Stepping from the stuffy, confines of the bus, the curtains had been covering the windows for most of the journey. Now standing in the bright, close afternoon sun, my eyes were diverted to the monolith of stone turrets and high imposing walls in-casing the Royal Enclosure. Large ancient trees hugging it's stone structures in a cradle of intense green foliage. Staring down the main drag, coffee shops and businesses lining the street. The Royal Enclosure, it's impressive back drop. I never believed in a million years, I'd be seeing Camelot while in Africa.
A group of kids had shown me a small, clean hotel, two streets away from the main drag, that wasn't going to blow my budget, after I managed to pri my eyes from the imposing castles. The staff, very friendly, however a little pushy with trying to change up US dollars and organising minibuses to other towns, the moment I stepped into the reception area. The hot powerful shower, that was the best I'd had in months, quickly made me forget their pushing.
Although the local food at Quarar Hotel was some of the best I'd had in Ethiopia, my main reason for being here was to view the Royal Enclosure. So my second day in Gondar, I stepped through it's grand stone walls and into a different world. The stuffiness of high buildings, bustling crowds and honking taxis had all but disappeared. The chaos of the busy town had been replaced with calm and tranquility. Tree's gently moved to the sway of the wind and birds sung from their canopies.
Gondar, founded by Emperor Fasilides around the year 1635, built the first and most impressive castle, on the sight of a pool that an "old and venerable hermit" told the Emperor he would locate his capital, or so the tale goes.
Fasilides castle, standing mighty within it's tranquil setting. The round imposing turrets, set tall and proud. Strong like the legs on a sturdy table, once protecting it's inhabitants. The thick walls linking the turrets, seem like they could still protect against the modern weapons of today. Inside, the cool large rooms, bear of furniture and belongings, with squeaking floorboards and gaps in the walls, where fires once raged.
Leaving the castle and following the meandering stone path, put in for tourists to guide them around the other structures, I pass through skeletons of castles their walls long since crumbled to rubble and dust. Passing Iyasu's Palace, Dawit's Hall and the Chancellery and several other buildings and churches, all built at different periods in time, before the path coming to an end, and once again I'm on the busy, bustling streets of Gondar. The piece and tranquility once more broken.
I had just enough time to head to the Fasiladas' Bath, before they closed. Located on the outskirts of town, so I got an over priced taxi. Unfortunately, the Ethiopian government in partnership with the Norwegian government, were currently renovating them, over an eight year project, costing millions of Ethiopian Birr. The stone building in the centre of a gaping concrete whole, where water once settled, was laced in scaffolding and there was very little else to see, so I headed back to my hotel, pretty exhausted with all the walking I'd done.
After a 45 minute walk to the Debre Berhan Selassie church, I discover its closed to tourists until 3pm, while mass is conducted. So to kill a little time, on my last day in Gondar, Jarjar, a young lad lingering outside the church, invites me for a traditional coffee ceremony, at his mothers house. I'm greeted by his larger than life mother, in her colourful cloth garments and wraps covering her over-sized belly and Jarjar's three sisters all of whom look like a slightly female version of their brother.
Two of his sisters, wash, roast and grind the coffee beans, in the living room, where we're sitting. The smell coming from the freshly roasted beans, reminds me of my times in Starbucks back in England. Jarjar playing with his face, pulling and picking at a newly formed spot, asks "What is this called in English?"
"A spot or zit" I explain.
"My father says that to get rid of ziit's, I must masturbate at least five times a day" he says in a mater of fact way. "Is this correct?"
Very much taken aback by the question, and how openly he's asked me in-font of his mother, who speaks fairly good English, I just say "sorry?"
So he asks me the question once more, no less fazed by it.
"Well, I don't suppose it can do you any harm, but I don't think there's any scientific proof behind it" I say, hoping that will kill the slightly awquad conversation. Don't get me wrong, with my mates, I wouldn't have any issue at all answering these sorts of questions. But with someone I've only just met, and in front of his mother, I'm not so keen on discussing ones masturbation habits.
"Well, would you masturbate five times a day, to get rid of a ziit?" he asks, not letting the conversation die away.
"No, because I don't think it would help."
Jarjar accepting the answer for a while, talked with his mother in Amharic. Occasionally coming back to the masturbation question, just to be completely sure. I was very pleased when the coffee was ready, as it eventually took his mind of his spot issue once and for all.
