Jared and Dianne

The first part of this entry will be the usual diary stuff but the second section will be a summary of Ethiopia through my eyes. Hopefully it will be useful for those who plan to visit in the future.

We had one free day in Addis and just a few things to take care of. Most importantly we needed to have our plane tickets reissued. So first thing in the morning Di and I went to the Ethiopian Airlines office. The man asked us about our itinerary and said that without a ticket out of Tanzania we wouldn't be let in. After coaxing him around he printed our tickets regardless but said that we probably wouldn't even be let out of Ethiopia.

Nearby the office was a foreigners cafe called the Lime Tree. I had been haunted ever since our last visit to Addis because I didn't get the unlimited lime juice. So I did the only thing any sane man would. I went back to make a mends. Over the space of lunch I had 7 large glasses of juice and could barely touch my food. My bloated stomach complained with every step I took so when I found an internet cafe I went no further. I spent a good slab of time on the blog, then due to a combination of problems I lost it all. Reluctantly I rewrote it whilst Di went and picked up some non-indigenous foods from the Novis supermarket.

For our final night in Ethiopia we felt compelled to eat local food. We chose a reasonably upmarket place where songs and traditional dances are performed while you eat. I ordered Gored Gored for dinner. I had wanted to try it since I had arrived in Ethiopia but I had always been a little reluctant due to the risk of tapeworm. Basically it is cubes of raw meat which are marinated in crushed chillies and served with injera. I like my steaks rare anyway so the thought did not turn me off. The meat was tender and fresh. If it wasn't for the overpowering berbere sauce I think I would have really enjoyed it. I had also been trying to order a local drink for a few weeks now but it wasn't readily available. It's called tej; it's a honey wine that comes in a range of potencies. It smelt and tasted like flowers, like they used pollen instead of honey. An acquired taste I would think but I still managed to polish off a small jug.

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SUMMARY
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Safety
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Ethiopia is possibly the safest country I have visited. Both Di and I walked around happily at night. At worst a few men may have made some inappropriate comments towards Di but nothing serious. I was pick pocketed but that could happen in any country if you're walking around a bus station at 5am with open pockets. We never saw or were subject to any bribery.

Health
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I am not a doctor so I won't talk about Malaria or anything like that. Consult a travel doctor for the serious illnesses. In terms of travelers diarrhea it is not a terrible threat. I had two bouts and Di had 1. My first lasted only 24 hours and the second not much more. Di's went on for a while but was not severe. In my case Gastro-Stop was perfect.

Money
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The currency used in Ethiopia is Birr. It is favored greatly over US and should be all you ever need. At most banks you can exchange US dollars and many change Euro and Pounds. There are no ATMs that take foreign cards (that we saw) but you can get cash advances in the big cities. This is an expensive option.

In general costs are very low. We got by on about $20 US a day but on a real budget you could do it for just over $10.

Accommodation
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We really only stayed in budget places. They ranged from bearable to good. We never encountered fleas or bed bugs. Many options come with personal bathrooms. Twin rooms (called doubles) are more expensive than a double room (called singles) and single rooms are generally not available. Therefore traveling as a couple is cheaper than solo.

Transport
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We only had experience with local buses and shared taxis. There are buses joining all major and even minor places. The conditions on board are cramped and hot. The seats are placed poorly and closely. On some buses the gap between seats varies so pay attention when selecting. There is always a rush to board the 6am buses but if you have a ticket you are guaranteed a seat, the rush is only to get 1st pick. There is no air conditioning and the locals detest the windows being open. Bags go on the roof. On major routes they will be covered by a tarp but generally they are exposed. If you don't put your bag on the roof yourself a tip will be expected (1 birr per bag is fine), they will tell you that you are not allowed to put them up yourself but it's a lie. You may also be expected to tie your own bags, they will provide the rope. They will also say that you have to pay for the bag but unless it is over 25kg its also untrue.

Shared taxis are the easiest way to get around. They are just mini-vans which go along a fixed route. They join all major sections of towns and even near by villages. For a short trip they are less than 1 birr and never really get beyond 3. People may be reluctant to pick you up with a big bag but only if they are really busy. If this is the case just wait and one will come. They all have a guy hanging his head out the door screaming the destination. He also takes payments.

Taxis rip foreigners off and won't really budge on an unfair price. I couldn't recommend them. If you do, make sure younegotiate a price first. Taxis are generally unmarked (except a recognisable paint job and the fact that nearly all cars are taxis.)

