Back in Addis
Back in the city we split off and go our separate ways – for a short while anyway.
Sam and I have opted for the centrally located Ras Hotel; rooms with variable views, a building with history and more than a touch of now slightly shabby elegance. The Ras was built in 1939 during the Italian occupation and the European style overlaid on African culture is easily identifiable. Stylish stucco exterior, magnificent marble staircase, mosaic tiled bathrooms, rich native timber on high vaulted ceilings (the main dining room), a large terrace café and intimate themed dining rooms, all for the same price (150 Birr or NZ$30 including an all you can eat breakfast buffet) as the less central and (sorry) rather less stylish though perfectly serviceable local experience of the Lido. The stuffed lion mentioned in an earlier posting adds the final touch of character. The term shabby chic could have been invented here!
Ron and Maria are in their usual spot at the Mission Hostel, where original elegance has not been allowed to fade one iota. It is a large white colonial style complex with cool, comfortable basic rooms, spacious dining and sitting rooms and incredibly interesting company behind imposing locked and guarded iron gates. It’s like walking into a different universe.
Outside is a busy, dusty, chaotic intersection with a fairly large population living under tarpaulins that slope six feet long and three feet down to the ground from where they are fixed to the wall. The impression is of a blue plastic human cocoon from which the homeless poor emerge every morning and return at night after scavenging, begging, shining shoes or whatever else they do to survive in this harsh city existence. Inside is calm, cool and definitely civilized, dinner is served at long tables where conversation turns to the benevolence of retired and volunteering Americans with professions that can really make a difference here. I’m sure not all the guests are American, just the ones that happen to be at our table on these few days where paths cross seemingly unplanned and unexpectedly.
Andrew has booked the comparative luxury of the Ghion Hotel for himself and Lorraine thinking that on her first visit to Africa and Ethiopia, she might like a bit of more accustomed comfort after the differences of our rural stop. There are certainly extremes in this city. The Ghion is not in the same class as the marble clad opulence of the Sheriton, but it is a beautiful place. Set in acres of landscaped garden with swimming pool (extremely cold I believe!), a range of buildings neatly incorporated into the design and a grand foyer with all the usual trappings of bars, restaurants and shopping arcades. It reminds me of visits to the Intercontinental and International Casino in Nairobi many years ago. The distance in time diminished by the fact that I have few intervening experiences of such opulence to compare. A quick price check reveals phone card rental at rates three to four times what Sam paid through local contacts. Takes a lot to run a place like the Ghion I guess, and people who stay there can afford to pay the multiplied by four rates ofbasic places like the Lido or Tekle's in Kombolche.
After checking out everyone’s accommodation options and checking in to our own, we retire for showers and quick changes then reconvene at the Old Milk House for dinner.
It is Andrew’s birthday in a few days, so the family celebration is tonight. His kids are planning their own surprise for when he gets home on the actual day. The first night Sam and I arrived we went to the Old Milk House. Maybe partly due to the effects of the 57 hour and five time zone journey, but partly I’m sure to the odd familiarity of the scene we walked into, I felt like I was in a pub in some strange English city watching a typical Friday night scene play out. Looking out the window told me I was not, as 100,000 people were packed in and around Meskel Square for the Meskel (Orthodox Christian) celebrations. A blanket of frankincense smoke covered the city with music and singing drifting with it. Tonight there are no lights or bonfires, but its still party mood in the obviously popular bar. Its noisy as before and we contribute our own lively conversation to the buzz. A good time is had by all as they say.
Tomorrow (Saturday) is a day off and for meeting old friends as none of the business we have can be done til Monday. Andrew and Lorraine leave for home early on Sunday morning. Sam and I were due to leave on Monday but have delayed our flights back to London by a day as we have to go to Concern HQ to finally finalize the MoU for the ambulance and get a price quote from Toyota Moenco so we know how much cash we have to raise. But for now, we can spend a couple of days exploring this fascinating city we are in, and that I have landed in so unexpectedly.
