Exploding Spark Plugs

We left fairly early the next morning. I’m not sure if it's a good idea knowing from previous experience of German overlanders morning schedule. But on the other hand I was happy to be travelling with morning people. People who like to get up and get moving early – so we can either enjoy the sights along the way or stop in plenty of time to unwind at the end of the day.

Not before too long, the sick limping bike decides to cut out completely. We all park our bikes on a nice wide piece of road verge and pull the cap of the spark plug off. Something drops. Looking down on the ground we find a long piece of metal.  Hummm, that looks like the inside of a spark plug!

Sure enough, when we took the spark plug out it was missing the inside steel piece. I just hoped for the owner of the bike that none of it went inside the engine to the piston head or we are going to have more trouble on our hands. He replaced the spark plug with a spare one and we set off once again, hoping to find a mechanic in the next village. We found a mechanic, and sure enough, they take one look at the spark plug and say, here is the problem! Walking off to get us all a cold drink, I laughed to myself. This was becoming ridiculous.

This was a calm village where only a couple of people came out  to see us. 

We know the spark plug is a symptom but not the cause of the problem. But anyway, they trusted this mechanic to fix the problem while I went with one of the guys to sit on the main road incase the Germans drove straight past us. 

While we were waiting, two of us went to withdrawal money from the ATM. But their MasterCard wouldn’t work, and the guy got angry at the security guard, asking why the machine says it will accept MasterCard but actually in practice it doesn't. I managed to withdrawal money and loaned some to them.

Thanking the guards as I left, the guy turns to me and asks ‘why thank him, he didn’t help us at all! My card still doesn’t work.’  Quietly fuming to myself, but trying to keep my words from sounding harsh, I couldn’t help myself and spit out ‘It’s not his fault the machine doesn’t accept your card, he’s just the security guard. It’s the banks fault but overall, not many countries around the world accept MasterCard!’ 

A few hours later, the bike was running better for the time being and we hit the road once again. We drove on and on. I wondered if we somehow missed the Germans and they were now in front of us. But as the kilometres slipped past, I realised they were in fact still behind us and as more kilometres slipped past, the distance between the two groups increased and my hope of ever joining up faded.

Another pretty sane village - I even trusted my helmet and gloves on the bike while eating lunch!

Just on dusk at a small village we stopped and found a local hotel and restaurant. Obviously they only had traditional food and I ordered a simple fried meat dish called ‘Tibs’ with Ingeria. Finally I got approvals for the food from both sides as the beer slipped down our throats and we can rest our tired bodies. 

This is the true Ethiopian reception! We ended up having someone with a stick to take care of the bikes while we had coffee and a donut! 

Just before I fell asleep, I finally got a text message to say the Germans just arrived into the town we got the bike fixed in... This convoy wasn’t really working. They were not keeping up or not leaving earlier enough...

Spicy Food, Strange People

One must be careful when deciding who to travel with. For the last year and a half I have been mainly on my own. I do join other overlanders, but it’s always been because we have enjoyed each others company not because I have to.  Until now. On my way down to Addis Ababa, I met two German motorcyclists who had informed me about the rebel fighting going on in and around Moyale (Ethiopia and Kenya border)and how the army had just moved in to help diminish the problem. 

Just when I was wondering what to do and how to approach the area, an opportunity rose to join other overlanders and create a convoy to travel through the area. I decided to leap on board eyes wide shut and travel with two German campers (people I had met back in Egypt while waiting for the boat to Sudan) and two other motorcyclists that I had spoken to for only a few minutes the day before leaving. This was actually meant to be a treat! Oh, how wrong could I be!

The motorcyclist and campervans split up right from the word go. This was understandable, since we with motorcycles can travel a lot faster and easier in and around traffic, but we made a plan to meet up every night. First stop wasn't too far from Addis, an overlanders camp ground beside a beautiful lake. This meant we (the motorcyclists) could take it easy and take plenty of breaks for coffee, food and photos. The day rolled out pretty uneventfully, well, except for me learning a few fast and hard lessons about who I’m actually travelling with.  Before the day was out, I started to form a picture in my mind.