It is illegal for foreigners to hitch in trucks but it is possible. As with taxis negotiate the price before getting in. For locals the prices are slightly less than buses and unless you are lucky as a foreigner they are slightly more. They are far slower that buses so they should be treated as a last resort.
People
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At times you love them and at times you hate them. It is important to remember they are just trying to eat. They will constantly try to rip you off. If you manage to pay the right price then they will respect you. Never be afraid to haggle despite what L.P. might say.

Food & Drink
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Love it or hate it at least Ethiopian food is unique. Except for fasting days (twice a week) the food is nothing but meat with chili and maybe some onion. Everything is served with injera, a bitter tasting, spongy bread type thing which also doubles as the cutlery and crockery. Most common is tibs (fried meat) and wat (stew). The quality varies greatly.

Nearly every restaurant serves spaghetti, a fall back to the days of Italian occupation. Bread (dabu) and eggs (enkulal) are also common. Enkulal FirFir (scrambled eggs) and Omelet are the most obvious choices, fried and are off the menu.

Music
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Ethiopians listen to their own music. Western music is very rarely heard. They are more than happy to listen to the same tape on repeat for 10 hours straight and then back it up with the same the next day. Personally I thought the singing sounded like a cross between a grieving mother and a drowning cat. Some of the music was ok although a little synthesizer heavy.

Check out Teddy Afro if you want to know what we endured for almost 7 weeks. Although we hate to admit it we did become a little attached to it by the end.

Contact Me
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If you have any questions about Ethiopia, your itinerary or the rest of our trip send me a message on Travellers point and I will be happy to help even if it is just a link to a discussion board/forum topic.

Jinka to Addis Ababa was a two day afair with a stop over in Arba Minch. The first leg ran smoothly and we arrived at our stopover destination in good time.

Last time we were in Arba Minch I had left Di's record book in the internet cafe. It had a lot of valuable information, including our expenses in it so we wanted to get it back. Due to the Sunday syndrome all the shops were shut. I waited outside until a familiar face showed up. It was the friendly driver that took us to the crocodile market. I went up and greeted him like a familiar friend and he was very warm in return. I began to explain the problem but he already knew why I was there. He pulled out his mobile and tried to organise someone to open the shop but no one was answering. He noted where we were staying and said he'd drop it over to us. We went back to our room and waited. Within 10 minutes there was a knock at the door. When I opened it I was surprised to see Karsa. We had planned to meet and some how he had tracked down our whereabouts. We jumped into the truck and were introduced to his two girls. He drove us back to his house where we were seated for an Ethiopian coffee ceremony. As we waited for the coffee to heat up we studied the lounge room in detail. Compared to the mud or cow shit constructed houses we had visited in the past this one was a palace. It could be compared to an okay house back home. Karsa took the time to show us his daughters school results and tell us that she wanted to attend university overseas, despite her being all of 10 years old. Di and I didn't like where the conversation was going and we tried to minimise our feedback. As the conversation was changing his eldest daughter entered the room carrying scrambled eggs, bread and injera. We weren't really hungry but we ate anyway, we even drank the water out of politeness. The coffee finished boiling and we were each served a cup as incense wafted around the room. We drank it down and Karsa offered to drive us back. He brought his daughters to our hotel and we got a few photos of us all togethor. After confirming he had our details we said our goodbyes. Di and I both agreed that he was angling at something with the university abroad conversation but besides that the experience had been worthwhile.

Without waiting to take a breath we left the hotel again. Our book had not been dropped at our room so we tried the internet cafe again. This time two men were waiting for us in the doorway. We thanked them profusely and collected the book. We finished our time in Arba Minch with one last dinner at the tourist hotel.

For day two of the bus ride we swapped seats because the bruises on Di's knees said we had to. Di nearly cried as we whisked through Sodo without stopping for Ethiopia's best bread but it didn't worry me as it meant we were making good time. This proved to be true and we arrived in Addis with daylight to spare. For our third stay in Addis we chose the Bole Rd area, particuarly because of its proximity to the airport. We found a hotel and chose to hoof it to our predetermined restaurant. I had found it in the Lonely Planet. Said to serve gigantic portions of Tex-Mex meals I had been salivating for days. After walking for over an hour we were told that it had closed down. To my dismay and Di's fortunes this meant we were having Middle Eastern instead.

