Category: Travel

With work finished in Ethiopia, I was almost ready to head off to Djibouti, though I couldn’t leave without exploring some of Addis Ababa’s finer attractions.

First, a visit to the Ethiopian National Museum. The main attraction here is Lucy, a 3.2 million year old skeleton (er, plaster replica…the real skeleton is in storage) that serves as a link between apes and bipedal humans. Given the indoor lighting, my images of Lucy didn’t come out that great, though I managed to capture some of the other skeletal plaster reconstructions.

Creepy, eh? Our distant cousins!

During lunch, I sampled tej, or honey wine, a sweet-tasting mead with a deceptively high alcohol content. Yummy.

I spent the afternoon walking around Merkato, considered by many to be the largest open-air market in Africa. It was wild—a seemingly endless mélange of hawkers and smells and colors that one can only find in certain parts of the world. My colleague and I squeezed past crowded stalls and snaked our way through spice tents, eventually settling on a kilogram of mitmita, a deep ochre-hued blend of spices that, when sampled, left a pleasantly strong kick on both of our tongues.

The weekend was nearly complete. Yet my colleague and I still had not tried qat, the amphetamine-like stimulant so popular amongst locale in Ethiopia and its neighboring countries. It’s like the coca leaf of Africa. We asked our driver to help us buy some, and before we knew it were ushered into a small, curtained cement room with five or six guys camped out on thin mats, relaxed and chewing away.

It felt like an opium den without the smoke. Our driver taught us what leaves to pull, and how first timers typically chew the leaves with a carbonated beverage or with peanuts. In my case, I used both. I watched other eyes, gradually dilated, soft and lazy, thinking to myself, Why was I trying this again? After a few chomps, I felt slightly elated, a temperate warming in the back of my head. That feeling lasted awhile, as I sipped my Coke and listened to the Dixie Chicks on a boom box someone had placed in the corner of the room. Who would’ve thunk it—the Dixie Chicks? In an Ethiopian-qat den?

That night, we went to Harlem Jazz, a live-music venue, and boogied down to multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Kenny Allen. The tunes—mostly reggae—were energetic, and the crowd was all about it. I couldn’t stop dancing. I’d like to think it was the music, but I’m guessing it was the qat…I didn’t go to sleep until 4am.

Whew, what a week. Which brings me to Djibouti.

Djibouti, one of the tiniest countries in Africa, is an interesting place. Considering its proximity to Somalia, Eritrea and Sudan, Djibouti is a relatively stable, unassuming (and in the words of one expat, “stupidly expensive”) oasis in the armpit of East African volatility. Claiming independence from France in 1977, Djibouti has a strong French influence. While stray camels stroll around the city’s environs, short-shorted French militia order up fresh poisson at restaurants named La Chaumièire and Le Kintz. Throughout the week, I made a few unique observations:

• One car dealership insisted that we take a look at their high-end furniture for sale. Shouldn’t they be selling us on their vehicles? I must say, though, that the furniture was quite nice.
• Most of the currency is battered beyond belief. If you ever find yourself in the presence of Djiboutian francs, look for staple holes. Not once did I see anything close to a fresh bill!
• Nobody works from 12:00p-4:30p. That’s quite a siesta.

Oh, and the heat! It’s penetrating! One day, it got up to 122 degrees Fahrenheit. In certain parts of the city, the heat takes on an almost unbearable sulfurous scent, enough to make one feel like a struggling asthmatic. Remind me why I requested this region of the world in August?

On Friday, my colleague and I hired a driver to take us to Lac Assal, at 150m below sea-level the lowest point on the African continent, the second saltiest body of water in the world. Exiting Djibouti city, we drove past broken flatbeds, wild gazelle, monkeys, camels and trash-snacking goats. We hit desert fairly quickly, rocks strewn across the sun-beaten horizon.

Halfway to the lake, we slowed through a French Foreign Legion outpost, where kids crowded around outdoor Foosball tables. When a truck, chock full of qat from Ethiopia, drove past via police escort, our driver announced, “his majesty is arriving.”