Stopping for lunch in a small village along the main road, I asked what everyone wanted to eat so I could go and order it. But my team mates had never tried local food despite being in Ethiopia for over two weeks!  I gave them a crash course in Ethiopia cuisine and ordered my favourite spicy meat dish piled on top of the slightly sour oversized pancake called ingeria. I  then showed them how rip off a piece of ingeria and gather a bit of meat mixture and place it in their mouth without making too much mess. One followed suit but using his left hand. “I don’t mind if you use your ass wiping hand to eat your food but IF your been invited into a family’s house for dinner then only use your right!” laughing. He quickly swapped hands and continued to try to eat the dish which turned out to be too spicy for him and he gave up eating after a few mouth full’s.

One motorcycle had an issue, one that had been ongoing since they left home. When I heard it back firing and consistently spluttering I figured that there was something wrong with the air and fuel mixture in a carburettor. I quietly made the suggestion, but I’m no expert, it just something I would have looked into long before now. The rider responded that a lot of mechanics had checked it out and never found the problem. They just kept on blaming it on the spark plug and replacing it. He was just waiting for Jungle Junction (another well known overlanders camp in the heart of Nairobi that also has a workshop) where Chris can work his magic and finally sort out the problem. However that’s over 1000kms away with 300kms of really bad and dangerous gravel road in between!  I wonder how this is going to pan out?

It was around 3pm when we arrived at the pre-arranged meeting point. The driveway into the camp site was riddled with bull dust and deep sand patches. After northern Ethiopia, this was no real challenge for me, but I had enough sense to hang back and let the guys go first and let the dust (so to speak of) settle on at least one or the other trapped under their heavy over loaded motorcycles, crying out for help. Surprise, surprise... Every time, I leapt of my bike and helped them out.  For the first couple of times (each), I laughed at them but then it got a bit tiresome and they started to get grumpy. So I couldn't help wonder – is this what it would be like if I was to ever do motorcycle tours and didn't know the people or their abilities beforehand??

It was a good time to slowly set up camp in the best spot and to walk down to the resort and have a sunset beer on the shores of the lake. We were pretty happy until I received a phone call from the German side of the convoy team. “What’s it like where you are?” I told them of the nasty expat owner and of the limited faculties for the price he charges. They responded with “We have decided to stop 20km down the road and have a look at the national park, why don’t you came and join us” The three of us sat, there slightly bitter – we would have liked to have done that too, but we had already paid and set up our tent for the night at the location we had all agreed to only a few hours ago in Addis. Again my brain was wondering how well this convoy was going to work when we really needed to be together and work together. This was indeed going to be a trying few days with a team that was already falling apart within a few hours of starting out!  

This is the day of wondering. Wondering what I was doing with these people? Wondering how I was going to cope over the next few days? Wondering why a group of likeminded people cannot even stick to a simple plan? So many thoughts, so many worries about what the next few days is going to bring me. For now I have to shove those thoughts away and drift off to sleep, I'm going to need all energy and patience I can get. 

Information, Visa and Insurances In Addis Ababa

Dieter, Juliana and I left Lake Hayk together but we didn’t arrive into Addis Ababa together.  It was a pity because with my lack of a GPS, I wouldn’t be able to find Wims Holland's house, a typical overlanders camp ground in the heart of Ethiopia’s capital. Pulling out my printed guide book, I found yet another place that had been recommended. I lost Dieter and Juilana when I stopped to chat to two German motorcyclists just before a small town called Dessie.

Normally there is a protocol to stop and get any news or tips for the direction you’re heading in from anyone who is travelling in the opposite direction. Since these two German guys were about to cross into Sudan, I told them where to change money, get fuel and what the road conditions were like. They in turn were able to give me up to date information on the main border crossing between Ethiopia and Kenya.

They explained to me that there had been some rebel shooting in the last week and about 40 locals died in the cross fire. Villages had been emptied out and now it was like driving through an eerie dead area. This wasn’t the news I was after. Originally I had planned to slowly make my way down to the border hoping to meet an overlander in a big truck to try the Lake Turkana route with.

The Lake Turkana route would have been extremely tough route to take on my own. I would be driving over melon sized boulders, through deep sand, which I’m not very confidant with, plus I would have had to carry at least an extra 25 litres of fuel with me.  With the extra weight, and the remoteness of where I would be driving through, I was forced to team up with an overland truck. The flip side to this is I would be driving through areas untouched by tourism and communities still with their primal traditional settings and values.  If I don’t succeed in finding a travel buddy for Lake Turkana, I would carry on alone to cross at Moyale despite the rebel fighting.

