One Month in Ethiopia - Ethiopia Travel Story

Title: One Month in Ethiopia
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one Month in Ethiopia By: Ron Cobley I was up last night again not sleeping and thinking about the trip to Ethiopia. Wandered down to the beach around 4am, kicked a stray dog off a dirty concrete park bench and sat drinking stale but dependable coffee from the 7-11 and watched the lady boys. They are not innocent, preying on the fresh in drunk guys at the wee hours of the morning. Continuing into the early dawn I puttered slowly on my Honda Dream to the 24 hour Enjoy e-mail shop on Soi Bukaw. At 5 am it was packed with chicks on the video cam to their financial supporters in western countries. It is the heart of Pattaya, and very cheap at 30 baht per hour. I got a nice email from Lakew, one of the fellows I met in the Ethiopian restaurant in Bangkok that he would have somebody meet me in the airport with a sign when I arrived at Addis Ababa. Little would I know he would not be there. I am frightful of the effect that the 7500ft altitude in Addis Ababa will have on me and also in a tizzy about the new job in Africa but John has assured me that he will offer me the first choice. Really looking forward to getting out of Thailand, and it hasn’t been a successful venture for me. I am one in a million people that have failed in a new work venture here but still take it very personally. Strangely enough I’ll be going to another country that’s never been colonized, Ethiopia the cradle of civilization. I suppose I am a lucky guy to pack up one day and take off to another country and most people would never consider doing what I do. Think I have everything in order, yes US dollars airline ticket. I arrived terribly early at BKK Intl Aprt for my flight, and while wandering throughout the terminals I met an American guy named Kerry a real nice fellow and was able to waste the whole day bullshitting which was great. We made a pretty good connection, and ended up departing at the same time, 830 pm. There were not too many people in the departure lounge and I was very relieved imagining that I would be able to stretch out on a row of four seats alone. That was not to be the case. When we boarded the plane a half hour late I was aghast to see two hundred rowdy Nigerians hooting it up as though they had been living in the aircraft cabin for two weeks. They were so full of zeal and I could easily see them running around screaming with kalishnikoff rifles shooting people. A glimpse of things to come. They had so much unfocused energy. An attractive Ethiopian Girl sat beside me who worked for the airline in the office in Addis Ababa and was very pleasant and enabled me to receive very efficient refreshment service throughout the flight and she was happy to see an American tourist just coming to Ethiopia. All in all it was a very pleasant flight and with a slight tailwind and we arrived at 1:20am which was to my surprise four hours difference. I had checked this repeatedly on the world time maps and could not figure how this could be as it was supposed to be three hours. It was also the 23rd of January 1998 and so I had gone back eight years in time, which is Ethiopian time. They also tell time starting at 6am which is 12 then seven am is 1 o’clock onward through twelve hours cycles. It was not the only thing that would not be as it was written in guide books or viewed online. The airport was clean and relatively new and very efficient and they were good enough to have a separate line for Nigerians who obviously compromise a large segment of travelers who get stuck here nightly. The visa on arrival was only 20 dollars and was stated in the guide books as 43. No one knew that in Bangkok, neither the Ethiopian Airline staff nor even the Embassy. The Ethiopian Embassy staff in Bangkok were not at all Ethiopian and was staffed by the familiar uncooperative smiling Thais’ with a particular stupid smile that over the years I eventually would have to disregard for any meaning. They did not know a thing about Ethiopia. I had expected to have to report all the cash I had but that did not happen and I did ask about it. I had also been informed that my camera and computer would need to be checked in but that was not required either. My supposed friend Lakew was not waiting for me and also was unable to contact him at work when I called him the next day. No problem, the universal selfish human condition. The taxi from the airport at 2:30 am was negotiated to 55 birr about six dollars and turned out to be about as far as I could have walked in twenty minutes and I went to the Atlas Hotel that had been advertised in shining colors on the web but was nearly deserted and truly in the center of it’s own nowhere. The sleeping guard in his oversized WW1 army uniform had his AK-47 sloppily draped over his shoulder and was startled to be awoken. The price was thirty five dollars and so I passed on this and the taxi driver took me to the next place which was twenty six. What a dump. I was not prepared for the crap hotel conditions awaiting me in Africa. I slept like for an hour and awoke at 6 am to no breakfast as advertised no coffee, and spoke with a local guy who paid half the price for his room. So out into the road with my sixty pound samsonite suitcase and the next 1975 blue and white Russian taxi took me to where I sit writing now at the Baro hotel a popular guide book