Day two: 09.10.04
09.11.04--Day Three
Jet lag again. Andy and I were both lying awake at three this morning. I hit sleep so hard yesterday at 10:30pm (woke up with my clothes still on) that I thought for sure I wouldn’t wake up early.
At breakfast yesterday we met another American couple and their son who are staying here. They’re from Portland, their son’s name is Hawk, the man, Mark (?), works for a food NGO, and the subject of their midwife and doula and yoga classes that the woman, Elizabeth, teaches already came up. Despite all these, they seem really neat people. They invited us to go to dinner with them, but we got home too late. Then we thought maybe we’d bring home dessert and share with them, but yesterday was New Years (Happy 1997 in Julian terms) and we got trapped in a restaurant that wanted us to be there doing the elaborate coffee ceremony and then dancing until midnight. It was an Indian restaurant, and though the food wasn’t terrific, it was way better than the Ethiopian food we’d had the night before.
Yesterday was difficult. There’s a lot of self-judgement that goes on when you’re traveling, I think, at least in this head. “How should I be experiencing this? How should I be interpreting this? How can I be not fitting into (my own) stereotypes?” It’s such a slow down. I have to remember to let this experience be its own experience and that I’m going to fit into somebody’s stereotype, and that its ok for me to feel uncomfortable and lost or just bugged by some things here.
The people asking for money thing is the hardest. Not because I feel so sorry for them, or even guilty, which I promptly feel guilty about, but because you start to feel so had, so targeted. And because I really don’t know what to do. There are people that everyone would give to, other Ethiopians included, and then there are the kids and some women, and old men. Oy. Its frustrating to know you’re really not making a difference anyway.
A group of young girls came up to me yesterday all in white (for Ethiopian Orthodox New Year) and clapping and chanting with a drum. I smiled and they were encouraged and surrounded me and sang the song so earnestly, I stayed put and kept looking in to their little upturned faces. I knew they would ask for money afterwards, and we were in an awkward place of being on a busy road sidewalk in front of a long line of guys just hanging out and leanign on their cars. The girls finished their song, and then immediately held out their hands for money. Ah! What do you do? I gave them a 10 cent piece each--which is about 2 or 3 cents American--and clapped and told them Bravo! and then walked passed the group of old men on crutches who started coming in at us like geese when you’re holding bread, when the money was pulled out.
We also discovered that the beautiful little begging boys know how to say more than, “Mother father dead.” We heard, “no shoes,” and “hungry.” Sigh.
We tried to find a massage place, and ended up in a steamy room of all men, who looked like they were there for physiotherapy. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find a token translator, so we decided to wait until today or tomorrow for the massage.
We went to the National Museum and looked at Lucy and other fossils. Coming back, the cabbie asked if we really believed the whole story about Lucy being the first homonid. Obviously he didn’t, and when asked why not, he explained how he had converted from the Orthodox religion, which was just tradition, just culture, to a religion that made sense, that had logic, I can’t remember the name of it, some new sounding Christian church. He said, “They say Lucy is 1 million years old, but in the Bible, it says the whole world is only six thousand and something years old.” Anyway, he also explained the blue taxis (road taxis) and yellow taxis (airport and hotel taxis)--different licenses. He had a yellow one, but it beats me how he knew we wanted to head back to our hotel, and not just go somewhere.
Stopped for a drink at a little café type thing and got glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and grapefruit juice. All over people are selling 8-foot bundles of thin sticks they will burn tonight at their New Year’s celebration to bring in a better year.
This trip is a strain on Andy and I, neither one of us being familiar with how to travel and have to reference someone else the whole time. Also, Andy hasn’t really relaxed here. I’m a little worried about him, but I guess he is still waiting to meet Emily, his “boss,” and see what his work will be. In two days we’ll be in a routine that will last for two months. I have to remember that we’ve really only had two days here, a day and a half if you consider that we slept for most of the first day.
Andy’s down having breakfast already. I think I’ll join him.
Jet lag again. Andy and I were both lying awake at three this morning. I hit sleep so hard yesterday at 10:30pm (woke up with my clothes still on) that I thought for sure I wouldn’t wake up early.
