The churches of Lalibela were the reason I came here in the
first place. Today I was able to visit 7
of the 11 monolithic rock churches
present in the city. When I say
monolithic, I’m not being hyperbolic – these churches were each carved out of a
single piece of stone. The fact that
this was done in the mid-twelfth century makes it even more impressive.
Beat that, Petra!
Before I could see the churches, first I had to figure out
how I was going to get to Bahar Dar tonight.
The hotel in Lalibela was charging me $170 USD per night to stay there,
which made sense on Christmas day because of all of the pilgrims in town, but
today it made little sense. The only
flight to Addis I could get is from Bahar Dar, a town that’s about a 5-7 hour
drive away from here, and my research had told me that there are plenty of
private mini-buses that go back and forth between the towns. I had asked the hotel front desk to arrange a
ride for me when I checked in yesterday, but as of this morning he still hadn’t
been able to find me one. I’m honestly not
sure how hard he was looking because he kept telling me I should take the
public bus to there. While I’m always
game for an adventure (and a public bus through rural Ethiopia would certainly
be just that), there are no direct buses between the two towns, and I was
worried about how the transfer between buses would go for me without anyone to
translate. The shared mini-buses are
apparently a thing, but the hotel either couldn’t find one that was leaving in
the evening (which is when I wanted to leave), or they didn’t know who to call
to ask. Anyway, this morning the front
desk clerk passed me off to another hotel employee who apparently is higher up
the food chain to help me arrange for transportation. The cell service in the hotel kept breaking
up, so he and I had to go stand on top of a hill outside the hotel so that he
could get service as he was calling a bunch of people looking to book me a
ride. I had read that hiring a private
car should cost about $150 USD per day and was prepared to pay that much, and
he told me that it was all a matter of negotiation to get to the right
price. The 3 hours that we spent with
him on the phone and me standing next to him giving negotiating directions felt
like a waste of time because we weren’t getting anywhere. People kept quoting him prices of $250 USD
because it’s close to a holiday, but he kept telling me that the surge pricing around
here ends after Christmas Day, so I should be able to get a lower price. Finally we found someone who was willing to
go down as far as $175, but by this point I was tired and hungry and
frustrated, so I dug my heels in and said no deal. All of the public buses leave at 5 am, so my
backup plan was to stay in Lalibela another night and then leave first thing in
the morning to get to Bahar Dar by early afternoon. That would still give me plenty of time to
make my flight at 7 pm. The only problem
is that my hotel is fully booked – they had already sold my room to someone
else, so if I stayed another night I would have to go to a different
hotel. This shouldn’t be an issue,
though, since everyone seemed to have left town after the holiday so I should
be able to find a room. The hotel had 2
rooms they were holding for other guests who hadn’t yet arrived, so they told
me they would keep me posted on whether either of those rooms cancelled.
By this point, it was about 1 pm and I still hadn’t seen the
churches, so the hotel manager said he would keep working on it and in the
meantime I could go see the churches – with the private guide arranged for by
the hotel, of course. The guide was the
same guy who picked me up from the airport yesterday – Gashu – who seemed to be
a pleasant enough fellow. The churches
are all built close to one another, which made it easy to see so many in one
visit. My guide’s English was heavily
accented, so I am not sure I caught everything he was telling me, but I’ll give
it my best shot to record what I learned.
Lesson one: monolith = big-ass rock
The churches were built in the 1100’s by King Lalibela. Lalibela was actually a younger son of the
previous king, but when he was born, a swarm of bees flew around his face and
this signified that he was going to be a great leader. His older step-brother didn’t like this very
much and so he had to leave the country to go into exile. He went to Jerusalem and other parts of the
Holy Land, which would later influence his decision to create a holy city in
Africa. He returned back to Ethiopia and
there the story gets a little murky. The
church’s version is that his step-brother poisoned him, but it didn’t kill
him. Instead he slept for 3 days and
then was resurrected on the 3rd day.
