"My horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse."

Julie predicted rain for the last few weeks.  She wasn't sure when the clouds would split but they were fated do so. The humidity was high, the pressure was erratic, and the temperature moved between fifteen and thirty-five Celsius. The downpour came the night at the start of this five-day storm. We were on our way to Sharjah's Heritage Area, a several-block district where the city had preserved some of the cities most representative houses from the 19th century. Artists and performers from the Arab world (and beyond) converged in the Heritage area and around the city for the Ninth Biennial.  Sharjah's leader, His Highness Dr. Sheikh Sultan bin Mohammed Al Qasimi, initiated the Biennial in 1993 to facilitate dialogue between  Arab artists and institutions to create a broader reception of their artwork throughout the Arab world. The weather failed to cooperate with the Biennial's lofty goals.  The downpour forced the the organizers to cancel the play. 

The play was not canceled until an hour after it was scheduled to begin.  Driving downtown, lightning flashed above the Gulf. I still predicted that we would just have a lightning show to go along with the play. I was wrong.  Right after we approached Government Square the clouds opened and the downpour began. The rainy day stories about Sharjah mention how the roads can't handle any rain and that they flood with even the smallest drizzling. With only a few days of rain a year, its not worth the emirate's resources to retro-fit a drainage system. I never knew the extent of the flooding until that night. Puddles ran into the sidewalks. People jutted across the under-lit street to find a dry place.  Cars raced the same as if it wasn't pouring.

We parked and took advantage of the short break in the rain to get our tickets for Richard III: An Arab Tragedy. It was supposed to be performed in the courtyard of the 1854 Bait al Naboodah. Most events in the UAE are scheduled outside. The only event I'd heard of being cancelled was a concert inundated by a remorseless dust storm. After waiting in a nearby souq for half an hour we found out the play was cancelled. Luckily, we both still enjoyed visiting the Heritage Area, an area that felt unlike any other place I'd been to in Sharjah or Dubai.  The buildings exhibited the trademarks of the area's traditional architecture. The wall's fossilized coral base was filled and plastered for a smooth finish. The roofs were made from tightly woven reeds that leaked under the rainfall. Narrow passageways ran between houses and souqs until they intercepted open courtyards. Several adans harmonized their call to prayer, concomitantly announcing their presence in historical Sharjah. Leaving this anachronism behind for another day, we made our way home, stopping for mint lemonade from Emirates Flower. We could only hope that the crew and cast would remain in Sharjah for a Thursday night performance. 

Midday through parent-teacher meetings, I got a hold of the Biennial's office and found that there would be an additional show that night at the Theatre Association to prevent any chance from getting rained out. Julie and I arrived early. I forgot the tickets in the car but a theatre-going British man from the night before established our credibility and said that we were at the show the night before. We waited in the courtyard for forty-five minutes as the organizers hoped more people would trickle in. They didn't. The thirty of us then moved into the humid black box theatre with two idiosyncrasies: the traditional reed ceiling and the TV above the stage to translate the play into English. Sulayman al-Bassam, the director, gave a slight introduction of his rendition of Richard III. 

The play was set in an archetypical oil-rich Arab nation amidst power struggles and feuding family rivalries. The director seemed to strike the right balance of twisting traditional Shakespeare. The Shakespearean names remained the same while the costumes were now candoras and keffiyehs, abayas and hijabs. Lines from the original play were interposed with Qur'anic verses, Arabic poetry and political commentary. The lead musician was supported by his Apple computed and four Arab men playing kawala (a traditional flute), bendir (a snare-like drum), daf (like a tambourine), buzuq (lute). These shifts created an odd feel that the play itself took place in neither the past or the present. Yet, its political commentary and message remained relevant.

The cast remained on the small stage for most of the five acts.  Costumes were changed on the fly on stage or in the wings. Fayez Kazak, the actor playing Richard III, played the manipulative, tyrannical, and Machiavellian part perfectly. The sweat that saturated his stringy hair only enhanced his character's madness as he exploited family tensions and secrets throughout the play. The rest of the cast followed his pursuits as they deceived, exploited, and seduced each other. Shakespeare's drama was interrupted by .  The most explicit contemporary came when the Minster of State (played by al-Bassam) asked how King Richard would get away with his tyranny. The answer comes explicitly in English when the Minister answers "cooperating with the War on Terror." Richard III's end comes not in a battle on the English countryside but with the sounds of American troops crossing the country's barren desert oil fields.  His demise is precluded by the notorious line, "Mr horse, my horse, my kingdom for a horse." 

After the abrupt ending, the small audience filed out of this theatrical world back into Sharjah, a city with the reputation for being the conservative and backwards older brother to Dubai's forward-looking and visionary  younger brother. Such small pockets of open dissent--no matter who the actual or intended audience--speak of realities that challenge Sharjah's undeserved reputation. The fact that Sharjah hosts the Biennial, an undertaking with the goal of bridging between cultures, societies, and times, indicates the emirate's openness not only to artistic expression but where it may lead. Overall, I reveled in the opportunity to see a play performed all over the world in an intimate atmosphere, a Shakespearean story rendered to the present to elucidate the realities of the modern Arab nation, the night after the show had been rained out in the desert.

Indiana and Lawrence

The satellite dishes stared ceremoniously towards the sky.  The storm clouds circled the city, trapped inside the mountains.  Yesterday's taxi driver had warned us about rain in the south.  As Julie stuffed her raincoat into my backpack, I recalled forgoing my raincoat, thinking it never rains in the desert.  All packed, we began our trip down the hill.  The aroma from a nearby bakery put our walk on hiatus.  The bakery's walls were lined with an array of sweets: honey-drenched pastries on trays on the right, rolling racks with roles in the middle, and a machine that rained down khobz (unleavened bread) in the left corner.  Dodging the bombardment, the bakers weighed, bagged, and sold this miracle bread on the spot.  After a few minutes of admiration, we continued down the road to the visitor's center with our honey-sugar role and bread in hand.

