Getting guidebook ideas

The pelicans freak out the minute patrons offer food.

Zoe told me after 8 days in the country, she'd grown weary of people who couldn't speak English. The waitress at Pelican Park promptly spilled a beer on her backpack, and grinning, I told her it was karma.

She then told me that she would have enjoyed Egypt more if it weren't for those pesky Arabs. No further karmic punishment forthcame.

Pelican Park was about 10 minutes from Ghion Hotel, with the squawking namesake birds edging up the water-covered steps to catch fish thrown by park patrons. To my surprise, there was a 4 birr charge to photograph the feeding—how could the staff possibly keep track of so many people? We simply put our cameras away.

After a few beers, we headed to Dib Anbessa hotel for dinner. Khun was actually camping out in Ghion's yard, which struck me as a typical backpacker quirk. Viv and Zoe revealed that they took a trip together once a year and had a middle sister who was not invited along; seemed best not to pry. Dib Anbessa's food was Western-influenced and tasty—as well it should be, at 60 birr for soup, fish and a few beers!

Returning on a dark lakeside path back to Ghion, we discovered a padlock on the main door. Luckily, just a few feet down an opening allowed us to cut across and enter the hotel from the side. Security, Ethiopian-style.

View from the lake path

Fisherman in tankwa papyrus boat

Early the next morning, I hoped to visit the source of the Blue Nile, possibly catching a glimpse of the resident hippos while there. Unfortunately I hadn't looked closely at my map, and assumed the lake path eventually led to the source. After walking for almost an hour I arrived at the path's end and genuinely had no idea how close I was. I'd had a few men follow me, claiming to want to practice English, and was exceedingly aware of being alone. I turned back, waving at fishermen in their tankwa boats to ensure someone out there saw me, wishing I hadn't left my guidebook at the hotel.

On Sundays, a spiritual sea of white-robed believers crowd around the gates of Bahir Dar Giyorgis church, pressing their ears through the bars to hear the sermon. They are easily distracted by an Asian woman in their midsts however, so in an attempt to show respect I decided against photographing the scene.

It turns out I should have followed the main road to the Nile's source; too short on time to try again, I headed the opposite direction to check out the fish market.

According to my guidebook, the turnoff to the fish market was just 500m from the hotel along the main road. This could not possibly have been true, as 500m should be only a 10-minute walk. The only footpath I eventually found led to a park, not back to the shore.

Returning to the road, I grew frustrated that I was getting further from the curved lake edge. More men approached me to practice English, but after walking up and down town, I wasn't in the mood. The only information I could get was that the fish market was "very far."

Two lovely young women with adorable children smiled broadly at me when I walked by. Eventually, I turned back and passed them again. Still smiling beatifically, the women gently encouraged their children to speak their limited English words: "give money." Galling, yet informative, as I'd been wondering throughout the trip where children had picked up this behavior.

It proved impossible to simply walk along the lakeside footpath in front of Ghion Hotel because it ended, still with no fish market in sight. I tried anyway, and was slightly horrified to find myself in the midst of an all-male open-air bath. No idea if this was a regular occurrence or only Sundays at 11AM! With the first glimpse of nudity, footpaths back to the road disappeared. A few older men stared boldly, while the younger ones preferred to ignore me. No escaping the situation, I kept my head down, eyes averted, and hurried back to the hotel desperately trying to appear nonchalant.

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