Catch of the Day I'm at the Global Hotel in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia. The hotel is westernized and quite comfortable. Yes, it has a few quirks, but after a week in a rural community a couple hours west of here, I am ecstatic to have a hot shower and access to an internet connection. Dinner tonight is at the hotel's Piano Bar Restaurant, although in the last day and a half I haven't heard anyone play the upright piano against the far wall. There are several televisions with fuzzy pictures scattered through the room in seemingly random locations. The television above the bar has the Manchester United game and it is blaring at an unnatural volume above everything else. My section, the dining area itself, is deserted-- which concerns me somewhat about the food. There is one television facing me with a snowy picture of professional wrestling and the sound turned down. Yes, I am having dinner in Ethiopia watching professional wrestling on a fuzzy screen. A woman comes to take my order-- it will be the only time I see her all night. I'm still perusing this western menu written only in English: lasagne, french fries, steak . . . . "What is the catch of the day" I ask her. "Fish," she replies very politely without a trace of irony or humor. I am also polite when I rephrase my question, "and what kind of fish is it tonight?" "Grilled or fried," she replies. Sometimes you just have to go with it and I do. "That sounds good. I'll have the grilled fish, please." She disappears for the night and a very nice Ethiopian man comes out and brings me my catch of the day-- fried. He sees that I have an Amharic phrase book and that I say "thank you" to him in my feeble Amharic: "Amesegnalehu." He smiles warmly and says "Amesegnalehu" back to me. Throughout the night, he tells me more Amharic words: dabo = bread; kiba = butter; asa = fish. He and I spell the Amharic words out together-- half by what he thinks it is and half phonetically. Apparently because the Amharic alphabet does not translate at all, there is no set spelling for many words. Each time he comes back, he teaches me a new word: shuka = fork; bila = knife. He is excited that I want to learn some Amharic and he is very patient. Travel and the kindness of strangers . . . . I eat my fried fish in peace in this deserted restaurant. There are a few people at the bar watching the soccer match, but I am the only one having dinner. There is one Ethiopian man who works at the restaurant who has been leaning over a short wall into the dining section and watching the professional wrestling. After maybe twenty minutes together, this man intently watching the wrestling and me, the lone diner eating peacefully, he looks at me after a particularly far-fetched wrestling move that I catch out of the corner of my eye. He is grinning. We look at each other and I smile back. He then asks me in very good English, "Do you think the wrestling is real?" I hesitate. He's enjoying it so much that I really want to say yes.