In the morning, after I arrived into Addis, I was sitting in the sun enjoy a late easy breakfast in the garden when Dieter walks in. Hugging him, I quickly apologise for losing them and I hope they didn’t wait around for me somewhere. But that wasn’t the case. They had stopped in Dessie to exchange money when they saw me zoom past them. I didn’t even see the monster truck parked there, somehow it just blended in!

Dieter was dropping in to see if I wanted to join them for a convoy through the Moyale border and to get my Kenyan visa here in Addis. It was well known that you’re able to get the visa on the border but we wanted to have a smooth quick crossing, so everyone wass getting their visa beforehand. Grabbing my passport and spare US cash I leap in the taxi with them and head to the embassy.

My Kenyan Visa

After filling in the usual visa form, handing over $50 USD and a passport size photo of myself, Dieter and Juliana take me to where I can organise a COMESA (or commonly known as yellow card in Africa). The yellow card should take some hassle out of crossing borders and not having to pay extra on the border for each country I enter into. This card takes all the hassle out of it and it covers several countries and lasts for 6 months for only $20! After filling out all the paper work, and paying my money to the cashier, I came back to hand the first guy my receipt when he told me to come back in one hour, it was lunch time. 

I knew from watching Dieter and Juliana go through the process that I only had another two minutes and I would be out of there with my insurance but instead I had to sit there and wait for everyone to return back from lunch. An hour later and two minutes I was finally finished and heading back to my guesthouse to wash my petrol tank out and maintain my chain.

The COMESA insurance I'm required to have for the next 6 months.

Two days later, Dieter and Juliana with their big truck, another young German couple in a camper van, two other motorcyclist and I are standing at the gates of Wims Holland's house ready to make a slow convoy to the Moyale border. Dieter, Juliana and I might not arrived into Addis together but we can sure leave together!

Birds, Birds, Birds, sorry not the ones in bikinis!

After a morning service at Lalibella main stone church, Dieter and Juliana take the lead and chug their massive tank of a truck back down the mountain to the main road. Pulling this old super truck through the mountains ranges at an average of 2500m above sea level is quite difficult. At times Dieter would throw the old girl into first and then tether between first and second to chug up a steep section of the road. Cruising at 15 kilometres per hour I couldn’t hover behind them anymore and would quickly accelerate and pull in front,and within seconds I had lost them behind my small dust trail.

Dieter and Juliana's truck coming up the hill.

I’ve learnt from previous experiences when travelling with a camper you need to stick behind them or you quickly get excited and forget they cannot travel as fast. So, at the top of a hill, I would stop and take out my camera and be ready for when they arrived.

The Grandmother of these kids came out of the hut and asked for medicine to fix her blind eyes.  I tried to explain that's part of getting old and no medicine could help. 

While standing next to my bike waiting for Dieter and Juliana to arrive, I would promptly have a few locals come up to me with their cows and donkeys and start asking for birr (money) once again. I was so fed up with one particular kid asking for money, pens or clothing, I picked up his foot and removed one of his sweaty plastic shoes and stuck it under the elastic cargo net I had on the back of my bike. Pretending I forgot about it, I would carry on taking photos or talking to the locals, this would temporarily confuse the child and gave me the effect I was after, silence.

It wasn’t long before he would work up some courage and under my watchful eye, work his shoe loose from the elastic net. When Dieter finally arrived, I would move on closely behind them, trying hard to keep out of the billowing dust cloud that the four monster wheels would kick up.

Here is just some of the people I was talking too, including the boy in front who's shoe I took.

Passing through the large town of Wolida, I as usual, have to stop for petrol. The first place I came to only sold Diesel. The second petrol station had run out of petrol and the third one had just filled up the last tuk tuk. This is a huge town surely someone must have a few litres of black-market fuel. Sure enough a boy comes running over to me. ‘You want Benzin? You want Benzin?’ ‘Yes’ I replied ‘how much per litre?’ Now the standard rate at the petrol station is 20 birr per litre ($1.25 USD), on the black-market you can normally get it for around 25 birr per litre ($1.50 USD) so when the boy said ‘30birr ($1.80 USD)’ I was shocked. I laughed and said ‘I’ll take 10 litres at 25 birr, no more! It’s the usual black-market price’. The boy laughs back and said ‘No, 30 birr’, shrugs his shoulders and walks back to his spot in the shade. Damn you guys for trying to rip off foreigners. I looked behind me and saw I was still carrying 4L of fuel in my fuel bladder. Perfect, at least I don’t have to support their exorbitant fees and am able to carry on for at least another 100km.