Into the Siq, the rock walls rose on either side of us.  The small groups and couples didn't distract from the rock patterns, formations, and carvings.  Unlike many of the canyons in Utah, these rocks were split by an earthquake.  Drainage canals, a paved road, and rock carvings were then incorporated.  These ruminants of human development accompanied the natural decor, a timeless accessory to the rustic rocks.  One side of the ravine ran the gamut of the sandstone spectrum: beige, cream, rose, and blood orange.  These shades contrasted with the streaks of black that permeated the opposite rock face, filling any cracks and crevices in the rocks.

Up ahead, the few groups began to pause for pictures.  The most famous site of Petra peaked out from a bend in the textured sandstone walls.  The passageway opened to the well known rock-courtyard of the Treasury.  The legendary rock tower seemed untouched since its "Raiders of the Lost Ark" days.  

That was at least the thought as we admired the architecture with a dozen other people.  

That afternoon the site was transformed from this tranquil scene to a circus.  Lines of camels awaited riders, mule-drawn carts raced people in and out, groups shouted, and the restaurant was packed with tourists drinking over-priced Coca-Cola.  Although this hubris seemed somehow unnecessary, it was hard to dismiss the circus as a mere masquerade.  The Treasury's size and grandeur remains uncaptured by any image I have ever seen of it.  Additionally, like the rest of the monuments in the ancient city, it didn't stand out of its surroundings but dissolved into them, maintaining its reputation as one of the architectural wonders of the world. 

The remainder of the day was filled with donkey's braying, craftsmen peddling Bedouin silver, men singing Indiana Jones on donkeys, and a growing number of people filling this valley of ancient monuments.  We climbed through royal tombs, a Romanesque amphitheater, the Great Temple (of which Brown University was proud to declare their excavation work), a Byzantine church, and the Monastery.  The sheer variety of the sites amazed us.  

Within the period of ten minutes, we saw mosaics depicting the Kingdom of Heaven, stone carvings of Egyptian deities, and a Hellenistic temple, all showing the diversity of influences on the Nabataeans.  The expanse of the city also surprised Julie and I.  Whereas the Lalibela churches were carved out in a small site, the main city streched for miles (and this didn't even include the additional sites within half a day's hike).

  

As the crowds grew, we felt that one day was sufficient for what we hoped to see.  This influx also caused stress on the few toilets in the park.  The sceptic system on one toilet started to overflow.  One woman was quick to complain: "Where am I supposed to go?"  The snappy bathroom attendant put the woman in her place, answering, "In a cave, behind a bush, by that rock.  Anywhere."  With the turmoil growing, we followed an ungainly camel with the habit of bumping into oblivious amateur photographers.

  

Leaving the camel at the Treasury's circus, we followed the Ben Hur chariots race up the Siq to the visitor's center.  

Our day ended as it had begun, at the Sanabel Bakery before having falafel for dinner.

To finalize our triumvirate, we began the next day at the bakery.  We were then picked up by Saleh who was to take us to Wadi Rum.  He raced out of the valley as if he could complete the drive both blind and blindfolded.  He would cross both lanes on blind curves where he "knew" no cars would be.  He used a scenic lookout for a shortcut.  He stopped at the pass to announce one of King Abdullah II's mansions.  The king has the perfect location for his house, overlooking the Edomite mountains surrounding Petra.  Even on this rainy morning, the valley was dry and foreboding.  This terrain only intensified as we neared Wadi Rum.  The sand redened, the cliff faces grew taller, and more camels crowded the landscape.  In Rum Village, we met Mohammed, our tour organizer.  Chain-smoking with a lanky build and greased-back hair, he was everything and nothing you'd expect from a Bedouin-turned-businessman.  He was a rock-climber who had travelled all over the Mediterranean in between organizing trips into the desert.

The Jordanian government has developed a sustainable and profitable business around tourists fulfilling their Lawrence of Arabia fantasies.  Only guides living within the village are authorized to arrange trips.  In addition to the 4x4 or camel tour, each overnight trip ends at the agency's own Bedouin camp in the desert.  Our trip was conducted with a Swedish couple and another American.  We all crammed into a Landcruiser that transitioned from falling apart slowly in the morning to rather rapidly by the end of the day.  There were no mirrors, no gas cap, no spare tire, it had a broken odometer, and the horn on the steering wheel fell off mid-journey.  Unlike Utah's Canyonlands or Arches National Parks where you spend most of your time above the surrounding desert, we drove amidst the valley bottom in the rocks.  I imagine that Monument Valley has a similar feel.  

The variety and diversity of Wadi Rum separate it from anywhere else in the world that I have ever been.  Each turn and each direction I looked had totally different cliffs, canyons, and rock outcroppings.  The shades of red seen in Petra became even more vibrant when they were contrasted with limestone.  There were red sand dunes descending from white cliffs, white dunes ascending to red cliffs.

