Ethiopia’s daily grind

March 1, 2011

Thomas was someone I met on the street — an Ethiopian man who was so kind, I was certain he had an ulterior motive.

But if there was a sinister side to Thomas, it never emerged. Instead, he was just incredibly nice to my friends and me. He showed us around town. He took us to a famous restaurant for authentic Ethiopian food. He helped us navigate the minibus system throughout town. He negotiated a price for our bus tickets down south. And in a whopping show of hospitality, he invited us back to his cousin’s house for the coffee ceremony.

After all, Ethiopia is the place where coffee was born, and this is the place that does it best.

The coffee ceremony takes place every afternoon in just about every home, restaurant and cafe in the country. This is the main social event of the day.

First, long wisps of fragrant grass are spread across the floor. Hot coals are fanned with a piece of cardboard. A round metal pan is placed on top of the coals, and fresh coffee beans sizzle and pop as they roast.

When the beans are ebony black and shiny with aromatic oils, they are ground into a fine powder using a mortar and pestle.

Meanwhile, a kettle of water has come to a rolling boil over a squatty pot of coals. The grounds are combined with the hot water inside a black, clay pot, where the brew soaks and steeps for several minutes. When the coffee is complete, it is poured into espresso-sized china cups.

After the first round, the pot with the coffee grounds is refilled with more hot water. After the grounds steep for several more minutes, a second round of coffee is passed around.

Then there is a third round, completing the ceremony.

Really, it’s just about as far from instant coffee as you can get.

In contrast, my typical coffee ceremony involves me sleepy-eyedand grumpy, spilling grounds all over the kitchen counter and shouting “@#$%!!” when the Mr. Coffee drip machine takes too damn long.

I prefer it the Ethiopian way. It’s a slow process, but it is satisfying. As the coffee is prepared, there is time for conversation. The coffee is shared and enjoyed. The taste is richer, evoking chocolate and caramel.

It is coffee the way it was meant to be savored. It is a ceremony.

Beyond the coffee ceremony, the regular Ethiopian brews and the soy macchiatos (yes, soy!) are reason enough to visit this country. Check out this gorgeous coffee.

 

 

The #1 reason to visit Ethiopia

March 1, 2011

Juice. And lots of it.

It is, by far, my favorite thing about this country. For around $1-2, you can get a vitamin-packed glass of freshly squeezed and blended juice.

I particularly enjoyed this lime-mint drink, which would totally beat lemonade in a cage match.

Ethiopia is also famous for these layered fruit juices. Here I’m having a superhero combination of mango, strawberry, papaya and avocado.

Sounds weird, but the combo is fantastic, especially on a hot afternoon in the brutal Ethiopian sun.

 

Dirty, rotten backpackers

February 27, 2011

I knew that backpacking was dirty business, but I never expected anything like this.

When I shower, I make the soap filthy.

When I shave, my razor actually slices through dirt.

Even after I thoroughly scrub my skin, I still leave streaks of grime on the towel.

The filth is embedded deep into every pore on my body, and I hate feeling this way. Under normal circumstances, the only dirty thing about me is my mouth.

That’s why I was forced to commit a crime of cleanliness — Deborah and I snuck into the five-star Sheraton Hotel and spent the whole day using their facilities.

Believe me, we did it as much for ourselves as for the people around us.

Being a stinky backpacker, I was worried about getting in the front gate at all, but a Canadian friend reassured us. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re white. You can do anything you want in Africa.”

It was an uncomfortably true statement.

Nobody looked twice at two white girls entering the building.

While the spa desk was unmanned, Deborah and I breezed right through the doors and headed directly to the hot tub.

The bubbles were on a timer, so they ran out after 20 minutes.

That was our cue to head to the sauna.

When that got too hot to handle, we hopped back into the hot tub.

After the bubbles ran out again, we took another sauna break.

Emboldened, we tossed our towels over our arms and strutted out of the spa and into the outdoor pool. Again, we waltzed right past the check-in counter.

After several laps, it was time to wash the chlorine out of our hair. We headed back inside.

This time, the spa employees tried to stop us.

“Excuse me,” one of them said. “We need your room key.”

“No, that’s OK,” said Deborah, as we scurried into the locker room. “Thank you.”

That exchange confused them enough to leave us alone.

I proceeded to have the single most satisfying bathing experience of my life. The shower consisted of several nozzles that sprayed various body parts simultaneously, plus a detachable nozzle with adjustable pressure and temperature.

It was my first shower in months that wasn’t cold or didn’t come from a bucket — and holy hell, it was fantastic. I felt like a house cat that had suddenly been reincarnated into a panther.

I could easily say this experience was a baptismal metaphor, cleansing my spirit as much as my body, but it really wasn’t. This was the act of removing dirt from my body. Period.

I scrubbed. I slathered. I conditioned. I used my trusty pumice stone to attack my camel hooves. I lathered. I shaved. I cried with delight.

I didn’t want to leave — ever — but my fingers were decidedly pruney.

Plus, my stomach was growling, and the executive business center had a bowl of apples ripe for the taking.

 

Five things said to me today

February 24, 2011

1. Taxi? You want taxi? Need taxi? How about taxi? Everybody loves taxi!

2. You! You! You! You! You! (This is a common one throughout Ethiopia. The word is typically screamed by children and strung into one long sound, like “Yoyoyoyo.”

3. Hey sweet!

4. You are a 5.

5. I like your boobs, right?

 

On board with the mango vampires

February 23, 2011

The Ethiopians are mango vampires.

In this country, fruit is not cleanly sliced with a knife. Instead, the vampire gnaws a hole into the mango’s side, quickly severing its skin. As teeth sink into flesh, practiced fingertips massage the fruit to release mouthfuls of succulent liquid.

Think juice box, minus the box.

That’s why everyone on my bus rejoiced when the vehicle chugged to a stop on a leafy dirt road, just one hour into the journey from Arba Minch to Addis Ababa.

The doors swung open and dozens of fruit sellers bombarded the bus, carrying bundles of bananas, plastic platters of limes and baskets of mangos. It was a flurry of chatter and birr, with bills exchanged for bags of precious produce.

When the bus started up again, the mango vampires sank their teeth in.

Within a couple hours the floor was slippery, sticky and smelled of rotting sweetness. With mango carcasses on the ground and the sugar high long gone, all that remained was 10 more hours of a dusty, bone-jarring ride.