I had been given a tip about a camp site on the shores of Lake Hayk. Driving down to the shore in search of the camp site we passed a stream of cars kicking up dust into my face. I couldn’t shut the visor as it was already caked in a thick layer, I just had to bear dust slapping my face and takeing the occasional mouth full.

I was beginning to wonder what I had suggested to Dieter and Juliana, but they seemed pretty keen to carry on. Arriving at the end of the road, we just stopped the vehicles and stared at birds as tall as me, congregating on the shores of the most beautiful lake. Wow, the tip paid off and here we were in the heart of a bird sanctuary and the wedding party had just left, hence why we passed so many cars coming into this area.

We nestled the big truck and my motorcycle down by the shores of the lake and I pitched my tent in the dark. I woke in the morning to the sounds of the fishermen checking their nets before heading out on a boat made from reeds lashed together with a bit of rope, to try and set their nets in a semi circle before chasing the tiny fish into the enclosure. Apparently the boats become water logged after a couple hours, therefore they have to return to shore and let the boats dry out before trying again tomorrow. 

As soon as the fishermen had finished, we sat down at Dieters table and watched the herds of cows come down to the shore, one by one in their small groups along with their herder, to take a drink from the lake. It was just a crazy phenomenon, having cows standing taller than you're sitting, wandering all around you while you are spreading boiled eggs on your toast!

This is a great place to resting up, while drawing some cartoons in my sketch book.

My view from my cabana, another favourite place to sit while sketching. 

Sorry, I couldn't stand next to one, but seriously these birds are massive! Almost the height of me.

Early morning fishing for a beautiful King Fisher. 

The early morning fishing, noticed the boat is just reeds lashed together?

Sun rise over Lake Hayk

We nestled the big truck and my motorcycle down by the shores of the lake and I pitched my tent in the dark. I woke in the morning to the sounds of the fishermen checking their nets before heading out on a boat made from reeds lashed together with a bit of rope, to try and set their nets in a semi circle before chasing the tiny fish into the enclosure. Apparently the boats become water logged after a couple hours, therefore they have to return to shore and let the boats dry out before trying again tomorrow. 

As soon as the fishermen had finished, we sat down at Dieters table and watched the herds of cows come down to the shore, one by one in their small groups along with their herder, to take a drink from the lake. It was just a crazy phenomenon, having cows standing taller than you're sitting, wandering all around you while you are spreading boiled eggs on your toast! Between the herds of cows, we sat sipping our coffees watching the different flocks of birds flying over. Today, our plan was to drive the remaining 400 kilometres to Addis, the capital of Ethiopia but plans change like the wind and we decided to stay here watching the wild life for the day. 

Here Come the Stones

Riding on a perfectly laid out gravel road and driving through traditional villages was truly the essence behind why I travel by motorcycle.  Now, if I had been on a bus, I would be limited to taking the main highway and only stopping at the usual stops, being harassed by vendors selling overpriced bottles of coke to unsuspecting tourists. Instead they were all so surprised to see me, their first reaction was to pick up a stone and throw it. Apparently they don’t mean any harm by it. It’s just a gentle way to get my attention. They were getting my attention alright, by the fourth stone, the one that hit me square in between the eyes, right on the bridge of my sunglasses, I snapped once again.

How can Ethiopian's destroy everything I begin to love? How can they just get everything so messed up? Who is messing this country up?  Fuming, I am riding along the road through the most amazing landscapes and villages when I connected the dots. The villages where the people are more aggressive, more demanding and have no sense of pride happens to be the ones littered with foreign aid signs. I guess this is the flip side to doing your 'feeling good' about yourselves and donating aid, is the fact the locals start to depend on the aid and come to think all white man is good for in this world is his/her money and handing it out to everyone in Ethiopia.

