Riding the Roof of Africa (One Struggle at a Time)
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| Photo by Ernest Markwood |
012 ETHIOPIA
716
Kilometres – 15 Days
9
November 2007 – 30 November 2007
MAP
PHOTOS
FLIP-BOOK
PDF
VOICEOVER
Prelude – Ethiopia
Some journeys begin with careful
planning. Others, like this one, begin with a fresh passport, a slightly
questionable level of fitness, and a vague sense that things will probably work
out.
Ethiopia, however, has never been
particularly interested in anyone’s expectations. It keeps its own time
(starting at sunrise), follows its own calendar (happily celebrating the year
2000 while the rest of the world moves on), and presents its landscapes in one
consistent format: uphill.
I arrived knowing what lay ahead—or
at least, thinking I did. The altitude would bite, the hills would test my
resolve, and injera would feature heavily in my daily diet. What I had
conveniently forgotten was how unpredictable everything else would be: the
humour, the challenges, and the strange, unforgettable rhythm of the road.
So, with Ernest by my side and Sudan
somewhere in the distance, we set off once more—northward into a country that
doesn’t ease you in gently, but rewards you all the same.
After all, it was only 716
kilometres.
How difficult could it really be?
Cape Town, South
Africa to Addis Ababa,
Ethiopia (2400 m asl)
My return to South Africa from Amman,
Jordan, was prompted by a rather urgent and unglamorous reason: I desperately
needed a new passport. Nothing says “world traveller” quite like running out of
pages. To my surprise, Ernest also showed up in Cape Town—but unlike me, he had
abandoned most of his belongings in Addis Ababa. Priorities clearly differ.
After a solid month of eating, drinking,
and reacquainting myself with both friends and my waistband, I proudly
collected my shiny maxi passport—more pages, more possibilities, and
slightly more responsibility not to lose it.
Following some enthusiastic (and
possibly overcaffeinated) discussions, Ernest and I decided to reunite forces
and head to Addis Ababa. I was thrilled. Ethiopia has it all: history, mystery,
altitude—and marathon runners who make the rest of us look like we’re standing
still.
This is a country where the Ethiopian
Orthodox Church claims to guard the Ark of the Covenant (no big deal), where
Lalibela’s rock-hewn churches were apparently carved by angels working
overnight (impressive turnaround time), and where Emperor Haile Selassie is
revered by Rastafarians worldwide—making Ethiopia a sort of spiritual
headquarters for Bob Marley fans.
And then there’s the food.
Injera—Ethiopia’s beloved sourdough pancake—serves as both plate and
cutlery. Tear a piece, scoop your stew, and voilà—minimal washing up. It’s
genius. It’s also slightly dangerous when you realise you’ve eaten your plate.
We spent a week exploring Addis,
including a visit to Lucy—the 3.2-million-year-old fossil who, at 1.1 meters
tall, clearly skipped leg day. Most of our time, however, was spent on the thrilling adventure of visa applications. Hours melted away as we
navigated Ethiopian time (which starts at sunrise—because why not?) and a
calendar that runs gloriously out of sync with the rest of the planet. While
the world was in 2007, Ethiopia was joyfully celebrating the year 2000—complete
with lights and festivities. Honestly, they might be onto something.
To top it off, I bumped into Wondey, one
of the 2005 Tour d’Afrique guides. Because apparently, the world is just a very
small, dusty village.
A Humbling Start (And Unexpected Hills)
After seven days of “preparation” (and
by preparation, I mean eating), we finally got on our bikes. What should’ve
been a short 80-km ride to Muka felt like an Olympic event. Either Addis got
hillier while I was away, or my fitness had quietly slipped out the back door.
The countryside, however, was
spectacular—lush greens and golden fields, dotted with farmers still ploughing
with oxen like it’s the 1800s (because in many ways, it is).
Eighty kilometres later, I arrived in
Muka—exhausted, humbled, and questioning my life choices.
Short Ride, Long Complaints
At a lofty 2,780 metres above sea level,
Fiche wasn’t far, but my backside staged a formal protest. A short ride was
declared necessary for survival.
The locals were fascinated by us,
particularly the children, who greeted us enthusiastically with, “You! You!
Give money!”—followed, if ignored, by a small but effective rain of stones. Not
malicious, just... persistent marketing. And impressively accurate. Olympic
potential, these kids.
Into the Blue Nile Gorge
A scenic but hilly ride led us to the
Blue Nile Gorge—an absolutely stunning sight. Vast, dramatic, and exactly the
kind of place that makes you forget how much your legs hurt for about three
seconds.
The Blue Nile, one of the Nile’s two
main tributaries, begins at Lake Tana in Ethiopia. The White Nile begins…
somewhere. No one seems entirely sure, which is oddly comforting.
That night, we camped on the rim of the
gorge, admiring one of the most incredible landscapes in Ethiopia—and possibly
wondering why humans ever thought cycling through mountains was a good idea.
