#8 - Ethiopia
Travelers learn not just foreign customs and curious cuisines and unfamiliar beliefs and novel forms of government. They learn, if they are lucky, humility. Experiencing on their sense a world different from their own, they realize their provincialism and recognize their ignorance. 'Traveling makes one modest,' says Flaubert. 'You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.' Travel at its truest is this, an ironic experience, and the best travelers -- and travel writers -- seem to be those able to hold two or three inconsistent ideas in their minds at the same time, or able to regard themselves at once serious persons and clowns.
--Paul Fussell, The Norton Book of Travel (1987)
2670 grueling kilometers. 7 exhausting days. 3 big countries. 1 very sore ass.
Leaving the fairy tale landscape of Lake Bunyoni and the mountain gorillas of Uganda behind, I arrived in Kampala on Wednesday afternoon after 8 ½-hours of travel. I set off early the next morning, only to arrive in Nairobbery 13 hours later. After a rest day, I caught at a 4-hour minibus ride to the frontier town of Isiolo. Sitting in the shadow of Mt Kenya, Africa’s 2nd highest mountain, Kenya’s Dodge City lies on the edge of the Chalbi Desert.
Chalbi makes up roughly a third of Kenya’s territory and is the natural barrier that separates East Africa from its northern neighbors. As recently as 6 months ago, northern Kenya was a lawless region playground for the shifta, armed bandits from Somalia and Sudan. Trucks would travel the brutal 540 kilometers to Ethiopia in armed convoys. Fortunately, the situation improved with the change of the presidential administration. We only had soldiers armed with Kalashnikovs sitting on the roof for short segments of the non-stop, 2-day journey.
Just as the desert separates the 2 regions geographically, it has been for centuries the natural boundary that separates them culturally, economically and politically. It prevented the spread of Orthodox Christianity, the Amharic language and trade routes to spread south. African borders drawn up at the Berlin Conference of 1884-85 for the convenience of European colonialists further hindered, rather then helped the exchange of commerce and ideas. The British who controlled the region saw little wealth in the area and never extended the railroad north. Furthermore, Ethiopia, the only country in Africa never colonized (excluding the Italian occupation of 1935 - 1941), did not feel a need to extend its borders further south.
Waking at 4:45 am on Sunday, I found myself climbing the truck’s rung ladder. Peering between the panels of the lorry, all I could make out were 10 pairs of eyes. Disoriented in the darkness, I dropped into the trailer and established my spot beneath an overhang against the back of the truck’s cab. Crammed between 2 men I dosed uncomfortably until I was woken by the revving of the truck’s engine an hour later. I attempted to fall back asleep which proved futile as the asphalt ended 500 meters outside of town.
With daybreak, I was able to take in my surroundings. It was not hard to determine that the truck was designed to transport livestock, not humans. The trailer’s inside walls had slits between the metal panels. Three-quarters of the way up, steel bars 5-centimeters in diameter curved inward and created the ‘roof’. The gaps between the bars were large, roughly a meter-squared, allowing you to climb in and out of the cage. We were sitting on 1-kilogram bags of granular sugar. The back 3/4s of the trailer was filled with goods. A heavy duty, green tarp was draped over the steel bar roof protecting the goods from wind and rain. The 25 of us sat in the front ¼ of the trailer crammed into a 2½ x 3 x 2½ meter space with no covering to protect us from the elements. Nothing like traveling like cattle for two days.
Leaving Isiolo behind, 2,000-3,000 meter mountains began to rise out of the desert landscape. I took my mind off of my numb coccyx by diving into The Life of Pi, an appropriate read given the situation. After 6 hours, we stopped for a quick lunch in the Rendille village of Merille, as the drivers knelt down to pray in the direction of Mecca.
Eating a quick lunch of rice and chapatti, I was able to see the tribesmen up close. Their deep red cloaks hung loosely on tall, emaciated frames. Body ornamentation and scarification appeared to be quite similar to the Masaii. They wore elaborate beaded necklaces and earrings dangled from elongated earlobes. Maintaining a traditional agro-pastoralist existence, I learned quickly that the Rendille do not like being photographed (they believe it captures their soul).
Climbing into the truck before a tribesman could release his spirit from my camera; I opted for a spot on the jungle gym roof. While more tolerable, it was more dangerous. Sitting on the cross-sections of the steel bars I held on as the lorry's old suspension lurched violently as we crawled through meter-deep potholes. On big bumps you had to be careful not to slip between the meter-squared gaps and land on a passenger below. You also had to keep an eye out for low hanging branches that could knock you off the truck. It was a 4-½ meter drop to the dirt road that rolled past at 20 km/hour.
Stopping in Marsabit, the only community large enough to appear on my map (and offer any type of accommodation), the drivers unexpectedly pushed on. We would be sleeping on the truck as they drove through the night. Fortunately, a handful of people got off and I moved to the front end of the tarp. The slack in the heavy duty tarp conformed to your body creating a bucket seat. While more comfortable than the uneven bars, the tarp had a special surprise. On deep potholes, the slack would tighten sending you a foot in the air. After my first trampoline experience I made sure the lash strap connecting me to the roof was tight. I didn’t want to fall out into the dark desolate desert night.
Stopping minutes after a spectacular sunset, the drivers broke out their prayer mats again and ate a quick snack having fasted all day for Ramadan. With no lights around for kilometers, the dry crystal-clear desert air was fantastic for star gazing. I laid back and watched the natural planetarium unfold before my eyes and miraculously fell asleep to the bouncing, swaying and tossing of the truck.
