Three days in the Sheraton

After three days in Addis Ababa, my attempts to convince the Ethiopian government to escort me to its disputed, heavily militarized border with Eritrea have been rebuffed. This happened so gently, however, that I almost didn't notice. Last week, when I spoke on the phone with the government press officer, he seemed so eager to see me that I thought he wanted to sell me something. When I met him here on Wednesday and repeated my requests -- an escort to the border and an interview with a government spokesman -- he said, "It is no problem" about a dozen times. Which, of course, meant Not a chance in hell.

 

This morning, he called and said, "You will get everything you need from us." Thanks anyway, I said, but after two days here I had everything I needed. All that remained was the trip to the border, which only he could provide. "Yes," he said, "but it is unnecessary. Everything you need is here." I could see where this was going. So no border trip? I asked. "It will be better for you," he said. "All the information you need is available here." That sounded like a no. Fine, I said, how about the interview then? "Ah, that will not be possible."

 

At last, a direct answer. But it was too late -- I'd already gambled and bought a plane ticket to the northern province of Tigray in the faint hope of getting a military escort. So tomorrow I'm going there anyway, with no agenda. At least I'll get out of Addis, by which I mean the Sheraton. I'd like to say that I've seen more of this city in three days than just my hotel and the insides of office buildings. But you should see this hotel. As I write this there is a Bellagio-style fountain show happening outside my window, set to classical music. This morning a guy came to my door with a water tank and spent 10 minutes watering and dusting the floor plant. There's no gym here, but if you call the front desk they'll wheel an exercise bike up to your room.

 

Meanwhile, goats graze on the lawn just outside the hotel's wrought-iron gates, and dozens of families cluster in tin-roofed shacks. Should I feel guilty that I've basically camped out in the expat hotel, ignoring the rest of this city? Probably. But I got out to do a bit of souvenir shopping today, and had coffee at an old Addis establishment called Tomoca. (Ethiopian coffee is strong, and with one sip I felt my heart jump.) Still, I'm vowing to do more sightseeing in Tigray. There are some amazing rock-hewn churches up there, some dating to the 8th century, and no fountain shows.