Ethiopia | Dire Dawa | The Journey Comes to an End 🔚

1. All good things must come to an end—and so did my time in Dire Dawa. As I packed my suitcase, the hum of the city outside felt softer, like it was whispering goodbye. This eastern Ethiopian gem hadn’t been on my radar initially; I’d planned it as just a stopover on the way to Harar. But by the end, it had snuck into my memories, with its chaotic markets, warm smiles, and the kind of small, unplanned moments that make travel feel alive. 🧳🌆😌 2. My last morning started with a slow walk through the Merkato, the city’s bustling market. The usual chaos was in full swing—vendors called out prices for spices and handwoven cloth, kids chased each other between stalls, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and roasting peanuts. I stopped at the same juice stand I’d visited daily, and the vendor, recognizing me, handed over a mango juice with an extra squeeze of lime. “For the road,” he said, grinning. It was sweet, tangy, and exactly how I wanted to remember Dire Dawa. 🥭🍹👋 3. Check-out at New Level Hotel was quick, but the receptionist paused as I handed over the key. “You enjoyed the pasta?” she asked, referencing the carbonara I’d raved about days earlier. When I nodded, she laughed. “Our chef will be happy—he says foreigners never order it.” Small moments like that, the ones that feel personal, are what stuck. I’d arrived stressed, lucky to find a room during the festival; I left feeling like I’d stumbled on a secret. 🏨👩🍳✨ 4. The taxi to the bus station wound through narrow streets, past colonial-era buildings with peeling paint and locals sitting outside their homes, chatting. I rolled down the window, letting the warm air hit my face—hot, but not oppressive, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. Dire Dawa isn’t a city of postcard-perfect sights; it’s a city of feeling—loud, vibrant, unapologetically alive. Even the way people moved, hurried but never rude, felt like a dance I was lucky to watch. 🚕🌺🌬️ 5. At the station, I grabbed a seat on the bus back to Addis Ababa, my bag tucked under my chair. A woman beside me offered a piece of flatbread, and we sat in silence, watching the city fade into green hills. I thought about the hyena feeding I’d skipped, the waterfall I never made it to—and didn’t regret a thing. Sometimes, the best parts of a trip aren’t the landmarks; they’re the juice stands, the hotel chefs, the strangers who share their bread. 🚌🍞🌿 6. As the bus rumbled onward, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through photos: the market at dawn, the hotel’s rooftop at sunset, the vendor’s juice stand. Dire Dawa had been a surprise, a detour that became a highlight. It wasn’t grand or polished, but it was real—full of life, warmth, and the kind of magic that doesn’t need filters. Goodbye for now, Dire Dawa. I’ll be back. 🌟 #DireDawaFarewell #EthiopiaMemories #TravelGoodbyes #EastAfricaTales #WanderlustEnds