Down Easy, Up the Hard Way
The descent into the gorge—1,500
meters—was surprisingly manageable, thanks to some paving. A rare gift! The
climb out, however, was a different story: steep, gravelly, with major roadworks.
Having cycled this stretch before, I
opted for a truck ride. Ernest, fuelled by determination (and questionable
judgment), chose to cycle.
In Debra Markos, we treated ourselves to
market goods—beans, potatoes, onions—and Ernest whipped up a stew. A welcome
break from our near-exclusive diet of injera.
Local history added humour: when the
Italians arrived in 1936, they announced they’d come to free the locals from
their oppressors. The locals, confused, reportedly asked, “Which oppressors?”
Awkward.
Rolling Roads and Dollar Luxury
Rolling hills led us to Finote Selam,
where a room with a hot shower cost just over a dollar. Luxury!
Vegetables were scarce, but bananas and
oranges were plentiful. You take what you can get.
Ethiopia continued to impress—an ancient
country that largely avoided colonisation, with a fascinating language
(Amharic) that looks as complex as it sounds. Place names, unfortunately, come
in multiple spellings, ensuring perpetual confusion for travellers trying to
read maps.
History, and Regrettable Meals
A pleasant ride—punctuated by the usual
“Where you go?” followed by increasingly ambitious requests: money, clothes,
occasionally even the bicycle.
Dangla, a modest town, once played a
role in the African slave trade. History hides in the most unexpected places.
Dinner was firfir—fried injera in spicy
sauce. Delicious at the time. Regrettable later.
When the Body Says No
This ride was... character-building. The
kind that makes you question everything.
I eventually staggered into Bahir Dar, a
surprisingly pleasant lakeside town. There were actual hotels! Restaurants!
Civilization!
I splurged on a bed instead of
camping—because pitching a tent felt like summiting Everest. Unfortunately, I
was unwell and missed out on exploring Lake Tana’s monasteries and the Blue
Nile Falls. A bitter disappointment. Still feeling unwell, an
additional day was spent in Bahir Dar. Little did I know that whatever I'd
contracted would linger an awfully long time.
Flat Roads and Fragile Stomachs
The route to Addis Zena led along Lake
Tana and was mercifully flat. Finally.
Addis
Zena provided stunning views of the foothills of the Simien Mountains. That
evening, Ernest made spaghetti—a welcome break from Ethiopian cuisine while my
stomach negotiated a truce. We ate our food while admiring Mount Asaba,
Addis Zena's famous landmark.
The Castles of Gondar
The ride to Gondar delivered spectacular
scenery. Gondar itself was a treasure—once Ethiopia’s capital and filled with
castles.
The walled Fasil Ghebbi fortress is a vast complex of
forts and palaces measuring 70,000 square metres. It contains numerous restored
castles and other buildings and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
However, the main attraction remained the immense 17th-century castle of
Emperor Fasilides, which featured a surprising mixture of architectural styles and, frankly, made
your average castle look a bit lazy.
Ernest pedalled ahead, but I stayed back
to explore, as this was my second visit to Gonder and I didn’t want to race
through it like the first time. Priorities.
I visited Debre Berhan Selassie Church
and wandered the markets. Schoolchildren greeted me with cheerful cries of
“Good morning, teacher!”—a title I was definitely not qualified for.
Gondar to Metema (by bus)
The bus journey was an adventure in
itself. Fees were charged for loading the bike, unloading it, and presumably
thinking about it.
The seats were so hard that I arrived more
uncomfortable than if I’d cycled. Impressive.
Metema, a border town, was dusty and chaotic,
with “rustic” accommodation—a mud hut with a sagging bed and electricity that
came and went as it pleased.
Ernest arrived looking like he’d
wrestled a dust storm—and lost.
We upgraded to a slightly better room
(emphasis on slightly) and enjoyed our last beer before entering Sudan,
where alcohol was strictly forbidden. No surprises, then, that the border town
had plenty of pubs.
Cross the border from Ethiopia
to Sudan (88 km)
We crossed the border into Sudan via
what can only be described as a mud hut masquerading as an immigration office.
Sudan greeted us with heat, wind, and a
sharp cultural shift. Cycling was tough, and we barely made it to the tiny
village of Doka.
We camped near a police checkpoint—not
ideal, but it had water, which in this environment is more valuable than
comfort.
As I lay in my tent that night, I couldn’t help but smile. Cycling through Sudan—again—was never part of the original plan. But here I was again!
Epilogue – Leaving Ethiopia (and a
Few Illusions Behind)
By the time we reached the border at
Metema, Ethiopia had done what it always seems to do—left me equal parts
exhausted, amused, and quietly in awe.
It wasn’t just the kilometres, though there were plenty of those. Nor was it the hills, which seemed endless at the time and somehow steeper in memory. It was the accumulation of small moments: the children calling out from dusty roadsides, the constant negotiation between expectation and reality, the laughter that somehow finds its way in even when things aren’t going entirely to plan.
But if you keep moving forward—sometimes slowly, sometimes with great reluctance—you eventually find yourself exactly where you’re meant to be.