Lac Assal is wild—miles of barren salt shores and craggy outcroppings.

After Lac Assal, we off-roaded into a petrified lava field, a lunar landscape not far from where the original “Planet of the Apes” was filmed. I ran across shards of what was once molten liquid and darted into a lava tube to escape the relentless heat.

On Sunday, we went snorkeling on Moucha Island. While it wasn’t the season to snorkel with the whale sharks (a must-do for anyone visiting in the fall or winter), I had an incredible time darting through schools of wish, coming up with comical questions like, If the brain coral could think, what would it think of me, and Do the white and black and yellow fish get along? I held my breath for as long as possible, spotting all kinds of colorful creatures swimming through never-ending nooks and squiggly, gnarled coral crannies. Our boat was mostly U.S. soldiers, and I had a fun time asking them about their Djiboutian post and lives in the military. One guy, Dave, gave my colleague and I some amazing recipes that I’m looking forward to trying upon my stateside return.

All in all, an excellent visit! I’m writing this update from a 6 hour layover in Dubai, and tomorrow it’s off to Amman, Jordan for the next week. Petra, here I come!

Greetings from Addis Ababa, capital of the Ethiopian hinterland, and at 7546 ft (2300m), the 3rd highest capital city in the world. I’ve been here for 4 days now, which means it’s about time for an update.

As my 15+ hour flight approached landing, I pulled off my Ethiopian Airlines socks—yes, free socks folks—and filled out a customs form and Save the Nation from the New Flu questionnaire. The next day, my colleague and I surveyed a few supermarkets, and even though the electricity cut out four times, we managed to get a ton of work done.

For dinner, we went to Habesha Restaurant, a place known for its traditional dishes and nightly dance and music shows. I ordered sautéed chicken (chicken tibs), which was served atop injera, Ethiopia’s iconic, sourdough flatbread made out of fermented teff flour. Local entertainers wowed the audience as my fingers frazzled the spongy circle, and my colleague and I, situated at the front-most table, enjoyed our first round of St. George’s beer. My favorite performance was an Esketsa-style dance, which involved nearly impossible gesticulations of the neck, back and shoulders that would make a chiropractor cringe. The dancers were like psychedelic marionettes, being thrashed around by a maniacal puppeteer. It was rhythmic and captivating in an almost hypnotic way. Apparently the dancers noticed my interest, because at some point during the 30-minute charade, they motioned for me to stand up and join them. Luckily my colleague had her video camera out.

Ready for 15 seconds of my best Esketsa impression?

Note: if you can’t see the video, click here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOoNzjUO0bk

Well that was embarrassing.

I spent the next morning hunting down new automobile prices, and while idling in traffic, rediscovered some of citified Africa’s traits. The smell of diesel. Broken streets and puddled, unkempt alleys. Sidewalk herds of impish goats. Eucalyptus-branch scaffolding, ribbed metal sheets and even a Britney Spears ad for Stolichnaya vodka. Over the last few days, my senses have been utterly stimulated (especially taste—last night, I had lamb brains for dinner).

With our cost-of-living survey nearly complete, my colleague and I are looking to explore Addis Ababa over the weekend. On the agenda:

• A visit to the Ethiopian National Museum to see the plaster replica of Australopithecine Lucy.
• An afternoon in Merkato, the largest open-air market in Africa.
• Drinking tej (honey wine).
• Chewing leaves of qat, a plant native to Ethiopia known for its stimulative properties.

35 days, 9 flights and 4 countries later – poof, I blink my eyes and I’m back in the U.S. As always, it was a wild survey, and as always, it’s good to be home. This will be my first summer in Boston, and with plenty of friends to romp around with, it’s sure to be a fun one.

This survey, my last stop was a 10-night stay in Tirana, Albania. Nestled amongst the Balkans, Albania is quite a country. Historied with a turbulent past, a promising future awaits, a future that will begin with increased international presence. On April 1st – just a few weeks ago – Albania joined NATO, and just a few weeks later, formally applied to be the newest member of the European Union.

