10pm, October 16, A nice room in a nice hotel in a small town (maybe Asella?):
Wow. Fifty-five pages at this point. Maybe I should think of cleaning this thing up, having it hardbound and published for the general reading public. I might sell two or three copies. It could be my first flop, as fine a start to a famous writing career as any could hope for. Naw… But let’s continue. We got up early and drove past Goba up to the Sangetti Plateau, at 13,000 feet (yes, you can drive right up there!) and it was pea-soup fog and rain and about 39 degrees, though it felt colder. Really, really wonderful, though we didn’t see any of the Ethiopian Wolves that are supposed to frequent the plateau. It’s a sort of soggy alpine heath, that reminded me a bit of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and a bit of a scene out of a Jane Austin novel. The heather actually grows into whole trees up there, but mostly it’s rocks and lichens and low heather and scrub, and tiny little tarns with freezing cold water… and some things that look a bit like the Centennial Plants of the Mohave Desert… The air was damn cold and clean, and Shimeles was freezing his ass off and I was having a jolly old time. We returned the way we’d come, and at the main Park Entrance we paid to get in and then hired an unofficial local fellow as a guide, and within a few minutes of walking, brushed right up against some huge-tusked boars and a whole herd of Walia Ibex, including a few massive males with those fantastic and beautiful curly horns… very majestic creatures! Then we made tracks, and bounced and shook down out of the mountains at such a breakneck rate that I was quite sure my teeth were going to rattle right out of my head, and could feel all my guts getting re-arranged and tangled up inside my abdomen. We turned north at Dodoba, and drove through an evening landscape that reminded me an awful lot of Montana, and despite the bouncing and heartburn and car sickness, I was in quite a cheery mood from the beautiful scenery the entire way. While Shimeles and Misee and Mimo talked and laughed, I went over and over in my mind how it would be possible to protect and preserve the fantastical unique beauty of Montana while accepting and coping with the realities of population growth and economic expansion, and found myself wishing I had Hans there to bounce ideas off of… But the best thing I came up with was a more encompassing system of public (and private?) land demarcation, in which much of the remaining open land in the state could be classified on a sort of sliding scale of protection and use regulations… and a very rigorous and complete state-wide zoning code which would treat environmental and developmental constraints as two interconnected systems which had to be carefully considered and compared to create a solution which would allow for acceptable and sufficient community and infrastructure enlargement while ensuring as great a degree of environmental protection as possible. The two must be seen to be interlinked… I was reading a GIS newsletter I found at the EDSONATRA in Addis, and I think one of the articles influenced this idea a lot.
Even after spending the past two days in phenomenally beautiful areas, I’m still homesick. Well, it’s not nearly so bad, but… it made me think, what is it really that makes me miss ol’ Missoula? Well, being able to talk to people can’t be overlooked. And all the friends that it’s taken me a lifetime to collect. And it’s familiar territory. Familiar culture. And I know how to pursue the things I want to do, and know where to find other people who share those interests. And of course, I’m not doing constant field work, not driving all the bloody damn time. Hmmm… that was an easy answer. Don’t really even know why I bothered to bring that up. But I should point out, the scenery here, and the feel of the place, really does compare to the good ol’ Treasure State. I’m impressed… I honestly didn’t expect it.
I had a nice conversation with Becks last night by sat phone, while I shivered under the twinkling stars in the cold and dark, and a thousand hyenas howled just outside town. I’m pretty happy with this phase of the trip now, and it seems to be getting constantly better. Tomorrow morning, we’ll drive to another hotsprings to soak on the way to Nazret, and drink fresh fruit smoothies. Huzzah! Not so bad, is it? I was thinking about how to reply to Kristin’s email bragging about all the awesome things she’s discovered in New Zealand, and I think I finally have some good retaliation now. (Speaking of Kienitz, a funny thing tonight: while I was thinking about the aforementioned subject, I flicked on the TV to the one English station, and it was reruns of a show called CoastWatch [alas, no Pam Anderson] … about Fisheries Agents from Gisborne who are constantly going on undercover stings to take down illegal fisherman off the Islands. Kinda like Cops, but with Fisheries guys. Hmmm… leave it to New Zealand to have a show like that. Pretty lame show, but still, funny coincidence.)

So, the only hardships now are the constant driving, driving, driving… and the food. Ugh. For those of you who say, ‘Ethiopian food’s delicious! I don’t see what his problem is…’ Let me give you a little analogy. Say you’re on the road for five weeks in rural Texas. Now let’s say that there’s only one type of place to eat in rural Texas, and that’s the all-American roadside diner, the greasy-spoon sort of place. And I mean the ONLY option. No fancy Greek restaurants, no supermarkets, nothing else. Ok, now imagine that all those roadside diners only serve one meal, liver and onions. There’s no breakfast menu, no international fare… just liver and onions. I admit, when done right with quality ingredients, it can be a darn tasty dish. And even if it’s cheap and greasy, it’s not bad every once in a long while, right? Well, these are greasy-spoon diners we’re talking about, folks. Quality ingredients? Fancy preparation? Fat chance.
Still with me? Now, imagine that every single day, for breakfast, lunch and dinner, you walk into yet another greasy-spoon joint, and order… surprise, surprise: liver and onions, dripping in grease, occasionally nasty, always enormous (they’ve got to get rid of that liver somehow!) and never like your mom used to make. Mmmm… Now imagine, Day 25, Meal 75… Breakfast. Imagine the way your heart sinks and your stomach churns as you step into that restaurant at 7 a.m. and smell… what’s that? … your favorite dish being fried up in the back room.
Welcome to my Ethiopian Field Campaign, friends! Oh, for a spoonful of yoghurt!