I am rethinking the "bringing in the cake on your birthday" thing

I actually liked bringing in cakes for other people on my birthday, the British vice-versa routine. It was fun. It even felt unselfish, you know?

I had one of my top birthdays ever here. My colleagues bought me prezzies, which are always nice, and turned out in full force for cocktails at the Sheraton. There was champagne! And nice words spoken! There was even a lengthy recitation of a poem I recall as being Gaelic, to my delight.

And as I looked around at more than a dozen people, from all around the world, none of whom I knew two months ago - all who I really, really like - I thought to myself "this is worth it. This moment. No matter how long I stay or what happens or how homesick I get. I am glad I came."

Overheard in the newsroom

American, extolling the virtues of beef jerky to a Brit.

American: I can bring some in for you.

Brit: Oh, please don't.

Michael Prentice is daft, I think, or I have but one interest

Soon after I arrived here, I was contacted by an old colleague for Michael Prentice, the (former?) Ottawa Citizen writer who pens the Telling Tales column in Ottawa Magazine.

He wanted to do a bit on my move to Abu Dhabi, and would I mind e-mailing him?

Well, I am not going to lie. I was secretly chuffed that he might think anyone might be interested in my little old life. (More likely they would be saying "who?") So I emailed him a few lines, though not a picture, as he requested, which I am now glad about. A good friend in Ottawa received her Ottawa Magazine last week and kindly transcribed the item, then sent it to me. Here it is:

"Ann Marie McQueen, the 30-something former Ottawa Sun columnist, says she wanted adventure. So she sold her condo in the Byward Market and headed for Abu Dhabi and a rewrite job at a new English-language daily, The National. "I miss Ottawa and all of my good friends there, but I'm sure I've done the right thing," said McQueen, who lists her interest on Facebook as "men". She'll be living in a company apartment. "There is an insane housing shortage here," she reports.

Do you think he was trying to make me sound vapid and boy-crazy, or does he truly not understand Facebook to this shocking extent?

So May 28 is my birthday...

...yes, I am turning 30 again, hardy har har. (I got that joke for the first time when I was 32 by the way)

I am feeling pretty good about my place in the world - having a reprieve from the wild mood fluctuations which seem to accompany living so far from home, in a hotel, in 45 degree heat, working six-day weeks in a wildly chaotic-but-still-great environment - and looking forward to heading to Cloud 9, a swanky cigars-and-cocktails bar at the Sheraton Hotel, to celebrate a wee bit after the paper goes to bed.

The Brits here tell me I have to bring cakes in for everyone. Not, as I am used to, vice versa. It's their tradition.

Such an odd people, they are.

So long Ethiopia

I imagine by now anyone who reads this blog (and I love it that some people do) is as tired of my never-ending Ethiopia slide show as I am. But just a few remainders. We stayed at the Hilton Hotel, which is a sort of a gathering centre for the city. It has the banks, the travel agencies, the bars and the health club. And a lobby (and lobby bar) that offered one of the most interesting assortments of human beings I have ever seen. At one point I looked around the lobby and saw a) a group of nuns b) two Rastafarians c) several (I assume) prostitutes d) two American military men e) two priests f) and a Western couple with their newly-adopted Western baby.

On that last point, Angelina Jolie really started something when she came here to adopt Zahara. Apparently the country has some of the most relaxed adoption laws around (ie couples over 35 can adopt here, single people) and it's quite obvious. At breakfast I'd say 3/4 of the tables are new parents.

Another thing about the Hilton. I arrived, exhausted, on a short overnight flight. After sleeping for a few hours I stumbled downstairs to the pool, where I lay on a chair to wait for my friend to arrive. That's when I heard it: tink, tink, tink. I looked over and saw a blue tarp erected around a section of the pool patio. Behind it were two men chipping away at the concrete. They never stopped, 9 hours a day, even on Saturday and Sunday. It reminded me of the men I would see working in the hot sun in India, who would be sitting in between a large pile of bricks, and a small pile of dust, not a bottle of water in sight.

Addis: Entoto etc

This is the Entoto Mariam Church, located at the top of Mt Entoto. Some people walk a paved road up the mountain, but I think they are craaazy. There were tons of people praying at this church, kneeling down, kissing the ground. Several in quite dire straits, suffering from a variety of physical ailments. There were lots of these little shrines in the windows. You cannot go inside, which I found frustrating.



There was a very small and bizarre museum, and by bizarre I mean it combined Olympic medals with old, regal costumes and ornate dishes, several which seemed to have price tags on them. Also up top was Emperor Menelik's first palace which, I must say (and you can see, from the following photograph) was most unimpressive. However, considering it was built in 1876 EC (the "EC" stands for Ethiopian calendar, it's 2000 there right now) - wait, no, it was still very unimpressive. There is a beautiful view from up on Entoto, but unfortunately, I was hyperventilating from the altitude.



Below is the Ethnological Museum, located on the main campus of Addis Ababa University and while I enjoyed it, the power was out. This made it difficult to see everything, though the security guard lent me his flashlight to take in a particularly dark room full of Ethiopian musical instruments. Things got a little hairy when he had to escort me to the bathroom, where the toilets were broken. But he grabbed a bucket of water and poured it in for me, so all was good. Sort of.

Just a few last Addis gasps: His name is Ato Kassa

He is 65, working on his loom, fingerless from leprosy. Taken at the Birhan Taye Leprosy Disabled Persons Work Group, administered through the Anti Retroviral Training Program, where survivors produce and sell various arts and crafts.