Needless to say, I was excited to visit. Below are some highlights and pictures from the trip.

Getting Settled

Mother Teresa was arguably the most celebrated Albanian of the 20th century. The airport is one of many architectural elements named in her memory, and I crept into it just after midnight. As my taxi glided toward Tirana (the capital city), the puntz-puntz of house music was just loud enough to keep me (and probably the driver) from falling asleep. It was a two-lane road, and high grass was flanking the shoulders. At first, I thought the small dots a few fingers above the horizon were low-lying stars, but then I remembered that mountain ranges cover most of the country. Mountains, house music, entering a new country – it doesn’t get any better folks.

Broadway Hotel and the Shower from Hell

I was fortunate enough to stay at what has to be one of the friendliest hotels in the Balkans. It is small, just about 20 rooms, and there is definitely a Vegas/Egyptian thing going on – pharaonic symbols line the hallways. In front is a lush terrace that is packed almost every night with both guests and locals. The grilled fish is delectable and best served with a hearty amount of Tirana beer.

One of my friend’s cousins actually owns the hotel (Kristi, thanks again!), so I was given a nice corner room on the top floor. Between the quiet balcony, the wireless Internet connection, and the wooden ceiling, I was set. That is, until I battled the shower from hell.

I’ll do my best to explain. At the sink, I learned that left=hot and right=cold. At first, I thought it would be safe to assume that the shower was the same way, but I had made that mistake before, so I timidly stood outside the doors and conducted a new temperature experiment. Immediately, when I turned it on from the left side, the water was scalding. I then proceeded in the shower by turning the knob to the right, then turning on the pressure. Bad move, Alan. Due to cylindrical confinement, I narrowly escaped the piercing wrath of fiery water. My chest and arms were red for two days.

Once I got the shower temperature right, I realized that about every 20 seconds, the water became freezing cold for 2 seconds until the heater kicked back in. Between varying temperatures and massage settings, I never took an entirely relaxed shower. Future guests, beware.

Skanderbeg Square and Bllok

One thing I really liked about Tirana is that you can walk everywhere. When I wasn’t working, I was exploring, and I found that most of my time was spent around Skanderbeg Square, the central park, and Bllok. Skanderbeg Square describes the square expanse of asphalt in the center of the city. Watch out for crossing Mercedes cars and plastic, battery-operated kiddy mobiles. Around the square you can find the Opera, Skanderbeg Statue, the National Library, the National History Museum, and Et’hem Bey Mosque. Often described as a majority Muslim country, 70% of Albanians are estimated to be non-religious or non-practicing.

Bllok, prior to the fall of communism, was an area sectioned off for government officials. Interestingly enough, since then Bllok has become the number one spot for Tiranian youth, boasting the best cafés, shops, and restaurants. The streets, especially in summer afternoons, are filled with people.

The Dajti Express

Originally, I had planned to rent a car in Tirana and drive outside of the city to tour the countryside. After a few days, though, I concluded that with my lack of aggressive driving maneuvers, this would be a nearly impossible task. Thus, in an effort to escape citified Albania, I settled with the Dajti Express, an Austrian-constructed cable car that whisks passengers to a 1230m shelf on Mt. Dajti in just under 18 minutes.

The ride was quiet. We soared over rolling pastures, a lake, steep, craggy outcroppings, crowing roosters, and barking dogs. At the top of the lift are picnic grounds, some restaurants, and rainforest hiking trails. When I tried to climb higher, I was turned away with a pointed gun (and a smiling face), reading much later that the top of the mountain is controlled by the military.

It was a Sunday, so families occupied all the non-trash grass patches. I walked around, took a few pictures, and headed back to the city before it got dark. For future travelers, it is definitely worth checking out as a nice half-day excursion. On a clear day, the views of Tirana are stunning.

Overall Impressions

If you’re traveling in the Balkans, or feel like jutting out over the boot of Italy for a quick ferry ride, Albania is a fine choice. People are friendly, Tirana is geographically manageable, and as a cost-of-living surveyor, I can vouch that prices are good. I wish I had had more time to explore surrounding cities like Durrës and Shkodër, but I had to leave something for my next trip, right?

