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E T H I O P I A "PLEASE PULL OVER." These were the first words from my colleague after he emerged from a delirious sleep in the front seat of our 4x4. We had spent the past three hours weaving around the potholes that dotted the road through Yirgacheffe, holding our collective breath as we drove through clouds of diesel fumes billowing from passing trucks. This, our third day in Ethiopia and 20th hour in the car, was the breaking point for my fellow traveler. As our driver pulled to the side of the road, I looked out the win- dow to what had quickly become a familiar (but still magical) scene: lush, green, rolling hills as the backdrop to a small clay hut that sat on the side of the road. I had already spent many hours looking out the window of our car, watching this landscape as it revealed itself, but it hadn't gotten old. The life along the side of the road was truly endless: donkeys pulling carts stacked high with hay, herds of cows blocking everyone's path, buna—or coffee—drying in front of houses, and children. Oh, man, the children. Everywhere we drove, we heard the echo of, "You! You! You!" fol- lowing us, while kids ran after the car waving and smiling. Although it was almost constant, the "You"-ing always brought me fresh shivers of joy and excitement. The front door of the car slammed shut and I saw my colleague run to a patch of trees to relieve himself. The drive had been pretty rough for a while now and we were all weary from traveling. We had skipped lunch, it was hot, and we had been in a car all day. This was pretty much rock bottom. My friend was getting the worst of it, lurched over in the bushes and letting out a sound that resembled some kind of dying animal. I felt terrible for him. Suddenly, I started to hear that familiar " You"-ing from behind our car. As it got closer, I watched with delight as a group of youngsters ran up to my sickly friend, yelling, " You! You! You!" at the top of their lungs. They finally got within five feet and stopped, silent, staring, not knowing what to do but bear witness to the man doubled over in front of them. Everyone in the car erupted in hys- terical laughter, and even my sick friend managed to crack a smile for the kids. We took some photos with the group, and drove away, our spirits lifted. W H AT ? For an outsider, Ethiopia is an incredibly confusing place. Did you know they tell time differently in Ethiopia? There are 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness all year round, so locals use dawn and dusk to tell the time of day. Sunrise is at 6 a.m. international time, and sunset is at 6 p.m. In Ethiopia, how- ever, sunrise is at 12 a.m., and sunset at 12 p.m. It makes sense, but it's bewildering to come in to a country where even your sense of time is wrong. Prior to visiting Ethiopia, I felt the same way about the country's coffee industry—bewildered. I knew that the ECX was a market Opposite page: A woman lo oks over coffee drying on raised beds at Konga washing station. This page: The Adado washing station in Yirgacheffe. 43 www.baristamagazine.com