Twelve hours later, we arrived at the Kenyan side of the border. By the time I cleared customs it was mid-afternoon. ‘Befriended’ by a local named Brook, I exchanged some dollars for Ethiopian birr and was brought to what he assured me was the best hotel in Moyale. Too exhausted to look for better accommodation, I foolishly took his recommendation. Here I was, in a border town in one of the world’s poorest countries and listening to some idiot that minutes before gave me a poor black market rate for my dollar.
Paying 10 birr (US$ 1.20) for a room in the no-star hotel, I dropped my bag on the filthy floor and ran to the loo. Once I opened the door, I realized I had made the budget traveler’s critical mistake. I had not inspected the toilet before paying. I couldn't bring myself to use the overflowing outhouse. This is after 4 months of African toilets under my belt. Clean toilets, I quickly learned, was not one of Ethiopia’s strong points. Back in my room, I laid out my sleeping bag on top of the flea-infested sheets as roaches scurried across the floor. Welcome to Ethiopia! I shook my head and a grin came to my dust-caked, unshaven face as I fell asleep.
Day 6 started off bright and early at 4:30 am. Groggily climbing aboard, I quickly realized that Ethiopian buses were not built for 5' 10'' westerners as I settled into the hard chair. They are designed to fit the maximum number of benches with the minimal amount of leg room. Knees flush against the hard backs of the seat in front of you. Bum against age-old cushions. I settled in for the 12-hour ride north to the town of Shashemene.
As the bus pulled into a small village for lunch, the driver and his friends invited me to join them. With little experience of Ethiopian cuisine under my belt, I accepted their invitation. For those who have never eaten Ethiopian food, it is an experience. Food is heaped on top of injera, an edible sour-flavored, pancake-looking, bread-like staple that doubles as your cutlery. Ripping off small pieces of injera, you use it to grab bits of food. Ethiopian food ranges greatly from beef to chicken to lamb to vegetarian dishes. Even with its great variety, the food is not for everyone. If you like berbere - or should I say, if your stomach can handle the deep red powder used in nearly every dish which is made from 15 types of spices - will determine if you will like or loath Ethiopian food. Over the course of the next 3 ½ weeks, I became an avid fan of kitfo (minced meat heated, but not cooked, in butter, rosemary and berbere), doro wat (chicken drumstick in a spicy sauce of butter, onion, chili, cardamom and berbere), tibs (sliced lamb, fried in butter, garlic, onion and tomatoes), and shiro (chickpea or lentil puree).
After washing my hands, I was given the best seat at the table and the biggest portion of tibs was placed in my corner of the injera. Conversing mostly through Asheber, a friend of the driver's, I was given Ethiopian etiquette lessons. Do not eat with your left hand (it is reserved for personal hygiene), do not touch your mouth or lick your fingers, only take food in front of you and do not leave a clean plate.
Eating lunch with the driver, Asheber and company, admitted me into their fraternity. That meant I could move to front of the bus. It also meant I was invited to chew chat with them.
A habit peculiar to the Yemenis is the chewing of the mildly narcotic leaf called qat, mainly throughout the afternoon. Parties are held at which much business may be settled, and a foreigner honoured with the invitation should accept…. Addiction to the taste need not be feared.
-- The British Bank of the Middle East, Business Profile Series
On the road from Isiolo, I saw a number of men plucking small green leaves off branches and shoving them into their mouth. The garrulous groups were easy to identify with a large wad on one side of their cheeks and bloodshot eyes. I drank absinthe in Barcelona, chewed coca in Bolivia, why not masticate a naturally intoxicating stimulant in Ethiopia, even if I knew that it turned my teeth green?
Chat (Catha edulis Forskal) grown to a height of 2 meters is an evergreen shrub cultivated on the warm, humid slopes between 1500 and 2800 meters. Also known as qat, it is legal to chew and a large portion of the adult male population of Djibouti, Eritrea, Ethiopia and Yemen does so. I decided to read what my guidebook had to say.
“The first phase, which normally lasts around two hours, is known as the ‘euphoric period’. Consumers quickly feel a sensation of wellbeing, optimism, excitement and a lack of inhibition or reserve.”
Sounds great!
“The second phase is called the ‘illusory period’ and usually lasts for the next two hours. Intellectual activity seems to increase, the imagination becomes more active and attention becomes sharper. Later, consumers become more reflective and introverted, and gradually lose themselves in an imaginative world where anything seems possible. All kinds of projects and plans are dreamed up, and all problems are apparently resolved. Towards the fourth hour, an increase in libido is commonly felt.”
Fantastic!! - Except for the increase in libido. Ethiopian men were not my idea of a ‘hot catch’.
“The third phase, known as the ‘depressive period’, generally lasts from five to six hours. It is characterized by a physical and mental weariness and consumers inevitably become sullen and silent. However, the brain continues in its activities, and both insomnia and a loss off appetite commonly result. Individuals often feel uneasy, anxious and nervous, with a sudden desire to seek other diversion. Some consumers end up in nightclubs, bars or even in a curb-crawl of the city’s red light district, and many resort to alcohol in an attempt to alleviate this ‘come-down’. Sensations of guilt, remorse and worthlessness are also usually experienced.”
Hmm…. maybe it’s not so great after all….