 

We drove by the spring where Lawrence bathed, where he bathed, Nabataean petroglyphs, deep red sand dunes, slot canyons, cliffs, and a rock bridge, and around a slew of other rock formations.  Several plateaus resembled an ice-cream cone flipped over, the red strawberry ice-cream melting from the white cone above.  Two rocks looked bizarrely similar to a chicken and its egg.  I walked up a slot canyon with as many twists and turns as a Jordanian soap opera.  The rocks also drew more serious imagery.  Julie thought one rock face looked like a row of hands praying.  Another time, one side of the valley looked like the front of a sanctuary with the other side providing the pipe organ.  To our driver with a partial grasp of English, the only way I could describe it was by saying, "It's big."  The grandeur set Wadi Rum apart from any other desert I had ever seen.  The size also opened me to the realization of just how isolated and isolating this desert was.  There were no roads, only the occasional camel or 4x4 that skimmed over the landscape.  The one sign of civilization were the Bedouin camps were visitors stayed.

Our camp was equipped with solar-heated showers, nearly a dozen Bedouin tents, a dining room, and a rondavel with a fire place for the cold desert evenings.  Once we arrived, Julie and I walked into the desert, pursuing a camel for the quintessential desert photograph.  Seconds before the picture, the camel was intercepted by a truck herding him back to Wadi Village.  Back at camp, the night was spent around the fire before we moved into our personal Bedouin tent, equipped with a floor mattress, three comforters, and pillows that felt as if they were filled with sand.  The next morning I gradually awoke to the most quiet I have heard in a long time.  After a quick breakfast, we drove back to Rum Village where I picked all the sand from my beard.

Aqaba was our next destination.  We had about one hour before the bus left to Amman.  We strolled along the waterfront, wishing we had an extra day to take a dip in the deep blue water.  Instead, we boarded the bus on the Desert Highway that took us directly to Amman.  From the bus station we headed downtown in search of a cheap hotel.  Happyland Hotel fit the criteria and we then headed out through the souq and shopping areas.  Lonely Planet's described Amman as not a place to experience medieval souqs but to see a modern Arab city grappling with its identity through its heritage and newfound diversity.  

 description seems to perfectly encapsulate the city based on my miniscule experience of it.  

 Amman is home to many of the Palestinian refugees as well as an increasing number of Iraqis.  Around 5:00 PM, the streets were filled with people shopping and making their way home.  First walking  up the main streets, we soon moved to the side streets in search of a restaurant for dinner.  Instead we came across the fruit and vegetable market.  

from opposite sides of the street clamored for customers, each offering the best deal on carrots or lettuce.  The smell of newly picked produce faded as we passed into the meat market where goat hung in the windows, fresh from its dhabihah, or ritual slaughter.  

There was no restaurant until we found a legendary place that serves bread, hummus, and falafel.  When you enter you get a sheet of wax paper and a piece of fresh bread from a mound on a table.  Seconds later we got a generous bowl of hummus doused in olive oil.  The falafel was last and was the definite culinary highlight--at least from the savory side of things.  After dinner we got a few pastries before heading back for a long night at the Happyland Hotel.  The next morning we headed to Queen Alia airport for our super-discounted flight on Jazeera Airlines.  

Jordan's size made it a good destination for a long weekend trip.  We could drive from one side of the country to the other in less than four hours.  In this light, it was dismal thinking of the even smaller area that Israel and the Palestinian territories fill.  The drive between Jerusalem and Gaza City would take less than half an hour.  Even before Israel's invasion, it was impossible for Palestinians to make that short trip.  I saw Eilat,the first Israeli settlement I've ever seen, and also the spots of refuge camps in greater Amman.  Amidst our whirlwind vacation, it was odd dropping from the sky into a country that was a pocket amidst the strife, conflict, and closure all around.  

The only country I could have visited was the West Bank's territories.  Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, and Syria are all blocked to Americans.  An Israeli stamp in the passport would have been my immediate ticket out of the UAE.  I'm still not really sure what to make of being in that atmosphere but I look forward to going back and learning more about that part of the world (especially if some of these countries open their borders with the diplomacy of our president).

On Travel

Three types of travelers saturate our world: tourists, students, and expatriates.  These groups of Western travelers can be separated depending on their focus and intentions for travel.  Students traverse through the countryside or volunteer when they are not in the classroom.  Tourists incorporate volunteering or learning a language into their trip on top of the conventional beach, adventure, or culinary vacations.  Expatriates explore the tourist attractions and perhaps learn the local language.  It is not these additional pursuits themselves but the travelers primary intentions  that mold how they approach each of these activities.  As the student traverses the countryside, she imagines herself not as a tourist but as a temporary resident exploring the heritage of the country.  The expatriate learning a language enhances his qualifications for working in that country whereas it allows a student to communicate with her peers.  Besides their intentions, each traveler is regarded in a separate light by the citizens of a country.  The expatriate is treated differently than the student just as the student is be treated differently than the tourist.

Julie and I both noticed the change in treatment in Ethiopia than when we studied abroad in Kenya and South Africa respectively.  In Ethiopia, we were considered tourists, that is someone who is visiting the country for a short period with the intention of spending money to learn about the country's history, culture, food, landscape, and people.  When touring South Africa as a student, I was treated as an extended visitor with the assumption that I was more interested and engaged with their country than a mere tourist.  My ostensible interest in the country and the duration of the visit influences the conduct I received as a student.  However, expatriate's protracted stay frequently impedes the same effect from occurring.  The tendency is to congregate with people from your country or who speak your language.  More time in the country means more time to separate himself from the surrounding culture.  A minority of expats actually bridge the cultural crevices and canyons that separate peoples from different backgrounds.  The rest live abroad on their own terms, either to make some money, see the world, or "improve" the country.  Unlike students who are welcomed into the country by the educational institute, expats are rarely received with such openness.  When we arrived in Sharjah we were picked up from the airport, dropped off at our flat, and that was the end of our formal support.