place full of guide book people (GB People) who all act the same and are never seen alone, where I normally do not like to stay but could not turn down the 65 birr room ($7.50) which was crap also but no worse than the twenty six dollar room and a much better location. This room would only house a crack addict in the states, and would be condemned, but here it is acceptable and there is a doctor staying down the hall, a Jewish guy who I hung around with and chewed the local Kaht herb and got a buzz. I spent the first day here wandering around high on this mild amphetamine kaht and although very burnt out from the beer on the flight had a generally pleasant day. The only unkind experiences being the dickhead rip off taxi drivers as usual. I will stuff a taxi driver into his trunk with pleasure before I die. I walked down a very main road paneled with the typical green and metal colored corrugated steel panels with old billboard stickers a gradually descending six lane road a mile or so which then continued up until reaching the train station which must have been built during the Italian occupation in the middle of this century. All in all this was about four miles. It doesn’t look like African architecture to me if there is such a thing. The only African architecture I have ever seen is a Mc Donald’s with Cadillac’s lined up at the drive through in Flint Michigan. There were plenty of homeless everywhere and I have to attribute a lot of this to all these Aid Agencies that do a great job of supporting themselves in King like conditions and assuring a nation of beggars. They do nothing to help these people but only help themselves and a few locals who pocket all the money. The other side of it is the Ethiopian folks who skim the money coming in and even invest this aid money in properties and things outside of Ethiopia I was told by the locals. If my grandmother only knew what she had been giving money for. A pretty good day with wonderful cafes and the best cheapest coffee in the world, found me eventually that evening wandering around the Piazza. This is the central city bus drop off and people congregating area and I took a chance on one of many bars crowded with men. The main room was quaint and sunk down a few steps and then up to another level in the rear. Red bricks were built in with dark wood and dim lights made it a pleasant setting, although the chairs had comfort features to be desired. Good local recorded music was drifting throughout at a tolerable volume. There was not too much smoke and I glanced around briefly for a table. A few gals that were waitresses or some type of employees were giggling and motioned for me to sit near them, the only women in the bar. They were friendly but we couldn’t communicate, so I drank a St Georges beer sitting with them at an old blond wooden table with many cigarette holes burned into it, and had a few flirtatious giggles. The educated Ethiopian guys are very mellow and don’t bother you needlessly. They dress well and pride themselves on being fair and polite. Shoes are very important, and my beat up tropical plastic sandals from a Lotus Shopping Center in Thailand were not fashionable at all. Most of the men were sporting close cut leather jackets, and expensive was the rule. Not what I expected. If I had a lot of money I supposed I would have headed down to a tailor and had some more appropriate shirts and slacks cut. I enjoyed sitting and watching the fashionable people walk by, but rarely was there a seat at such a café or bar that allowed people watching. Why? Because there are so many beggars that you cannot be in view of them or they will congregate around you. They don’t give up easily either. It wound up a pretty quiet evening and I went home about ten pm, awoke the sleeping guard sleeping behind the heavy steel yellow gate and climbed into my bed full of bugs for the night. I pulled up the filthy blankets and shivered for a moment in the high altitude cold and drifted off with images of elephants and tigers running across the savanna. Another morning saw the water not flowing and I was quickly getting the message that my personal comfort was a low priority here. Asia is so easy. Took out early, unshaven, and teeth unbrushed breathing hard as I struggled uphill and wandered around northwest of the piazza and found a very interesting and very old Christian orthodox church, St Georges. I hung around to see what the locals were up to as it was quite busy very early and took a few photos and drank some holy water. I am catholic and went to Catholic Church for many years but I have never seen women crawling on their hand and knees around a church before, nor kissing trees and metal gates. I will have to tell my mother about these procedures and maybe she can add that in to her bunch of crazy stuff she does at her church back in Michigan. Behind the Church in a narrow impoverished alley, I came across a few huts, and the smell of fresh hot Ethiopian Coffee drifted through my nostrils. I followed the smell and was delighted to drink delicious cinnamon tea and a small cup of coffee for five cents in one small shack tended to by a lovely lady with child wrapped in a burlap blanket on her back. A curious local carpenter in his mid twenties who had been commissioned to work on the Church there pointed out a nice daytrip which did turnout to be very beautiful. That meant a one hour trip on the old German Steamer bus number