Archive for April, 2009
Gondar’s Tresure
Thursday, April 9th, 2009
It there was one church that won my heart in Ethiopia, it was the Debre Birhan Sellassie of Gondar. Stepping into it was like stepping into a children’s biblical storybook. Angels adorn the roof and pillars of this truly divine dwelling, while every single other holy character is depicted on the walls in fading, though still vivid colors.
Its keeper is a frail but tough old monk with an exquisite ability to catch rare sunlight rays in the tiny dimmed room full of saints. He took pride in keeping the key to this treasure, asked for nothing, and appreciatively welcomed our gift – a Russian coin bearing St. George, gently turning it every way possible to better make out the relief in the metal.
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Lake Tana
Wednesday, April 8th, 2009
nun making an ornate collection plate
an old book, in the hands of a monk, from a monastery, on lake Tana
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Shooting Pigeons in Addis
Tuesday, April 7th, 2009
not a minute’s rest. here I am being dragged out in my towel-sarong, right after a shower, to photograph a white-collared pigeon from the staircase of our raggedy hotel
Tags: people
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Lakes, Birds, and Monasteries
Monday, April 6th, 2009
Sometimes it seems like Ethiopia is all lakes, birds, and monasteries. Dirty swimming water and organized religion I can do without, but after seeing a silvery-cheeked hornbill I doubt that I could keep living my life and not become a serious twitcher*. We grabbed a little boat to go around Lake Tana and I even agreed to suffer through an agonizing half-hour wait while the men visited an “no ent ranc for lady” monastery, since there were so many interesting birds around.
Our papers proved themselves useful again when we spotted a man selling lovebirds in a wire cage on the side of the road. I took the birds into the car, gave the man a copy of the letter we got in the Ministry of Tourism, and while the confused poacher tried to make sense of it all, we just told our driver to hit the gas. We released the birds a few kilometers later.
I shouldn’t really knock the monasteries though. Some, the small and true ones, were really charming and held delightful old illustrated books; in their yards were ceremonial bells of all shapes and sizes made from stone, airbombs or car parts.
silvery cheeked hornbill (M)
* twitcher – a bird-watcher who tries to spot as many rare varieties as possible
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Sof Omar
Friday, April 3rd, 2009
Our papers have begun to fail. If there is anyone who can say no to a government stamp, it is a rural bureaucrat who sees in front of him an unmilked faranga. Only when I have begun writing down the name and position of the managing director to the Sof Omar cave we were trying to explore, that all necessary sanctions and free entry authorizations were given and we were let in with a mandatory guide in tow – a teenager in a leather jacket. As soon as we turned the corner our respectable guide began wining. Were we going to give him a tip? How much? A tip, I said, is determined by how well a job is done, and he, our guide, is already not doing a very good job. At that our guide turned to the Shurik and Vova with a pleading whisper “She is an evil woman,” was his reasoning to my logic. We wouldn’t have gotten far with this guy if only our own curiosity didn’t lead us in the path of some lights and wires to a very enthusiastic electrical engineer from Addis installing light fixtures in the cave and who was more than happy to show us around. He asked us to take a few pictures of him and his crew, and then sent them all home so he could give us his undivided attention.
The guide protested and threatened not to show us the way out, but we knew the cave had a through path and we just needed to follow the water. The engineer was up for the adventure, exited to hear all we had to share about the cave’s geology, and proudly showed us marks on the walls allegedly made buy some Russian expedition who was first to map the cave. The guide shuffled on wining and periodically bringing up the issue of his tip and throwing up his hands in despair every time I explained his continues nodging is only refusing the tip’s amount every time he does that.
We climbed every overhang and prodded every niche, found different species of bats and colorless cave dwelling insects. The engineer was blown away by the power of erosion and when we solved for him the mystery of the tiny sprouts on the otherwise lifeless cave ground – bats have “planted” them by bringing the seeds and dropping them to the ground in their guano – his joy knew no end, and our walk through the cave became a great success never mind our sour faced guide who became even more aggravated when in the end of the tour he failed to get away with the flashlight we’ve let him use in the cave.
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Bale Mountains
Thursday, April 2nd, 2009
Just as the little bastard had probably planned it, only a few kilometers later I’ve discovered that the basket of berries he sold me was half full with banana leafs. Cursing aloud but smiling inside I’ve admitted to myself that it was kind of clever and my own fault for not checking.
We were on our way to the Bale Mountains. African scenery is often monotonous and rarely overwhelming with few exceptions like the red dunes of Sossusvlei or Amboseli marshes with Mt. Kilimanjaro in the background. Bale weren’t spectacular either, but there was a certain magic in its forests where nyala bulls hid under the leafy trees on freezing early mornings, and let me get almost close enough to touch. The plateau was almost barren, but we were lucky enough to see about a dozen red Ethiopian wolfs, many birds of pray and enough Starke’s hares to feed them all (when they are fast enough to catch them – which is quite a challenge). We drove through the mountains, tall irregular towers surrounding the plateau covered in worn out velvet, riding as high as the clouds to descend into the tropical forest on the other side. There, we spent hours away from the villages (and villagers) by hiding in its mossy labyrinths with colobus monkeys panicking above our heads and pink sunsets making us even harder to find.
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Back to the Routine
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
I’ve realized I missed the routine of us working together. The perfectly oiled machine of night shooting still works after a two month break – “Eyes!” I aim, but there is not enough light to focus. “Flash ready?” it’s really a rhetorical question, “lights” the sound of the automatic focus, the stabilizer, and the shutter. “Got it. Recharge. Again.” Or the usual organized chaos of finding a reptile: “Snake! Poisonous?” – “We’ll know in a minute” – “ARE YOU MAD?! Don’t touch him! He’s getting away! Can I hold it?”
Though there are lions, they are so few in this park (Nechisar NP) we can go on foot and explore dry river beds – which always have something interesting – on our own. We can’t read the papers Vova got in Addis – they are in Amharic – but they must be magic because one glance at them and all arguments about us taking a guide and a scout were instantly squashed. The campground watchman gushed over the photo of a bush baby we took at night, gave us an armed escort to the hot springs and left the VIPs to splash around and wash dishes. Bravo Vova, couldn’t have done it better myself.
colobus monkey
Nechisar NP and Senkele NR Gallery
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