“After consumption, male impotence or unsatisfactory sexual performance is the commonest complaint (eating cloves is said to alleviate this problem). The next day, many chat chewers experience a kind of hangover, in which sensations of dehydration, lethargy and tiredness are felt – often lasting right up until the next day or the next chat sensation.”
On second thought, I prefer an alcohol-induced hangover. At least I am aware of alcohol's long-term side effects. Plus, I am not fond of cloves.
I didn't have much choice as the 40-year old handed me a bushel that looked like any suburban hedge. With no alternative and not wanting to offend, I took the bushel and listened carefully to Asheber’s pointers: don’t swallow the leaves, swallow the juice extracted from the leaves, keep the wad of leaves in a compact ball between your gum and cheek, don’t swallow the leaves, the bitter taste can be improved by a pinch of sugar, drink water, don’t swallow the leaves.
It didn’t sound too complicated. I shoved a bunch of small wilted dark green leaves in my mouth. The leaves were bitter and tasted like... well, how I imagine hedge clippings taste.
It required full mental and tongue coordination to prevent myself from swallowing the leaves. To complicate matters, as I chewed the leaves became tiny pieces that mixed with my saliva. As I swallowed the juices, I began to swallow the leaves. As the side effects began to kick in, my mind began to race.
What happens if I swallow the leaves? Will I vomit? What if I am allergic to chat? I suddenly remembered my predicament. What if chat is a diuretic? I grabbed another branch, shoved more leaves into my mouth and hoped the ‘euphoric period’ would kick in soon.
Things were far from smooth when the driver decided to complicate my dilemma. Thinking I smoked, the guy lit two cigarettes and handed one to me. Asheber had gone to the back of the bus and was no where to be seen. Exhausting my 4 phrases of Amharic, which did not include ‘I do not smoke’, I had no choice but to accept.
Keeping the green leaves between my gum and cheek while not swallowing bits of chat was a task in itself. Combine this with inhaling a pungent Ethiopian cigarette? Impossible. After two drags, a pasty wad of chat got lodged in my throat. I began to cough uncontrollably. If a faranji (foreigner) was a rarity in Ethiopia, a faranji chewing chat was a novelty. A faranji hacking up a lung as lime-green spittle dribbled down his chin? Priceless.
Tossing the cig out the window, I was determined to get it right. For the better part of an hour, I put leaf after countless leaf into my mouth. Whenever I stripped a branch of its wilted, chewable leaves, Asheber handed me a new one to keep me going. There we were, the three of us, Asheber, the driver, and myself chewing this green leaf like a bunch of herbivores.
Then it hit. A quasi-euphoric wave of jitteriness consumed my mind and body. I felt like I had downed 6 Cuban coffees in 30 seconds.
Here I am, after 6 days of brutal travel in Africa, strung-out on chat as the 50-passenger vehicle barreled down the windy highway with a Cheshire-cat grin on my face. Asheber and I began to speak in rapid-fire gibberish discussing everything from the Miami nightlife to solving the political and economic situation of Ethiopia to the symbolism behind The Life of Pi.
As the euphoric period became the illusory period, the chat-addled driver looked over his shoulder sporting a stupid pea-green smile. The bus barreled down the curvy highway as cattle crossed the street at random. I thought to myself, “It is ok for me to be in a state of euphoria, but the driver?” It’s probably a good thing I was feeling as good as I was…
As our chat supply diminished, so did our level of happiness. The conversation tapered out and I passed the time by watching beehive-shaped huts fly by as we pushed north to Shashemene. Arriving after 13 hours, I checked my drained body into the best hotel I could find. After a long and miserably cold shower, I was able to rinse off 3 days of dirt, dust and dandruff and collapse into bed.
I found myself arriving in Addis after a rather painless 4-hour bus ride concluding some of the most brutal travel to date. Heading directly to the Sudanese embassy, I filled out the paperwork for a tourist visa, reluctantly handed over US $150. I was on my way out when I met Geoff Woods. Standing 6’ 1”, his dark curly hair, square jaw, sheepish grin and Aussie accent made the Ethiopian ladies heart's melt. An Australian by birth, engineer by trade, and vagabonder by inclination, Geoff started traveling in Johannesburg 2 days after I landed in Cape Town. Virtually traveling the identical route, staying in the same hostels/campsites and meeting the same people, we ironically had never run into each other. Geoff was heading to Egypt via Sudan and we would end up being travel partners for the next 6 weeks. Incidentally, word got out and we became known among the Ethiopian backpacker crowd as ‘the Aussie and American who started traveling in South Africa months ago and met in Addis’. Sounds romantic, but Geoff has a girlfriend back home and I was still suffering from an overdose on chat.
Addis Ababa, ‘New Flower’ in Amharic, is the 3rd largest city in Africa. Addis is anything but a flower. Ethiopia’s capital has neither a downtown area nor zoning per se; rather it sprawls over 250 square kilometers, 6-story buildings towering over shacks. It is the poorest city I have ever visited. At every turn, street kids ask for a few birr. Beggars, many crippled by polio or Ethiopia’s devastating civil and regional wars, come to you in droves. Ranked by the IMF as the 4th poorest country in the world (after Sierra Leone, Niger and Burkina Faso), living conditions for the vast majority are deplorable.
