It isn't even noon as I write this; I
returned from my excursion in time for breakfast. The day is just
beginning for most people, but I already feel like most of one has
elapsed.
At six in the morning, I met my guide
and my ride. It looked like I was being offered a choice of mules,
but when I tried to go with the pretty black one I was strongly
advised toward the other. For probably the only time that day, I
swung myself up in the saddle with little assistance. I was headed
for Asheton Mariam, the church of St. Mary, which is nestled up a
mountain.
The High Road
For this tourist attraction, the
journey may be your greatest reward. Personally, I like it better
that way; it seems more symbolic of life itself. In this case, as I
understand the legend, King Lalibela worked on St. Mary's after
returning from Jerusalem; at some point, he experienced visions which
strongly suggested he build the other eleven churches which are found
within walking distance of the city today.
As I understand it, he would later on
get another vision from St. George asking him why there wasn't a St.
George's church yet, and so that one would come last. Don't quote me
on legends, though; I have been bombarded with so much information
that I will probably mix up a few facts in the retelling.
Anyway, this was my first time riding a
mule and also the closest thing to a low-tech summit hike I have ever
experienced. I was a martial artist, once, but the sections where I
had to dismount the mule and hike up a gradient were effective
reminders of how far I am from that black belt physique.
The hike affords beautiful shots,
probably better than what I managed to get. Be warned: the path can
have loose stones and gravel. I reminded the guide to be careful,
since he spent most of the time carrying the camera. I was more
likely to slip; he was more experienced and had better shoes.
Oh, and the shoes I bought for this
trip? Terrible for absolutely everything I have done in Ethiopia;
they're not even ideal as city shoes. The worst mishap wasn't even on
the mountain, rather, as I approached the hotel I nearly twisted my
ankle on an uneven paving stone.
The only worse common footwear for the
purpose that I can imagine are platform shoes and high heels, neither
of which are my thing. There are no guard rails anywhere and the path
gets narrow; rock face on one side, steep incline on the other. Even
though you would pack better footwear for the trip, tread slowly and
carefully here. You will pass by great views, but decide quickly:
stop and frame the shot or return your focus entirely to negotiating
the path. If you're like me, it's a huge risk to juggle both thought
processes at once.
You will also pass by a couple of sites
where holy water is kept in the open. I appreciated the availability
but packed a bottle of clean water. My guide was only too happy to
take a drink.
After all that, the size or grandeur of
the church mattered little. I felt accomplished for having made it up
and feeling like I could survive the trip back down. The endorphins
naturally produced by the human brain after strenuous exercise
probably helped this perception a great deal.
The keeper of the church accepted the
entrance fee and I climbed the last few steps toward the destination.
The church overlooking Lalibela
This was the first church I visited
where I dared use flash photography, but only at the specific times
where the guide instructed that this was acceptable. I had access to
one room containing a carved art work of Jesus on the cross and some
other paintings, and if it weren't for flash I would not have gotten
any of that. There is no artificial lighting in the room and the bit
of daylight coming through the open door is not often enough.
A monk showed me some examples of
centuries-old handwritten scripture (likely in Ge'ez, an ancient
language from which Amharic and a couple others are derived, which
only gets used today for religious purposes) and book-sized
paintings, and I was not allowed to use flash for any of these.
Either I was able to get the shutter speed down to 1/8, rely on the
little light coming through the door and the image stabilization of
the lens and the steadiness of my hands, or I had to give up on the
picture. I managed to get a fair deal of photos where the subject is
somewhat recognizable.
After that display, it was time to
descend. While the ascent had left me panting after mule-free
sections of path, the challenge of the descent was more cerebral.
Gravity would help me get down, but I had to control the degree of
its assistance; carefully choose stepping stones and whatnot. The
guide let me borrow his cane because he had an easier time
negotiating the path.
I paid the mule man when we parted
ways; a third member of the party, he led the mule along and watched
over the beast when I was not riding. The minimum fee is 150ETB, but
it is customary to add some form of tip; I offered him 100 more and
said my parents sent kind regards for the work he did to keep me
safe.
That was not the only tip I left on the
day. My guide was the aforementioned (in another post) Grade 7, and I
had intended all along to pay him more than the cut-rate he asked as
a guide fee. After all, he provided a service arranging the mule ride
and helped to keep me safe there and back; he never asked for a free
lunch, and things are so alarmingly inexpensive here. For most of the
descent he revisited his back rent problems; given what I know of the
exchange rate and given my income, a pittance. Easily the sum total
cost of pricey hotel meals I had skipped earlier in the trip due to
an upset stomach, or what I didn't spend in lottery tickets while
outside of Canada.
It's nothing unique to this situation.
Every guide I have had anywhere has been trying to network with me to
better their situation, because that's how fragile life can get. The
shoe carrier in Lalibela wanted my e-mail address so we could trade
messages for "moral support". The first guide who did all
my planning from the first day in Gondar until the second day in
Lalibela was trying to arrange something where I would buy up
second-hand laptops and mail them to him for resale, as a business
venture.
Being a fairly private person, and
being a bit intimidated by how rapidly complete strangers were trying
to make friends (the Grade 7 has called me "my best friend"
after only a few days; my actual best friend has green hair and lives
in Toronto) I have done my best to make sure nobody gets my phone
number (aside from bank staff who require it to advance cash off my
credit card) or e-mail address. I found artful ways to avoid having
to call the first guide, because if I did, he would have a Call
Received record of my number.
When we got close to the hotel, we
stopped and he shined my boots. I solved his back rent problem,
making him a lucky man. He said God smiles on people who do such
things, but I hope his God offers him more of a smile; I'm doing fine
in life and shouldn't hoard all the blessings. Apart from anything I
do this evening, I will never see the Grade 7 again.
The flight boards at 11AM tomorrow. The
camera battery was used up after the first full day in Lalibela, but
this is why I packed a fully charged spare. The budget for the trip
was top-heavy by design, most of it being spent in the earlygoings
with all sorts of attractions; I don't see nearly as many ETB being
spent or pictures taken in the last three full days.
An unusual electrical rainstorm swept
across Lalibela on the evening of the 20th. It cooled
things down a great deal and helped me to a great sleep.
D. Madeley
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