This scared the hell out of his step-brother, who decided it was time to
become a hermit and renounce his throne and all worldly pleasures. Regardless of whether this actually happened
or not, Lalibela returned to Ethiopia and claimed his crown. He spent ~25 years of his 40 year reign
building these churches. Apparently he
had a vision resulting from an attack on a train of pilgrims headed to
Jerusalem and he decided he would build his own holy city so that African
pilgrims could be safer as they journeyed to pray.
St George's - the most famous (and most beautiful) of the Lalibela churches
He bought some land in the mountains from a landowner for a
handful of gold and some oxen, and there he started carving his churches
directly out of the mountain. The most
famous church is also the last one that he built – St. George’s – which is
shaped like a cross. In this one, he
took all of the knowledge he had gained to make a masterpiece.
Of the 7 churches we toured, they all had their own little
quirks and interesting tidbits. Sadly
not all of the details in the churches have been well preserved. There were some frescoes that were badly
deteriorated, and other paintings and pieces of artwork looked dirty and in
need of restoration. St. Mary’s had a
pool of fertility which barren women bathe in on high holidays. My guide swears that it works and that women
who couldn’t conceive before get pregnant shortly after taking a dip 3 times in
this 9 meter deep pool. He pointed out
how all the algae on the surface has been disturbed from all of the dips that
people took yesterday on Christmas. He
notices I don’t take a photo (because it’s basically a hole in the ground with
water and algae) and starts to ask me questions about whether and when I want
to have babies, so I snap a quick photo to shut him up.
After jumping in, you get to have babies, not cholera. Well, maybe a little cholera.
One of the weirder features of one of the churches was an open grave. Apparently 3 pilgrims came to Lalibela sometime in the eighteenth century and asked to be buried there. They qualified as being holy men because they had been baptized in the Jordan River (?), so Lalibela allowed them to be interred there. The problem is that they weren't exactly interred - instead their bodies were just placed in a small cave next to one of the churches. Over the years, people would mess with the bodies, so now they have put a small screen in place to protect them from further molestation. But otherwise they're still open to the world - just three dead guys in a cave.
The screen doesn't cover the entire entry, so it was easy to snap an unobstructed (though admittedly creepy) photo. At least Gashu didn't make me pose with them...
Between two of the churches there was a tunnel, which was
used by the priests to carry sensitive church communications back and
forth. He asks me if I’m willing to walk
through it to get to the other church, and of course I say I’m game. The tunnel is carved directly into the
mountain with barely enough room for me to stand up straight. Like everywhere in the complex, the floor was
not smooth but chiseled roughly and with plenty of edges for me to trip
on. Oh and it was downhill and
slippery. And it was dark. Really dark. Pitch black actually. Gashu reassures me that he knows the way like
the back of his hand, so off we go with him leading and me gripping his
shoulder like a vice. As we are inching
our way through the darkness, he starts singing one of the traditional Coptic
chants that the priests sing during services at the church. The acoustics of the tunnel made it echo
beautifully, but I only wish I hadn’t been so frightened of tripping and
breaking my neck that I could have enjoyed the surreal moment a little bit
more.
All of the churches were rife with ancient symbolism. Apparently Lalibela had traveled around a lot
during his exile, so there were different crosses from the Maltese Cross to the
swastika dotting the buildings. On one
church, there were three crosses carved into the side of it side by side, meant
to represent Jesus and the two thieves.
The one on the right represents the thief who asked Jesus “when you go
to meet your father, think of me?” and as a result there is a window above his
cross that shows he went to heaven. By comparison, the thief on the left has a
window below his cross, so we can all guess where Lalibela thinks he went after
he died.
Sucks to be the guy on the left
One of the churches has the body of Lalibela himself, but it
is in a segment of the church that is not accessible to women. The rest of the church areas were all co-ed,
but apparently this area is not open to women because we are all related to
Mary Magdalene or some bullshit like that.
I get annoyed by sexism but respectfully didn’t enter that chamber. Instead Gashu went in there for me and took
some photos of the reliefs of the 12 apostles that decorate that chamber.
