Ethiopia's Greatest Lesson
"How old are you?"
This was the question posed by Clare when she first heard of our plans to backpack for 8 months. At the time, it was funny, and I considered that it reflected her misunderstanding of what I had meant by "backpacking". We were not fooling ourselves, thinking we were nearly broke bright-eyed twenty-somethings carting around excessively heavy hiking packs, full of hairdryers and five pairs of shoes. No, we were "backpacking" in the sense that we were utilising minimalist principles to pack carry-on sized backpacks (as we have done for years) and travelling on a tight budget.
We were very successful in our packing, having only needed to purchase a couple of undershirts and a hat to supplement our gear in all of the seven months so far. We were also very successful in our budgeting. Rob kept a close eye on our daily expenses using a travel budget app called TripCoin, and the stats indicated that we averaged $100/day in Turkey and East Europe, $220/day in Southern Africa (including a 10-day Namibia safari tour), and less than $110/day in the final North Africa leg of the trip.
Persistent touts, dishonest people, pollution, unreliable infrastructure... we had endured this all before in SE Asian countries without batting an eyelid. Why was it so difficult in Ethiopia? Maybe we were tired after 6 months on the road. Maybe our delightful Airbnb stays in South Africa, the modernity of East Europe, and the super-hospitable people of Turkey had spoiled us. Whatever the reason, Ethiopia forced us to reflect on Clare's question.
We grew up quickly in Ethiopia. We looked at the bucket of water in the bathroom that was supposed be our shower and flush for the toilet. We smelled the rancid fumes coming from the old pipes. We sneezed at the dust on the bed head, and stayed awake listening to the mozzies in the room. We realised that we were well-to-do people with enough savings in our bank accounts to pay $15 more for a room with running water and handles on the door. We were not broke kids who were willing to be uncomfortable and share bathrooms so that our holiday would last longer. We could afford a basic standard of hygiene and amenity, and what's more, we should demand it.
So, thank you, Ethiopia for your discomforts as well as your beauty. Thank you for making us finally grow up.
This was the question posed by Clare when she first heard of our plans to backpack for 8 months. At the time, it was funny, and I considered that it reflected her misunderstanding of what I had meant by "backpacking". We were not fooling ourselves, thinking we were nearly broke bright-eyed twenty-somethings carting around excessively heavy hiking packs, full of hairdryers and five pairs of shoes. No, we were "backpacking" in the sense that we were utilising minimalist principles to pack carry-on sized backpacks (as we have done for years) and travelling on a tight budget.
We were very successful in our packing, having only needed to purchase a couple of undershirts and a hat to supplement our gear in all of the seven months so far. We were also very successful in our budgeting. Rob kept a close eye on our daily expenses using a travel budget app called TripCoin, and the stats indicated that we averaged $100/day in Turkey and East Europe, $220/day in Southern Africa (including a 10-day Namibia safari tour), and less than $110/day in the final North Africa leg of the trip.
Persistent touts, dishonest people, pollution, unreliable infrastructure... we had endured this all before in SE Asian countries without batting an eyelid. Why was it so difficult in Ethiopia? Maybe we were tired after 6 months on the road. Maybe our delightful Airbnb stays in South Africa, the modernity of East Europe, and the super-hospitable people of Turkey had spoiled us. Whatever the reason, Ethiopia forced us to reflect on Clare's question.
Sometimes the craziness was exciting... then you got hassled or pickpocketed.
We grew up quickly in Ethiopia. We looked at the bucket of water in the bathroom that was supposed be our shower and flush for the toilet. We smelled the rancid fumes coming from the old pipes. We sneezed at the dust on the bed head, and stayed awake listening to the mozzies in the room. We realised that we were well-to-do people with enough savings in our bank accounts to pay $15 more for a room with running water and handles on the door. We were not broke kids who were willing to be uncomfortable and share bathrooms so that our holiday would last longer. We could afford a basic standard of hygiene and amenity, and what's more, we should demand it.
So, thank you, Ethiopia for your discomforts as well as your beauty. Thank you for making us finally grow up.
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