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Africa Ethiopia Ethiopia Trip 2015

Hyenas in Harar

One of the reasons I wanted to come to Harar was because every night, just after dark, there is a man who feeds raw meat to wild hyenas. He had been doing it for years, as his father did before him, possibly as a way to keep them from eating his livestock. The hyenas live all around Harar and have a close relationship to the city – sometimes coming in to the city at night to scavenge scraps left over from the market. And there are annual rituals where hyenas are fed porridge as a way to secure a good year ahead. But the really cool thing is, you can go and watch the hyena man feeding the hyenas, and for a small donation you can feed them too. This has become a popular tourist activity.

I went, with a guy i paid to show me the way to the hyena man’s house. I was so glad i had him with me because i never would have found it on my own. We left the old city and walked down a dirt road into the countryside. The walk was fairly long and was made difficult by the fact that it was pitch black. No street lights, lights from houses, cars, etc. nothing. Just stars and a rough road to contend with. It felt very unsafe, but was also slightly scary, due to my fear of the dark and the horrible sounds of hyenas in the distance. They really do may horrible noises. Fears aside, it was nice to be outside, hearing all the nature sounds and seeing the stars. Finally we got to the hyena man’s house and there he was, surrounded by hyenas, with more lurking in the shadows, with only their eyes shining out of the darkness. He had a big basket of meat and there were a few other tourists there (who had prudently arrived by van) who were taking turns feeding the hyenas. They each looked so scared as they went that i was sure it would be mildly terrifying.

Finally it was my turn. I kneeled down next to the basket of meat and the hyena man must have held some meat over my head, because while i was distracted by the 2 hyenas near my face, another hyena jumped in my back and stayed there for what seemed like forever. It was heavy, which was not surprising, given that they are fairly large and solid muscle. (Did i mention that they are second only to crocodiles in terms of their jaw strength and that they can pulverize bone with their teeth?)

I then took a small stick and put it between my teeth and the hyena man hung raw meat on it and in moments, a hyena snatched it away, coming inches from my face. Weirdly, it was not intimidating at all. The walk there was far scarier. It was just very cool. And watching them interacting and laughing their horrible hyena laughs was amazing.

The walk back seemed far less scary.

After that, i just went for some lentils and injera, had a cigar and went to bed, reflecting on the adventures of the day.

Africa Ethiopia Ethiopia Trip 2015

Ethiopia!

In less than a day i’m off to Ethiopia! I can’t believe this is finally happening. I have only been to Africa once before and that was to Egypt in 1995. Twenty years later and I’m finally heading back.

Like most people my age, my foundational knowledge about Ethiopia is from the images seen during the famines of the 1980s. Since then i have discovered Ethiopian

A few random facts: Ethiopia is big (bigger than British Columbia or Texas) and is landlocked in Eastern Africa, bordered by Somalia, Eritrea, Kenya, Djbouti, the Sudan, and South Sudan. The capital city is Addis Ababa (which i will not tire of saying in full, even though it is commonly shortened to “Addis”). Ethiopia has a population of just over 90M, for whom the average life expectancy is about 63. The literacy rates run at a little less than 50%. The main language is Amharic, which looks like this: አልገባኝም (which translates as “I don’t understand”, a phrase i am sure i’ll be using frequently). The currency is called the Birr and for $4.90 US you get 100 Birr. Your dollar goes a long way in Ethiopia, with a coffee costing about 15 cents. The country is nearly 50/50 Muslim/Orthodox Christians, with the Christians slightly in the lead, numbers-wise. Ethiopia is also the rare African country to have never been colonized, although it was occupied by the Italians for a few years in the 1930s, which apparently only enhanced Ethiopia’s existing coffee culture. This prevailing independence has, as i understand it, left Ethiopian culture largely intact.

Speaking of culture: Ethiopia has its own means of telling time. They start with sunrise each day as being at 00 and each hour after sunrise (until sunset) is counted from that point. So, one hour after sunrise is 1:00am, two hours after is 2:00am…get it? This goes on until sunset and then the evening/nighttime hours are counted from sunset until the next morning. Apparently this means that one has to be very careful when booking bus tickets etc as to whether it is Ethiopian time or foreign time that is being used. Oh, and Ethiopia has 13 months a year. They have 12 months of 30 days each and then a 13th month of 5-6 days. As a result of this, in Ethiopia it is currently 8 years behind and it is 2007 there. Confused? Well, given that i still haven’t mastered 24hr hour time telling and i’m not great at reading analog clocks to begin with, this could prove to be a special challenge.

