Ethiopia. For years, the name of this country has had this intense pull on my heart's adventure seeking side. The name itself just sounds so exotic to my ears. The cities even more so...names that seem to spring off the tip of the tongue. Addis Ababa. Bahir Dar. Lalibela. Names that whisper promises of the chance to lose one's self, to explore, to taste new flavors. For two weeks, I got to do just that on my own trip across the Northern (better known as the 'historic circuit') of Ethiopia.
I admit that I was really freaked out to be traveling all by myself for such a long time in such a foreign place. This is the first time I've ever ventured to try something so new to me (besides the whole coming to Uganda for a year thing). But I knew if I was ever going to do something like this, now was the perfect time to give it a go. I've read plenty of blogs of strong, adventurous females who seem fearless in their independent quests to explore this great world, and I secretly envied all their tales. I just didn't know whether or not I had it in me to be one of these fearless women myself. After the past two weeks, I'm glad to discover I at least have a little slice of it in there somewhere.
I started off in Addis Ababa, taking an overnight flight from Uganda (by mistake since I was too dense to realize that the times when I was booking my ticket where in military time...It dawned on me about two minutes too late that 4:30 actually meant in the morning, not in the afternoon). Oh well....There's not too much to say about Addis Ababa. It's just another city, and I didn't venture far in my exploring since I spent most of my only day in city catching up on sleep and huddled under 3 blankets in an attempt to warm my shivering body that just isn't used to temperatures below 80 degrees anymore.
Then it was off to Bahir Dar...via a ten hour bus ride through the Ethiopian countryside. The ride itself was beautiful. Within just a few minutes of leaving Addis, our bus was already climbing up steep winding mountain roads. Cruising along above the clouds, I felt like I could have been on an episode of Mrs. Frizzle's Magic School Bus...just waiting for our bus to sprout wings, take off in flight, swim through oceans or something equally magical. After a few hours, we started our descent back down the winding roads, through the Blue Nile River Valley, which ended up being one of the most breathtaking sights of the whole trip.
The city of Bahir Dar is pleasant enough. Big without being chaotic. The streets run right into Lake Tana, the largest lake in Ethiopia. The roads are lined with huge palm trees that gently sway in the warm breeze off the lake. There are plenty of walking paths that trail the shores. My personal favorite...the city's open-air market which is the second largest in Ethiopia after the infamous Mercato in Addis Ababa. Trust that I spent a few hours exploring there during my last morning in town. However, the real draw of Bahir Dar is it's ancient monasteries...dotted along the nearby shores and the surrounding islands.
My plan was to simply visit the most famous of these monasteries, Ura Kidane Mihret, known for the vibrant paintings that fill its walls within. I opted for public transport, wanting to try things the local way for a bit...it definitely made things more interesting! I made my way to the local bus station where I found the one I needed and hopped aboard for just 50 cents. In typical fashion, we then sat there for another hour waiting for the bus to fill up. Finally we were off...except not exactly because this bus was so old that it was the push start kind. All the men piled off...got behind...pushed on the count of three...we inched forward a bit but no go. Round 2...they pushed again...this time the engine sputtered before finally cranking up...we drove forward as slowly as possible while all the men ran to jump back on the bus. And then we were off! The bus ride was about an hour mostly on bumpy, dirt roads before I was finally dumped in the middle of a little village. There I was...dropped off in the middle of the marketplace, surrounded by chickens, screaming children, and staring men. Not a clue where to go. I knew the monastery was just a few kilometers outside of the village, so I tried asking one of the ladies at a nearby stall. She just smiled her huge, teethy grin at me, shook my hand, and gave me a mumbled response in Amharic. However, after a little exploration, it didn't take me long to realize there was only one path leading out of town, so that must be it and off I went.
The walk to the monastery was beautiful. The sun was out and shining and the little dirt trail took me right along the shores of the lake. After about an hour, I finally reached the gates, venturing inside where I met a friendly group of monks. The monasteries themselves are interesting little buildings. Round, the outside walls lined with bamboo, big gold crosses perched above their thatched roofs. I took of my shoes and ducked behind the entrance curtain only to be met by enormous, bright, colorful paintings filling every inch of the walls within. Words don't do most of these sights justice. Nether do pictures, but that's all I have to give you.