Originally we had plans of touring the Lower Omo Valley via a series of short stops but time and lacking transport had convinced us that we would be better off heading straight for the biggest and furthest town in the region, Jinka.

We arrived at the Arba Minch bus station around 5am to find that both the buses were full. I suggested to Di that we might be able to get one from Konso, a minute later a local recommended the same plan. We caught a mini bus to Konso which broke down en route. Losing only 30 minutes we transferred to another van. We were still ahead of the buses.

When they arrived at Konso I was told that they were still full. No surprise. The real surprise was that no buses originate in Konso. We were offered some standing room on the bus. 150 birr, we laughed. In the end we got them down to 40. We went to board but we were stopped by a traffic officer. This was not going to work. Di snatched our money back and we went in search of other options. A bus full of university students got quite excited by the idea of giving us a lift but they were not going far enough to be of use to us. The trickle of buses ran dry and we were reduced to trucks. After several hours on the side of the road we finally found a driver who would take us. The price was slightly higher than a bus fare but we did get to ride in the cab.

The Lower Omo Valley is known for the 17 different tribes that call it home. They are very colourful and famous amongst ethnographers for their traditions and rituals. Along the way the driver pointed some out, "Arbore", "Ari" etc. He was a quiet man but friendly enough. At lunch he even bought us a drink out of his own pocket. That was certainly a first for Ethiopia.

The day was long as the truck was slow. 16 hours after we had passed the gates of the Arba Minch bus station we arrived in Jinka. 8 hours later than expected. Then again setting an ETA in Africa is just asking for trouble. It was late and all the hotels were full. We pitched the tent and somehow arranged some food.

For our second day in the Lower Omo Valley we planned to backtrack a couple of hours to a town called Key Afar. As luck would have it our truck driver was heading there too, so we organised to meet him on the morning of the second day. We waited for him to show up and eventually he did. Before we were going anywhere the truck had to be repaired due to a few mishaps we had on the Konso Jinka road. He told us he would return and then drove off. While we waited we had time to study our hands. Since leaving Dinsho Di's rash had subsided a little and the skin had become leathery. Each of my hands had developed a dozen or so medium sized blisters, leaving me to believe that the sensation of heat experienced in the earlier stages may have been real. We passed time by playing cards, part way through Di realised the man sitting beside us had out a pen and paper and two voice recorders. We figured he was using this as an opportunity to practice his english. I actually felt kind of bad because we had been talking a lot of non sense. After an hour and a half the truck didn't show. We were nervous that we wouldn't make it on time to catch the markets so we went in search of our truck or some other transport. We made our way to the garage and as we did so the repairs were just being finalised. We climbed aboard and headed in the wrong direction, Karsa, our driver, wanted breakfast.

We pulled into a pretty standard local restaurant which had nothing but meat. Di and I shared a tibs but the real excitement of the morning was eating some of Karsa's Kitfo. I had had it twice before but not in a truly local fashion. I tore of some injera and picked up a large glob of raw minced beef, dipped it in crushed chillis, shut my eyes and ate it. Low and behold it tasted like raw mince, not exactly what I would call a delicassy but each to their own.

Time was short as Karsa had to return to Arba Minch after visiting the market so we left the last of our meal and piled into the big white Isuzu. We bounced our way out of town, just after the gates we came across a group of tourists including the two Italians from Arba Minch. To their dismay they were charged twice what we were just to sit in the back. Covering familiar territory we reached Key Afar in less than 2 hours. We had to walk the last few hundred metres as it is illegal for foreigners to ride in the trucks.

The streets of Key Afar were already bustling by the time we plodded in. The market is known to attract the Ari, Hamer and Banna tribes and they were all there in spades. It took us a while to be able to distinguish which were which but we were pretty confident by the end. The tourist dollar has not passed by the tribesmen and they charge for photos. We had a few 1 birr bills but not enough to snap at whatever we wanted so we had to be somewhat selective. The first time Di pulled out the camera was to take a photo of a fruit stand. Anywhere else this would be free, it would probably go by unnoticed but the owner of this stand sure realised. He demanded 2 birr, a little taken back Di offered him one. He refused and Di walked away. He came running after her, one birr was okay after all but because of the way he had reacted the offer was no longer on the table. He started getting rough with her; pushing and grabbing her, trying to snatch the money. I was just behind and I had a rush of blood. I grabbed him by the arms and yelled something he wouldn't understand. Not watching behind him I nearly pushed him over the food stall behind him. His aggresiveness abandoned him quickly and I regained control of my temper. I pulled him away from the store and let him go. We both puffed up our chests and waved dismissive hands at each other. Still a bit flustered I turned my back and walked away.

