There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk there. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options, we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
As the days went by we realized we’d been paired with the ideal guide. Mesfin is easy going, a native of Lalibela and a man who has friends everywhere – friends were constantly stopping to shoulder bump him as Ethiopians do. “Dogs are my favorite animal” he announces one day. Why do people eat dog? he asks. A dog could be your best friend and who eats their best friend? Ha. We couldn’t answer that. We drove along listening to Mesfin’s music – much of it Ethiopian and good, with the occasional American country music song thrown in. “I love country music” he says. We brought a good selection of music, including country (Waylon and Willie, the classics) but the incompatibility of iTunes kept us from sharing. I did not offer to sing. No one complained about that.
From Danakil, Lalibela is a good day and a half drive through the mountainous region. And it’s not like you go over one mountain pass and down the other side. We drive through so many mountain ranges I wondered if we would ever get down. Ethiopia has 70 percent of Africa’s highest elevations – the scenery is of endless peaks. Camels are left behind, exchanged for donkeys; 99 percent of the donkeys look exactly alike. As with the camels, the donkeys wander aimlessly about everywhere looking for food and water. How does anyone tell their donkey from their neighbors’? Mesfin tells me that at the end of the day the animals know where home is. OK but only because Mesfin says so.
The rock-hewn churches of Lalibela are indeed the eighth wonder of the world. At first it is confusing – these were carved from granite that covers the ground . . .exactly how? Gradually it becomes more clear – the early buildings were carved from the top down and moats (for lack of a better word) were dug around the planned structure so excess rock could be removed. And now is the time to ask, who planned the structures? Who were the architects of these massive straight-sided buildings? Who were the crew bosses and the crew? Were they slaves or did they receive compensation? Or did they just work for the glory of God and King Lalibela? There had to be plans or drawings or scratches on stone that dictated what happened where and when and by whom. How did the finished crosses, for instance, become perfectly matched on all four corners without some form of direction? My head is spinning. We are told that most of the written history was destroyed in the 15th century. Somewhat like the pyramids, there is a mysterious air here. The rock churches continue to be used for services every day. As long as the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian priests don’t question who is responsible for the great structures, no one else will worry about it. Gotta love a good christian mystery.
The idea of hewing churches underground from stone has been attributed to King Lalibela. He did not want his churches easily destroyed by the many and various warring tribes in this part of the world. If worse came to worse (the Mongol hordes were approaching, for instance, although that never happened) the pious people of the region could bury the churches, hiding them from those hell-bent on mayhem. Looking at the massive area of Saint Georges’ church, I cannot imagine how the people would manage that, especially if they just finished carving the rocks. That would be an insult.
We couldn’t see Ethiopia all in one trip and we certainly couldn’t eat all the injera we were served at every meal. Made from teff grains, injera is acidic, soft and filling, used to scoop up the other foods being served. Back in Kenya, we aren’t craving it. Food-wise and best of all, there was always plenty of great coffee – Ethiopians invented the beverage and during Italian occupation in the world wars, they perfected it. Just one more good reason to revisit Ethiopia.
December 7, 2017 by Ann in Danakil, EthiopiaComments Off on The Colorful Place
In this corner of Ethiopia all the volcanic activity produces hot pots, boiling sulphur water and startlingly colorful pools. Not that a soak in a hot springs is on the agenda; unlike at home serious heat is the norm here and a cool pond would be more welcome. The Danakil is said to be the hottest place on Earth; temperatures regularly reach over 50c – that’s about 122f, if you don’t have Goggle open. November is the “cooler” month; there is a breeze to evaporate sweat, plenty of water to drink, and all in all it is not so uncomfortable for us tourists.
It is in this stifling heat that hominids evolved with a cooling system unique in the animal world and it started with rising up on two legs. Standing up gave us the advantage needed to become the most important mammal species on the planet. We don’t know the details – there’s that pesky 11 million years missing in the fossil record between an arboreal primate and an upright striding hominid – but we do know our cooling system works. Near Danakil in the hellishly hot Harar region Dr. Johanson discovered the famous Lucy fossil, she who stood on her two legs three million+ years ago. Her upright stance kept the sun’s radiation to a minimum and exposed more of her body to the cooling breeze offering her the opportunity to forage in the day’s heat while predators languished in the shade. Subsequent evolutionary adaptations gave us different hair – we have as many hairs as chimpanzee do, but ours are short and fine. They don’t inhibit sweat from reaching the surface where the breeze will cool us. Humans can survive in this cruel landscape but I wouldn’t want to do it naked like Lucy.