Due to the immense poverty, it seems that every one of the 65 million Ethiopians are trying to find some way to the United States. Simply mentioning my nationality would catch people’s attention. Heads would turn, girls would bat their eyelashes and I would be the center of attention. It also seemed that every one of the 65 million Ethiopians had a brother, uncle or cousin in the states, mostly in Washington DC. Western Union’s were located even in the tiniest town. Money sent from overseas would keep family members fed and clothed. Almost everyone we met that had some semblance of a decent, middle class job (taxi driver, store owner, etc.) had received money for the business’ down payment from remittances sent from a relative abroad.
Killing time for 48 hours before our visas were issued; Geoff and I checked out the National Museum. Home of Lucy, the oldest hominid in the world believed to be 3.2 million years old, we also saw Emperor Tewodros’ (1855-68) weapons which included a shield made from elephant skin decorated with silver and Emperor Haile Selassie’s (1930-35, 1941-75) throne and crown. We also became connoisseurs of Ethiopian cuisine and macchiatos (cappuccinos) while meeting some stunningly beautiful women. Ethiopian women have to be some of the most beautiful in the world. It seemed that they were blessed with the best features of the Arabs to the north and Blacks of the south with caramel skin and sharp angular features.
Showing up at the embassy on Friday, we were told our visas were not ready. The duplicitous nature of the Sudanese I had been forewarned about was beginning to shine through.
“Saturday?” I looked quizzically at the man behind the desk.
“Yes.” He answered in rough English.
“You will be open tomorrow?”
“Yes”
“You will be closed next week for Ramadan, right?”
He nodded, confirming my worries.
“I promise visa ready” he assured me.
Geoff and I begrudgingly walked out of the consulate. This was not good. Other travelers we had met, including Americans, received their visas in 48, sometimes as little as 24 hours. However, we also heard of travelers waiting up to a month with no luck. Geoff had a flight to catch out of Cairo in 4 weeks time. I had to meet a friend in Egypt in 3 weeks. Sounds like a lot of time but this was Africa. We had 2 weeks of traveling around Ethiopia before we even planned to head into Sudan. Not wanting to backtrack, which would use up 4-5 precious days, we had hoped to have our visas ready in order to continue directly to Sudan from northern Ethiopia.
Sudan was no cupcake either. If anything, it was worse. Much worse. For the past 20 years, southern Sudan has been devastated by an ongoing civil war. Furthermore in 1998, the United States bombed a pharmaceuticals factory outside of Khartoum rumored to be manufacturing chemical warfare (never substantiated) which killed 7. Combine this with the fact that 5 days before arriving in Addis, the US embassy in Khartoum was temporarily closed because of a threat of a possible al Qaeda attack against American interests in the country.
We estimated that it would take 10 days of non-stop traveling in Africa’s largest country. Not only did we need to make it safely to Khartoum, we then had to take a 50 hour train ride to Wadi Halfa before catching a ferry to Aswan in Egypt which left only once a week. We figured that we had a grace period of a couple days but if we missed the boat, we would have wait for the next ferry in Wadi Halfa, one of the hottest places on Earth. With all this stocked against us, plus showing up the week before Eid al-Fitr, the three day feast marking the end of Ramadan fasting, our visas were not going to be ready Saturday even if Allah himself intervened.
If there is anything I dislike about travel, it is the feeling of being rushed. As 4 ½ months traveling in Africa had taught me, everything runs smoothly until you begin to rush. Now we had some dimwit with our money and passports telling us, that things were going to take awhile.
Stressed out, with no alternatives, we decided to pass the time by visiting the merkato. A rather irrational choice considering that the merkato was the 2nd most chaotic place in Addis; but then again, we were in Ethiopia where logic can be thrown out the window. The largest market in eastern Africa, it had to be the foulest, filthiest and most disgusting, place I have ever been. Trash, scrap metal, plastic bottles, and sewage flowed past in turgid green-brown streams that reeked beyond description. At first glance, it looked like a garbage dump with merchant’s stalls. After such a description, it would be appropriate to call it a dump. Upon closer inspection, however, if you looked past the dirt and grime, one realizes there was order to the chaos. It is where Ethiopians buy their produce, clothing, spices, you name it.
Walking in and around an almost impenetrable mass of stalls, we eventually made it to the heart of the merkato where faranji rarely venture. Being a Saturday, the market was bustling with people from all over the country selling their goods. We walked past rows upon rows of brightly colored spices in enormous canvas bags, gigantic blocks of cheese, elaborately woven rugs, leather goods, belts, chickens, gun holsters, saddles, candles and stoves. Turning a corner and walking down a narrow alleyway, we saw Ethiopia’s version of a game room. Tucked in between produce stalls, young kids were crowded around a foosball table. After seeing us, we were challenged to a game. A fair player myself, I didn’t play too badly against the stiff competition: 1 win, 4 losses. (The table was worst I have ever played on and the kid had a distinct home field advantage). Next up was table tennis. Surrounded by a large crowd as donkeys scrounged through trash for food on top of mountains of scrap metal, Geoff and I lost both games (17-21, 6-20) to the ping pong grand master.
After giving the kids something to brag about for the months to come, we headed deeper into the market. The noise soon became deafening. Hammers pounded against metal. At every stall men were molding and shaping scrap metal, recycling any bit of garbage that could be sold for a few birr. Wheel cogs with mended steel legs shaped to be used as stoves. Tin cans mold into candle holders. Whenever we turned a corner, the metal smiths would look up from their noisy tasks in surprise, stand up and proudly shake our hands welcoming us to their shop.