 

Why do we travel? For work? For pleasure? Because we must? Because we want to? For me, even when it’s business, it’s personal. Which is how I find myself in the Romanian capital of Bucharest, what’s referred to as Little Paris for its neoclassical architecture and one time predilection for all things French. So, who got me to come to this gray and distant place?

This comes from the opening of the Romania episode of No Reservations, a food+travel TV series hosted by one of my favorite authors, Anthony Bourdain. While I don’t recommend watching the episode–it’s simply horrible–this quote captures my emotions quite well.

Unlike Ukraine, the Romanian air (as far as I know) is radioactive free. Sigh. I’m nearing the end of my stay, and as of yet have not gotten the full impression of Bucharest that I was looking for. I have to remind myself that it’s impossible to really know a city when I am only there for a handful of days, and when those days are spent working, it is hard to get a multi-faceted perspective. In that sense, being a business traveler has been bittersweet.

Hotel

I am staying at the Ramada Plaza in the northern, more suburban region of Bucharest. The overall decor has a very space-age-IKEA feel to it, with ultra-modern minimalist furniture and single-hued, ambient artwork. The staff is incredibly friendly, but the pool and fitness center are under renovation. Glad I brought my jump rope. I noticed, on the third floor at least, that a fire hydrant mysteriously serves as a doorstop. Can’t figure that one out. Oh, and my room smells like ginger.

Stray Dogs

There’s an interesting story behind this. In the 1980s, Nicolae Ceausescu, a now-executed Communist dictator, demolished a large portion of Bucharest homes. In classic megalomaniacal fashion, he used the newly razed area to build tower blocks, wide boulevards, and grandiose monuments to himself. While homeowners were rehoused in tiny flats, many of them were forced to abandon their pets. Naturally, the animals ran wild and do what animals do best–bump uglies and make more animals.

In 2006, an elderly Japanese businessman bled to death after being bit in the leg by a stray. Since then, the government rounded up hundreds of dogs and lethally injected them (which I have my own issues with), but despite government efforts, stray dogs still take over many-a-dark-alley at night. I can hear them barking now. Seriously. No walking alone after 5pm for this guy.

Erotic Massages

I’ll put it this way–this is the first map I picked up in Romania. Marvel at the irony.

13/15 ads on the map are R-rated. Really? There’s not much more to say here.

My first Tweetup

For all you non-nerds out there, a “tweetup” is when you meet someone in person that you originally met over the micro-blogging platform, Twitter. A few months ago, I was looking for web programmers to address a coding issue I had on my blog. I came across Adrian Diaconescu, and when I learned he had started a travel blog called Freelance Traveler, I knew that he was the perfect person to get in touch with. Thankfully, our schedules worked out, and Adrian was kind enough to take me to Caru’ cu bere, one of the few traditional Romanian beerhouses left in Bucharest–it’s been around since 1879!

Boy was it fun. We chatted about travel, Romanian politics, his work, my work, and yes, blogging. To compensate for all the nerdiness, we demonstrated ultimate manhood by ordering beers and meat. There’s just no other way, right? Below is a picture of mititei, a joyful blend of mutton, beef, pork and several flavor-enhancing spices. YUMMY.

Adrian, a big thank you for your company. Noroc to you!

(Noroc = luck, or ‘cheers’ in Romanian)

 

It was 8:26am. I wolfed down my tasteless–yet surprisingly fluffy–omelet and ran upstairs to make sure I had followed orders correctly. Closed-toe shoes…check. Passport…check. Camera, note pad, yogurt-covered raisins…check.

At 8:45am, in front of the Ukraine Hotel, at the heart of Kiev’s Independence Square, Catherine and I registered our names, paid our fees, and hopped into the back seat of a cushy, air-conditioned 15-passenger van. Sergei, one of the trip coordinators, poked his head through the main door to explain a few things before we left–that the trip would take 2 hours. That, in the van, we would watch a full-length documentary about Chernobyl. That the documentary was “90% OK” because it was made in America. We were also told to stomp our feet when reentering the vehicle as to minimize the amount of radioactive dust accumulation. And finally, Sergei playfully warned us that our guide within the exclusion zone was “working for the government, so don’t expect too much.”

