The British boys and I walk a couple miles out of town, down winding country roads, lined with fragrant eucalyptus trees and rows of laughing school children in pepto-pink polo shirts, towards the also massive separate bath also built by Emperor Fasilides (now used as a baptismal pool during Timket, the Ethiopian Orthodox celebration of the epiphany). Pictures I’ve seen of the event are beyond beautiful.

Empty, sans holy water, and entrance to the actual stone bathhouse barred from passage due to construction in progress (compliments of Norwegian donations), the ancient structure is beautiful but somewhat less exciting and mysterious than we’d hoped.

While the women workers break for lunch, and eye us curiously as they finger delicate firfir lunch after a very laborious morning–we smile and walk the outside perimeter.

A bit of a magical garden or holy oasis, with ancient trees spread low branches towards the heavens, and everywhere luscious green grass.

At the edge, centuries-old mangrove trees with waists the diameter of a small home, lounge and rest heavy, tentacle-like arm-roots along a stone wall in various stages of disrepair.

As we wander, I help the guys with some of my favorite, and most useful Amharic: tenastali, aznalo, amasagnallo, menden no you.

The guys point to the large, dark-gray-brown colored bird, perched on the wood scaffolding, and we burst out with laughter. (From the Goha Hotel, when I’d wondered out loud about the lazily soaring creatures filling the air in the evenings, the guys had, without pause, informed me this was “THE Ethiopian slow-bird”. I was appropriately impressed with their ornithological prowess when they chuckled, Well, what else could it be? It flies so f__ slow?) So I point to the slow-bird and say the words I learned at Lalibela, which sound like Menden no you (And means “what’s that?”).

The women workers gasp with approval. Weuf! Bird. When we leave there are smiles all around and I have my new favorite word for the day.