In the very early morning light we arrive at the Colorful Place, a fairly recently formed sulphur springs area. Quite small compared to the size of Yellowstone, these pools and yellow/green/orange colored rocks are far more accessible. Or maybe it is just that there is no authority in the area, you are allowed to tramp around and get close. Guards motion people away from known dangers but there are no signs, no barriers and no warnings. Like a lot of Africa, you are responsible for yourself. The morning light is picture perfect and more than one person said “I can’t stop taking photos!” – it is that spectacular. With no preamble the guides lead us to what appears to be another hot pot, bubbles popping up and spreading slowly about the 20ft square pool. But then the guides reach their hands into the pool – how crazy is that! The pool isn’t filled with water, it is full of oil. Magnesium in the rocks mixed with who knows what else has created a pool of warm light oil. It runs nearly clear off our hands; some people fill bottles with it and we rub it on our wind-dried legs. I want to jump in, it is so amazing. I hope we don’t come back here one day and find an expensive spa at this magical pool.
Salt used in laser technologies is mined here using archaic but common techniques. Long camel caravans travel days across the desert carrying blocks of salt carved right from the ground, then they return for more. Salt is mined in likely the most arduous and lowest paying work in the country. Men chop a sizable section from the salt pan using axes then they pry it up using a long beveled pole polished smooth with use. A special tool is used to break up the big section into the correct size block (about five kilograms); blocks are stacked up to be loaded on the camels and on it goes. The men are whippet-thin, wearing sunglasses and colorful socks to protect from the constant exposure to the element. As we are leaving the breeze became a wind and sand begins to fill the air. The relatively comfortable conditions decline rapidly. We were fortunate to have seen this place so easily but the salt miners will stay through any circumstance and as our guide Haile said, they never complain. The camels do, they bawl and honk and spit, but as a beast of burden in this unforgiving place they are unsurpassed.
“We will drive to the volcano today and hike to the top tonight” our guide Mesfin announces in greeting at the Mekele airport. We’ve flown to this northeastern town from Addis Ababa and are off to a running start on our tour. There is a hint of regret that we did not attempt driving here. With all the ground we have covered in the Beagle, what’s one more country to pass through? Still, the language barrier is severe in this vastly different county where Amarhic is spoken more than English, and the alphabet is more akin to Sanskrit than anything else. For many reasons it was a good idea to leave the Beagle at JJ’s in Nairobi and fly into Ethiopia.
Five vehicles and 14 people including guides and drivers make up our group. At the lunch stop Jim and I take time to find a chemist, which involved wandering through rock-strewn alleys following a little boy who knew the way to the chemist storefront. We buy some Panadol – I am definitely feeling trepidation for the four-hour volcano hike. In a windblown sandy town we pick up a camel driver and a guard. It takes 1.5 hours to do the final 15 kilometers. Deep sand and sharp lava rocks pave the way and in the distance we can see the glow of Erta Ale. I imagine everyone is thinking of “The Lord of the Rings” and Frodo’s trek to Mount Doom. I know I am.
Volcano base camp finally looms in front of us in the dusk. We are set up with a kitchen staff and a couple of guides who show us the routine – first we eat, they say, then we hike. Dark falls like a blanket holding in the heat. The camel who will carry our sleeping gear is loaded, much to his dissatisfaction – he bawls throughout the process. Our guard is a tiny Afar man who might weigh more than his gun, but only just. The trek begins on flat desert ground and we wind our way along, stopping twice to rest. The cup of heavily sugared coffee I drank for dinner is serving its purpose. At first it is exhilarating to be in the desert in darkness but after a couple of hours it is simply a trudge, and well past our bedtime. Shadows created by my headlamp become surreal. No one speaks much. At last we arrive to the rim of the caldera, weaving around with fatigue in the darkness. It is still another few minutes to the very edge of the volcano; dropping packs and readying cameras energizes everyone. We climb down a cliff toward the glow.