twenty four for about eight cents. Strange I thought, that I was the first one on and took a seat on the left side which had only one row of seats. The floor was deep in dirt and the bus looked as though it had rarely been cleaned. I am glad that I have taken this bus trip because I sure as hell don’t want to take a long bus trip in this country after that. The roads were just terrible. The trip was good though, and just long enough and when I arrived at Birayu a pleasant young fellow named Eko with some English in his portfolio self assigned himself as my guide and we took a one hour hike through some forests and gently rolling meadows. When we got near cattle tsetse flies came in for a bite of me and I did a u turn from that area. It got hot at the bottom of the valley near a rapidly flowing river and I set my backpack down and changed out my t shirt and when I put my over shirt back on it was full of biting ants. Little black bastards biting the hell out of me. They were up my legs and everywhere and so I did a jig and some local cow herders really appreciated the entertainment. He took me through a very beautiful dell with many small songbirds and the lane was covered with leafy trees making for a lovely shady walk. We came upon some young girls who were collecting bags of leaves and giggling in the small treed forest. I smiled and when they got close I made a grab for the nabbies on the cutest one but she went low and I couldn’t get hold of her. She was quick, and with my bad knee was unable to catch her. Eko and I continued back up the trail to a small mesa where I could view the valley below but my camera did not do justice. Later we walked ten kilometers down back toward Addis together. I told him that I would return the next day but was unable to due to someone contacting me. Wundy called the next day and was from the connection I had made in BKK and has treated me very well here since we finally got together. I have gone from being a lonely planet backpacker staying in a crack house to eating fine dinners and being chauffeured around in a range rover. Fine with me for a break. I have been told much about the Orthodox religion and they say here that Jesus came from here not from Bethlehem which the Catholics twisted around for their benefit. It’s not hard to believe that one of these fellows was Jesus; they are so fair and kind. These people here are Abyssinian and are the original Israelites. The Jews will even allow them to move to Israel if they wish and give them a passport. They said the Jews can tell if they are Israelites by looking in their eyes. I always thought they looked in your wallet. Sunday I had a simple day walking in the morning to the Prime Ministers house and the guards came and accosted me. Friendly though as friendly can be with submachine guns pointed at you. I guess I have been overseas a while as something like that does not bother me anymore. It does seem like it is tempting fate to have young bored fellows with automatic weapons parked all over the town though. Walked down a hill with a grass blvd center park like arrangement and stopped at the local City run museum which was not open at 8:30 on Sunday as it said it would be. No problem, and continued past the endless miles of corrugated steel temporary fences plastered with worn billboard stickers and on to Bole rd and ducked in to a café for a cappuccino and a pastry. Italian occupation on the 1930s has left great Italian food and many coffee shops with prices as low as eleven cents for a cappuccino. I found myself trudging up a long boulevard and could see my house and sought a short cut thorough the low river between me and it. I found myself in an extreme ghetto where a Christian Orthodox Church ceremony was in action. After living in Muslim, Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist countries I don’t know how anyone can possibly believe any of this crap. The rest of my day was spent at home sitting on the porch sipping a few thirty cents st George beer and watching the world walk by, each time mesmerized by the Somalia girls who do not walk but float. They are so beautiful. Some of the local girls have noticed me and have started a secret flirting program, pretty typical for oppressed Muslim girls the world over. They do not have the freedoms we have and they are dying to try a bit of western life. My evening found Lakew and Wundy at my house and took me to the most wonderful bar ever, with traditional Ethiopian dancers each third song performing. Fantastic! Their butts were going from Harare to Houston in five beats and from mach 2.2 to 2 mph rhythmic, swaying staring. Yow. The evening ended early with Lakew and me stopping at some local ghetto center for a lamb and beef roll, and home to bed. I have continued to visit Brayu as I am sick still, and it is, a for sure thing that I will reach there and at least have a pleasant walk in the valley there. I walk through the Somalia Muslim neighborhood here, up to the new Chinese built by pass by the airport and catch the #48 to the Piazza six cents one way. Then I have a lentil wrap and cappuccino for twenty cents and start the endless wait for the #24 to Brayu. Some time within an hour after eating the lentil filled pastry the intestinal gas begins and powers me throughout the day. This flatulence is driving me mad and won’t go away, and is difficult to nurture friendships when you are blowing a gale of benzene