A land of immense contrasts – of new cities and ancient ruins, soaring mountains and some of the lowest points on the planet – Ethiopia often steals the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. James Leetham discovers a different side to the country on a self-drive tour of the northern highlands.
The smooth black road slithers out from the red mud as we approach the Ethiopian border. We’ve been driving along this treacherous stretch of sodden soil since we left Marsabit in northern Kenya and are grateful to feel bitumen, finally, beneath our wheels. The threat of bandits, brigands and bumps (we’d lost a shock absorber to the latter) behind us, we climb onto the tarmac and enjoy smooth driving all the way to Addis Ababa.
The Ethiopian capital is just a stop for us – our intention has always been to take our East African road trip north from Addis, exploring the northern part of the country in a loop. The journey promises amazing natural and historical sights, from the ancient rock-hewn churches of Lalibela to clifftop monastery Debre Damo and from there, to the alleged resting place of the Ark of the Covenant. The only hitch is that we have just seven days to complete the 1,430-kilometre journey before we have to enter Sudan. Happily, the roads are in our favour, something we have China to thank for.
The People’s Republic has invested heavily in Ethiopia’s infrastructure in recent years, laying thousands of kilometres of tarmac roads across the country, the second-most populous in Africa. Our journey is aided further by great coffee – one of the more positive legacies of Italy’s brief occupation. While Mussolini’s men proved to be inept colonists, they were at least good enough to ensure that most restaurants and roadside cafés were equipped with espresso machines before they left. Just as well, really, since the long drive ahead means we need to stay alert, especially as we’ll soon be tackling one of the most mountainous regions in Africa.
First stop Lalibela, some 858 kilometres north of Addis by road and among the holiest cities on the continent. Home to a dozen or so 12th-century churches hewn out of the red rock on which the small town stands, Lalibela is straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. The churches are still connected by a network of tunnels and underground passageways so clambering over, under and through things is a must. While I’m sure Dr. Jones never had to haggle with tour guides as we do, it is worth handing over a wad of Ethiopian birr to have a local lead us through the subterranean labyrinth.
After a morning’s exploration, we re-emerge above ground, blinking in the blinding sun as we make our way to the town’s marketplace. Here, we are met by yet another shock to the senses, this time, the earthy stench of livestock, colour-saturated spices and the shouts of stall-keepers. The bustling space is a complete contrast to the cool, dark stillness of the churches – it’s as if we’ve travelled thousands of years in less than a kilometre.
Time travel resumes next morning as we head farther north to Aksum via Debre Damo. It’s not often that the thought of visiting a monastery gets my heart racing but the only way to reach Debre Damo is by clambering up a 15-metre vertical cliff – which doesn’t exactly put me at ease. We arrive to find two female American tourists sitting dejectedly at the foot of the precipice and discover it’s forbidden for women to enter the monastery; even livestock on the grounds must be male to discourage potentially amorous monks. After seeing me scramble, scream and sob my way up the rock face, the ladies probably feel better about being banned from the monastery; even with the help of a crude pulley system, the climb is quite terrifying. It does, however, have its rewards: the view from the top over an endless expanse of parched, barren mountains is breathtaking.
I can’t say I was as impressed with the makeshift tour guides who greeted us at the crest. Since they were the ones responsible for getting us down again, we had no real choice but to accept (and pay for) their services. There were a number of further charges for entering the various buildings, one of which housed what we were told was one of the oldest Bibles in existence. While we managed not to part with as much capital as was asked of us, we paid enough at the end of our tour to ensure our descent from the monastery resulted in nothing more serious than a few rope burns, enabling us to continue unscathed to Aksum.
Hunched near the base of the Adwa mountains, Aksum is said to house the Ark of the Covenant – but it seems that only folk from Aksum actually believe this. I have to admit that when I arrive, I’m not entirely sure what the Ark is, though from the way the locals go on, I figure it’s rather important. (Later, I find out that it is, in fact, a Biblical-era vessel thought to contain tablets of stone inscribed with the original Ten Commandments.)
While I cling to my Indiana Jones fantasies, hoping to battle Nazis in my attempts to catch a glimpse of the Ark, all I actually manage to do is incur the wrath of a man in a tracksuit – a security guard, I’m told – for taking photos of the chapel that’s supposed to house the Ark.
Considering that the Ark of the Covenant is one of the most important religious artefacts there is, you’d be forgiven for thinking it would be kept under serious lock and key, not watched over by one belligerent man in sportswear. My suspicions that the Ark is elsewhere are further heightened by the fact that even if visitors pay, they’re not allowed to see the Ark. This privilege, it seems, is reserved for specially anointed priests.
This is disappointing, but should not discourage visitors from stopping in at Aksum. After months of travel around Africa, the city offers us an architecturally interesting alternative to the shabby remnants of modern colonialism we’ve become accustomed to finding in other African countries.
The next day we leave the Ark, if indeed it was there, and the obelisks of Aksum behind for Gondar, the last destination on our whistle-stop tour of northern Ethiopia. True to its Tolkienesque name, Gondar boasts a splendid 17th-century palace that yields further insight into the region’s regal history. Like Aksum and Lalibela, Gondar’s magnificent ruins buck so many of the preconceptions and stereotypes with which sub-Saharan Africa is burdened.
After touring the castle, we escape from approaching rainclouds and order a macchiato in a nearby Art-Deco café. Aside from its century-old ruins, Gondar boasts some charming, albeit dilapidated, 1930s buildings, which, like the coffee, are one of the better legacies of the Italian occupation. The heavens open while we’re sipping our drinks and we order more to while away the afternoon. With some 250 kilometres of appalling roads to tackle before the Sudanese border, and just two days to get there, we’ll need all the caffeine we can get. •
Photography by James Leetham.
getting there
Emirates flies to Addis from Sydney via Dubai. 1300-303-777; emirates.com
To get to Lalibela by car, head north on Highway 1 from Addis Ababa to Kembolcha; turn west towards Weldiya, then north at Gashena. To reach Aksum from here, continue north as far as Adwa, then take Highway 3 towards Aksum, continuing south on Highway 3 to Gondar.
getting around
Those not wanting to brave the road trip by themselves can travel around Ethiopia and the rest of Africa with Dragoman, which offers bus tours to dozens of different sights. Accommodation along the way is included in the price. dragoman.com
when to go
Late September to November, when temperatures are lower, is the best time to visit northern Ethiopia. Avoid the rainy season, mid-June to mid-September, when non-tarred roads can turn to slush.
further information
For countrywide travel tips, contact the Tourism Authority of Ethiopia. tourismethiopia.org
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