As for short-term travelers, tourists visit a country for a short period with the intrinsic intention of spending money in the country.  Their presence is intertwined with this reality and anything that is seen, experienced, or eaten cannot be separated from it.  When traveling in a multiracial context, the dynamic of ethnicity compounds the issues of class.  Julie describes this dynamic as both parties being put on display.  The primary relation is one of impersonal anonymity when walking down the street.  Given the frequent language-divide, the only areas of cross-cultural contact occur over tourist activities.  With long-term travel or volunteerism, this gap can be narrowed.  With long-term volunteering or tourism, the opportunity for an increased depth in interaction is made available.  But that is another topic altogether.

The last issue to talk about is the discourse that surrounds Western travelers.  This perception that it is Westerners who travel will change in the upcoming decades as more and more people travel abroad but for now a very normative language shapes our notions of who travelers and for what purpose.  If an unskilled laborer works abroad they are not considered an expatriate, they are a laborer.  Expatriate then implies that they are from a developed country.  A similar distinction could be made for people visiting families in other countries.  They are not tourists but traveling with the intention of seeing family.  Since they would not be thought of tourists this implies that tourism involves leisure.  (The one area that blurs these distinctions is faith tourism which I'll be writing about in the upcoming months).

These slight distinctions reveal the places in the global world in which travel has carved out for itself.  In doing so, travelers have carved out different codes of behavior when abroad as have rules been carved out for them.  In general, these rules shape how the traveler is to relate to the Other, that is, the country, its land, and most importantly, its people.  More specifically, they dictate everything from when and where it is acceptable to take pictures to where one should and shouldn't go in a city or village.  To realize how powerful these rules are just think of how travel would change if all of the world's travel books were burned.  Lastly, the rules of travel have shaped and will continue to shape how citizens relate to travelers occupying their country.  These issues will only be heightened as more people travel throughout our world searching for adventure, relaxation, and wealth.

A Postscript on my Expat Life in Sharjah/Dubai

Residing in Sharjah/Dubai has been easy.  I don't really expect that my life will be this easy later in life.  A fantasy world has really been created around me where I don't have to have any real worries.  It is a capitalist dream city.  Unemployment is less than three percent.  Crime is nonexistent.  There are no taxes.  Heat is the most serious environmental threat.  The borders of the country have established a hub of international trade.  A walk along the Dubai Creek reveals dhows shipping any cargo from fish to refrigerators, fruit juice to tape players.  However, the shadow side of this development is revealed in the autocratic rulership of the country.  The majority of the population has no voting rights or civil liberties, if you lose your job you have 30 days to leave the country, and a large portion of the population is locked into a modern form indentured servitude as they build the city.  Sharjah's "Decency and Public Conduct Rules and Objectives" dictate acceptable clothing, social interactions, and living arrangements--all in line with conservative interpretation of Islam.  Any form of dissension or disagreement is simply not tolerated.  During the few protests for the war in Gaza, protesters were nervous to demonstrate against a war that the government rhetorically opposes.  Even with these larger social realities, people respect the visionary leadership of Dubai's honorific leader Sheikh Mohammed and his economic prowess in developing this strange place in the desert.  In day to day life, I've been placed in this world where I don't have to worry about the politics of the country or the civil liberties that I don't possess.  For myself, as well as the large expatriate community, as long as the UAE continues to thrive economically, sacrificing political rights seems insignificant, no matter how tragic that sounds.  Maybe its a vision for the globalized world to come: everything in its place in the local division of labor and supply chain.

I never found the exact reason why Julie and I decided to travel to Ethiopia. I'd heard about the country second hand

but I'd never actually thought about visiting.  Julie and I

first looked at going to the Kenya coast but flights were more expensive than we expected. The cheapest flight flew through Addis Ababa so we decided to stop short of Kenya and spend our holiday in Ethiopia. After we chose to visit, we pieced together our trip at the semi-last minute. This last minute nature of the trip along with such a short flight (instead of the day of traveling from the US) and the fact that we weren't doing "typically African" things, it never quite clicked that I was going to an African country.  This led to a rude awakening upon arrival. Flying into Addis Ababa, the city sprawled for miles in ever direction--and these were just the places that were lit up.  

The next morning we woke up in our hotel dear the Piazza to the smells that couldn't be ignored--car exhaust, dust, and most potently, burning grass. That day we wandered around looking for and (gradually) finding St. George Cathedral, the Ethnological Museum at Addis Ababa University, and the National Museum and never finding the Holy Trinity Cathedral. The church and museums were good introductions to Ethiopian history and culture and the idiosyncrasies of Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity. It was also our first exposure to Ethiopians (or the government-funded museums) telling their own history, on their own terms. In doing so, this re-telling is an act to give their country's history and identity worth not necessarily against the colonizer/occupier/the West but alongside it and in opposition to it.  This re-telling of the country's past was an important part of every place we visited on our trip. At St. George Cathedral, for instance, renowned Ethiopian artist Afewerk Tekle re-painted the inside of the church after the original paintings were destroyed by the Italians in the 1930s. The current paintings show a medley of icons ranging from the Hebrew Bible and Christ's life to Ethiopian saints and Hallie Sellasie's coronation ceremony.  Without too far a stretch of the imagination, this can be interpreted symbolically as the perseverance and preservation of Ethiopian autonomy and identity in the face of an occupying force, a layering of the new on top of the past that is not always a positive force in Ethiopia.  

The top floor of the Ethnological Museum displayed tons of panels, crosses, and other religious paraphernalia from the 14th and 15th century to present. 

It was really neat to see all of the different stages of development, the continuity and changes in style and their, and their similarities with other Christian devotional artwork (especially Spanish Colonial...). My favorite and the most graphic was a hinged-panel painting suggesting all of spiritual deaths suffered by St. George, including beheading, a spear running from his bowels through his head, being burned alive, and being drowned.