Still fuming, but really enjoying the driving, I came across a bus and a grader blocking the road. The people had piled out of the bus and were crying in small groups some distance from the bus. Parking my bike a respectable distance from everyone, I was just about to dismount when a young man approached me. He explained there had been an accident - as the two vehicles passed each other the man driving the grader was electrocuted. I looked up taking note of a power line crossing close to the road and knew instantly, the people in the bus would have been ok, but the grader moved off the road too far to allow the bus to pass by. It was a terrible accident, but one that could have been avoided.

My new guide showed me a path down the side of the stuck vehicles, through the piles of dirt the grader was trying to repair the road with. After I complete the little path he just mapped out for me, I waited for the usual request for money, but when I didn’t receive one and saw he was about to walk off, I called him over and extended my hand. ‘Thank you brother’ he half extended his hand but took it back and placed it on his heart, ‘No, thank you sister’. I was taken back, ‘Are you Muslim?’ I asked. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘Well, I’ve spent a bit of time in Muslim countries and I know Muslims cannot touch a woman that not in the family’. He smiles and wishes me good luck for my journey. Waving goodbye, I realised I should have guessed earlier. He was sporting a beard where all other Ethiopian’s didn’t have and this one act of kindness and non demanding attitude made me wish I was back in Muslim countries.

I was glad to finally reach Lalibella, I was tired not only from the riding but ducking the flying stones. But it wasn’t over.  When I reached Lalibella, I was been chased by touts all wanting me to come to their hostel. Fed up, I stopped the bike and told them to just leave me alone!

 I also didn’t want to find a room and pay commission, so added, "don’t follow me!"  He was still about to hassle me some more, but another person called out something and he quickly dropped it. When I got to the guest house I had been recommended, I was surprised to find the price had increased more than double! I was so taken back, I said what? He dropped it so fast back to more a reasonable rate that I knew this was some sort of game. I still had some energy in me, so I told him, 'you have got to be kidding, this room is only worth 100birr ($6)'. He still refuses to drop the price down from 200 birr so I pulled out my printed copy of my guide book and started looking up another place.  With another place noted down on my map, I mount my bike and was just about to kick it when he agreed to 150birr ($8). I couldn’t believe how long it took him to drop the price!

A view from the stone church out to the traditional village that only recently has been evacuated. 

All the women trying to hear what the priest has to say in the morning service.

This is the most famous stone church in Lalibella - The Church of Saint George

Juliana, Me and Dieter sitting outside the last stone church we visited.

The churches are never completely organised, a picture on Marry sits on a broken chair amongst the rubbish.  

Everything is carved from stone - a stone mansions dream. Here I am standing in front of a wooden door made to fit the opening.

Walking around looking for a place to eat was hard. Ethiopia was starting to become hard work, like India, and I’m really not enjoying myself with these people. I found a small quiet restaurant where only women worked, and that became the only restaurant I ate at for the next couple of days.

Lalibella is famous for its stone churches. They are the most impressive structures carved out of one entire stone each and there are several clusters of churches scattered throughout Lalibella. After buying my ticket and refusing copious amounts of guide touts I entered the compound and guess who I saw standing there in front of me, but Dieter and his wife Juliana, a couple I had first met in Egypt when they gave me avocado for lunch and I met them again in Aswan while waiting for the ferry to Sudan. It was such a nice surprise for both of us we decided to spend the day together with a guide they had just hired. 

A man reading his bible listening to the service. 

Walking around these magical churches with so much feeling of history with two really great people, showed me why I’m still persevering with the locals and discovering Ethiopia’s treasures. 

The Icing On The Cake

Have you ever come across a Gecko, that’s just forgotten to hold on? I think that’s what the scouts thought I was about to do, with one hand on my bottom and another grabbing my hand trying to drag me up the rock face. I stop mid climb with one foot jammed into a toe hole, the other mid step and my hands placed in the perfectly placed hand grooves, and I tell them- I’m a fricken tough mountain goat! Don’t worry about me. Tanya is the one scared of heights, go and help her. 

The bridge and the path around the side of the mountain. 

The walk to the entrance of the church.

 This is our second attempt at reaching a rock church. In tow we had a guide from the village below, two scouts, one key boy and a priest. We just paid 100 birr ($6) each for the entrance fee of the church, another 250 birr ($15) for the guide and now we had to pay for the rest of them. This is adding up to be one expensive expedition to see just one church! I’m glad I can share the costs with Mitchell and Tanya.

