Today I am more tired than many other days when I cycle more than 8 hours!
I had to pick up the tires of the bicycle that the others are finished and Giorgia and Serena sent me from Lusaka …
Time 9,30 cargo airport of Addis Ababa, a tour between offices begins, which reminded me of an old Italian movie of the 60s …
Daring I head towards a warehouse, the boss looks at my documents, asks me questions on the trip and keeps me there ten minutes, to then tell me that first of all I have to go the custom. Here an officer opens asking me ‘the document which demonstrates that I am a tourist’, I explain that I am going to London by bicycle and when I crossed the border I was not given anything, nor was I asked to fill in anything. ‘Impossible, without that document you cannot go ahead’. I insist. He asks his secretary, a goose with a miniskirt and porn star red shoes, who speaks better English than him to explain to me. Then taken by despair he takes a folder and shows me the document of a Swedish who entered from Metema, where I will go out, … and the document is for a … motorbike … but I am on a bicycle! … ‘Sorry, I didn’t understand …’. He sends me to the offices of Ethiopian Cargo. I show the copies of the sending documents, they send me to make a photocopy. I come back, they check, they send me again to make a photocopy of my Italian driver’s license which I use to prove who I am. They send me to another person at the end of the counter, here they give me a ‘appointment’ paper to go to the warehouse to pick up the tires. It is done I think. When I reach I find a waiting room, a loud speaker, a few guards and many dangerous operators to transport the items who have already limped a couple of people waiting. It is 10,50, I have my appointment between 5 and 6 Ethiopian time, which translated to our hours it means between 11 and 12 … I have to wait for the loud speaker to call my name, but I was not told immediately, so the first time I try to pass the metal detector I am bounced back … As soon as the loud speaker calls out a series of incomprehensible names I pretend to hear mine jump with joy and throw myself in. This time I am not stopped. I go to counter 1. A kind guy gets my tires. Then i have to go to counter 2, where they register the documents on a big book, then they let me sign. I think if I sign it is done. I have to go to counter 3, in front of counter 1 where there is a scan machine like the ones of the airport they let the tires pass, they write something on my bundle of papers which is becoming increasingly more voluminous, and send me to counter 4, where there is a manual check in case the scan fails. The inspectors open boxes, packing of fridges, televisions, and plastic bins of 200 liters which used to carry some chemical substance and now are used for clothes bought who knows where. To put the clothes back in the inspectors press them with the feet like it was done once upon a time to press grapes. The tires’ check is smooth. Another signature and I head to the exit. Mistake! I have to pass by the tax office where thank God they tell me that the tires are not taxable. This time it is really done … No! I am stopped at the last check because I did not pay the warehouse charge, I did not pay to occupy for a few hours 50cm of warehouse. I have to go out and to the offices of Ethiopia Cargo where I started from. Pretty long queue, another photocopy, and at the end they give me a quotation to be paid … where? … at a bank close by … I go to the bank … another queue … the only foreigner … I see a counter without queue… I catch the moment … but shit … I have to make another photocopy of another damn document … when I come back the clerk is busy and sends me to a colleague with a kilometers long queue … I pay … I throw myself again to the warehouse … I try to enter from the exit, but no I have to pass through the metal detector … obviously … I get hold of the tires and I go back to the exit … this is really it this time … no! … I have to sign a receipt … what the fuck did I sign earlier? … I go back to the counter in front of that one who told me i do not have to pay taxes … I have to put one of my many papers under a pile of papers of the same kind of people who arrived before me … I earn the clap of my when I put under the pile the paper which a clever one put on top instead of under the others … finally I sign … and this time I can get out … about five hours of looping … hopefully it was worth it …
The taxi driver waited for me, we went to the bicycle mechanic, we argued on the price … then I started searching for the maps, I found one of a square meter which also has a piece of Sudan, then I finally ate a pizza! As I was going back to the mechanic a hail downpour raged … protected very little by the small umbrella bought on the road … I reached the mechanic half soaked … the bicycle was ok … I had a break changed … and the mechanic managed to put into practice my idea to move the mud guard higher … I got back to the hotel destroyed … there is a gym where they do massages … but the masseuse was not there … so I fell asleep … I bounced the invite of Luci who had given me a couple of tips for the maps … because tomorrow I start again …
I think Addis is one of the cities with the oldest taxis in the world the Lada, made in Russia prevails, copy of the Fiat 124, but there are also Fiat 132, 131 and 1100 too … while I was going to the airport I wanted to open the window, but the handle was not there neither on the right nor on the left, I asked the driver and … he passed me a handle to put on and turn …