me, kind of naturally dreaded (all these photos, together with lots more, are available in better resolution at my online photo gallery: http://www.ringo.com/explore/member/albums.html?memberId=151580489)

There has been a lot of sickness. Among people here there is severe sickness, yesterday I had a terrible experience of walking by a ‘bag shaking in the wind’ realizing it in fact was something human rattling under plastics in the dark, this place can give the faint hearted the creeps. For me it has been nothing but temporary shits, vomits, fevers, inflammations and things of that sort. Although going home yesterday with new stomach pains from to much "taidge", I now feel revived with new curiosity from the latest time being quite worn down and tired. I am happy as a fish in the sea and soon I’ll be in the red sea of Eritrea, supposed to be some of the hottest salt water on this planet, with some 25 – 28 degrees of water temperature, quite the bathtub! On my way there I must pass Djibouti (since the Ethiopian-Eritrean border is closed and the dakhalia desert. A desert region in southern Eritrea which has rumors of being one of the most desolated and hottest places on earth and home to furious and hostile local tribes, known to castrate their enemies dead bodies. But I’ve heard that Eritrea used to be an Italian colony, so I hope for great pasta and gelato to accompany the fantastic tan I intend to get. Although most of the group’s rumor based wish dreams about the places we have visited have been proved, oh, so wrong, including sand character, camel caravan organization, naked tribes in the nuba mountains and lots more, my spirit about Eritrea couldn’t be higher. Assab ‘the pirate town’ on Eritrean south coast is the first highlight. It is a shame that Eritrea only have 12 months of sunshine, in comparison to Ethiopias 13!

I will also miss the 90’s. Ethiopia lives in too many ways in the 1990’s. Technically it is still 1999 in Ethiopia; the new millennium takes place in September. Although I do not know what exact effect that may have on the world we have not hesitated to warn people about the curtained Y2K disasters. Less disastrous and more enjoying though is the so 90’s hits being played all over Ethiopian bars and together with neon lights and cloth styles it more than often gets confusing, where the party actually is taking place. Ethiopians also have hilarious handshakes, based on a handshake with multiple touching shoulders together and usually numerous local additions. This of course, makes us think about the 90’s best tv-show (except McGyver): Fresh Prince in Bell Air! The movies being sold in the pirate-dvd stalls here (are in difference to the asian: selling pre and just released movies) all 90’s classics, to bad the quality is by some reason like VHS or worse. The Ethiopian dance floor is usually ruled through battling another dancer, the local dance craze being a bird/chicken stylish shoulder shaking story, which I don’t think I can explain in words but among us goes by the name ‘the peacock dance’, trust me have tried to master this definite chick attracter, which even beats ‘the silly walk’ in humor if you’re unprepared for its arrival on the floor in front of you. This just made me think about a intern joke since Sudan; ‘pass the chicken please’ (referring to the UN police giving us a lift, wanting me to pass the alive chicken bouncing around in the back to his roadside chef.

I spent most of the day at the merkato (the local market) shopping for various joyful junk and some traditional 'junk" since useful quality items tend to be hard to come by in Africa. Addis Ababa (where I swing my beer at the moment) is the turn point in this travel. From now on I will go no more south. Some east, but mainly north, and not to far from now I will leave Africa for once more a semester in Europe. But more importantly I entered Addis sick as a beaver (pretty much carried to a hotel), tired of traveling and of Africa and the life it provides. I guess you are not supposed to talk like this, for it is always ups and down (especially in such a intense everyday as when traveling) but I do so positive that my momentarily enthusiasm will throw over any recent wearying and this story will triumph in a positive reflection of the splendid state of mind I am in right now and will give nothing but vibes of traveling ;)

I just came out of the movies, after enjoying a real American movie (the sentinel) with the hoard of Ethiopian youngsters. It is obligatory to refill snacks and take a piss in the brake in the middle of the film and clap your hands when the bad guy goes down. Going to the movies in the "third world" feels like I imagine the old people felt like going when the phenomena was still something special. I love this communal feeling! And in countries where the price of a ticket is equivalent of a coke, the cultural experience is boosted by great people watching. Anyway, I stumble out and into the winding back alleys greeting street hawkers and beggars for once, instead of the usual necessary dodging.