When we reached the top of the cliff face, we found ourselves on a ledge with a small empty cave overlooking two valleys. I couldn’t help my feeling ofdisappointment. Mitchell asked is this the Church? The guide shakes his head and points to a narrow wooden board leading around the corner of the cliff face. The Priest and the Key boy go first, only to come running back yelling ‘Snake, Snake, Snake!’ Now it’s time for the scouts to do something useful for once. Standing as far back as they possibly could, stretching out with their guns they shooed the snake away with the barrel. ‘See madam, you did need us!’ Ha... yeah right... at least now you have worked for your money.

The Key boy turns the lock and the old wooden door is opened. Stepping through the threshold, I gasp. I never expected it would be like this. A room was carved out inside the mountain only held up by a few columns. Every surface was completely decorated with paintings depicting the seven apostles. I’m not one to be spiritual, but I was taken back, and sat down on the floor just to suck in my surroundings and feel the stories emerge from the walls and fill me. This place has such a sense of history, of belonging, of triumph and achievement. I was here in the middle of Ethiopia surrounded by rude and demanding people, all wanting something from me. But in this place, it was quiet, calm and overwhelming.

The priest leaning on his walking stick inside the beautiful church.  

The priest reading his old holly bible.

The twelve Apostles  
 

 

Emerging back into the real world, I got the feeling of dread to be leaving such a special place, knowing by the time we get to the bottom we will be having a fight with everyone about the payment, destroying the calm, quiet, surreal feeling we just received inside the church.

 Sure enough my fears came true and my feelings return to where they started from. As we arrived back at the motorcycles, we discover a man pretending to take care of our bikes and now demanding more money. The thing is, we could see from the top of the mountain he only turned up when he noticed us descending down the mountain. More icing on this terrible cake Ethiopia is trying hard to serve me. 

Tiny Little Savages!

Leaving behind the dust, we were once again back on solid asphalt, riding through open plains dotted with round wooden huts. On one side I could see the mountain range that separates the bitter tension between Ethiopia and Eritrea. On the other side there is rolling mountains and open plains. With Mitchell and Tanya leading, we followed the smooth black ribbon of the asphalt road as it wrapped itself around and over the terrain.

I found myself almost falling asleep now I didn’t have to concentrate on the road as intensely as I had to do a couple of days ago. My environment was no longer holding my attention and I felt myself and my mind drifting off. Fortunately for me, Mitchell was still in the lead and I unconsciously kept one eye open for his manoeuvres as the road changed in front of me.

We decided to base ourselves in Wukro to explore the Tiaray region for the next few days.  Wukro was the first semi normal town I had come across in Ethiopia, by this I mean the first town everyone didn’t gather around us, stare and repeatedly say ‘You’ in a strong voice and ask for birr (the local currency), pens or clothing.  The fact is I was able to stand in the street alone, and  have only the occasional inquisitive person stop and ask normal undemanding questions.

Woman who begged for money while the cat begged for warmth.

At 6 in the morning I allowed Mitchell and Tanya to drag my weary body from a deep sleep to a local church service.  On arriving, I  noted that this church wasn’t anything like normal churches in my country. This one was carved entirely from one piece of stone.  Dressed in white, people streamed in through the tall green gates, finding the perfect spot to listen to the priest who stood beneath a colourful umbrella in the centre.

Walking amongst the airy white clad people swaying and praying in time had a ghostly feel against the picturesque backdrop. The spell was broken by the guard who realised we entered without paying tourist price of 100 birr per person ($6) for entry.

People walking to the church in the early morning.

Refusing to abide by the overpriced system, Tanya and I walked back through the tall green gates and waited with the few who didn’t feel the need to enter the holy grounds. In the hours that the sun rose and the service came to an end, I had become friends with a few more people. None had asked me for birr or a pen, until one called out to a blind lady, there is a ferengi (foreigner) sitting here with us. The old blind lady with her shoes in her hand shuffled over to us and starts to ask the young local girl for money. Giggling, the young girl pointed uselessly to me and said no, that’s the ferengi.

This family is very poor and hope people are kind enough to offer some money.

These three little guys acted as my guide for a few hours. 

Mostly people sat or stood to listen to what the priest has to say. 

The old women repeated the question, this time with her face tilted towards me. The problem is I have no idea what she was asking for, but the children had no issues to translate for me, ‘Birr, birr, she’s asking for money’. I laugh, I cannot even afford to enter the church grounds at 100 birr let alone give this woman some money.