We found some Banna youths who were clearly at the market to bait tourists. Each of them had donned the full regalia with body paint, feathers and jewellery. At 2 birr per person, per photo we took a few but depleted our money stocks pretty quickly. With no small notes remaining we just wandered around taking photos of the market as a whole. The shops were charging farenjis double or triple the normal prices so we saved our money for Jinka. We loaded onto a bus heading our way and waited for it to leave. Key Afar market had been interesting but it is just as easy and less hectic to see the Ari, Hanna and Banna on normal days.

For our second day in the Lower Omo Valley we had budgeted for a day trip to a Mursi village but we had been told that if we waited the Mursi would come to us. The following day a peace concert had been organised by USAID. All 17 tribes of the region were going to be represented and each would perform a traditional song and dance. This meant that we had a day to waste and that's pretty much what we did. The morning was soaked up with typical time wasting activities and in the afternoon we accidentlly undertook a walking tour of the town before visiting the local ethnographical museum. The only business we had to take care of was to move our flights to Tanzania back a day.

The third day was the big one and it started with some excitement. For the locals anyway. A plane buzzed low overhead and the towns people ran to clear the airstrip of the grazing sheep and goats. The plane circled and landed. Over a hundred locals waited for their new guests to arrive. A handful of older, white tourists climbed out. A few brave locals approached but the rest just stood back and stared. The newcomers were quickly whisked away to "a safer place" by their guide.

Overnight the excitement had reached frenzy point. Excitement coursed through the streets as truckloads of tribes people were shipped into town. Songs and chants poured forth from the trays of the Isuzus. The Mursi were the loudest of all. Di and I, desperate to get a good position for the show went in search of the stadium. Three local trouble makers showed us the way. The crowd had already begun to build by the time we got there. Luckily someone told us the show didn't start for another 9 hours otherwise we would have wasted a lot of time. Our assumption that it would be a night show was clearly unfounded. Unfased we left the stadium to peruse the Jinka market. The stalls were selling the usual unappealing junk but the number of colourful people strolling the streets more than made up for it. We found a corner of the market abounds with fruit. I was in heaven as I sat on a concrete verandah and ate banannas and passionfruits. From the size of the gathering crowd there was something comical about a white guy chowing down on fruit in public. The onlookers were all friendly, the more brazen of the group decided to try his english. He was a nice guy, a truck driver and he offered us a cheap ride back to Arba Minch. I said we'd take it if we couldn't get a bus ticket. Worn out, we left the heat and bustle of the market. I picked up a pineapple on the way out. Back in our hotel compound I sat down and devoured the entire thing.

In the afternoon we sold our left over kerosene which confused everyone involved. Since when did farenjis sell stuff to them? Especially at the market! We took our money to the bus station where we wanted to pick up our ticket back to Addis. This meant that we would have to wait for the bus to arrive then beat the crowd to get a ticket. Never a pleasant experience. To our surprise and benefit the bus had just arrived when we got there and a helpful local forced himself through the jostling mass to buy our tickets for us. We were wrapped, with a spare day up our sleeves we were very likely to make our flight out of Ethiopia.

The concert began at 6pm but we got there just over an hour early. The crowd was not much bigger than it had been in the morning. The guy I was standing beside informed us that we could go and watch the rehearsals if we wanted. With nothing better to do we readily agreed. We passed through a small gate and into the practice area. All 17 tribes were singing and dancing at the same time, a very uplifting experience. We took our time and watched each tribe perform. It was a perfect chance to get some footage. In the end this may have been better than the concert itself.

6 o'clock was approaching so we left the practice arena to get pole position at the main stage. Like everything in Ethiopia the show started late. It kicked off with some preachy USAID representatives talking about peace and the US's ambitions and they didn't finish until it was dark. A chant/song could be heard building in the background and then the first tribe came into view. They sang and danced in a poorly floodlit area for about 10 minutes before they were ushered on. The rest of the groups proceeded in the same matter until they had all given their display. The range of talent was quite vast; some of the singing and dancing was good and a lot of it was grating but the entire concert was a fantastic cultural experience and we repeated many times how lucky we were that our trip had coincided with it.