And one of me looking longingly into the chamber that my dirty lady bits prohibit me from entering
Each church had a priest in attendance, and in a few of them
the priest would go behind a curtain to the sanctuary (where tourists aren’t
allowed) and bring back the cross from the altar. Gashu would kiss the cross several times and
the priest would touch the cross to his forehead as a blessing. Gashu asks me if I am a Christian because I
can be blessed as well. I reply yes, but
I’m a Protestant and we don’t do that type of thing. He chuckles but doesn’t push the matter. One of the priests let me take a photo with
him and the cross though – each of the crosses were original to the twelfth
century and beautiful in their intricacy.
Lalibela apparently designed each of them himself (though I’m not sure I
believe that – Gashu may have been making up an answer to my question). Regardless, they’re unique and very
cool. Each cross was laden with
symbolism, ranging from the 4 gospels to the 12 apostles and more.
I'm not sure what conclusions I should draw from the lighting in this photo
We exit the church compound through the original entrance –
essentially a pathway carved into the mountain leading up to an ornate gateway
that represents the tomb of Adam. Throughout the day, Gashu has been volunteering regularly to take my
photo next to the things we were looking at, which was nice. By this point, however, he starts to creep me
out a little bit by saying things like “wow look at you – so beautiful” and
then proceed to take 30 photos of me from the exact same angle with the exact
same stance. As we’re walking out, he
starts to ask me who I live with back home, and I make up a story about a husband. Bullet dodged.
In case I accidentally delete this photo, it's fine because I have 29 more...
I get back to the hotel and am hoping that they would have
found me a ride to Bahar Dar at the price I wanted. There were several other drivers he was
negotiating with, so I was hoping at least one of them was in a compromising
mood. When I get back, the first thing
the guy at the front desk tells me is that one of the reservations cancelled
for the night, so I am welcome to stay there.
When I ask about a car, he says he doesn’t know. UGH. It seems that as soon as they realized they
had a vacancy, they stopped looking for a ride for me because they would rather
take my money than help me get to where I need to go. I have the front desk summon the manager so
that I can tell him I’m willing to take the $175 price. After all, $25 isn’t a lot of money in the grand
scheme of things, and by this point I’m ready to get out of this hotel because
they’re frustrating me.
Before I leave, first I need to get something to eat. All I’ve had today was a granola bar and some
Sprite, which do not a balanced diet make.
I head off to a restaurant recommended by my American friends at dinner
last night, which is perched on the side of a cliff overlooking the valley
below. It’s a really funky building –
with spiral stepped ramps rather than staircases, but it has a quirky charm to
it. I order a few Ethiopian specialties
and read my book as the sun sets over the valley. Lalibela is truly a beautiful place –
bellissima actually – but I am ready to continue my journey elsewhere.
Quirky cliffside dining. Just hope that it doesn't rain...
Finally, the car arrives.
The hotel staff load my stuff into it, and as I am walking toward the
car, another man approaches me. I’ve
seen him around the hotel and guess that he’s a boss of one kind or
another. He says “You’ve caused us some
problems today by leaving early. We had
a room ready for you and now instead that room is going to go empty tonight.” I was stunned. Was this guy really complaining to me that I
wasn’t staying in his hotel tonight? What
did he want me to do – pay him for a room I wasn’t going to use? I then explain to him that the people he
should be upset with is whomever cancelled and left that room open for my use,
since they had told me that they had already sold my room this morning. Apparently he wasn’t aware of how things had
progressed, but he kept pushing back at me and telling me that I was screwing
him over by leaving tonight instead of tomorrow. After some back and forth, he realizes he’s
in the wrong and says “well in that case, have a safe journey.” No apologies, and certainly no self-awareness
that he’s just lost a good review on Trip Advisor by complaining to his
customer about his room utilization rates.
The worst part was when he was telling me he had given me a lower rate because
I originally booked for 2 nights, but I know now (after hanging out at
reception all morning) that people checking in to the hotel today were paying
only $65 a night, and he was going to charge me $150. Sorry buddy, but I’m not sorry that I’m
leaving before you can extort more money out of me. The nerve!