One young man, horrified at this woman’s request, explained to her it is un-holy to ask for money. She shoved him aside and she said 'they are white, they have money, let them pay me'. Up until now, it had been a perfect morning without the hassles until this woman broke the spell.

The spell was truly broken. In fact I was so fed up I nearly left the following day in absolute disgust. I, like most people who visit this area, come to see the rock temples littering the countryside. With the young local we had met at the church earlier that day, we headed down another sandy path towards the more famous rock temples. This in itself was a bad idea. But it didn’t start out badly, as with our local friend as a semi guide we found ourselves invited into a gathering of people from the surrounding villages in celebration of a person’s life 40 days death.

A lot of people just face the holly church in a trance while the service was on. 

 Lining up in almost perfect rows, we sit down together. We were each handed a used rusty tin can. Still pondering what it was for, a lady came past and filled it to the brim with cloudy white drink. With one sniff we worked it out to be some sort of local home brewed spirit.  Next we were handed a plate, and in tight succession, injera and two types of curry’s. When seconds were dished out, we all had to politely refuse as not only had we just eaten Ethiopia's most heavy meal, we had breakfast an hour earlier. We made our way back out of the tented off area, saying goodbye to almost everyone.

As I walked down the single dusty path lined with cactus, Tanya and I chatter away while Mitchell talks to our new found friend from Wukro. A woman walks past and reaches out for Tanya, but in Tanya’s confusion, she doesn’t recognise the woman’s desires. I had seen this once before, and I felt the same womanly bond as I had done when standing on a walking bridge in Gilgit, Pakistan, so many months ago when it happened to me the first time. I don’t hesitate and reach out to have my hand folded tightly in both her narrow leathery hands. We bring our faces together and touch each cheek three times. Pulling apart, she forcibly takes my hand and holds it against her swelling belly. She whispers a few words and releases my hand. In this powerful action, I realise by me touching her, she hopes to pass on any good luck I might hold.

Dizzy not only from that powerful experience but the strong alcohol we drove back across the fields to the main dirt track. We stop a couple of villages down and ask for directions to the local monastery. The few adults who answered our questions were lovely, they even shoo-ed away a handful of children asking for money and pens and I honestly thought things might be changing, until we drove towards the monastery.

Riding through more fields, making our way to the mountain where apparently the monastery sat well hidden from view, I got scared when I saw children appearing from nowhere sprinting towards us. Oh, boy I wonder what is in store for us now. Children grabbed at the bike and some were trying to get on behind me. Fighting at them, I say ‘my bike is broken. I cannot take any passengers’. They still try and at every intersection we have to ask for directions. This is where they would try once again to leap on the back of the bike. My blood started to boil. Now, if I had been alone, I would have just turned around and left them in my dust. I didn’t need to be hassled by little monsters.

Parking the bikes, we assign one slightly older boy to take care of the motorcycles and start to walk towards the mountain, with at least 30 children trying to be our guide.  We assign one of them to take charge, but he doesn’t have the authority over the other children to stop them from following. The more steps we take the more children gather. Our local friend from Wukro, pulls Mitchell aside ‘I’m really worried, they have plans to throw stones at us if we don’t pay each child’ he says depressingly. ‘I’m shocked, what you say about Ethiopia is true, they are savages!’

I butt in ‘Hey Mitchell, I’m not feeling good about this whole situation. I am going to head back to the motorcycles. You guy can carry on if you want, I’lll wait for you back at the motorcycles’. We all decided enough is enough and we turn around. This confuses the kids, but I’m angry. I’ve been whipped, accident or not I don’t like it, one has tried to put his arm around me and another has lightly thrown a stone.

I’m ready to pack in this area and head straight for my next destination. But first we have to get out of this place safely. Back at the motorcycles, we pay the boy a few coins, he starts to demand 100 birr ($6 AUS) per bike. Mitchell shoves him aside. Next is the assigned guide who didn’t really do his job. He looks down at his few coins and quickly asks if he can get a ride back on our motorcycles, because now he knows he has to share his tiny but appropriate wages with everyone who came along on this little journey. I had had enough and just drove off leaving Mitchell to deal with these annoying children. Sorry Mitchell. I was going to lose the plot.

Im trying hard to keep the dust out of my face, hair and eyes! 