In walking around town (and getting lost) between these different museums was the growing feeling that any glorified image of Africa that I had was now utterly absent. Any abstractions that I created for myself or hopes I had for the continent (as much as it can be seen as a whole) were immediately nullified.  As I mentioned earlier, more than anything else, it was the smell along with the chaos that was Addis Ababa that caused such disillusion. From my final South African experiences in the green ocean-cliffs along the picturesque Transkei, this sprawling city was a slap in the face for my first experience in Africa since then. It was also my first real exposure to that type of urban environment where slum housing and modern buildings are side by side.  On one street would be a row of shops with cafes, jewelers, and clothing shops and on the next street over is an community built by squatters. The disheartening feeling that accompanied our walk maintained the grim reminder of the extent of how systematic development effort have severely failed the majority of the people (and will continue to do so). This pessimism was in stark contrast to my feeling when I left South Africa that there were real things that could be done to improve the lot of the masses and minimize the poverty and inequality that plagued the continent. These feelings provided the initial context for our trip around northern Ethiopia along the historical circuit.

We did the circuit backwards from most people, making a small triangle given around Lalibela, Bahir Dar, and Gonder (and Debark and the Simien Mountains from there). Unfortunately, we did not have enough time to visit further north to Aksum or Tigray's rock-hewn churches and monasteries. Lalibela is a small mountain town of a little over 10,000 people. It is famous for its 11 rock-hewn churches built in the 12th and 13th century. Under the possibilities and pressures of increased tourism, the town has grown drastically in the past few years. People from the surrounding areas have been moving to this town in hopes of a better life from the arid and frequently drought-ridden countryside.  Before describing the churches in more detail I want to pause for a brief summary of Ethiopia's society and history.

Ethiopia's History

Under Hallie Sellasie's sometimes autocratic leadership, Ethiopia developed a nationalism that is unlike any other African country. Whereas most 20th century African leaders attempted to impose nationalism in hopes of unifying ethnically and linguistically diverse peoples, Ethiopia actually succeeded. This fact could be attributed to the roots for a national identity in the earlier monarchy, Sellasie's leadership, the language and stories that were historically a part of the country's history. Whatever the case, this national pride is shown most uniquely by the fact that we saw so many Ethiopians wearing shirts about their country, the types of shirts that are usually seen worn by tourists and locals would not be seen wearing elsewhere. Underneath this pride lies the grim realities of overpopulation, deforestation, desertification, and, most devastatingly, governmental mismanagement of the countries resources.

Most Ethiopians (especially the Orthodox Christians) trace much of their history to an affair between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. Later in life, their son--King Menelik I-- returned to see his father in Jerusalem. Upon returning to Ethiopia, he covertly took the Ark of the Covenant--where it has remained to this day. Although the dynastic rule is traced from Menelik, it was not until around 400 BC that the kingdom of Aksum emerged in Ethiopia. The Aksumites remained an important power due to their strategic location at the crux of African and MIddle Eastern trade routes of the time. They also excelled technologically and artistically, with their most impressive development being their stonemasonry skills. Although Ethiopians trace the origin of Christianity to the time of the apostles, it most likely arrived in the 4th century and spread quickly thereafter. With the arrival of Islam, trade routes shifted to the ocean or further north. Lacking its strategic location, Aksum declined and Ethiopia entered a period of decline. Amidst growing threats from the Muslim world, the Ethiopian priests and monks cloistered themselves in the mountains, protecting Christian relics (and creating many new ones in isolated churches and monasteries. The Orthodox churches' rituals and identity was solidified in the remote setting. In the twelfth century, the Zagwe dynasty rose to power. Besides the churches that they built in Lalibela, there were no other relics that they left (a fact which adds to the mystery and allure of the churches to this day). In 1270, the were overthrown by Yekuno Amlak who claimed to be a descendent of King Menelik I. Ushering (or re-ushering) in the "Solomonic dynasty," he established a rulership that would last until Hallie Sellasie. They also produced an astonishing amount of art and literature--including the Kebra Negest, Ethiopia's national epic which solidifies the country's religious feelings, most importantly the affair between the Queen of Sheba and Solomon. Beginning in the late 15th century, war broke out between Muslims from the east of Ethiopia and this Christian monarchy. During this period even more of the country's artwork was preserved in isolated churches and monasteries. For the next few centuries the capital city of the empire also bounced around throughout western and southern Ethiopia. The first permanent capital was not established until 1636 in Gonder. Even though there was not much stability for the state, a generous patronage between the church and state led to an immense output of art, churches (including the Debre Berhan Selassie which I'll talk about later) and monasteries (such as those of Lake Tana). Throughout this period the country was also very closed to Europeans. 

It was not until the opening of the Suez Canal that Ethiopia gained any strategic value. The Italians initially colonized what is now Eritrea and were only nominally involved in Ethiopian affairs. Ethiopia gradually modernized and was even admitted into the League of Nations under Ras Tafari's (later Haile Selassie) vocal involvement in international affairs. Emporor Selassie took the throne in 1930 and further centralized the government and country. The Italians invaded in 1935 without any contention from the international community--fearing that it would further push Mussolini into Hitler's camp. It was not until 1940 when Italy declared war against Britain that Italy's occupation was halted.  Development was slow after the war and discontent gradually increased until 1974 when Emporor Selassie was overthrown and replaced by the Derg who declared Ethiopia a socialist state. Any dissension was repressed and hundreds of thousands were killed and thousands fled abroad. The 1984-1985 drought and failed communal farms all contributed to the infamous famines faced by the country. Currently, most stories I heard about the government pertained to its increasing inefficiency and increasingly autocratic rule. However, these issues seemed pretty removed from many of the people living in this large country.