At breakfast yesterday we met another American couple and their son who are staying here. They’re from Portland, their son’s name is Hawk, the man, Mark (?), works for a food NGO, and the subject of their midwife and doula and yoga classes that the woman, Elizabeth, teaches already came up. Despite all these, they seem really neat people. They invited us to go to dinner with them, but we got home too late. Then we thought maybe we’d bring home dessert and share with them, but yesterday was New Years (Happy 1997 in Julian terms) and we got trapped in a restaurant that wanted us to be there doing the elaborate coffee ceremony and then dancing until midnight. It was an Indian restaurant, and though the food wasn’t terrific, it was way better than the Ethiopian food we’d had the night before.
Yesterday was difficult. There’s a lot of self-judgement that goes on when you’re traveling, I think, at least in this head. “How should I be experiencing this? How should I be interpreting this? How can I be not fitting into (my own) stereotypes?” It’s such a slow down. I have to remember to let this experience be its own experience and that I’m going to fit into somebody’s stereotype, and that its ok for me to feel uncomfortable and lost or just bugged by some things here.
The people asking for money thing is the hardest. Not because I feel so sorry for them, or even guilty, which I promptly feel guilty about, but because you start to feel so had, so targeted. And because I really don’t know what to do. There are people that everyone would give to, other Ethiopians included, and then there are the kids and some women, and old men. Oy. Its frustrating to know you’re really not making a difference anyway.
A group of young girls came up to me yesterday all in white (for Ethiopian Orthodox New Year) and clapping and chanting with a drum. I smiled and they were encouraged and surrounded me and sang the song so earnestly, I stayed put and kept looking in to their little upturned faces. I knew they would ask for money afterwards, and we were in an awkward place of being on a busy road sidewalk in front of a long line of guys just hanging out and leanign on their cars. The girls finished their song, and then immediately held out their hands for money. Ah! What do you do? I gave them a 10 cent piece each--which is about 2 or 3 cents American--and clapped and told them Bravo! and then walked passed the group of old men on crutches who started coming in at us like geese when you’re holding bread, when the money was pulled out.
We also discovered that the beautiful little begging boys know how to say more than, “Mother father dead.” We heard, “no shoes,” and “hungry.” Sigh.
We tried to find a massage place, and ended up in a steamy room of all men, who looked like they were there for physiotherapy. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find a token translator, so we decided to wait until today or tomorrow for the massage.
We went to the National Museum and looked at Lucy and other fossils. Coming back, the cabbie asked if we really believed the whole story about Lucy being the first homonid. Obviously he didn’t, and when asked why not, he explained how he had converted from the Orthodox religion, which was just tradition, just culture, to a religion that made sense, that had logic, I can’t remember the name of it, some new sounding Christian church. He said, “They say Lucy is 1 million years old, but in the Bible, it says the whole world is only six thousand and something years old.” Anyway, he also explained the blue taxis (road taxis) and yellow taxis (airport and hotel taxis)--different licenses. He had a yellow one, but it beats me how he knew we wanted to head back to our hotel, and not just go somewhere.
Stopped for a drink at a little café type thing and got glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and grapefruit juice. All over people are selling 8-foot bundles of thin sticks they will burn tonight at their New Year’s celebration to bring in a better year.
This trip is a strain on Andy and I, neither one of us being familiar with how to travel and have to reference someone else the whole time. Also, Andy hasn’t really relaxed here. I’m a little worried about him, but I guess he is still waiting to meet Emily, his “boss,” and see what his work will be. In two days we’ll be in a routine that will last for two months. I have to remember that we’ve really only had two days here, a day and a half if you consider that we slept for most of the first day.
Andy’s down having breakfast already. I think I’ll join him.
posted by Johanna Buchert Smith at 8:43 AM
1 Comments:
Joh & Andy: Just wanted you to know that I am keeping up with your adventures and I really, really enjoy reading your entries. Just in case you were wondering. I'm living vicariously, so keep the stories coming and be safe!
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