Our legs ached from standing for hours on end so we took a seat on the slanted ground near by. Two well known Ethiopian bands from far afield were the big finale. We watched the first few songs but Di was tired and I didn't want her walking alone through the dark streets so I escorted her back to the hotel. As we left a crowd of youths were flooding into the arena.

The morning in Sodo was drowsy, one of the greatest advantages of the short bus trips is that they run all day, no 5am wake ups. We went back to the cafe at Di's request to get more of what she had dubbed "the best bread in Ethiopia". They were out. It turns out that bakers don't work night shift in Sodo. We wanted internet and we had read in the Lonely Planet that it was expensive in Arba Minch. It was a Sunday so all the shops in town were closed, at least for the morning. We even had a tout take us around but it was still no help.

We collected our bags and walked to the bus station. Once inside the compound of the bus station everything felt different, people yelling, go here, go there, and telling us they don't like Australians. We fought through the crowd and found the next bus to Arba Minch, I tied the bags to the roof and then untied them. The bus was full. The onslaught started again. They took us to a mini-van, it was too much and the owner was being an ass. Then we were led to a mini-bus, despite the yelling and abuse to the contrary I took the bags up and tied them down myself. We jumped on the bus and we were left alone. We sat for 5-10 minutes and no-one else got on. Both Di and I realised that this bus was going nowhere in the near future. So I got the bags down and we found a normal bus bound for Arba Minch. Again I lashed the bags to the roof racks and descended the ladder. Di claimed two seats on the back seat. Before I could board the bus two or three of the trouble makers came up to me. What now I thought, to my surprise they had come to shake my hand and give me a pat on the back. They had wanted to get our money from us but now that we had sorted it all out ourselves they were happy. It was all just business to them. I said thank you and stayed to chat with them for a while. The bus was starting to fill and I said good bye. We bought our tickets from the super friendly supervisor and smiled to our fellow passengers. In a matter of five minutes my mood had completely reversed and it only got better. The driver put on the normal show of bravado, revving the engine, muscling out the other buses, lurching forward, revving the engine again...and then we were free, cruising down the sealed road. In no time at all the ticket man was reaching into an esky and distributing ice cold soft drinks. Di and I couldn't resist. As we carefully sipped from the bottle trying to minimise the clothing casualties. Di decided we should call it the party bus and that's just how it felt. People were chatting, food was being passed around; everyone was laughing and smiling. The mood lasted for an hour or so but faded towards the end of the trip.

The party bus came to a complete stop and we were in the thick of it again. After retrieving our bags we hesitantly started chatting to a tout who said if we wanted to go to Nechisar National Park the next day he knew two people already going. At the best of times we resent touts so it was with hesitation that we agreed to follow him. He lead us to a hotel called Hallelujah Guest House. It was 70 birr a day, a good price considering what the guide book suggested we pay. We took a room, next door to the other couple who were going into Nechisar. We gave it a while before we knocked on their door. A fimilar face answered, they turned out to be two Italians that we had meet in the Simien Mountains. We discussed the arrangement with them and they were happy. We said we would see if we could arrange something cheaper and said good bye. We caught a mini-van to the other part of Arba Minch; Sechar. From there we walked around a k to a hotel called Bekele Mola. There we sat on a wide open terrace decking and gazed across the Nechisar National park and two of the Rift Valley Lakes, the view was beautiful and the drinks within our price range. We scraped our chairs along the tiles as we stood up. It caught the attention of a man sitting nearby, he stood up aswell. He asked if we wanted to go to Nechisar, after a brief discussion we determined that he could do the trip for 150 birr less than the other offer. We took his number and left without agreeing to anything. To cut a long story short we went back to Sikela (the part of Arba Minch we were staying in) and haggled with the two young men we originally talked with. They dropped the price by 100 birr but told us the car would not be as good.

In the morning we moved our bags to a hotel that cost half the price and went back to rendezvous with our driver. We were greeted with a beaten up shit box 60s series Land Cruiser. We got in the back seat and were soon joined by the italians. Two more people had joined the group and we went to pick them up. They didn't like the look of the car or the fact that due to the back seats malfunctioning we were going to be packed in like sardines, they got their money back and we let out a sigh of relief. It meant our trip would cost a little more but at least we could breath. Next stop was the ticket office where we purchased our park entries. Insufficient funds meant that we had to borrow from the Italians.