The documentary was informative yet at times felt a bit too end-of-the-world. Here is what I learned: on 26 April, 1986, after a late night experiment, reactor #4 of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant exploded. Less than 24 hours later, winds had already carried radioactive fallout–400 times more than Hiroshima–as far as Stockholm, over 1000km away. That first day, the only fatalities were two firefighters that tried to put out a “strange fire” with water. They, as well as everyone at the time, had no idea how to handle the situation. One of the main takeaways from the documentary was that this lack of information, coupled with a secretive Soviet government, lead to massive amounts of unnecessary exposure.

I looked out the window. Springtime dandelions, birch tree forests, and clusters of wild chickens passed by under a cloudless sky. The documentary continued. I learned about Pripyat, a town that lies 3km away from the reactor. At the time of the explosion, 50,000 people lived in Pripyat, but it took days for them to evacuate. By that time radiation levels had altered the chemical composition of their blood. One man who survived the event confessed, “even today, 20 years later, I can still feel the taste of lead in my mouth.” Luckily, the only metallic taste I experienced that day was while chewing my felt-tip pen. A bad habit, indeed.

Today, 8 million people live in contaminated areas in Ukraine, Belarus and Russia. The war with the invisible enemy is certainly not at the level it once was, but because no official study has ever been put together, it’s hard to say how many atomic refugees there are.

At the border of the outer exclusion zone, our van stopped, and we passed our passports outside for registration. 10 minutes later, we pulled into an administrative building in the city of Chernobyl, about 15km away from the reactor. Our guide, Yurev, introduced himself and led us upstairs where he explained the geography of the exclusion zone. A member of our group was asked to read aloud the dos and don’ts of the day. It is prohibited to “drink liquors or take drugs,” “have meal and smoke in the open air,” and “carry any kind of weapon.” I think I could manage that.

On the drive towards the reactor, we stopped for last-minute snacks, and for a few of the more adventurous group members, local brewskies for the van. We piled periodically out of the van to take pictures and learn more about the geographic layout of the facility.

Quick anecdote: one of the group members, a witty British comedian who brought brevity to a place that certainly needs it, asked our guide why we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the main administrative building on the way to the reactor. The dialog was as follows.

Guide: Do not take pictures toward the building.

Comedian: Why can’t we take pictures of the building?

Guide: Safety.

Comedian: Safety?

Guide: Safety for you.

Folks, it doesn’t get any more Soviet than that.

Eventually we reached the reactor.

At one point, I stepped a few meters in front of the group to get a closer shot. Uniformed men hustled out of the above-pictured gate, pointed, and said something along the lines of “RussianRussianRussian…photographskie…RussianRussianRussian.” I turned around, walked back towards the group, and then our guide ushered us back into the van.

We then drove to Pripyat, the ghost town mentioned in the documentary.

One of the most eerie places in Pripyat is the playground. See the manhole in the foreground? Radiation levels measure 1,000 times higher over the contaminated asphalt.

We then went inside Pripyat’s school.

As emotional and creepy that Pripyat’s buildings can be, many of the scenes felt set up. A lone shoe on the amusement park bench. A perfectly positioned book against the backdrop of a dilapidated wall. These are the kinds of things that tend to happen, I guess, with the evolution of tourism. Alas, I took advantage and snapped a few shots myself.

The tour ended, and we drove back to Kiev. A few of us got together for afternoon drinks in Independence Square, which turned into a pleasurably raucous evening of drinks, dinner, and travel conversation. There was Catherine and myself, then Shields, a South Carolina native who currently lives in Afghanistan, Dave, a British engineer/mountaineer from Wales, and Dom, the British journalist/TV personality/writer. Dom is currently writing a book on dark tourism–visiting places like Cambodia, Chernobyl and Rwanda. Looking forward to its completion!