The last adventure of the day is the car ride to Bahar
Dar. The car turns out to be an old,
rickety mini-bus (think like a Volkswagen but not as nice). My driver introduces himself as Aptamu, which
I can only remember because it sounds like the beginning of the word “optometrist.” After we set off, he picks up another guy who
he introduces as his “friend.”
Apparently the two of them will be splitting the driving duties. As we drive out of the town and into the
middle of nowhere, I find myself wondering whether this was indeed the best
decision. Yes, the public bus would be
crowded and dirty and I might get robbed, but riding alone with two men on dirt
roads with no one for miles doesn’t sound much safer. I reassure myself that at least my hotel
knows the guy’s name, so he is unlikely to rape/murder/otherwise assault me and
leave me for dead in the middle of the bush because I could be traced back to
him. I text my mom a few breadcrumbs in
case she needs them and hope for the best.
At first I thought I would be able to sleep on this
drive. After all, I have 4 rows of bench
seating all to myself. I lay down in the
front row for about an hour and am immediately creeped out when Aptamu rubs my
thigh when he talks to me. On the one
hand, it could be an innocent way of getting my attention. On the other, I don’t like it. I don’t like people I KNOW touching me sometimes,
let alone a complete stranger when I’m in a vulnerable position. The first time I let it slide, thinking it
was me being oversensitive. The second
time, I pulled my leg back so he would stop.
After the third time, I was sufficiently creeped out that I moved to the
back row of the bus, far away from Mr. Handsy in the front.
The drive itself was a bit of an adventure as well. The road was EXTREMELY bumpy. In its best condition, it would be a packed
dirt road. In its worst, it was like
off-roading in a 4WD – except we weren’t in a 4WD but an ancient minibus. With every bump and pothole, I was praying
that we wouldn’t blow a tire and be stranded in the middle of the African wilderness. At one point, the road was filled with
constant little bumps, so the driver turned around and joked “See – you get a
free 20 minute massage!” This was before
the leg groping, so I chuckled at his joke.
After that bumpy segment, I realized that nature was calling, and I knew
it couldn’t wait another 4 hours. I
asked the driver to pull over by a clump of trees, and excused myself to take
care of business. Hoping with all my
might that the creepy driver wasn’t looking in my direction, I looked up at the
night sky and saw more stars than I had ever seen in my life. For a brief moment I wanted to stay there and
stargaze, but then realized that was a terrible idea because Mr. Handsy would
probably take it as an invitation of a personal nature. So on we drove.
The drive took about 5.5 hours in total – not bad, given the
state of the roads. When we got to my
hotel in Bahar Dar, I got out 3,500 Ethiopian Birr to pay the driver. He starts arguing with me that we had agreed
to 4,000 (essentially another $25 USD).
At this point we’re standing in a small parking lot next to the hotel, with
the security guard (and his loaded rifle) looking at us with confusion, so I
ask if we can move inside to continue the discussion. Apparently my hotel contact in Lalibela told
him a price of 4,000, when I am positive he told me the lower price. I tell the driver that he should call the
hotel contact so we can resolve the dispute, and quietly grab my suitcases and
move toward the front desk as he looks up the phone number. The driver and his friend accompany me
inside, arguing and yelling at me in Amharic (the local language). The hotel front desk clerk seems surprised by
our rude entry, but after I calmly explain the situation and tell him we need
to contact the hotel in Lalibela to confirm the price, I ask if they would
check me in while we are waiting to get the phone number. The hotel clerk sees where I’m going with
this, and checks me in and brings over a bellman to carry my luggage to my room
with me. Once I get into my room and
have the door locked behind me, there is no way I’m going back downstairs to
settle the dispute with the driver! In
my mind, either 1. He is lying and trying to get more money out of me, or 2. The
hotel contact screwed up and told him the wrong price, which makes him liable
to pay the difference rather than me. I
felt a brief moment of pity for the
driver, if he was losing money on this trip because I know that the extra $25
means a lot more to him than it does to me, but then I remembered the leg
groping, and so the moment passed.
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