out your rear exit pipe. The area where the bus route ends is in a round a bout, with a statue of St George on a horse where I wait and the Famous St Georges church is on the SE corner. It is not frequented by Expats and the small cafés and bakeries are delightful and cheap as can be. The beggars are also unique, and skilled, displaying nubs of limbs and rolling on old metal bearings with twisted hands and deformed legs and detached feet etc. This is a sad, depressing sight for all of humanity to behold. I have met a few local people here and probably the most interesting, an ex soldier who spent time in Cuba for the Soviet Union when Ethiopia was Communist. As pleasant a fellow as you could hope to meet anywhere. He is now a security guard for the US Embassy. I wonder if they really did a thorough background check on this fellow. Perhaps I am required to report him under the new Homeland Security legislation. I had better check. Maybe I am even breaking the law without knowing it; Again My walks through the slums of Brayu, one morning found me in a row of almost government housing type small mud huts and a young gal ran to the tall stick fence and offered me something to eat. I obliged and she made me a small Italian Salad with tomatoes, onions and vinegar and oil. Her tiny concrete house had a plastic grain bag for a carpet and a few cutout photos from magazines of western men and women modeling hair styles from the eighties. How do we get to have a world like this for such wonderful people? She kept producing table wares and food out of the smallest wooden cabinet, and I was so taken by her kindness that I tried to repay her. She was really a lovely girl and I returned the next day and took her to lunch and bought her a new jacket as the one she was wearing certainly would not keep her warm in this climate. It was a small gift at five dollars but she really appreciated it. She was so dignified. Her Mother makes thirty three dollars a month and supports 3 children. Impossible, but others said it is the norm. She came today with me on the bus to my house and I was certain that she had never seen a TV before the way she was glued to it be it Al Jazeer TV or the Dubai station, muted or sound on; she did not seem to care. She was just enjoying the hell out if it. Her name is Sunite and she has the most pleasant enjoyable personality and it was a joy to be able to help her in a small way. If I do go to work in Nigeria I will make some kind of arrangement to help her with her small unimportant life. When I see all of these people not being helped by the Aid Agencies it makes me want to share in some small and proper way. I now believe that it is impossible to help people any other way than offering them a chance to get an education, or a job. But the whole thing is confusing for me and the word “help” has become a very mysterious word indeed. How do you help some one? Possibly love them? I am not sure but I will share some of my money with Sunite who gave so freely of the small things she had. The days have turned into two weeks now and sometimes I feel a bit more relaxed, then someone or some situation will throw me off. It’s been real good or real weird here, indicative of a powerful life experience. I have decided that I should take a trip outside of Addis Ababa by renting a car, after I went to the National History museum. I took a few photos and saw a beautiful picture of some tribes people in the wild somewhere and it made me really want to go and visit. I have to do it. The museum was interesting; in that the essence of it is that the origin of human life is from here. I did not spend much time there but I enjoyed it very much. Bus number 53, the husky old Yellow German Daff motor coach was a good connection there and back for six cents each way. When I returned home I took a walk through the slums nearby my house that travel through a river valley packed with the worlds most desperate, and ran into someone I had previously met on the bus. A young Muslim boy, he was quick to remember me and recited my phone number from memory and spoke amazing English for being thirteen and having no opportunity in the world. He conned me out of a dollar for a book, which was believable and jealously protected me from al the other beggars on the way to pick up his little sister at a nursery school nearby. He refused to allow me to see his house, for reasons unknown. I could see that he had for survival taken on the running of a household by his actions and nature. I remember this behavior very clearly from my childhood in Flint with all of the screwed up families in my associations including my own. When something is terribly wrong at home you will protect the secrecy and become a survivor or die. Iman is a survivor for sure. I hope I will see the young fellow again. I am stuck in a holding patter in Addis Ababa. As nice as everyone seems they do not get around to doing anything except eating chat and laying round with their buddies and then going out to the bars with their buddies. No girls anywhere. This, is gently driving me nuts. No matter what we are doing or where we go I will be placed in a chair with a beer and expected to sit still and listen to Amharic amphetamine discussions between men all evening. I have started to escape these scenes sooner each evening. They could easily see my dissatisfaction with the situation last evening as I went off just after sunset with