The driver turned and drove to the park entry and then he drove past it. We were a little confused until we saw him stop at a bakery for bread. Then despite the already crammed conditions in the car he stopped to pick up his son. At least now we were ready to go. As we passed through the park gates the landscape was unremarkable, slightly hilly, several trees and long dry grass. Within minutes we were stopped by a convoy of tourist vehicles blocking the way. They had been out walking and were just returning to their vehicles. I asked our guide what they might have been looking at and he said "I don't know, maybe something out there". As they began to move again so did we. Only 100m had passed and we realised what they had seen: Burchell's Zebras. We followed their movements and walked as close to them as we could. They were shy but not scared and we could get within 15 or 20m. They were at least as large as the average horse back home and they carried with them a certain appeal. Their stripes stood out against the backdrop of dead grass like a man in a powder room and I thought that they were beautiful but you could hardly call that camouflage. After taking a few photos and picking up some grass seeds we clambered back into the car and the driver ground it into first gear. Within 10 minutes our surroundings had completely transformed into a flat green forest with lush undergrowth and even greener grass. It had a calming affect and at the mention of wild dogs I scanned the passing scenery but we never saw any. In as little as another 10 minutes we were in steep hills driving along a road set 50m back from the lake Chamo shoreline. Only shrubs and long grass were prominent here which allowed us good views of the red waters to our right. The driver stopped at a few fixed locations along the way which had, for no particular reason been dubbed "viewpoints". It was at one of these that we saw our first pod of hippos. I had always wanted to see them but we were so far I couldn't make much out, it might as well have been t.v. but it did auger well for the afternoon and the boat trip.

We summited the hill with the help of a lot of clutch because the driver refused to use low range. As we did so a savannah panorama unfolded before us. We gazed out the window to the lake below, it was the best view point all day but the driver insisted that there was a better spot up ahead. When we got there it occured to me that better just meant higher, the view was far less scenic.

As we pretended to look at the view I noticed that a conversation was firing up between "the guide" and the driver. I asked what the problem was and the guide told me that there was no problem, then two minutes later he told us all that this was a good point to turn aroun and that we wouldn't see anything but more zebras. That's what we came to see we told him and he relayed the bad news to the driver. Apparently this is what the tiff had been about. So whilst another vehicle turned back we continued down the road. A few hundred metres further along the car stopped whilst we stalked some zebras through the grass. This time there were about a dozen of them, including a foal.

I sat and watched them for a while, actually I was watching the Italian guy stalk them through the semi dense foliage near by. It seemed a little bit comical, like an amateur hunter armed only with a camera. I chuckled at what I was seeing and the guide obviously considered this a good time to bring up the idea of turning back again. I new that the problem was the driver so I didn't really respond. When the hunt was over and we were heading back to the car I dropped behind and waited for the others to catch up. They were as unimpressed as Di and I with the idea and when we were back with the driver the italian, whose name was Leo, saved me the hassle and brought up the issue himself. The driver was complaining about a problem with the car and Leo told him that it had nothing to do with us. Only half the trip, only half the payment. This suited us quite well actually and I secretly hoped that that would be the outcome. It wasn't, we got back into the cruiser and headed further from town. For the next half hour we continued through savannah territories with several more groups of zebra and at least as many gazelles. We passed near to the gazelles which offered us a good opportunity to see them up close. They had very sleek bodies and when they did take flight their movements were fluid yet effortless. Every gazelle that we saw had the same body shape: lean and muscular. I wondered if there was ever a time, before processed foods and office jobs that people were the same.

We had come almost 270 degrees when Di noticed a light glowing under the console I didn't think much of it but Di had noticed it flickering, it was a fire, the car was on fire. We bailed straight away and took our bags with us. Another car pulled up, they battled the problem by first throwing water on the electrical fire and then hitting the battery with a ring spanner. Apparently this solvedeverything and we were ushered back into the car.

We completed the circuit section of the drive in no more than another 10 minutes. It seemed crazy all this talk of turning back earlier; it would have only cut 20 minutes to half an hour off the drive. We were back on familiar terrritory, retracing the route we had taken in the morning, only in reverse. When we returned to the forested area the driver pulled over, a small fire had started again. While he was waiting for it to put itself out the he tried to weasel a tip out of us. Unlikely. We gave him nothing and we left. The driver took us to the bank and we exchanged U.S. for birr, we paid back the italians and the car hire. We headed to the refuge of the tourist hotel for a beer and lunch. It's fountain and garden made the perfect retreat.