Ethiopia in general and particularly Addis is one of the worst places I’ve seen for foreigners being approached for money. Foreigna! You! Hey man! Come here, don’t be scared! Don’t worry, I’ll help you! And so on from hawkers, loads of crippled people lying on every street, moaning or shaking for money and basically every kid tries to sell you gum or paper tissue or just pleading for money. Well, kids have always been stupid and annoying but when any woman, old man or person not male 15-30 of age don’t seem to think it is anything strange or desperate about asking anybody for money, I cannot help but feel sorry for the streets I am walking. Although I have been assisted multiple times of “hard working men” I will still say that males 15-30 of age in Ethiopia is officially hawkers and will lie and deceive you for whatever money or future chance of money that might be available. Parts of Egypt can be bad in this sense, but what I’ve seen of Ethiopia is far worse. Sudan is a true blessing with people approaching you for genuine interest and curiosity and where poor people will offer you food, housing and whatever they have to assist you. I miss being asked ‘what is the name of your tribe? Answering ' -tribe of Sweden is friend of the mountains!, while rolling my eyes and shaking my shoulders. It was quite convenient for Nonni and Haukur being official represents of their home country, a status every Icelandic citizen acquires, since they are about 50 or so of them. Although having everybody staring became annoying at times. Even our worse Egyptian stalking street hawker (George the shoe shiner) who popped out of nowhere at every corner of Luxor we turned, felt like a humorous blessing compared to the Ethiopians pathetic way of trying like on routine just because it is possible to maybe, somehow get a coin from a white man. St. George (pronounced ‘Giyorgis’ in the common tong) is also our favorite Ethiopian saint, providing an excellent beer and slaying dragons at our will.

So I strolled down the back alleys trying not to step on any of the multiple homeless lying in the street, thinking I should hit a bar. The power goes out just for a moment, but long enough for me to gather many impressed attractors by searching around the street stalls for a stupid looking hat for drinking games with my keychain mini flashlight. I storm the first hole in the wall, not glowing in fixed red neon light, with is the usual sign for a "brothel". Although most bars have blinking neon lightning (like the local transport minibuses around the third world) it is not hard to tell the real “love shacks” (often just a steel shack) from the ‘just’ sleazy often ‘red draped’ “bars”, in which one we had to witness a public blowjob. I feelt ready for anything when I step down to the basement and see the first alchemist waving his arms ritually over some pots of glowing yellow liquid, which to my surprised surplice doesn’t seem to be boiling or containing eyes of any sort. At least 50 males sit around 3 long tables swinging and drinking from glass jars just like the classical alchemist’s with round bottom and narrow long neck, they all contain the same yellow liquid. I am greeted and take a seat at the same instant I enter. Of course I order the brew (I would probably drink human blood or even worse, if it was the norm, considering the exalted state I was in) and practically shrug it, convinced that it contains some sort of alcohol. Tasting like fruit juice I think that maybe I’ve found the local version of sangria. I quickly remember the Mexican “sangria” being terrible Tabasco shot realizing that this is way to tasty to be a local alcohol. Every country has its local ‘drinks’, I always try them gladly as the great experiments they are but they almost never taste ‘good’. The most recent one before this was locally brewed beer in the Siemien mountains, it was better than the Nuba mountain wine (both having the same characteristics of fruity muddy water) and the beer also reminded me of mjod (the old Viking ‘beer’ brew). The worst of al fluids tried so far on this trip is Sudan’s and Allah’s non/alcoholic beer. The yellow, kind of slow flowing, liquid spread around the room was alcohol free, but people drank it with enormous appetite and the communal mood was high as a rave party. These strange ‘hangouts’ you encounter here and there in the world, with so many questions raised but never answered might not even be worth a turned head for a local or well informed person. But loving the myths and mysteries I quite often feel glad being as ignorant as I am. I stayed for an hour or so, drinking and playing ‘the game’ everybody seemed to be involved in. it has the appearance of like paper, scissor, rock and is about guessing your opponents number of coins-in-hand, being ‘molla’ or ‘godele’ (‘even or uneven’). It was a bit like the Danish home-game ‘raffel o lojn’ (‘gamble and lie’). The mystery surrounding this evening will probably make me at random remember it and smile to myself a morning on a lonely buss in the cold north many years from now. I still don’t know the content of the fruity brew. Food wise it has been a relief coming to Addis, where one can find Italian restaurants with good pasta and great lasagna. The traditional menu is also grander here then on the countryside, for example providing a crazy but not bad breakfast of yoghurt, bread and eggs, mixed in the same bowl together with chili and some oil. This is called "Nashif".