little words. But I don’t think they understand what is in my mind. They don’t share the same sense of urgency that westerners do to accomplish anything at all. This is seriously not my style. Another quirk is they do not seem to tell each other what I just told one of them and I find myself explaining something over and over to the next guy that shows up. Also when they get off the phone with terribly important information they may just walk out side and light up a cigarette, then a few minutes later, after I question him say “The test results are back you don’t have malaria” A fellow last night Danny was adamant that I did not stay stuck in Addis any longer but go and see something. I believe he understood my predicament. He had located a car on the phone but I hesitated because I thought it was too expensive. I have been trying unsuccessfully to reach him again but this morning after realizing that was the wrong decision, and now I don’t care. I will pay it. I was connected with some chap yesterday who claimed to have an old Toyota for rent but after waiting 4 hours at Wundies and ten phone calls he never appeared. There are daily, many promises and grand intentions and then, a mouth full of chat and I am again placed in a chair. It is now Sunday and 9am and everyone is still is sleeping. I am sitting in an unheated apartment which is about 60 degrees Fahrenheit and I am cold. I want to do something but I don’t want to go on another bus experience. I have had enough of those over the years. The other option is a Hollywood style one thousand dollar safari with range rover and handsome witty guide. What do I need a guide for? To watch him smoke and sleep? I don’t want to have sex with him. I am not going to go down the Congo river in a papyrus boat, I only want to drive on a modern highway to a few towns and go swimming in a few lakes. When I first arrived Wundy seemed all intent on A. Finding me an apartment which he did but for a hefty fee. B. Getting me a motorcycle to rent, which did not happen. C. Finding a car to rent which has not happened. D. Renting me a phone card which has not happened. His favorite pastime is driving around aggressively in his huge beat up range rover. I can see now that he will only assist with things that are easy or fun for him to do, or if he personally thinks it is a good idea. I have some friends with those qualities. Yesterday I walked to the airport and inquired about my 30 day visa which I had not realized I had gotten which I understood should be 90 days for USA citizens. I returned to the same arrival immigration station and questioned a friendly young lady behind the window. Casually the lady said no problem, crossed out the Nov2 date and penned in 2 January. “OK 90 days”. UH? That easy? Never in Asia, but here possibly? She could see that I thought it was pretty phony and so she had her buddy in the immigration booth bring over a stamp, stamped it and said “ok better”? No charge, nothing. I will check this out at immigration headquarters for sure. My evenings are spent first having a few St. Georges beers at home and playing on my computer then walking down to Wundies a quarter mile away. Then I hang out with the guys, and hit a few bars packed with men. One beer each bar then on to the next and everybody seems to be doing the same thing. Then after they drop me home, walking around like a wind up puppet in the local Somalia neighborhood, hopped up on chat (extremely powerful coffee effect) trying not to break my ankles on the moonlike surface of the lanes and looking at the Somalia girls in their bright silky flowing dresses. Too sexy. This is a miserable Somalia refuge slum grinding away within all of these compounds that house rich Expats. The Somalia girls are flirtatious and beautiful and the guys watch them like hawks. I would not want to be in Somalia, cause I can feel the friction towards me. There are internet shops hidden everywhere behind the roughly painted steel doors. Cafes and chat sales. I am determined to rent a car for a decent price and the best I can come up with is 30 dollars a day which I am going to have to take. Regarding this attempt to rent a car, sometimes in third world countries your determination sparks a chemical reaction in the local people that makes them stop assisting you with what you would like to do. This can become a terribly powerful resistance. I hope that is not happening now. I have to get out of Addis. I have enjoyed my daily walks and have lost weight from the reduced availability of easy to get food like Thailand. You don’t just run out all hours of the night here and get a sandwich. After reviewing the bus trip stories I do not want to be captured in an oven like bouncing metal container, covered in flies and directly subject to the attacks of aggressive beggars which are everywhere and is a national sport. They are the best beggars in the world I have ever seen. Having received free food all their lives from the west the people have become lazy and unconcerned about taking care of themselves. Really bad scene. No motivation. They get paid better to look and feel desperate and depressed than they do to work at all. Farming is for dummies. These guys don’t seem like dummies. Just try to get aggressive with a beggar on the street and you will see them come into strong physical action against you, professionals many of them. There are truly good people here that are down but