I arrived at Mekele airport with my small backpack and excitement in my belly. I was headed to the Afar region were Dallol and Erta Ale are located. But first I needed to go and negotiate with the mafioso travel agents who call the shots in this town. I had intel from the lovely Miriam on how much I should not pay for the tour and I was ready to bargain hard. First to my hotel. With the formalities out of the way, the hotel manager asked what my plans were. Before I could explain that I had everything under control, a guy with a shiny car had arrived and he was ready to whisk me to his office to negotiate. I grudgingly obliged and on arrival I chose my itinerary. He asked where I was from; from the school of hard knocks, I said, I live in South London. I clearly did not show my street cred as he proceeded to give me a stupid price. I thanked him and told him it was a no deal. He dropped me at a local restaurant that only has an Amharic language menu so he came in to help me to navigate it (kind these mafia types). We said our goodbyes and he said he would be waiting.
I got back to my hotel and they wanted to know if the deal had been done. No I said, I don’t have that kind of money. The disappointment was written on their faces; they would not be getting their cut.
I called another agent and told her my itinerary. She gave me a less stupid price but I knew there was room to negotiate. I told her my budget and she laughed; she told me to come in for negotiations. Seriously, I was beginning to feel like Michel Barnier with the constant negotiations. I arrived at the office and promptly declared that I needed a good price. They gave me a good price and the tour was worth every penny.
I was in the most inhospitable place on earth and I could have stayed there for eternity. An experience that I will always cherish.