Sam and I have opted for the centrally located Ras Hotel; rooms with variable views, a building with history and more than a touch of now slightly shabby elegance. The Ras was built in 1939 during the Italian occupation and the European style overlaid on African culture is easily identifiable. Stylish stucco exterior, magnificent marble staircase, mosaic tiled bathrooms, rich native timber on high vaulted ceilings (the main dining room), a large terrace café and intimate themed dining rooms, all for the same price (150 Birr or NZ$30 including an all you can eat breakfast buffet) as the less central and (sorry) rather less stylish though perfectly serviceable local experience of the Lido. The stuffed lion mentioned in an earlier posting adds the final touch of character. The term shabby chic could have been invented here!
Ron and Maria are in their usual spot at the Mission Hostel, where original elegance has not been allowed to fade one iota. It is a large white colonial style complex with cool, comfortable basic rooms, spacious dining and sitting rooms and incredibly interesting company behind imposing locked and guarded iron gates. It’s like walking into a different universe.
Outside is a busy, dusty, chaotic intersection with a fairly large population living under tarpaulins that slope six feet long and three feet down to the ground from where they are fixed to the wall. The impression is of a blue plastic human cocoon from which the homeless poor emerge every morning and return at night after scavenging, begging, shining shoes or whatever else they do to survive in this harsh city existence. Inside is calm, cool and definitely civilized, dinner is served at long tables where conversation turns to the benevolence of retired and volunteering Americans with professions that can really make a difference here. I’m sure not all the guests are American, just the ones that happen to be at our table on these few days where paths cross seemingly unplanned and unexpectedly.
Andrew has booked the comparative luxury of the Ghion Hotel for himself and Lorraine thinking that on her first visit to Africa and Ethiopia, she might like a bit of more accustomed comfort after the differences of our rural stop. There are certainly extremes in this city. The Ghion is not in the same class as the marble clad opulence of the Sheriton, but it is a beautiful place. Set in acres of landscaped garden with swimming pool (extremely cold I believe!), a range of buildings neatly incorporated into the design and a grand foyer with all the usual trappings of bars, restaurants and shopping arcades. It reminds me of visits to the Intercontinental and International Casino in Nairobi many years ago. The distance in time diminished by the fact that I have few intervening experiences of such opulence to compare. A quick price check reveals phone card rental at rates three to four times what Sam paid through local contacts. Takes a lot to run a place like the Ghion I guess, and people who stay there can afford to pay the multiplied by four rates ofbasic places like the Lido or Tekle's in Kombolche.
After checking out everyone’s accommodation options and checking in to our own, we retire for showers and quick changes then reconvene at the Old Milk House for dinner.
It is Andrew’s birthday in a few days, so the family celebration is tonight. His kids are planning their own surprise for when he gets home on the actual day. The first night Sam and I arrived we went to the Old Milk House. Maybe partly due to the effects of the 57 hour and five time zone journey, but partly I’m sure to the odd familiarity of the scene we walked into, I felt like I was in a pub in some strange English city watching a typical Friday night scene play out. Looking out the window told me I was not, as 100,000 people were packed in and around Meskel Square for the Meskel (Orthodox Christian) celebrations. A blanket of frankincense smoke covered the city with music and singing drifting with it. Tonight there are no lights or bonfires, but its still party mood in the obviously popular bar. Its noisy as before and we contribute our own lively conversation to the buzz. A good time is had by all as they say.
Tomorrow (Saturday) is a day off and for meeting old friends as none of the business we have can be done til Monday. Andrew and Lorraine leave for home early on Sunday morning. Sam and I were due to leave on Monday but have delayed our flights back to London by a day as we have to go to Concern HQ to finally finalize the MoU for the ambulance and get a price quote from Toyota Moenco so we know how much cash we have to raise. But for now, we can spend a couple of days exploring this fascinating city we are in, and that I have landed in so unexpectedly.
posted by Cathy Gunn at
December 10, 2007
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