'Molla' is also the name our mule responded to, when being guided around the mountains by our mule handler David in last weeks trek in the Ethiopian high alpine Siemien mountains with an altitudes of 4500 meters and nightly temperatures of to-close-to-zero-to-be-comfortable-without-spooning. With us on our 5 day hike we also had a compulsory (for safety reasons we were told) scout named Markesh and to little food. Every group led into the national park had a well equipped scout showing them the way, most also had a guide (translator), Markesh carried a 1945 Russian assault riffle (If my memory from role-playing game proves me right) that looked much more like it would explode than fire a bulled if fired. Although being one of the coolest guns I have ever seen it didn’t feel entirely safe to have it loaded, bracing Markesh’s shoulders on our strengthens walks up and down mountain sides. Since the trek I’ve been traveling on my own, but I intend to meet up with island (taking the historical north route in Ethiopia) which are about a week behind me in progress to paradise (‘Eritrea’)

Sheep in Siemien mountains. I will never forget the seamen stew. Or the sheep we slaughtered by our own hands (mine and David(below) our mule handlres's)

balance is everything when strapping your gear to the mule
Markesh, our scout, and the abyss

A mountain man of rang

Both Sudan and Ethiopia has enormous amounts of praying birds like hawks, falcons and eagles even in the cities, for example Khartoum where 3 million people live in the junction of the blue and the white Nile . The Siemien mountains also have the lammergeyer (like a giant furious crow) which together with the more successful falcons (with actually twice managed to dive and snatch pieces of chicken and lamb from our hands during the evening dinner. Haven’t seen to much big animals (except the horrendously rumored Gelabat (bleeding heart) baboon, but gazing out of a buss crossing desolated savannas (in example Sudan) one cannot help but dream of giraffes galloping under setting sun far in the horizon. I have to come back here with an off-road motorcycle and take on the African savanna…

Except for chatting with locals, gazing at the horizon and letting your dreams go with the scenery is the most powerful tool to endure often horribly painful buss rides. I won’t even think about comfort right now but say that the praxis with music on buses is. In Sudan: prayers for the whole trip (if it is Friday) otherwise midi synthesizer music, sounding like a loop of a bad 70’s show theme song like twin peaks or some old video game music. Fun!, but not for 10 hours. This is if you are lucky, if your not, there will be no official music on the bus, meaning that every third or so passenger will bring his own (often mono) stereo and the buss will be a horrendous blur of noise of all kinds. Do I have to point out that, if an African plays music, it will be done at maximum volume, simply because it is possible. Maybe it is like if I had a warp machine, I would off course go as far away in the universe as I could, simply because it is possible. The by far worst music heard so far though, is supposedly an African hit of some unknown type of music, sounding like a busted computer connected to a dying cat and everything being beaten up by a sledge equipped maniac. This we encountered twice and once actually managed to record to video, one that hopefully will reach u-tube when Island get back home.

Tv is greatly appriciated, especially european soccer. It is alk made possible though the magic of parabol disches. a well earned comfort in the third world!

You are not supposed to take photos of women, doesn't matter if they stare their eyes out. notice the guy in the back.

I am stuck in Addis, one more night (due to visa complication) and will take the chance to ‘party like 1999!’ With the local pimps and prostitutes that is, since that’s the only people in the clubs. Ethiopian woman is actually quite often attractive; it is a true shame that they all are prostitutes and has HIV. The beauty ideals in the Arab/African world seem to differ a little from the western. The local music videos shows the norm, being to have a little fat around the waist, so you have something to shake for the men it seems and maybe to show that you can afford to eat food.

village in the Nuba mountains