After 3 hours of one of the most vivid cultural experiences of the trip, we decided to treat ourselves to a meal at Ristorante Castelli. While devouring a delicious antipasto, we met a British eating alone next to us. The pleasantries lasted as long as our delicious homemade veal and roast pork. The finals of the Rugby World Cup between England and Australia were on and we decided to quickly finish our meals and head over to the Sheraton to catch the game live.
The Sheraton may very well be the city’s only flower. Never in all my traveling have I seen such an ostentatious hotel. As our taxi entered the hotel compound, a young boy tended his goats on the edge of a shantytown in front of the 5-star Sheraton. The first ‘Luxury Edition’ hotel in Africa, the Sheraton is reputably the best hotel on the continent. Not an expense was spared when it was built.. Persian carpets adorn the floors. Original Ethiopian artwork hangs in gold-plated frames. There are two enormous pools, one whose fountains are spectacularly lit up in different colors. Deluxe suites run US$ 4,200 a night. Bathrooms sparkle with polished marble floors. Distasteful? Absolutely. The reasoning behind having such an extravagant hotel in the world’s 4th poorest country behooves me.
Disgusting, unshaved and in hiking boots, Andy, Geoff and I easily entered the sparkling lobby of the 5-star hotel and were politely shown the way to the grand ballroom. It wasn’t until England won the dramatic final in overtime did I realize the irony of the day’s events. Ninety minutes earlier, we were in the one of the filthiest places on the planet. Now we were at one of the most luxurious hotels in the world.
How is it possible that we were able to dine at the finest Italian restaurant in the city only to enter this stunning palace undeterred? When in fact we should have been directed to the laundry room, we were enthusiastically welcomed and enjoyed complimentary drinks and popcorn as millions outside the hotel’s 3-meter gates were starving? What differentiates me from the 13-year old that beat me in ping pong or the toothless woman whose cheese stand I photographed? What if the roles were reversed? Would I be sitting and enjoying the game televised live on a large screen with stereo sound enjoying the comforts of a king?
The answer to the former was easy. Sadly, the very nature of being a Caucasian male in Africa granted me privileges unheard of for a black person in my same attire and appearance. It is not something I neither was proud about nor wanted to take advantage of. As for the 2nd and 3rd questions, I did not even dare to ponder.
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It was 5:30 am and Geoff and I were waiting outside the gates of Addis’ long-distance bus station, the most chaotic place in the city. Nitwit (actually, by this time I began to refer to him as #$%@) had lived up to his country’s reputation. There had been no progress on our visas. Rather then sit around for a week in the capital; we decided to travel around northern Ethiopia in a loop. That is, if we could survive the mad dash in the darkness.
People had been waiting impatiently for the gates of Autobus Terra to open. When it did, the mob sprinted forward and we were carried, 25kg pack and all, with the surge of sprinting Ethiopians. We discovered the secret that has led to Ethiopia’s dominance in long distance running in the Olympics: bus station survival techniques.
"Harar!! Harar!!" screamed the touts in spitfire succession.
It was imperative we find a bus to Bahar Dar and more importantly, reserve our seats as quickly as possible.
"Shashemene!! Shashemene!!"
Whirling about with ears tuned we ran around like headless chickens. We weaved through the alleyways formed by the tightly parked buses.
"Dessie!! Dessie!!"
The revving of prehistoric Fiat Turbo 135's (they were anything but Turbo) growled above the shouting of drivers and Ethiopians wrestling to board overcrowded buses.
"Nekemte!! Nekemte!!"
Rookies and in unfamiliar territory, Geoff and I were losing precious time wandering randomly in the early morning darkness.
"Bahar Dar!! Bahar Dar!!"
"There it is!!" Geoff shouted.
Working as a team, Geoff brought the bags to the back of the bus as I bought the tickets and struggled aboard to reserve a bench for the 350 kilometer journey. Ethiopian roads are terrible. Buses average 20-30 km/hr if you are lucky. While the road between Moyale and Addis was asphalt that was the last of paved roads we would see until arriving in Cairo. The trip to Bahar Dar, a distance equivalent to that separating Los Angeles and San Diego took 2 days. Inspecting our means of transport, I took a particular liking to the front of the bus. It could easily be mistaken as a shrine. Most cathedrals in western countries are not that ornate. Chintzy medallions, Ethiopian flags, orthodox Christian iconography and no less then 4 crucifixes adorned the bus’ interior. Waiting for 60 minutes, my eyes began to tear and lungs burn from excessive inhalation of carbon monoxide. I also had to protect both seats in the early morning mayhem as Geoff stood outside keeping an eye on our bags on the roof. Foully reeking beggars in threadbare rags climbed through the narrow aisle, over plastic bags and luggage asking for food, money, anything. After 3 more beggars, a robed priest – more like an old guy draped in a bed cloth – comes down the aisle with a makeshift cross to bless the devout with a safe journey. I looked around at the countless crucifixes, dilapidated bus and vast majority of passengers saying their Hail Mary's. Shrugging, I mumbled “We are going to need as much help as we can get” and dropped a birr into his box.
In addition to crunched knees, hard seats and poor suspensions, bus travel in Ethiopia has a quite a few more unpleasant surprises. Chat-addled drivers turn stereos to full blast on already-blown-out-speakers. After our first 8 hours on day one, Geoff and I could sing along to ‘Best of 2003 – The Ultimate Collection of Ethiopian Pop Songs’. And we still had 2 more weeks of bus travel to go!
