The first of many groups of excited kids on this trek

We piled into the car that brought Jodie and Nina from Lalibela and drove to the meeting point, where grinning teenaged boys gathered shyly. Not a single word was exchanged, only fascinated stares. The spell was broken when our local guide and porters arrived, and began to strategically load four people's luggage plus a large amount of bedding onto two small, patient donkeys.

Finally on our way, one small boy suddenly piped up for money. Mulugeta reminded him gently that this community welcomed tourists and wanted to show them the best side of Ethiopia, away from the harassment in other parts of the country. The boy sweetly promised to never ask again.

Jodie taught high-school psychology and—like every other Australian I've ever met on the road—was from Melbourne. She was meeting her boyfriend for a group tour through East Africa later so she'd jumped on the chance to trek in Ethiopia first. Nina was a blustery physical therapist, an English gal of the "jolly" variety. Nina was in Ethiopia only for trekking as well—although the best-known sites are near enough to the historical circuit for quick visits—and immediately after this trek was headed to the Simien Mountains.

I'd originally only known about Jodie but TESFA had managed to locate three other solo travelers who were willing to adjust their schedules. Our fifth, Jess, would come later.

View off the escarpment. Our route started at the trees and followed the edge.

Young boys at the church - St. Maryam's Day

The first bit of climbing from the stream to the escarpment was steep, but after that the trek was as easygoing as we'd expected. TESFA did not involve physically challenging hikes, but rather an opportunity to interact with people and observe life in the rural northern highlands. Maximum distance was about twenty-five kilometers and no more than six hours per day, although we often finished in five.

We couldn't get our eyes off a particular small boy on the same route, perhaps no more than 5 years old, who took his self-appointed task of harshly whipping cows with a stick quite seriously. However, it wasn't our place to correct this behavior. Other children seemed to have little to do other than scamper after us, welcome us with outstretched hands and solemnly ask,"what is your name?" They never had any follow-up once we told them.

Mulay and Jochen chat at the rest point

Jodie's not into the beer. The foaminess may partly explain it.

We'd been wondering where all the adults were when we came upon a church in the typical rural style: round with a cross squarely at the center of its thatched roof. It was St. Maryam's Day, and a large group of men gathered first to watch us enjoying the view from the cliff, then went back in the churchyard to drink a strangely sweet and foamy home-brewed barley beer.

We agreed to try some, not expecting to receive a quart-sized metal cup to pass around. Mulay assured us most of these men would put away several large cups on any given Saint's day. It wasn't pleasant. Neither was the bread made in the church, nutty but dry and extremely filling.

This was our first true taste of the Meket Woreda community, other than the children wandering in and out of our paths and our limited interaction with the local guide. The guide taught me to say konjo, or beautiful, and particularly applied it to the Ecuadorian woven purse I used as a camera bag. Other than that we could only exchange smiles.

At the church we were able to see how far-flung neighbors came together and how much they enjoyed the growing tourist attention to their rural area—especially seeing photos of themselves. Not for the last time I wondered if I should have carried my point-and-shoot digital camera in addition to film, as I never had anything to show.

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