After exploring for a bit, I managed to gain a spot on a boat tour that was heading out to some of the island monasteries. This wasn’t in my original plan, but I had no other idea how I was going to get back to town, so I hopped aboard. The island monasteries are much more isolated than the ones along the shore, so most of them don’t allow entrance for women. Instead, I spent the afternoon sitting on the end of the dock, my feet in the cool, green waters of Lake Tana. In the distance, the red hillside of Ethiopia stretched before me. Closer still, there was a little lush island with the walls of another monastery barely visible through the vegetation. As I sat with my thoughts, one of the first things that raced through my mind was the deep silence that I was experiencing for the first time in months. There was not another living soul visible and the only noise that reached my ears was the gentle lull of the waves and an occasional birdsong. Then…all of the sudden…the silence was broken by four deep tolls of the monastic bells on the island directly across from me, marking the afternoon hour. As the bell’s tolls traveled across the smooth waters and entered my waiting ears, I was so moved by the beauty of this particular moment in time that goosebumps literally rose on my arms. I had my own religious experience on the end of that dock, and at that moment, I could care less that I was prohibited from entering the walls of the monastery that loomed behind me.
Next stop: Gondar. Again via public transportation. Again another adventure. Within a few minutes of claiming my seat on the little mini-bus, a rather large, matronly woman with her particularly antsy toddler climbed in next to me. Between herself, several bags, and her two children, she took up well over half of the seat, leaving me squashed up against the window with really just a few inches of space. In addition, she kept elbowing me, stepping on my feet and cramming her thrashing child against me for the duration of the four hour trip. Along with no space, the driver kept the windows closed for the entire trip, making the heat and the smells almost unbearable. To top it all off, the lady next to me whipped out a training potty and tried to get her whiny child to use it right in the middle of the moving bus. I had horrible visions of the whole situation going terribly wrong with me as the main urine-soaked victim. Apart from all the action on my row, there was the man in backseat who started throwing up about half-way through our trip along the winding mountain roads. What should have been a relatively quick and enjoyable trip proved particularly torturous. However, I made it, hopped out of the minibus at the first stop we came to, and booked a room in the first hotel I could find…actually lucking out on my room with a balcony overlooking the city streets below and making for some great people watching.
Gondar itself was a rather tired town. Nothing more to it than a few restaurants and lots of tour operators as it’s the base point for treks into the Simien Mountains. However, I was personally a huge fan of my time spent there in the Fasil Ghebbi (also known as the Royal Enclosure). This compound lies right in the heart of the city, hidden away by crumbling brick wall. But once you enter the gates, you seem to pass through a portal to a whole other time period. Within, you find 70,000 square meters of crumbling ruins…the shells of six different castles along with countless other royal structures such as stables, spas and banquet halls. I actually opted to forgo the official guide and just explore on my own. I got there pretty early in the morning and beat most of the crowds; it really felt like I had the whole place to myself. What makes this place particularly great is that unlike the old castles you might find in European cities, there are no guards or barriers here. You are free to explore and roam to your heart’s content. There are winding stairwells that lead to nowhere in particular, secret little nooks and crannies, passageways and tunnels…all just waiting for you to discover them. I lost myself there for well over two hours. Outside of this time within the Royal Enclosure, the highlight of my days in Gondar was stumbling upon a little art studio where I bought one of my usual paintings…a twin pair of oils on canvas.
Final destination of my big adventure....Lalibela. This is the city I was most looking forward too. However, it was also the most inaccessible. Two days by bus on some not-so-fun roads meant I opted to fly instead (You can get some amazingly cheap domestic flights within the country itself). My hotel there, the Seven Olives, was the perfect retreat for my three day stop. It was a brightly colored little building, tucked away at the very top of the mountain, and covered in gardens bursting with birdsong and lounging felines that have made the hotel their home as well. Lucky for me, I coincidentally planned my trip in the middle of off-season for tourism, so I could bargain down prices almost everywhere I went. I've become almost a pro-bargainer in my 9 months here. My cozy little room with a window looking out over the town and hills below costs me just $18 a night.
Lalibela was a place where I was forced to slow down for awhile. I was worried that traveling by myself would get lonely after awhile, but I was surprised that I honestly didn't feel that way at all. Without internet and a phone, I had a lot of time to think and do some self-reflection, particularly on long bus rides. I made great progress on my cross-stitching that I've been working on for months now. I delved back into art a bit, doing some sketches everywhere I went. I absolutely devoured the four novels that I brought with me. And I wrote page after page in my journal every day. It was great!