there also many of the opposite. My apartment is on the second floor of a yellow concrete well maintained three story building which has a small minimart on the main floor. The owner has purchased too many cookies and some of the packages ore five years old. There is also too much pasta and too many cans of tuna. My furniture is bamboo with African King Green velour cushions, and has a generally musty smell. The windows face southwest and it is cold all day then too hot in the afternoon. My bed is too small, and I have a toilet I cannot shit in properly, because I have to squeeze into it. The hot water is volcanic hot and the cold is drinkable and good. On the east wall in the living room is a picture of the Blessed Virgin Mary and who else? Jesus Orthodox style. There is a new white Hitachi refrigerator with the huge factory Hitachi sticker still applied. A small Samsung TV rarely shows anything of interest. The purple drapes are too long with an inserted second layer of lace white and the twisty fake chrome hanger rods are all screwed up and broken and don’t work properly. There is a small shaft of light that penetrates into my eyes in bed when it is dark and I cannot get the dam blinds to cover that one spot. All of my windows face the street and I am something of a zoo animal with many ape like creatures staring and waiting for any movement from my cage. They stare day and night at me in my apartment. The Japanese men in the other two suites only appear in the morning and jump into their chauffeured Range Rovers and reappear at dusk to climb back into their cages. Aid Workers saving themselves from a boring job in Japan. They are not providing very much entertainment for the spectators. I on the other hand have found that standing there in my Speedo is very much entertaining as Muslims cannot stand this, especially if their women are present. There, take that! I don’t like this place but cannot complain after a few discount African hotel experiences. They are the worst I have stayed in, any where in the world. Like crack houses in Milwaukee. I ran into the owner of my apartment Mr. Legesse this morning, a Monday and inquired about renting a car and explained that it well seemed impossible. He explained about the rough driving conditions in Ethiopia but, suggested that I try and rent a car from Adika Rentals. I took his advice having gone in complete circles with Wundy for 2 weeks. Mr. Legesse offered to drive me there later that day but I got directions from him and was soon on the yellow number 53. I found the office easily, and met with a very pleasant young Mr. Mohammad in a swank black suit and was able to secure a gray, beat up 1990 Toyota Corolla for $22 a day with a one week deal. This car in the states would sell for 600 dollars, and rent for 5 a day, but here this was a deal. He wanted US dollars and I was starting to wonder about the value of all the Ethiopian Birr I had changed. I checked the cooling system first, concerned about running down to the south of the country and having overheating problems. I found that the auxiliary cooling fan was on permanently and after questioning them about this the on staff engineer simply tore the fan wire out of the socket. “Better”? Jesus…I thought. The engine checked out ok, the brakes felt good and the clutch was ok. The tires looked medium poor and I worried about them not being balanced after not seeing any balancing weights on the rims. Otherwise mechanically I trust Toyota, and so wasn’t too concerned. It had a large aftermarket chrome stereo system that you could look straight through the tape insert and see the wiring of the heater. It had one speaker which was unhooked and lodged under the spare tire in the trunk. The rear inner panel above the back seat had some shag carpet hiding the speaker holes and the shifter was plastic simulated wood. It had a heater and no air conditioning, and was tuned for high altitude. Much of the exterior trim had been re attached by rivet gun. My deal was secured and I was soon driving down Bole Blvd in Addis Ababa. This was exciting to have some wheels and so I returned home and got out my map of the country and decided that I would leave for somewhere today. I would take the road towards Nazreth which is the main drag for all of the cargo coming out of Djibouti, then turn south towards Awassa. I had previously been on this stretch with Adiam and the boys when we visited the hot springs. I would then go to Lake Langano for a swim as it is advertised as the cleanest lake in Ethiopia, then after have an afternoon lunch there and continue towards Awassa where I would spend the night. I imagined a clear lake with splendid scenery and children jumping off small waterfalls into the water and laughing. I packed quickly and was soon speeding around Addis Ababa on the ring road which was built completely by Chinese laborers and management. I found it strange that a country where no one has a job would bring in laborers from outside. I missed the turn to Nazreth and drove too far north of town and asked directions and drove back and found the correct highway exit which was unmarked from both directions. I guess no one from any where except here drives on the roads so they find large signs expensive and unnecessary. The asphalt on this road is smooth and has three lanes when hills are present for passing. This all sounds very nice until you add in absolutely no adherence to any disc