Erta Ale is one of a handful of places where one can (somewhat safely) stand and look down into an active volcano’s lava lake. That is, until this past January. Unpredictably and witnessed by a group of tourists a vent exploded a few kilometers from Erta blasting lava and debris into the night sky. The roiling magma that had filled Erta’s crater to the rim was sucked out through a fissure, exiting into this new vent. Everything changed instantly. Looking into the crater now reveals magma flowing east to west, pouring down into a cauldron of fire but it is not close to the rim. Wind moves the magma and it rises like the sea, dashing onto rocks and flying into the air. Glowing red, magenta, orange and black, it is still mesmerizing. Two hours later we climb back to the sleeping camp where guides have laid our foam pads on the ground. I drop onto mine wearing the clothes I’ve been in for two days and I don’t remember anything else.
Sunrise on Erta AleAfar Tribesman guardSalt minerthe amazing oil lake in DanakilBase camp at the volcanoSmileA typical bed on the salton lake we swam in
The climb out of the caldera
Jim and Jonas, one of the 14 people we met while on the tourThe camel and his small herder hauling our gear downThe edge of the volcano in daylightThe colorful place in DanakilOne of the hot potsThe coffee ceremony in the house where we all crashed on the floorOne of the guides rooms at base camp
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
s went by we realized we’d been paired with the ideal guide. Mesfin is easy going, a native of Lalibela and a man who has friends everywhere – friends were constantly stopping to shoulder bump him as Ethiopians do. “Dogs are my favorite animal” he announces one day. Why do people eat dog? he asks. A dog could be your best friend and who eats their best friend? Ha. We couldn’t answer that. We drove along listening to Mesfin’s music – much of it Ethiopian and good, with the occasional American country music song thrown in. “I love country music” he says. We brought a good selection of music, including country (Waylon and Willie, the classics) but the incompatibility of iTunes kept us from sharing. I did not offer to sing. No one complained about that.
From Danakil, Lalibela is a good day and a half drive through the mountainous region. And it’s not like you go over one mountain pass and down the other side. We drive through so many mountain ranges I wondered if we would ever get down. Ethiopia has 70 percent of Africa’s highest elevations – the scenery is of endless peaks. Camels are left behind, exchanged for donkeys; 99 percent of the donkeys look exactly alike. As with the camels, the donkeys wander aimlessly about everywhere looking for food and water. How does anyone tell their donkey from their neighbors’? Mesfin tells me that at the end of the day the animals know where home is. OK but only because Mesfin says so.
confusing – these were carved from granite that covers the ground . . .exactly how? Gradually it becomes more clear – the early buildings were carved from the top down and moats (for lack of a better word) were dug around the planned structure so excess rock could be removed. And now is the time to ask, who planned the structures? Who were the architects of these massive straight-sided buildings? Who were the crew bosses and the crew? Were they slaves or did they receive compensation? Or did they just work for the glory of God and King Lalibela? There had to be plans or drawings or scratches on stone that dictated what happened where and when and by whom. How did the finished crosses, for instance, become perfectly matched on all four corners without some form of direction? My head is spinning. We are told that most of the written history was destroyed in the 15th century. Somewhat like 
the pyramids, there is a mysterious air here. The rock churches continue to be used for services every day. As long as the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian priests don’t question who is responsible for the great structures, no one else will worry about it. Gotta love a good christian mystery.
Looking at the massive area of Saint Georges’ church, I cannot imagine how the people would manage that, especially if they just finished carving the rocks. That would be an insult.
thiopia all the volcanic activity produces hot pots, boiling sulphur water and startlingly colorful pools. Not that a soak in a hot springs is on the agenda; unlike at home serious heat is the norm here and a cool pond would be more welcome. The Danakil is said to be the hottest place on Earth; temperatures regularly reach over 50c – that’s about 122f, if you don’t have Goggle open. November is the “cooler” month; there is a breeze to evaporate sweat, plenty of water to drink, and all in all it is not so uncomfortable for us tourists.
