I met Peter immediately upon arrival at Circle's reception desk. One of the hotel's young guides, he repeatedly asked if I wanted company; I slogged up the five spiraling flights to my room after flatly refusing. Undaunted, he was still waiting when I came down. Not willing to get worked up over yet another unwanted "guide," I allowed the friendly boy to walk me to the Royal Enclosure, deflecting his flirtatious small talk.

Habesha Kitfo décor

Lamb key wat - including hard-boiled eggs

Peter helpfully pointed out Habesha Kitfo as one of the best restaurants in town. Less helpfully, he offered to eat lunch with me, but as usual seem unperturbed when I refused. Although it was a fasting day, the restaurant offered meat dishes for tourists. Smiling hugely, a friendly man seated across the room gestured towards his meal and boomed, "Let us eat!" The lamb key wat I ordered was spectacular; to this point the tender chunks of lamb and heartily-spiced sauce served with relatively delicate injera constituted the best meal I'd had in Ethiopia.

After I washed my hands from the jug by the door, Peter materialized, stating that he'd confirmed with the waitress I'd been inside. In full-on stalking mode, when I went to the internet café to check email, he came along and played solitaire on a nearby machine until I finished.

I hadn't really planned how to spend my day, but as my entrance ticket to the Royal Enclosure included a visit to Fasilidas' Pool and Peter insisted on spending time with me, we headed off.

After twenty minutes walking along a sun-scorched dirt road, making rather insipid small talk, we arrived at the pool. Apparently it made for great parties—including Timkat every year but most recently it hosted the Ethiopian Millennium bash. Otherwise it was a dud. Under construction, the giant depression wasn't particularly interesting to look at, and in fact had attracted no other visitors. I felt I was in the workers' way.

Outside the pool's gate, a group of boys played foosball under a tree. Random streetside foosball is a phenomenon throughout northern Ethiopia. I wished later I'd taken the opportunity to question the acquisition and popularity of the game, with a ready translator welded to my side.

Peter asked me out for dinner but I gave my best noncommittal brush-off. He wasn't easily discouraged; later as I headed to Sofa Juice for a delicious mango puree, a young man ran up to tell me Peter was looking for me; apparently the town was so small that everyone knew I belonged to him.

After I returned from my afternoon with the lovely family near Debre Birhan Selassie, Peter was waiting at Circle. His full-day campaign had finally worn me down; as I was interested in trying tej, the home-brewed honey wine, I allowed him to take me out for a drink.

Peter holds the serving-size bottle of tej

In the courtyard of a small hotel we split a liter of opaque golden tej, which smelled like sake but tasted sweeter. Sipping from elegant little bottles, my stalker and I finally had a relaxed chat. I loved the chance for a genuine experience, no costumes, no dance show, no other tourists; just a small empty courtyard where cats prowled, women washed dishes and local guests wandered drunkenly off to their rooms.

We headed to a regular bar after that, which was extremely lively for a Wednesday night in a small town. I had a horrible vodka and Coke (they were out of other mixers and rum), and with alcohol-spurred confidence I showed off my newly-learned shoulder-dance moves. Peter watched appreciatively, which was...weird.

We stopped by a club and then headed back to Circle. Suddenly, Peter made his impassioned plea: he'd fallen for me on sight and followed me around all day for the purpose of expressing himself in this manner. He even pulled out the all-time classic: "I live so far away, you should let me stay here tonight." It's not easy escaping up five flights of stairs; eventually I appealed to his sense of shame before slamming my door in his face.

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