The best part of bus travel however, is the window dilemma. Long ago, some idiot started the rumor that an open window would guarantee catching pneumonia. You are sitting crammed in to this 50-seater bus, crawling along at 25 km/hr as the sizzling African sun beats down. No one, and I mean no one, will allow you to open a window. We are talking about Ethiopia, a country named by the ancient Greeks that means ‘land of burnt faces’ (Aethiops). It is sweltering in November. Even the subtle motion implying that you intend to open a window leads to nasty scowls. If you succeed in opening it even a crack, the people sitting behind you begin coughing as if the phantom pneumonia has stuck again. Old beliefs die hard.
Upon arriving in Bahar Dar, we set up our tent on the banks of Lake Tana, source of the Blue Nile. We arranged an afternoon boat trip to the island monasteries. Dating from the 14th to 17th centuries, there are over 20 Orthodox Christian monasteries on the lake’s 37 islands. Long providing a sanctuary for royal treasures and tombs as well as places of worship, the monasteries continue to be used for the same purposes today.
Ethiopia is second only to Armenia to having adopted Christianity as the state’s national religion. Ethiopians tend to be extremely devout, regardless of religion. Many Orthodox Christians fast 2 times a week, celebrate the roughly 180 holy days throughout the year and adhere to dietary restrictions.
Interestingly, Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity is believed to have its origins in Judaism. This explains a number of unique elements found in the religion - round shaped churches, strict food preparation requirements, male circumcision and the absence of pews or stools in churches. Islam has the second highest number of followers, 10% practice various pagan religions while the majority of Ethiopia’s Jews (falashas) were brought to Israel beginning in 1986.
Arriving on the Zege Peninsula, we walked for 10 minutes before arriving at the octagonal-shaped Ura Kidane Meret monastery. Removing our shoes we entered through 5-meter tall wooden doors. Upon entering we were instantly stunned by the beautifully decorated interior painting. Vibrantly colored scenes from the Old and New Testament were painted on cloth and hung around the wooden walls of the ‘holy of the holies’ in the center of the church. Viewing Beta Maryam and Beta Giorgis from the outside we headed to a small island in the middle of the lake. Kebran Gabriel’s monastery dated to the 13th century while the church took 9 years to build and dates to the 16th century. All the stone had to be brought to the island by papyrus boat.
Upon arrival, our guide told the 2 female travelers that they must remain behind, only men were allowed to enter the monastery. Climbing up a steep staircase, we greeted the monastery’s priest who brought us to a stone tower structure holding the monastery’s treasures. Rightfully proud of the monastery’s treasures, the well-spoken monk enthusiastically showed us and let us hold the brass cross of Lalibela given to monastery in 1330 and a silver cross of Aksum from 1683. He also showed us countless other crosses, chalices and books, one from 1555 made from goatskin with decorative paintings and weighting 17 kg. After seeing the inside of the church, a bell began to ring, calling the monks of the monastery to eat their only meal of the day. Invited by the priest, we joined 2 other monks and accepted the loaf of bread with a sprinkling of berbere yet politely declined to try out the locally brewed beer.
From Bahar Dar, we headed to Gonder (125 km, 7hrs) to catch a bus the next morning to Debark (75 km, 4 hours) where we stocked up on food and set off into the Simien Mountains. Homer - of Greek, not Simpson’s fame – claimed that the Greek gods came to play chess in the spectacular mountains. More recently, the traveler Rosita Forbes speaking on terms mere mortals can relate to described the mountains as “the most marvelous of all Abyssinian landscapes.” Leaving the town of Debark on the edge of the dusty main road behind, we set out in the early afternoon. Hiking up past tiny farming villages in the lower valleys we past eucalyptus trees, patches of green grass and fields of yellow millet. Sweating under the hot sun, the cool breeze felt refreshing as we pushed further on finally reaching our camp at the top of a long gradual hill after 20km of hiking.
Rising early the next morning, we greatly underestimated the distance to Geech camp and opted to hitch 20 of the 35 kilometers. After setting up our tent, it was another 5 km to Imit Gogo. The view from Imit Gogo reassured our tired legs that their effort had been worthwhile. Upon reaching the cornice, the ground dropped 1000 meters to the valley below. Looking down from the precipice, the sheer beauty of the awesome chasm brought to mind Arizona’s Grand Canyon. Mesas stood proudly between green valleys as dark rivers wrapped around their well-worn bases. From the rocky promontory at 3926 meters, we enjoyed the spectacular view for over an hour in silence while watching enormous black lammergeyers soar through the canyon below.
Backtracking to Gonder, we spent the next day visiting another one of Ethiopia’s seven UNESCO World Heritage sites. The Royal Enclosure sprawls over 75,000 square meters and is the only place in the world where you will find 3 castles within the same walled enclosure. With only 3 other people in the entire site we virtually had the whole place to ourselves. The largest and oldest castle was built in 1636 by Emperor Fasilades and incorporates Moorish, Indian and Portuguese architectural styles. Its long entrance opens into a set of greeting rooms followed by a large banquet hall and extends up to a 2nd floor. The castle’s asymmetric design has 4 towers in each corner. They served not only for security but also to allow the devout king to pray in the direction of the more then 75 churches that existed during the city’s golden period. When asked about the Star of David which is carved in relief above two of the doors in the entrance hallways, our guide told us the legend of the Queen of Sheba.