Lalibela

Considering Ethiopia's size and diversity, we saw a relatively small portion of the country, even if it was separated by the towns were separated by the rugged Ethiopian Highlands. This fact left an obviously slanted view of Ethiopian history that neglects the large Muslim presence in eastern Ethiopia and the more "traditionally African" towns 

in the south. Nevertheless, it did leave me with a broader and more nuanced view of "Africa" and Christianity. Lalibela is probably the most famous place for Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity. Since no local or external records exist that mention Lalibela besides the churches themselves, much mystery shrouds these amazing churches. This has also enabled several local legends about the churches to arise about their construction. Our guide told us that King Lalibela travelled (or was transported) to 

Jerusalem and was intrigued by the buildings of the holy city. Since it was a difficult journey to Jerusalem, he vowed to create a new holy city in a mountain village that was then known as Roha (including Calvary, the Tomb of Adam, and the River Jordan). Under God's guidance and direction, King

 Lalibela carved every church from the sandstone all by himself. The other local story I heard was that once laborers completed their work for the day angels would take over and work by night. What was most interesting about this telling of Lalibela's history is not what they say about, but what is not said. Our guide mentioned how the churches were built--that

the outside of the churches were carved out, then the stone from the inside was removed before, and lastly paintings and other decorations were added to the churches.

However, there was no mention of the modern estimates that it would have taken 40,000 workers to complete such an architectural undertaking in such a short period. 

There was no mention of political situation and the Zagwe dynasties attempts to prove their continuation of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and legitimize their rule. All that was mentioned was King Lalibela's spiritual motivations for the churches' construction. Since they (the priests, guides, local tourism bureau, etc.) determine what is said about the church, they shape their own ongoing history. And, in our case, it was anything but a passive narration. Our guide's eye would light up when he told the stories about the churches design, its artwork, or the saints depicted in the different artwork (which was spectacular to see in situo). 

The traditions that he explained for us are not something of the past. They are constantly renewed and struggling with change, like traditions of the world always have. Traditions are not something simply passed down from father to son, from one generation to another. The attempts at preserving the past amidst change are filled with with discord and friction, conflict and strife. In another light, Lalibela is a poor mountain town that has been blessed with these world-renowned churches. As Ethiopia develops its tourism industry in the face of increasing demand, Lalibela is one of the first to capitalize on the new-found wealth that is brought into town. However, the sudden influx of wealth (especially given the city's history) is drastically altering the social fabric of the society. Many people are coming from mountain villages in search of work. 

Our guide talked about how the size of the school has grown over six times since he graduated a little over ten years ago. As children (and their families) desire to earn a part of this newfound wealth, fewer and fewer students are entering the religious schools with its modest wages and humble way of life. 

In the churches, the priests who show the ceremonial crosses to tourists, now have sunglasses in for the unfortunate amateur photographers who use their flash in the dimly lit churches--even after numerous pleas and warnings not to do so. Like most religious communities, Lalibela is struggling with the question of what to do with local traditions amidst the realities of a globalizing world. 

For now, from the brief time that we spent in town, it seems that they are responding the way that many religious communities respond, to assert the authority of their tradition and their presentation of them. While this seems like a overly defensive approach to one's past, it is making a case for their history's unique value and worth in the face of hegemonic global forces that do risk undermining it (as can be detected by the decreasing interest in religious vocation).

Gonder and the Simien Mounatins

After a few days in Lalibela, we flew northwest to Gonder. Arriving on the largest religious festival of the year without a hotel or a ride from the airport, we were unsure what exactly we were going to do in Gonder. We got everything sorted out just in time for the parade. Timkat celebrates Jesus' baptism as people reaffirm their baptismal commitments. The ritual takes on increased significance when you consider the role of water of Ethiopian society. With a large population and a frequently harsh dry season, the importance of water is all to evident. In addition to its religious and spiritual significance for religious believers, from the outside, the ritual seems to affirm one's commitment to and dependence on God amidst the contingencies of life and assert their dependence on God as Provider. Timkat is also the only day where the model Ark of the Covenant (that each church has) is removed from the Holy of Holies in the center of the church and put on display for the entire community to see it--albeit draped in decorated cloth.

The parade was the first parade that I had every been to outside the US. Unlike parades at home that are regulated with a clear time that it should start and stop, this parade ran at a very meandering pace. Sitting on the stairs in the middle of town, we could see the priests and bishop under their umbrellas in front of the Royal Enclosure (about 3/4 of a kilometer away). However, it took nearly an hour for them to arrive to where we were sitting. The parade was led 

by different groups of male students who would briskly run as they were signing, dancing, and blowing on horns. After singing their way down the street, they would turn around and repeat the same routine. Next were other groups walking and singing at the same pace as the priests. Lastly, the priests walked by under their highly decorated umbrellas, chanting (that would continue throughout the night). My favorite umbrella was purple with different devotional pictures of Jesus sewn onto it. After they passed by us, they made their way to Fasiladas' Bath, constructed in the late 17th century (and just recently remodeled by the Norwegian government). It is now filled once a year for the Timkat celebration. The parade's unfortunate aspect was the amount of disrespectful tourists. There were people with their cameras and videocameras getting in the middle of the parade to get the perfect picture or video. Partially because of this crowd following the parade and partially to get some mango juice, we did not follow the parade to the Bath. Talking to other hikers a few days later, I was told that once the parade arrived at the Bath, all Ethiopians were kicked out, leaving only the priests and their following of tourists. That night we rested in the hotel, waiting to take off early the next morning for the Simien Mountains. The apogee of Timkat is the communal baptism in the morning. The Bath, I heard, fills up with people swimming, splashing, and spraying water all over the place. We avoided this wild affair and had the fortunate opportunity to see several communities celebrating Timkat as we went to Debark, to get ready for or trek into the Simiens. Every village we drove by had groups of people dressed in their ceremonially white gathered around a water or some other pool. 