world and it started with rising up on two legs. Standing up gave us the advantage needed to become the most important mammal species on the planet. We don’t know the details – there’s that pesky 11 million years missing in the fossil record between an arboreal primate and an upright striding hominid – but we do know our cooling system works. Near Danakil in the hellishly hot Harar region Dr. Johanson discovered the famous Lucy fossil, she who stood on her two legs three million+ years ago. Her upright stance kept the sun’s radiation to a minimum and exposed more of her body to the cooling breeze offering her the opportunity to forage in the day’s heat while predators languished in the shade. Subsequent evolutionary adaptations gave us different hair – we have as many hairs as chimpanzee do, but ours are short and fine. They don’t inhibit sw
eat from reaching the surface where the breeze will cool us. Humans can survive in this cruel landscape but I wouldn’t want to do it naked like Lucy.
ith no preamble the guides lead us to what appears to be another hot pot, bubbles popping up and spreading slowly about the 20ft square pool. But then the guides reach their hands into the pool – how crazy is that! The pool isn’t filled with water, it is full of oil. Magnesium in the rocks mixed with who knows what else has created a pool of warm light oil. It runs nearly clear off our hands; some people fill bottles with it and we rub it on our wind-dried legs. I want to jump in, it is so amazing. I hope we don’t come back here one day and find an expensive spa at this magical pool.
caravans travel days across the desert carrying blocks of salt carved right from the ground, then they return for more. Salt is mined in likely the most arduous and lowest paying work in the country. Men chop a sizable section from the salt pan using axes then they pry it up using a long beveled pole polished smooth with use. A special tool is used to break up the big section into the correct size block (about five kilograms); blocks are stacked up to be loaded on the camels and on it goes. The men are whippet-thin, wearing sunglasses and colorful socks to protect from the constant exposure to the element. As we are leaving the breeze became a wind and sand begins to fill the air. The 
relatively comfortable conditions decline rapidly. We were fortunate to have seen this place so easily but the salt miners will stay through any circumstance and as our guide Haile said, they never complain. The camels do, they bawl and honk and spit, but as a beast of burden in this unforgiving place they are unsurpassed.
“We will drive to the volcano today and hike to the top tonight” our guide Mesfin announces in greeting at the Mekele airport. We’ve flown to this northeastern town from Addis Ababa and are off to a running start on our tour. There is a hint of regret that we did not attempt driving here. With all the ground we have covered in the Beagle, what’s one more country to pass through? Still, the language barrier is severe in this vastly different county where Amarhic is spoken more than English, and the alphabet is more akin to Sanskrit than anything else. For many reasons it was a good idea to leave the Beagle at JJ’s in Nairobi and fly into Ethiopia.
and I take time to find a chemist, which involved wandering through rock-strewn alleys following a little boy who knew the way to the chemist storefront. We buy some Panadol – I am definitely feeling trepidation for the four-hour volcano hike. In a windblown sandy town we pick up a camel driver and a guard. It takes 1.5 hours to do the final 15 kilometers. Deep sand and sharp lava rocks pave the way and in the distance we can see the glow of Erta Ale. I imagine everyone is thinking of “The Lord of the Rings” and Frodo’s trek to Mount Doom. I know I am.
just. The trek begins on flat desert ground and we wind our way along, stopping twice to rest. The cup of heavily sugared coffee I drank for dinner is serving its purpose. At first it is exhilarating to be in the desert in darkness but after a couple of hours it is simply a trudge, and well past our bedtime. Shadows created by my headlamp become surreal. No one speaks much. At last we arrive to the rim of the caldera, weaving around with fatigue in the darkness. It is still another few minutes to the very edge of the volcano; dropping packs and readying cameras energizes everyone. We climb down a cliff toward the glow.
e, exiting into this new vent. Everything changed instantly. Looking into the crater now reveals magma flowing east to west, pouring down into a cauldron of fire but it is not close to the rim. Wind moves the magma and it rises like the sea, dashing onto rocks and flying into the air. Glowing red, magenta, orange and black, it is still mesmerizing. Two hours later we climb back to the sleeping camp where guides have laid our foam pads on the ground. I drop onto mine wearing the clothes I’ve been in for two days and I don’t remember anything else.
Recent Comments