After lunch we met back up with the others: The italians and the two touts who had organised the trip. For the afternoon the tout with one blinded eye, as opposed to the tall one with the eyebrow piercing, was going to be our guide. We had a trip to the crocodile market planned, to get there we needed to first contract a taxi, we waited a short while before a silver bomb jazzed up with a completely unneccesary spoiler opened its doors. Again we packed in and the doors were closed around us. It was then dumped on us that the boat owner wanted a deposit. I was not really adversed to the idea but the italians were and bowing out of it, an argument insued. In the end the taxi driver decided he would spot the money. As we pulled away from the boat owners house the half blind guide asked how much we had agreed to pay for the boat. We all thought the same thing; damn, these are never a good sign. The italians had agreed on 450 for the boat and taxi combined, we had agreed to pay 450 for the boat and 150 for the car. The driver was asked to do a u-turn and the following conversations got a little heated. The tall tout had given the italians a bad price and his partner could see their profits flying out the window. He was furious at the situation to the point that he was screaming everything. He pointed what looked like an accusing finger at the italians and yelled "It's not your mistake, it's my friends mistake. He's on the toilet." It was too much, we all broke into pearls of laughter which didn't help our guide's temper, especially when the driver joined in. In the end a deal was struck which left the italians a little worse off but in a managable state.

By the time we were lakeside the sun was threatening to set. We waited a little impatiently for the boat to show up, it wasn't the waiting that was a problem but we were pretty sure that the boat's navigational lights wouldn't be functioning. In fact we could confidently say the "captain" would have never even heard of them.

Precariously close to our pullout time the boat came into view. We exchanged some meaningless banter with the disembarking tourists as we boarded. Wasting no time the captain revved the under powered outboard and we sat ourselves on the wooden bench seats. Only 5 minutes from the crocodile market one of the locals pointed to a small raft near by. "Illegal fisherman" he said, the waters were protected. Not a hugely safe profession on that vessel I joked with Di. The captain pointed the bow directly for the raft. Di and I were impressed, he was going to tell the fisherman off, obviously we were wrong, some Ethiopians do care about the environment, at least those that gain income directly from its protection. Our naevity was immediately obvious. The driver pulled out a 10'er and bought a fish. Some discouragement.

Now carrying the catch of the day, Nile Perch, we covered the last kilometre to the crocodile market. A nickname for an area in Lake Chomo that is packed full of crocs. In honesty I was more interested in the hippos than the crocs especially seeing as they were freshwater. We passed close to a few pods of hippos and I got excited but the others were there to see the reptiles and time was short so we couldn't stay long. The crocodiles were much larger than I had expected, they were close to the size of the salt water variety back home. One lay basking on the beach but the rest were semi-submerged in the water. Apperently due to the flurry of toursits that had visited just before us. We took ten minutes to take a few snapshots, hippos to the left, crocs to the right. Satisfied we turned for our landing zone. We were treated to a stunning sunset, reflected perfectly by the still waters around us. Dark silouhettes of fishermen on their makeshift rafts completed the foreground. It seemed like a just reward for suffereing the delays of the day.

The only person still in a bad mood was our guide, his day had thus far been relatively unprofitable. His spirits weren't brightened much when the driver said he couldn't take him into town because he was charged with taking the captain back. Our guide flew off the handle, the italians led the laughng again, I tried not too but it was contagious, everyone except the guide was laughing. The driver and captain flicked him a couple of birr to hitch a ride and we drove off. The laughter had several small revivals as we returned to our pension.

Another point of contention now aroused itself. Di and I had agreed to pay a fee to the touts for organising everything, the italians had not. The two touts spent hours trying to convince us that we should pay them, then giving up they went to town on the italians before returning to us. We were tired of the whole thing but they owed us some money, it was only a couple of dollars but for the principle we put up a fight. Our problem was that we were leaving town at 6am the next day. We didn't have much time to extract it. By the close of operations for the night we were still out of pocket.

Di and I had checked in to a budget option costing only 34 birr per night. They had also offered to do our washing cheap. When we went to pick it up it was not ready and the price had risen. Not this again we groaned. This one at leat, we had half anticipated, the price we had been offered was too low. It was a genuine mistake and tired I was happy to foot the still very reasonable bill. We waited up late for the washing to be delivered to our room but it never came. Around midnight we gave up and settled in for another day in Arba Minch.