My first stop is Addis Ababa, via London, where i have a layover long enough to afford me some time in the city, which i am looking forward to, but the real excitement is getting to Ethiopia and exploring.

I have a list of things that i want to do and see, but for the most part, i just hope to be surprised. I’ll be blogging as frequently as the wifi allows. The next time i write i should be fresh from London and en route to Addis Ababa. Happy trails to me.
d

Peru South America

Bullfight

The previous day in Lima we had bought some tickets to the bullfight from a ticket counter at a supermarket. Lima’s bullfighting season runs from late October to early November, so the opportunity presented itself and this was something i had wanted to do for a long time. Admittedly, I think the idea of killing animals for sport or entertainment is morally indefensible, but i still wanted to see it, once. (I don’t eat animals either but i still love the butchery sections of markets. I can’t explain it. I just find it gruesome and fascinating.)

We walked out of the historic centre and across a highway and waterway into an area that is notably absent from the maps of Lima in all of my travel books. Across the way on a hill the slums of Lima are visible, with ramshackle houses seemingly piled on top of one another.

The area is distinctly poor, with buildings crumbling, chaotic traffic, the strong smell of urine, and dusty streets lined with lively but shabby buildings. I loved it. The area was busy with everyone gathering before the fight. Spanish music played loudly, some recorded and some live; men gathered to drink beer and smoke, and women grilled meat on the streets, making impromptu eateries out of a cart and plastic chairs. Most people wore fancy, wide-brimmed white hats, which was about the only spiffy thing in site. (Being the only obvious foreigners in site, i didn’t feel right taking pictures of the people, but i took this picture of a side street.)

We entered the bull ring: the Plaza Del Acho. It is the oldest bullring in the Americas, dating from 1766, and the second oldest in the world. The place was crammed full of spectators enjoying the pre-fight ambiance. Grilled meats, live bands, wine, beer & pico vendors – even a cigar vendor! It was very exciting.

People eagerly waited for the matadors and other “performers” to make appearances before the event. Finally it started. The arena holds 13,000 people was nearly full and we all sat on wooden benches.

The events opened with a traditional Peruvian dance done to a live brass band which played on and off throughout the fight.

Then the crowd cheered as the matadors entered the ring.

There were six bulls that afternoon. Each fight (it hardly seems like the right word but i haven’t a better one) follows the same formula. A bull is released. A half a dozen lesser matadors with fuchsia and yellow capes taunt the bull around the ring; getting it to run through their capes and around them. When the bull gets too close, they run and jump behind protective wooden barricades.

Then to trumpets the picadores enter the ring on horseback. They stab the bull with long spears between its shoulders. This causes the bull to bleed and get understandably pissed off. The bull then charges into the horse, often lifting it up and sometimes toppling the rider. This was exciting. The horses wear armour to prevent them from being disemboweled.

Then the matador appears, at first without his red cape. He begins by taunting the bull and stabbing it with six colourful, barbed instruments, which go into and hang down from the bull’s shoulders.

By now the bull is bloody, angry, and tired. The matador then arms himself with a sword and red cape and begins the dance wherein the bull charges, the matador waves his through the cape, the crowd shouts “olé”, and the matador struts cockily while the bull composes himself. This continues for a while during which time, a few times, the matadors are flipped, knocked down and nearly trampled, or in one case, gored in the leg. The always kept fighting, however (the matadors are pretty impressive. They must get laid constantly.) This was all kind of beautiful and very exciting when something went wrong. Make no mistake, i was rooting for the bull.

Then the matador stabs the bull with his sword, through the shoulders, into the chest, hilt deep. The bull bleeds from his wound and blood pours from his mouth. The bull staggers while the sub-matadors taunt the bull with their capes until it falls down (this is the worst part, in my opinion), at which point someone slits the bull’s throat. The body is dragged from the ring by horses to the sound of cheers. The matador struts around while people throw roses and hats.