Once we arrived in Debark our expectations proved true that there wasn't much there besides the Park Headquarters for the Simien Mountains, a few hotels, and one main street with an assortment of shops. We spent the morning relaxing in the sun at our hotel. planning our trip into the mountains. That afternoon we planned a four-day 80 km (49 mile) trek into the mountains. To cut the costs, we decided to go with George (who was oddly enough from Kutna Hora, the city with the church with all of the bones). While most people take an English-speaking guide as well as the compulsory armed scout, we just went with Mamaro, our scout and two "mulehandlers" with the horses that carried our gear. Luckily, they took a different path than us so we weren't too much of a caravan going up the mountain.  The first day we left from Debark around 7:45, walking 23 km (14 miles) from Debark to Sankaber.  Unfortunately, Julie nor I thought that seriously about the elevation, starting at around 2600 meters (8580 feet) and moving up to 3960 meters (about 13,000 feet).  Mamaro, our quick-footed guide didn't make it any easier either.  The first part of the hike was difficult for Julie and myself as we trekked through undulating hills and valleys until we reached the escarpment.  

Our first view of the mountains also brought us to our first group of about 40 gelada baboons. We walked right through the middle of the group as they ate grass, groomed each other, and occasionally talked (only once in alarm for the ten minutes that we were there).  The hike for the rest of the day was more scenic (and difficult, gaining most of the elevation).  Whenever we reached the top of the hill for a rest, our scout would say "Neat," meaning "Let's go" in Amharic.  Before the camp, was one of the best lookouts across the mountains to the west.  The Simiens were really like no mountains I've ever seen in my life. Although lacking the tints of red, the mountains were more dramatic than parts of the Grand Canyon.  There were a few lucky cases where we could see the mountains on both sides of us, as if we were on a peninsula of rock over the descending peaks, valleys, and rock formations below. On the escarpment, there were spots that dropped thousands of feet as smaller peaks that went on for miles.

The hills were still green in some spots but had mostly turned to brown since the rainy season ended a few months earlier.  The pictures will explain it better but it was one of the most dramatic mountain ranges I have ever seen.

After our first day of hiking, Julie and I made the decision that she would head back to Debark the next day while I kept going to Imet Gogo.  She (and many others as I soon found out) were unable to accilamte quick enough.  The hiking was not that difficult but at that elevation it was much more difficult than expected.  The next morning she took a bus back to Debark with a group of raucous German tourists.  Though not as enjoyable, Mamaro, George, and I set off to Geech Camp, 12 km (7.5 miles). 

The day had a great start through the trees along the cliff's edge before we reached the tree line. The rest of the day was hot, dusty, and steep.  We passed through a canyon with a nice stream and the surprisingly large Geech Village before arriving at camp in the early afternoon.  After a cold night, we continued up to Imet Gogo, the final peak at 3960 meters).  Imet Gogo is said to have the most spectacular views in the mounatins, a 360 degree view.  To the northeast were the other side of the mountains leading towards Ras Dashen (Ethiopia's highest peak).  

The northwest brought remarkable views including the most famous peaks in the park.  Behind me to the southeast were the mounatins leading all the way to the small mountain that was barely visible above Debark (around 40 kms away).  I did feel very fortunate for getting to be in the mountains.  It was one of the most special (and peaceful) parts of the trip.  The last night in the mountains I was playing solitaire when Mamaro, another scout, and a couple of the mulehandlers came in to play.  After watching them play a few games it was fun to play.  I quickly learned all of the rules except for for saying the numbers and names of the cards in Amharic as I put them down.  

Being called faranji seemed less harsh (and maybe even more endearing...) than the usual tone it took on.  The other highlight of the trip was passing through villages along the way.  It really was remote where we were hiking.  Besides a few who have become involved in services for hikers (cooking, selling food, or, my personal favorite, renting out a dorm that the Japanese government built for locals at Geech but they never used), it was all subsistence living.  The most heartbreaking part was a boy asking for medicine for his shin that had a gash that had started to rot.  It was an awful feeling of helplessness.

Back in Debark after a quick last day of hiking, we had a relaxing afternoon before heading back to Gonder the next morning.  

Unfortunately, a sick joke was started against me as the common shower in the hotel had no water.  In Gonder, the joke was continued that night when first the water and then the power went out in the hotel.  

Luckily, I got a shower before the water ran out the next morning.  Our afternoon in Gonder was nice without as many people as during Timkat.  The highlight was the 18th century Debre Berhan Selassie Church.  This vibrantly decorated church was contained inside two courtyards on a hill overlooking town.  The walls were coated with religious

 paintings on animal hides that were plastered on every wall throughout the church.  These highly elaborate paintings had the usual depictions of the life of Christ and Ethiopian saints.  

The more unique (and odd) images of this church were a monster-like rendition of the Devil and Satan leading the Prophet Muhammed on a mule.  Although the were truly captivating the 107 cherub faces on the ceiling were spectacular.

After walking down the hill from the church, we went to the Royal Enclosure.