The hotel we had chosen had been a mistake. The writing had been on the wall but we chose to ignore it. The hotel turned into some sort of offkey rave which carried through most of the night, the bugs were in plague proportions and the water didn't work. In the morning we picked up our washing, settled the bill and found a good value 40 birr room with private shower.

We whittled the day away by playing cards, eating, drinking and I updated the blog. We even managed to extract most of the money we were owed from the tout. In the process we gained some insight into the whole operation. The tall tout made money from the guiding/organising fee which he only recieved half of, our half. The shorter one took some money from the boat commission. To his dismay his partner sold him short by setting the boat price so low. He gained nothing from the day, well at least not much. It was a lesson in business for them and we were reminded why we hate touts.

Similarly to Debark at the Simiens, Dinsho is not served by its own buses but the Robe and Goba buses pass through. Once again we had arranged for some guy to go to Robe the night before and save us a couple of seats. So at 4:30 in the morning we packed up a wet and icy tent and brought our fingers back to life as we plowed down the hill and into town. We stood on the side of the road waiting for a place to open for breakfast or the bus to arrive. As we did so Muzeyan came and met us. I had confirmed the day before that the black market rate was 8.25 birr to the dollar and I tentatively brought it up with him, he responded with a roundabout denial and I didn't bother with it any more. The bus arrived at a good time and we took off on route to Shasamene, the Ethiopian home of rastafarians. The trip was as smooth as could be hoped for and we rocked up in the early hours of the afternoon.

Wanting to keep moving if we could we asked around for a bus to Arba Minch. They had finished for the day and most people suggested we stay the night. Another option that sprung up was to bus it to Sodo then transfer to an Arba Minch bus. It sounded plausible and we ran with it. The trip took around 3 hours along a decent sealed road and we arrived just after 5. There was one bus left in the afternoon, the price was slightly inflated because of the time and our bums were sore so we decided this was far enough. A local that we had ridden the Shasamene-Sodo leg with pointed us in the direction of a tourist hotel and we grabbed a forty birr room. Still filthy from 5 days walking and no shower we were forced to go one more day without due to water issues in the hotel.

Sodo is a relatively large town/small city. It features on the Lonely Planet map but it doesn't rate a write up. This, as is often the case, made the city a more enjoyable experience. There were no hotel touts, prices weren't inflated and most of all, people were friendly.

We left our room as soon as we had dropped our bags. Partly because the room was a bit dank but mostly because our diet for the day had consisted of nothing but bread. We found a little cafe and nestled down into a corner table. With two short claps of the hands a waiter was waiting to take our order. They had no menus and as it turned out they only served bread. We had seen some on another table and it looked good, so disregarding my taste buds calls for change we ordered a few baguettes; they came out freshly cooked and piping hot. In fact they were so tasty that we ordered another two and without thinking I had spoiled my dinner (the three or four cokes I had consumed didn't help the matter).

Despite my bloated stomach's distressed moans Di was still hungry. The first place we tried for food was a rooftop terrace, but they served only cakes and drinks; so we had a juice. The second place was a cosy local's bar, but they served only tibs and drinks so we had a beer. We were seated at a table which was already occupied by another man, as is custom in Africa when there are none free. Initially the man we sat with didn't appear to speak English but it turned out that he actually spoke quite well and he was more than likely just considering our privacy. He was going to Arba Minch the next day, same as us. He was leading a university excursion there. I asked him if he had free seats, he replied "Yes" and offered us a ride. Unfortunately they weren't leaving until late in the day so we regretfully declined. I pulled one of those I don't want to do this but I just can't waste it faces as I drank down the warm dregs of my beer and we resumed the hunt. We searched the streets high and low for vegetable soup but the only place we could find it was in our own hotel and they were charging three times the going rate. We asked the waiter if he would translate soup into Amharic for us and we wandered the streets again, this time armed with at least the means to order the food. Again we failed. With our heads hanging low we returned to our hotel and Di ordered the soup. As if to apologise for the price the serving size was huge, the bread was plentiful and the waiter was super friendly. The first camp man we'd met in Ethiopia.

We didn't pull the blankets over us when we went to bed. A sign that the south was going to be hot.