It’s pretty cruel and awful, but also very interesting. I am definitely glad i went, though i don’t know if i would again. I loved the cultural experience, and the pageantry, the music, and costumes – i also loved that you could smoke cigars, which i did throughout the event. The torture and killing gives me pause.

Reflecting on all we had seen, we left and went back to Miraflores for a vegetarian dinner and sleep. A very full day indeed.
d

Colombia South America

Cock Fight

Yesterday morning, before it got too hot, i went for a walk around the walls of the old city. The walls are fairly high and thick and hold numerous cannons, pointed out at sea. The walk is quite pleasant and offers great views into the streets below.

After my walk i hung out at the hostel in the hammock for a bit and ran some errands and had dinner with an Australian girl and then i headed to one of the squares where i was meeting someone who had promised to take me to a cock fight.

This all started the day i arrived when i met this guy, a local, and we were chatting about what i was going to see and i asked him if her knew where i could see a cock fight. (I had originally wanted to see a bull fight but they only happen in January and February.) The man said, you have no idea who you are talking to–i have 48 chickens for fighting. And so he said to meet his at 6:00 on Friday and we would go.

On the face of it, this seemed like an exercise in poor judgment on my part. I was going to go to a dodgy part of town with a guy i just met to see a cock fight. My instincts said do it, but be cautious. So i met the guy and his two cousins at 6:00 on Friday. I was happy to find out that a young couple from Australia (a girl and a boy) would be joining us. (The Australian cuople told me they had been mugged at knifepoint the day before at 5:00 right in front of their hostel in the touristy neighborhood, but they said they only gave the guy about $5 and he went away.) We hopped in a taxi and went about 15 minutes out of town to a much, much poorer neighborhood.

Before we went to the arena, we went to the patio of this bodega on the corner and had beers (well, i had water) and chatted and took in the people watching. Although it was not an area i would go on my own, i really enjoyed it. Loud salsa music was playing and people were out walking and shouting at each other jovially and dogs were playing in the street. The whole area was really run down and dusty, but it had a friendly feel.

At about 8:00 or so we went to the arena. It is an arena dedicated to cock fighting and in one of many in Cartagena. It seats people in the round on three levels (the admission fees vary depending on what area you sit in). Just outside the arena is an open area with a bar and placed where they keep the chickens on fight day, where they prepare them, etc.

the spikes are applies to the chicken legs

So people have chickens and they have their chicken trainers bring them to the arena. The chickens have their feathers clipped in particular ways and underneath and on the legs the feathers are removed. The chickens are weighed in a special scale to see what weight class they belong in, and then the spikes are attached. A cut is made in the back of the chicken´s leg and a metal thing is inserted and it is bandaged to the leg, then into the metal thing a spike is screwed in – a spike about 2 inches long. Then the lower part of the chicken’s leg is wrapped, kind of like how boxers wrap their hands.

While all this is going on, men are standing around drinking beer, smoking, chatting, and checking out the chickens who are to fight.

The fight began and we took our places. The two chickens are brought into the ring and the betting begins. Some of the betting is organized and some of it is just guys betting with the guy next to him. The whole process is really chaotic with everyone shouting names and numbers all at once and waving money around. The minimum bet is 20,000 pesos (about $10 or $12 dollars), but bets go into the thousands i am told.

The fight starts and the chickens start pecking at each other and flapping and the crowd goes crazy yelling. Above the ring hangs a clock, counting down from 15 minutes and a sign with each chicken’s name and stats (wins, losses, weights, village of origin). Also in the ring are two judges. If one chicken takes the other down for a period of time, that chicken is the winner. If 15 minutes goes by with no big wins, then it is a draw. Judging by the reaction, the crowd doesn’t like draws. Most of the fights lasted about 10 or 12 minutes and ended with one chicken dead or nearly dead. The quickest fight lasted about 5 seconds.

the winning chicken and the dead chicken

I found it all quite fascinating and i enjoyed yelling at the chickens: Come on Chino, don’t be a pussy, take that motherfucker chicken down! Or sometimes, if i was rooting for chicken number 2 (when both chickens had the same name, which happens more often than you would think), i would yell: Numero dos es numero uno! The fighting was interesting, but the best thing was just the experience of being there and knowing it was something not a lot of people get to see. Also, i liked that you could sit in the arena, watching the fight and smoking cigars. That was pretty cool.