Driving back to Wukro, our local friend invited us to visit his family home. Our faith in normal people within Ethiopia was somewhat restored after his mother prepared the coffee ceremony of roasted fresh coffee beans, ground up in a tired mortar and pestle. She then disappeared into her separate mud kitchen and placed a charred sliver coffee pot on to the burning coals. We were lucky to end our trying day in this fashion, and riding the last few dusty kilometres as the sun set behind the hills, back to Wukro where it all started in the early hours of the morning at the rock church.

Bellowing Clouds and Invisible Trucks

You always make a rough plan on where you are heading to and what you are seeing. While in Gondar I had laid out a route through the northern areas of Ethiopia, trying to cover most of the historical sites and hopefully driving through some of the beautiful mountain landscapes, a welcome change after being in the desert since Pakistan!

Just when I thought I was going to tackle 260km of the worst dirt road in Ethiopia - from Debark to Axum - alone, I was introduced to Mitchell and Tanya, a young Belarus couple travelling on a motorcycle they brought in Addis with dreams of riding around Ethiopia discovering the real people behind the closed doors, and publishing what Mitchell captured through his lens on his website.

With anticipation about what was instore for us today, we set out at seven in the morning to give us plenty of time to overcome any obstacles that might arise and still be in Axum before dark. All the tour company drivers were seriously worried about us, and urged us  to drive in convoy with them, but they had decided to leave at six and just drive on without much stopping for the views.

Starting at 2500m above sea level, we dropped down a steep and twisty road to 1500m above sea level on a hard compacted gravel road. We tookthe time to stop and take in the scenery. I couldn’t help but be excited to be here, sitting on my bike in Ethiopia, looking ahead into the distance at what was instore for me- A beautiful dirt road driving in and around green towering pinnacles. Its moments like this you want to cry for all the people who do not even know the beauty in the world beyond their back garden. But then again, if we were all the same this moment wouldn’t have been as special, sharing it with a million people.

At one of our well deserved cold drink breaks, we had this pant-less child come out and show us his moves, demanding money pens or a nice pair of pants! 

We riding into a tiny single street village that lining the main road. Stopping outside a cafe that had a nice welcoming umbrella outside it, we decided to regain some energy and order a coffee. As soon as we shed our hot and sticky motorcycle clothing and sunk down into a green plastic chair, all the children in the village decided to come out surrounding our motorcycles.  They got their tiny little fingers into everything, trying to open all my bags on my motorcycle and when they worked out most of them were locked they then started to snap the tired sun damaged zip ties and untangle my Sockmonkey from the bike. 

I completely lost it, when they started to climb up onto the bike on the wrong side,which could potentially fall over on top of them! I jumped up, yelled at them and ran over the bikes. Seeing I was getting annoyed with the millions of tiny people trying to strip our bikes, the cafe owner grabs a big stick and starts to shoo/wack the children away. When that still wasn't working, a woman came out of one of the building growling  Instantly they scatter, running back into their houses leaving only a few to sit patiently on the ground next to us, only to return when we started up our bikes. 

The day just dragged on. Despite the views, I was consistently concentrating on the road. Crossing deep gravel ruts, waiting for bulldozers to clear the road, riding behind billowing dust clouds, trying to pass a bus completely blind only to realize half way there was a monstrous truck looming inside the cloud heading straight from me! It was an exciting, hard working, very tiring day.

When we eventually arrived into Axum 11 hours later, I peered into the mirror and discovered I had turned from a strapping young lady into a dusty brown monster, who luckily had just found out had hot water for the first time since Luxor in Egypt! Hours later, reemerging from the now brown tiled bathroom I was a completely new person.

My bike wasn’t feeling as good as me though. One of the buckles on my panniers had decided to disintegrate, the rear stop light wires had snapped off with all the vibration and there was a cut in the side wall of my rear tire. The later was a major. I was in a small village in the far north. I hoped they sold an 18 inch rear tire. A friendly local guide reassured me I would find one in the village.

 Sure enough, after and hour of bartering I found one for $40. The only problem was my heavy duty tube was too fat to fit inside so I had to put my old $4 thin Pakistani tube back in. At least I can still move. I didn’t worry so much about the other things, I had a fair idea I would be on more roads like this in the near future, so I'll plan to fix it all after.  Well for today that is the plan but it might all change again tomorrow!