With limited time, we pushed on. Cruising the winding new tar roads, delaying our arrival with yet more stops for “just one quick picture”. Abruptly we turned off the main road and onto a rural dirt track. A jovial lady walked up to the vehicle and climbed in.
“My name is Berhan, I’m going to be your guide for the next few days, are you ready to walk in the dark?”
20 minutes later, as the sun began to drop in the sky sending incredible rays through the clouds, we began our trek. Like stepping into biblical times, our bags were loaded on a donkey and we made our way through golden wheat fields and through a valley. The sun set and we walked on passing farmhouses, a short cut between two fields. As the twilight began to fade, Berhan turned to us:
“We’re almost there, we just have to climb to the top of this plateau.”
The long drive and slight apprehension at walking somewhere you’d never been in the dark made the climb seem a little harder than it was, but as we came up over the lip of the plateau, sillouetted against the last light of sunset was Erar, a community guest house perched on a cliff.
As we arrived, clouds rolled in and an unusual drizzle threatened. Stumbling around with headlamps we found our rooms, grabbed warm clothes and then headed to the dining room. Dinner was being prepared and we sat in the dark, a small lantern lighting up the room. A couple beers and a bottle of wine were brought out from somewhere and we sat tired but content. Berhan explained to us that there is a series of community guest houses that are a day’s hike between. There are no roads so all supplies are brought in by donkey or carried. Cooks and helpers worked on a rotation so that many people would benefit from the tourists who come through. It felt good to be there.
The next morning we were up as dawn broke, cameras and tripods set up to capture more video footage, then we went in for our first real Ethiopian coffee ceremony. Coffee is served differently in different regions of Ethiopia, some make an infusion of coffee berry husks, others use the leaves. We would experience the Tigrayan ceremony.
As we sat there, eager for our morning coffee, the host brought out some hot coals in a clay stove. She took a handful of green coffee and put it in a special coffee roasting pan, shaking the pan to keep the beans moving and roasting evenly. Soon the smoke and aroma of roasting coffee filled the room, ever stimulating the eagerness for a cup. The coffee was poured into a mortar and pestle and she ground it, occasionally testing its consistency. Soon it is ground enough and she poured the grounds into the clay coffee pot and added water, placing it back on the coals. Within a few minutes coffee spluttered from the spout of the pot and she added a little cold water, repeating this until finally she could pour us our first cup of coffee. Tradition has it that the process was not over, and the pot was refilled with water. Every coffee ceremony must produce three rounds of coffee. Adding to the ceremony, our host quickly grabbed a pan, poured some popcorn kernels into it and held it over the coals to produce the most complete batch of popcorn I’d ever seen.
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| Popcorn and a great smile! |
Soon we were back on the trail, weaving again through the fields. Farmers chased geladas from the grain fields and dogs barked at as we passed homesteads. The walk took us along the edges of cliffs, down into valleys, past ancient churches and I couldn’t help but think that people are living in very much the way that people in the area have for the last two thousand years. The walk was just the right length and we arrived at the next guest house, Shimbrity, ready for some authentic Ethiopian injera and shiro. That afternoon, we took a walk along the edges of the cliffs soaking in the spectacular views.
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| A shepherd herding his sheep. |
During our travel planning stage, we came across this short video, and decided our journey through Ethiopia would not be complete if we did not attempt to visit this church. Having not met one other tourist while on the community trek, we were a little apprehensive as we approached the base of the mountain. Long lines of people were snaking their way up, but our guide quickly explained that the next day was the day of the saint for this church and people had made a pilgrimage. A mass would be conducted in the church for the whole night. We began the hike making way for kids running up in flipflops, the elderly climbing to a sacred Olive tree a third of the way up. Soon after we were asked to remove our shoes, and the rock climbing began. My palms became sweaty and the urge to curl my toes as I faced the rock face. Everyone was helping everyone so we began the climb.
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| An elderly lady makes the pilgrimage. |
“Put your left hand here, put your right foot there now, o.k., now reach here”.
The hundreds of years of people climbing this perilous rock face had left hand and foot holds in all the right places, like an easy route on a rock-gym wall. Soon we were climbing on a path again.
“Are you afraid of heights?” quipped the guide? “A bit late now”, we chuckled as we came up to the penultimate ledge.
The view was spectacular, but with the drop off, I kept well clear. Our timing was perfect and the sun had gone behind some clouds giving us an incredible sky as a backdrop to this breathtaking view.
“O.k. careful now”, said our guide and we began the terrifying last section. A loose log leaned against the rock was the handhold as we scrambled across the natural rock bridge and up the last bit to a 2 foot wide path that led around to the entrance. The priest watched us from a window.
The inside was dark, but our guide quickly lit some wax wiks and the elaborate paintings were revealed. These churches, hidden from view, carved out of the ancient sandstone rock high-up in these mountains were made somewhere during the 5th century. Hidden from marauding militias and crusades, these monolithic churches could not be burned down.
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| The last push. |
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