As the legend goes, the Queen of Sheba, set out from her kingdom in Aksum (northern Ethiopia) in the 10th century BC to visit Solomon’s Kingdom in Jerusalem. Even though the Old Testament speaks of the King’s great wisdom, it fails to mention his way with the ladies. Incidentally, the queen gave birth to a son, Menelik, which began a 3000-year dynasty and notion of the divine right to rule in Ethiopia.
Over the next 100 years, the Royal Enclosure saw the wide spread construction by Fasilades’ successors. Another 2 palaces, bathing pool, library, chancellery, dungeons, House of Song (for religious ceremonies), Turkish steam baths and a banquet hall with horse stables were added to the large complex. Most intriguing of all was the Lion House, which up until 1991 was the home of Abyssinian lions!
Next we set off for Debre Berhan Selassie church built by Iyasu the Great. 'Trinity at the Mount of Light' is quite possibly the most famous church in the country for its architectural and artistic features and historical significance. You must enter through a thick, 4-meter stone wall that surrounds the church's perimeter. In the wall there are 12 towers, representing the 12 apostles and one entrance gate symbolizing Christ. The church's rectangular shape, atypical for Gonderine churches of the era is testament to the church’s importance; it was built to house the sacred Arc of the Covenant. Once he grew up, Menelik visited his father in the Holy Land and before returning to his native Ethiopia, he got his revenge on his father by stealing the Arc of the Covenant. He brought it to Ethiopia where it is believed to lie buried to this day.
The church is spectacular. It was even constructed to sit in the same direction as Solomon's Temple. Paintings adorn every inch of the church's interior and is claimed to exemplify the best of Ethiopian art. Detailed scenes from the Old and New Testament are vibrantly depicted on the walls and the ceiling has 100 cherubs looking in different directions rumored to keep a watchful eye on the church. As if all of its history is not enough, it is the only church that remains from the Gonderine period. Muslim Dervishes from Sudan attacked the city and destroyed all the city’s churches. As legend has it, when the Dervishes reached Debre Berhan Selassie, they were attacked by a swarm of bees leaving the sacred church safe from harm.
Leaving 'Africa's Camelot', we set off to 'Africa's Petra', Lalibela, (250 km, 2 days). The country’s crown jewel was built by King Lalibela who ruled for 23 years during the 12th century. Before ascending the throne, he was exiled and traveled to Jerusalem during the years of the Crusades. After seeing the great temples of the Holy City, he became determined to build a city of comparable beauty in his homeland that was both accessible to his countrymen and far from Muslim control. Upon returning to Ethiopia, Lalibela set out to build 11 rock-hewn churches.
The 16th century Portuguese explorer Alavares went as far as to write, "Edifices, the like of which - and so many – cannot be found anywhere else in the world". The rock-hewn churches of Lalibela, are simply unreal. Hidden in the Lashta Mountains at 2630 meters, their sheer size, remoteness, symbolism, quantity and quality makes it impossible to put into words their extraordinary brilliance.
Lalibela undoubtedly ranks among the greatest historical sites not only on the African continent, but even in the Christian world. Just as remarkable, however, is its seeming total disregard for its status. Medieval Lalibela just gets on with going about its business. More than anywhere in Ethiopia – perhaps the world – one has the impression of landing in a kingdom at least seven centuries behind our own.
-- Lonely Planet, Ethiopia, Eritrea & Djibouti.
Sitting in the center of the rural village, the Northern and Eastern Groups of Churches continue to be used by locals as they have for centuries. Robed priests, devout monks and old nuns shuffle by eyes trance-like as they pray out loud to themselves reciting prayers in the ancient language of Ge’ez. Walking through narrow tunnels carved out of the reddish rock, we were the only faranji wandering around the churches, churches that deserve to be among one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
Astoundingly, the churches which were carved from the rock from the roof down. After determining the location, trenches sometimes 15 meters deeps would be dug on 4 sides. From there, a single mound of rock would stand and the churches would take shape as the soft volcanic tuff would be chiseled and carved away creating the enormous churches that exist today. Even more exceptional than the ability to create such a large structure from a single block is the remarkable attention to detail with ornately carved windows, vaulted ceilings, hidden rooms, multiple floors, winding staircases and secret tunnels.
We began with visiting the Northern Group of Churches which were built to represent Old Jerusalem. The rectangular-shaped Bet Medhane Alem which at 33.5 x 23.5 meters is the larges rock-hewn church in the world. Meaning ‘Savior of the World', the roof is supported by 72, 8-meter pillars. At each corner, there are 3 interconnected columns representing the holy Trinity. Seeing that there are a total of 12 interconnected columns (4 corners x 3 at each corner) their total number symbolizes the 12 Apostles. In the walls of the trench surrounding the church, there are niches and caves where bone-thin hermits who devote themselves fully to their religion live. Inside Bet Medhane Alem there are 3 ‘graves’ dug into the rock floor symbolizing the tombs of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
Climbing through a narrow, 4-meter long tunnel you enter the large open air courtyard of Bet Maryam (Church of Virgin Mary), Bet Meskel (Church of the Cross) and Bet Danaghel (Church of the Virgins). In the northeast corner lies a fertility pool that is said to be as deep as Bet Maryam is tall (7 meters) where infertile women come to bathe before Easter. The 10 exterior arches in the small Bet Meskel symbolize the 10 Commandments. Bet Danaghel commemorates the 50 maiden nuns martyred on the orders of the Roman Emperor Julian. The 4 columns supporting the church’s roof represent the 4 evangels preaching Christianity throughout the world. Bet Maryam is the most important church in Lalibela and for that reason; its interior is the most ornate with painted frescoes and columns with richly carved capitals. Leaving the courtyard and heading south through a wooden doorway before turning west through a tunnel takes you to Bet Mikael, Bet Golgotha and the Selassie Chapel, the resting place of King Lalibela.
