticket for tomorrow and have to show up at 5am like everyone else and fight for my seat. At the merkato I ran into some high school boys who snapped pictures of me with their cell phones and blurted out names like “Jennifer Lopez, Shikira…. Michael Scofield.” The last name is the main character from the TV show Prison Break. Although I’ve seen posters all over town I’m surprised high school boys in Ethiopia rank him as high as JLo.

I’m meeting up with an Australian woman who I met in Bahir Dar in Dila and then continuing on with her to Kenya. It will be nice to have a travel partner for what will probably be a long, rough road. Because I can’t say no, I agreed to ship a small bag of souvenirs for her today so she would have one extra day in the South, since she hasn’t seen the areas I’ve already been to. So before I could collapse back at my hotel I spent some time at the post office packing a box for Australia. The staff were oddly cheerful and typically helpful so it wasn’t much of a chore other than carrying the bag around all morning.

All of my clothes besides the ones I’m wearing are freshly washed and I’m ready to leave my temporary home. I will miss the helpful hotel owner who listens to my complain about banks and the cute cleaning woman who give me a smile and a wink when I put my clothes on her line to dry. I’m still not confirmed for Madagascar and am hoping I’ll get an email before I cross to Kenya so I can buy the appropriate visa. While I’m in transit spend some time in the gallery. There’s more photos form Northern Ethiopia to come but what’s there should keep you guys busy for a while.

Silly me, in my haste to show you a taste of Ethiopia I forgot to finish uploading the rest of my photos from Egypt. They’re all up in the gallery now. I ate a lot of McDonalds in Cairo so it only seemed appropriate to include a burger in the food category.

It’s been one of those days.

I’ve been in touch with Air Madagascar’s Nairobi agent for weeks now, planning my flight to Madagascar. I’m trying to time things right so that I can travel between Addis Ababa and Nairobi by bus (a five-day journey), pick up my ticket and leave within the confines of a seven-day transit visa. The difference between a transit visa and tourist visa is $30 so it seems like an effort worth making. I thought things would work out, I’d have my flight confirmed and leave tomorrow on the bus.

But it’s not working out, I haven’t heard from the airline in three days and I have no idea if there’s a seat for me on the once-weekly flight to Tana. Even worse—I’ve been shopping. From the moment I arrived in Ethiopia I’ve been coveting the solid wooden stools and throne-like chairs. I went through my usual “but it’s too expensive… but what would a chair cost in the US… and what would an antique Ethiopian chair cost in the US…” conversation in my head and the chair won out. So I’ve been chair shopping and picked up a few more souvenirs to throw in the box.

When I was going to buy a stool I was planning on sending it through the post office but the chair might be as much as 20 kilos so it’s going freight. With the help of the Ethiopian friend of an American photographer living here I put a down payment on the chair and worked out that I could send the chair by Luftansa Cargo. It wasn’t until last night that I discovered that today is a national holiday and most things, including the post office and probably the cargo offices, are closed.

I’m usually one to sleep in but I got up at 7:30 this morning and immediately started burning CDs of my photos to send back with the chair. My hotel has scalding hot water so I took the opportunity to was almost all of my clothes and let them dry in the sun to hopefully get rid of whatever has been leaving me with lumpy red bites all over since I arrived in Lalibela. By 9am I was close to ready, having also had a photo session with my souvenirs and sketchbook so I tried calling the cargo office. There was no answer. The hotel owner called again and again before calling information and getting more useless numbers. It was closed and I was stuck. I can’t leave Addis until I ship my chair and there’s no way to ship it until tomorrow.

So I gave up and decided to go to one of the three ATMs in town and pick up some money since I only had about $1.25 in my pocket. The ATM nearest to my hotel refused my card and I assumed the machine was out of money or broken—pretty common situations here. So I picked up a croissant and macchiato for breakfast and walked North a mile or so to The Hilton, where anoter ATM is located. No luck. The staff there are extremely helpful and a concierge called the bank for me to see what was wrong. I was told that my bank was refusing the transaction, not the Ethiopian bank.

Now, I’ve had problems with my bank before for being overjealous in suspending my card. As soon as “Tajikistan” or Mongolia” pops up on their radar they freak out and put a hold on my card. That’s usually followed by a frantic email from my mom who’s trying to sort out the problem (this is why I gave her power of attorney on all my accounts, folks). I had another option, my other bank account’s ATM card which was securely hidden away in my bag in the hotel.

At the hotel I got a message from an Australian woman I’ve been hanging out with. The ride we thought we could catch with a traveler heading in his own car to Nairobi fell through. We would have to take the bus. For five days.

Racing back to the nearest ATM, I tried my backup ATM card, only to have it rejected after the first prompt. Although it’s a Mastercard and only Visa seems to work in Ethiopia the Plus symbol on the machine had given me hope. With my remaining few bir I stepped into an internet cafe to see what was going on. I wasn’t surprised to see a message from my mom telling me that my card had been suspended after it was discovered that it had been skimmed in Jordan and someone had my account number and pin. They were issuing me a new card—a horrible idea for someone all the way in Africa.

I was faced with a couple of dilemmas. First of all I had no money and my options were running out. Only one travelers check conversion is allowed during a stay in Ethiopia (and only if you’ve flown in—my sad face allowed them to led it slide that I didn’t have the required return ticket) with a maximum of $400. I used that up to pay for my car to The Omo Valley. I have a Visa credit card but a cash advance on that would be extremely expensive. Finally, I have about $120 in US cash left but I’d like to keep that for backup, for converting at the Kenyan border and besides, today is a holiday and all the banks are closed. My best hope was that my bank would lift the suspension on my card long enough for me to get some money to pay off my hotel bill, get some food and ship my chair.

My other dilemma was how to get that new card into my hands in Africa. My mom is going to have to courier it to me, probably in Kenya or Madagascar. Considering my credit card expires in May she could send that along too. A quick look on Fedex.com and I’m seeing rates of $75 for 7-day service and $120 for 3-day service. That’s steep and I wonder if I can survive for the last few months of my trip with my Mastercard for ATMs. I know Mastercard works in Kenya but haven’t figured out if it’s okay in Madagascar or Tanzania yet.

Luckily a few internet places are open today and I sat down with my laptop to call my bank over the internet using Skype. Skype is great to use because it’s cheap and I can call toll-free numbers, all of which aren’t accessible from outside the US on landlines. My favorite internet shop is having a May Day sale for it’s members so it’s was packed when I walked in and the connection was slow. After about fifteen minutes of repeated tries I got through to Eddie in Orlando and we talked about my problem. He agreed to lift the ban but it would take a few hours because no one was into work yet. He agreed to call my mom to verify things once the right people arrived and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The connection to my mom was much better and we were able to talk for a while before the owner asked me to say goodbye. Voice-over-internet calls are apparently illegal in Ethiopia. So in about two hours I will try the ATM in the big, empty yellow business center down the street and hopefully get enough cash in hand to get me out of Ethiopia.