Gonder was the capital of Ethiopia from the 17th century until it was moved to Addis Ababa in the late 19th century. It is believed that the castle was built by an Indian architect but it melds Portuguese, Moorish, and Aksumite arhictecture throughout the grounds.  Fasiladas' Palace--the most restored building on the grounds--has arched Moorish archways, the Star of David above each doorway (to assert their link with the Solomonic dynasty), and windows with views to each of Gonder's important churches.  

The rest of the castle grounds were filled with kitchen, cisterns, a banquest hall, a library, a Lion house, and a Turkish bath (all in different states of disrepair after Sudanes Dervishes raiding in the 1880s and British bombings in 1941.  

Even though it felt totally normal to be walking throughout a 17th century African castle, it is a bit odd thinking that it is there in the first place.  The Sunday afternoon was also a nice time to take it easy and walk around the beautiful Enclosure.  Flying overhead the entire time were Tawny eagles.  It seemed like their entire mating seasons was sqeeezed into that afternoon.  We counted at least 13 eagles at one time, and probably saw five times that as they were looking anxiously looking for a mate (To give a little more detail, this eagle would fly at very low levels in Debark and each camp I stayed at in the Simiens.  

They would continuously ride the air currents immediately overheard, rarely flapping their wings.  I would be sitting there and the eagle would appear out of nowhere.  Just as quickly, it would disappear.  Overall, it was the most ominous and mysterious bird I have ever seen.  The eagle made Debark and the Simiens feel as if they were setting the tone for a Cormac McCarthy novel).

Bahir Dar

After our day in Gonder we took a minibus down to Bahir Dar for a few relaxing days before heading home.  Most days we spent relaxing in the garden of our hotel by Lake Tana.  

Besides a few trips to explore town, we took a boat trip out to some of the monasteries on Lake Tana.  

When Ethiopia's Orthodox Christians began building churches and monasteries in the mountain to protect ancient religious relics, they did the same thing in Lake Tana.  While none of the original churches or shrines remain, the current ones were built by some of the early Gonder rulers in an attempt to demonstrate (or prove) their piety.  In addition to protecting church relics, the monasteries also provided a place for monks to isolate themselves.  This practice continues to this day with the 74 monks that still reside on the various monasteries throughout the islands (and a few more on land to procure donations and help bring food and other goods to the islands). The first two monasteries were on the Zege Peninsula.  From the dock, we walked for about ten minutes through the coffee and papaya trees (and stalls selling the various religious iconography and other Ethiopian tourist kitsch) to the Ura Kidane Meret monastery compound.  

As we arrived, we saw clay carvings of an open hand on top of the various buildings and entryways, symbolizing peace to all who enter.   

Kidane Meret was the most beautifully painted out of all of the monasteries we saw that day.  At Beta Maryam also on the peninsula, we walked through the religious school as the adolescent students were working on memorizing the Bible in Ge'ez and writing the Bible that they have memorized.  Although not nearly as elaborate, this church had similar iconography as the one before.  

Although lots of the art started to blend together there were two things that set these paintings apart from others.  Lots of the people in these churches were painted with afros (the only even rough sign of any reference about the race of the people depicted on the artwork that we saw).  The other feature was the obvious significance that water played.  Out of all of the stories that were depicted from the Bible and Ethiopia's religious history, ones that pertained to water took the forefront.  In layering this imagery on top of the very local realities of living in this environment the symbolism was deepened and made more real. This fact was seen most literally and directly by the scenes from local life--farming, fishing, cooking, etc.--that lined many of the decorated door frames (with St. George, Mary, St. Michael, and St. Raphael who allegedly rescued an Egyptian church from a whale thrashing on a beach).  The most explicit painting was of Mary who was being attacked by a sea beast as she protected the young Jesus (Ethiopian has many stories about Jesus and Mary during their flight to Egypt).  

Other images included Jesus walking on water, St. Michael slaying the dragon that the former pagans of the area worshipped, and, as expected, the usual congregation of Ethiopian saints. 

The last monastery that I went to was the Kebran Gabriel.  No women are allowed to even step foot on the island.  After the short walk up the hill, every sign pointed to the sacredness that was preserved around the monastery.  The courtyard opened up through the dense trees where the church stood in the middle.  Seconds after arriving in the courtyard one of the monks rung the bell for mid-day prayer so I was only allowed to sneak a glimpse inside the church with its sparse and seemingly ancient paintings and 12 columns (a very Axsumite design that was very unique to all the churches in this area).  Before they began prayer, one of the monks quickly showed us the museum.  "Museum" is an understatement.  It was a 5x7 ft room with seemingly makeshift shelves that held these ancient relics and artifacts.  

A few manuscripts that were over 500-years-old were in glass covering their shelves, not actually sealing out any of the elements.  Although the monk showed us their most special items in the collection, we could look (and touch) the other pieces.  The highlights were a cross from the 14th century showing the stations of the cross, a 70 kg manuscript (made out of the choice hide of 162 goats) with at least 30 pages of illuminated paintings of Jesus' ministry from each of the four Gospels (including pictures of the evangelist themselves writing each gospel), and processional crosses from Axsum, Lalibela, and Gonder.  After my first picture, my camera died.  To extend the metaphor of the sacredness of this place (and hopefully not to over-dramatize it), it was as if Moses was only being allowed to see God at the burning bush once he had 

removed his shoes (or any Ethiopian still practice before entering the church).  Taking pictures would have failed to truly captured how special of a place it was so it did not happen at all.

After a couple more relaxing days in Bahir Dar, we flew back to Addis before flying back to Dubai. Now that I finished this mild behemoth I'll be working on writing more about life here fore our next trip to Jordan in a couple of weeks.

A preview...

 until i finish writing about the full trip to Ethiopia...