In the afternoon, we visited the Eastern Group of Churches representing Heavenly Jerusalem, starting with Bet Gabriel-Rafael. Believed to be the King’s home it contains a secret entrance and even has a 15-meter deep ‘moat’ for security purposes. At the bottom of the dry moat lie 3 wells representing the 3 boys saved by the angel Gabriel with the water symbolic of Heaven. From Bet Gabriel-Rafael we walked through a tunnel that lead to Arogi Bethlehem which is where the bread for the communion was baked. Next we entered another tunnel and shuffled along in complete darkness for 20 meters before emerging at Bet Merkorios. The claustrophobic tunnel carved to represent Hell. After inspecting simple Bet Merkorios, we were led into yet another tunnel with two 90-degree turns which led to a secret trap door into the floor of Bet Amanueli. Backtracking (the trap door is sealed) we arrived at Bet Amanueli after climbing through another cave, popping out of a hole in one of the trench’s walls 2 ½ meters above the church’s courtyard. The exterior of the church is beautifully carved and inside it has 2 floors and 9 different rooms. We ended our day at Bet Abba Libanos, the only hypogeous of the city’s churches. Only the roof remains attached to the overhead rock. While three-quarters cut, the roof is believed to have remained attached to symbolize the priests carrying the Arc of the Covenant.
Early the next morning, Geoff and I woke to head over to Bet Giyorgis (Church of St. George) the most famous of Lalibela’s churches for its unique cross shape. It happened to be the holy day for the patron saint of Ethiopia, St George. It would result in a once in a lifetime experience.
Set apart from the rest of the village’s churches we immediately noticed the hundreds of Ethiopians walking towards Bet Giyorgis. We followed them down the downward sloping ramp which led through a doorway into a tunnel. Turning right into the tunnel, the slow, rhythmic pounding of drums eerily echoed through the rock walls as pilgrims chanted in a mesmerizing tone. Leaving the chanting room, I continued out and into the open-air courtyard where worshippers were leaning over and drinking water from a holy pool dug out in the courtyard’s southwest floor. Peering into a niche in the wall, I saw the skeletal remains of a hermit long since dead. Draped in white cloths, the worshippers had ash-grey crosses painted on their foreheads. Walking up the 6 large steps, I removed my shoes and entered the church. Inside, the sweet smell of incense floated through the warm air. High, 10-meter arched ceilings were supported by perfectly carved columns. People were sitting, standing and crouching, venerating Christ in the direction of the church’s Arc of the Covenant. A group of 25 surrounded a priest waiting to be blessed. The religious devotion I witnessed combined with the sense of peace that resonated through the air was unlike anything I ever experienced, with the sole exception of a similar experience at the Jerusalem’s Western Wall.
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Forget the image, experience the reality.
-- Lonely Planet, Ethiopia, Eritrea & Djibouti.
Mention Ethiopia and one thinks of Stevie Wonder & Co. singing ‘We are the World’ as millions of skeletal children die of starvation. Don’t get me wrong, a child of the eighties, I had the same misconception. When researching this trip, I visited a website where a person indicated that they had traveled extensively throughout Ethiopia. I remember saying to myself “Why would anyone in their right mind want to visit Ethiopia?
After spending almost a month in the country, I can rightfully say that is so different than the common western stereotype. Who would have thought it has one of the most beautiful mountain ranges in Africa? Or lush green valleys? Who would think a country known for 2.5 million starving people has some of the best food on the continent. It has the longest archaeological record of any country on the planet. Culturally speaking, it is the most unique, and in my opinion, fascinating, in Africa.
Ethiopia is not for the light of heart. It is a HARD country to travel. The infrastructure is terrible, the roads are brutal and the poverty is overwhelming. Regardless, if you have an adventurous spirit, a passion to discover unspoiled treasures and have always dreamed of finding your inner Indiana Jones, Ethiopia is for you.
I am currently in Beirut, Lebanon after 6 weeks of travel through Egypt, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. After failing to obtain a Sudanese visa after 2 ½ weeks of waiting, Geoff and I cut our losses and caught a flight from Addis to Cairo. Stay tuned for Wanderlust #9 – Egypt where Geoff, Tim and I gaped in awe at the awesome pyramids, dived to a sunken World War II British battleship in the Red Sea and experienced Egyptian ‘hospitality’.
Stay in touch!
Kind regards,
Dave
davidmlawrence@yahoo.com
http://wanderlust.on.journeyfile.com
The secret of adventure is not to carefully seek it out, but to travel in such a way that it finds you. To do this, you first need to overcome the protective habits of home and open yourself up to unpredictability. As you begin to practice this openness, you'll quickly discover adventure in the simple reality of a world that defies your expectations. More often than not, you'll discover that "adventure" is a decision after the fact -- a way of deciphering an event or an experience that you can't quite explain.
--Rolf Potts, Vagabonding (2003)
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