So Lalibela itself and the rock hewn churches found there…I actually don’t have much to write about these because I just don’t have to words to say what I want to say. The words don’t exist, and I fear writing about them would only underscore the shear majestic beauty of what is found there. But here is just a brief overview. There are eleven churches with in the city of Lalibela, all of them rock-hewn meaning they were cut out of the stone of the hillside. Some of them are monolithic, meaning they are freestanding. Others of them are semi-monolithic, meaning they are still connected to the hill on one side. The site was created by King Lalibela and intended to be the Jerusalem of Africa, and indeed it almost in a sense. Each year at the Orthodox Christmas (which falls on January 7) the churches receive over 40,000 pilgrims, coming from all over the region. All of the churches except for one face East because this is the direction the they pray in the Orthodox Church of Ethiopia…it is the direction of Jerusalem from the city.
I spent two days exploring the churches. With a local guide, we would weave our way in and out of different tunnels and passage ways. You would duck, squeeze through one of the narrowly cut passages, only to come out the other side and be met with a huge looming rock-structure of worship. You would slip off your shoes, enter the massive wooden doors, sometimes having to wait for a priest to appear with an ancient gold key first. Once inside, you are separated from the bright sunlight, instead finding yourself in a dim, cool room. Massive stone columns looming in all directions. Incense lingering in the air. The darkness occasionally broken by a painting, wood carving or hanging tapestry. Once finished with the churches, I found that I was the bottom of the very tall mountain that Lalibela lies on. Like I said, my hotel was all the way at the top, meaning I had quite the hike to get back. I hardly minded, figuring it is good practice for my upcoming gorilla trek in a few weeks. The winding cobblestone road took me right through town…I trudged along, passing laughing children, men guiding pack mules, boys playing foozeball.
After just three days in Lalibela…it was back to Addis Ababa for a few days. Like I said, the city didn’t make much of an impression on me. It was worth spending a few days there just for the food though. Most people who know me, know that Ethiopian is my absolute favorite. But I made a new discovery during my time in the country…it’s called fasting food (a lot more delicious than the title implies). Every Wednesday and Friday, Orthodox Ethiopians don’t eat meat. Therefore, each restaurant has what they call ‘fasting food’ which is basically a selection of all of their own special vegetarian dishes. There are all different kinds of wats (spicy stew-like dishes made out of lentils, chickpeas or beans), cabbages, greens, carrots, salads. Everywhere you go, they prepare their dishes a little differently, so it’s always a surprise.
On this gluttonous note, I should explain the one challenge that I found in Addis Ababa (really throughout all of Ethiopia) and that is the shear amount of poverty I encountered there and my inability to do anything about it. You can barely walk more than a few feet without someone approaching you for money. I’ve never seen so many beggars at once in my life. On every corner, there are at least two or three stationed. Women with their children huddled on mats. Men, half clothed, sprawled across the bare sidewalk in slumber. Cripples of all types, most of them scooting along on their hands or bottoms for lack of infrastructure and funds to provide them with any sort of handicap assistance. Toddlers who can barely talk but know enough to hold out their hands to you, maybe offering a few words in English. “Hello” “Money” “Food” These are the ones that were the most heartbreaking to me, that children of such a young age are already basic pros at the art of begging.
I wrote a lot about how it made me feel to be walking among such extreme poverty, most of it too personal to want to share with the whole internet world. However, one thing I did learn during my time here, is that I really have no idea what the feeling of ‘need’ is like. I’ve never come even remotely close to having to go without in my life. I have never been truly hungry. Truly tired. Truly desperate. My body has never known how far these feelings of hunger, want, and need can go…has never come close to experiencing the full spectrum of these desires. And yes, it is true that I have more than enough money to hand a few bills to every beggar that I pass. However, the political and social implications of the white girl making her way through the streets and handing out such items to these people made me more uncomfortable than having to say no to these people. Yes, I want to help them. But what I really want more than anything is for them to be able to help them selves…to be able to live at a level of basic dignity that every human being deserves, where they have the means to provide for themselves and their families…as idealistic and far-off as that goal may seem for this country. But enough….end of my rant and end of this super long blog post. I guess I just got a little excited to tell everyone about my time in Ethiopia. But there it all is. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly of what has been the trip of a lifetime.