We definitely stood out, the Australians and I. We were the only gringos there and the Australian girl and i were the only girls, aside from the one selling the beer. We hung out there for a couple of hours and then took a taxi back to the centro historico. After being dropped off i went to the Casa del Habano and had a cigar and mojito with the manager while watching Romancing the Stone on the tv. The manager says it is his favorite movie.

Over all, it was an awesome experience. A definite first for me – and maybe a first for them, as i am not sure how many cigar smoking, tattooed, pale, blonde vegetarians they get at the cockfight.

Colombia South America

A Man and his Donkey

Yesterday afternoon in Cartagena, i felt like taking a break from my walking, so i sat down at an outdoor cafe to have a cigar and coffee. A guy that had stopped me on the street to sell me jewelry earlier wandered over and i said he could sit down. (At this point he understood that i would not be a customer.) His English was very good and we chatted for about an hour about various things.

The conversation started off normally enough: he told me about his 4 children, his job, his enduring love of the Toronto Blue Jays, etc. Then he told me a story about how when he was 16 he left the farm he lived on and came to Cartagena for the summer to work renting jet skis to tourists and it was while doing this at 16 that he had sex with a 35 year old woman visiting from Boston. I asked him if it had been his ‘first time’ and he hesitated and then told me that it was his first time with a woman but that in the area he is from (rural farmland), boys and young men always have their first sexual experiences with donkeys.

Now, this only surprised me in part. I knew this was a ‘thing’ in rural Colombia as i had recently heard on a podcast about a documentary that had recently been made about this practice; what surprised me was that he was so open about it. He even called over another guy from his area who confirmed this without being prompted. He was quite happy to talk about it and answer any questions i had – and i had lots. How many? How often? Why? How? Do you have favorites? Do you get kicked? What do the women think about this? etc. I won’t go into detail about his answers, except to say that, according to this guy, it is a normal thing in certain areas, and while donkeys and young horses are fine, mules are preferred due to their…virginity. Seriously.

It was a very interesting conversation, but one that i will not detail any further, lest i begin attracting the wrong sort of traffic to my blog.

Europe Russia Russia Trip 2007

Tombs, Tsars, & Pickled Babies

Friday.

At breakfast in the hostel, we met some new guests: a mother and her four daughters visiting from the Yukon (one of whom is here studying), and a retired fellow from Seattle who is traveling around Eastern Europe. They were very friendly.

After breakfast we found a ticket office and booked our train tickets to Tallinn, Estonia (first class, of course). The woman at the counter did not speak any English so I had to rely on my rudimentary Russian (so at least I HOPE I purchased tickets for Estonia). The trains had only recently started running to Estonia again, but will stop later this month due to certain political tensions between the two countries. We leave at 7am on Monday and arrive around 2pm.

We then walked across one of the many bridges spanning the Neva River (i am pleased to report that the weather today has been outstanding) and visited the Kunstkammer – Saint Petersburg’s first museum, established by Peter the Great to display his collection of objects from cultures around the world.

The reason I was so keen to go, however, was to see his collection of oddities and “monsters” – mostly this was jars of pickled and deformed babies. Some had two heads, others enormous tumors, deformed bits and pieces, that sort of thing. There were also stuffed rare animals and a fine display of teeth extracted by Peter the Great himself – along side his many interests (and the running of the Empire) he was also an amateur dentist! Betty Lou was not as enthralled as I with this grotesque miscellany, but I think she enjoyed herself a little bit.

We then walked over another small bridge (there are 300 bridges in the city) to the Peter & Paul Fortress, through the “Death Gate” (many political prisoners were housed and executed there). There was visited the cathedral by the same name where most of the tsars are entombed. Most interestingly, was the small chapel built to house the remains of the Romanovs (who were, of course, slaughtered in 1918).

We had a lovely lunch at an Austrian Cafe (former home of the Russian writer Gorky) before walking back across yet another bridge back downtown. A leisurely coffee and cigar on Nevisky prospect and a bit of shopping has brought us here, to the internet cafe where we wind down from our daily adventures.

Tomorrow we shall head out of the city to visit Peterhof, the Palace of Peter the Great.
That concludes our daily post. Thanks for checking in on us.
Dale & Betty Lou

Wandering North

Tag: weird stuff