While drinking the strong black coffee, I had chance to survey my surroundings. The living room, decked out like any room at home, had a TV and DVD recorder siting in the corner, and family pictures covering the walls. And the flower pattern sofa and armchairs that wouldn't have looked out of place in my parents house. All in all, if I didn't know I was in Africa, I could have sworn I was in a living room back in England. Apart from the coffee ceremony, the only real thing that killed the allusion was the picture of the current president hanging on the wall in a brown picture frame above the TV. I couldn't imagine anyone with a picture of Gorden Brown, hanging on their wall in England, but in Africa this seemed to be a common thing to do. People were very patriotic towards their governments, I came to the conclusion.
Making my excuses to leave, after the third cup of coffee, I headed for the church once more. And this time it was open.
The outside of the building, covered in thatched walls and roof, although large, was not the impressive building I had in mind. However on entering the structure, after removing my shoes, I was taken aback by the view before me. All four walls were elaborately covered in colourful cartoon like painted scenes, depicting stories from the bible. The roof, covered in many angles faces and musical instruments and other religious artifacts were strewn across the floor. My camera, worked overtime, capturing all that was surrounding me. I occasionally listened in on tour guides talking with guests, who had paid over the odds to listen to in-depth details on the buildings history. Most looked like they were falling asleep and others ignored the guide, choosing to take pictures instead. I left satisfied with my days accomplishments.
After a 45 minute walk to the Debre Berhan Selassie church, I discover its closed to tourists until 3pm, while mass is conducted. So to kill a little time, on my last day in Gondar, Jarjar, a young lad lingering outside the church, invites me for a traditional coffee ceremony, at his mothers house. I'm greeted by his larger than life mother, in her colourful cloth garments and wraps covering her over-sized belly and Jarjar's three sisters all of whom look like a slightly female version of their brother.
Two of his sisters, wash, roast and grind the coffee beans, in the living room, where we're sitting. The smell coming from the freshly roasted beans, reminds me of my times in Starbucks back in England. Jarjar playing with his face, pulling and picking at a newly formed spot, asks "What is this called in English?"
"A spot or zit" I explain.
"My father says that to get rid of ziit's, I must masturbate at least five times a day" he says in a mater of fact way. "Is this correct?"
Very much taken aback by the question, and how openly he's asked me in-font of his mother, who speaks fairly good English, I just say "sorry?"
So he asks me the question once more, no less fazed by it.
"Well, I don't suppose it can do you any harm, but I don't think there's any scientific proof behind it" I say, hoping that will kill the slightly awquad conversation. Don't get me wrong, with my mates, I wouldn't have any issue at all answering these sorts of questions. But with someone I've only just met, and in front of his mother, I'm not so keen on discussing ones masturbation habits.
"Well, would you masturbate five times a day, to get rid of a ziit?" he asks, not letting the conversation die away.
"No, because I don't think it would help."
Jarjar accepting the answer for a while, talked with his mother in Amharic. Occasionally coming back to the masturbation question, just to be completely sure. I was very pleased when the coffee was ready, as it eventually took his mind of his spot issue once and for all.
While drinking the strong black coffee, I had chance to survey my surroundings. The living room, decked out like any room at home, had a TV and DVD recorder siting in the corner, and family pictures covering the walls. And the flower pattern sofa and armchairs that wouldn't have looked out of place in my parents house. All in all, if I didn't know I was in Africa, I could have sworn I was in a living room back in England. Apart from the coffee ceremony, the only real thing that killed the allusion was the picture of the current president hanging on the wall in a brown picture frame above the TV. I couldn't imagine anyone with a picture of Gorden Brown, hanging on their wall in England, but in Africa this seemed to be a common thing to do. People were very patriotic towards their governments, I came to the conclusion.
Making my excuses to leave, after the third cup of coffee, I headed for the church once more. And this time it was open.
The outside of the building, covered in thatched walls and roof, although large, was not the impressive building I had in mind. However on entering the structure, after removing my shoes, I was taken aback by the view before me. All four walls were elaborately covered in colourful cartoon like painted scenes, depicting stories from the bible. The roof, covered in many angles faces and musical instruments and other religious artifacts were strewn across the floor. My camera, worked overtime, capturing all that was surrounding me. I occasionally listened in on tour guides talking with guests, who had paid over the odds to listen to in-depth details on the buildings history. Most looked like they were falling asleep and others ignored the guide, choosing to take pictures instead. I left satisfied with my days accomplishments.
Did you know...
Ethiopia has it's own calender, which has thirteen months not twelve. This means they're a few years behind ours, so it's currently 2001. So I suppose you could say, I've gone back in time eight years, coming to Ethiopia.
Ethiopia has it's own calender, which has thirteen months not twelve. This means they're a few years behind ours, so it's currently 2001. So I suppose you could say, I've gone back in time eight years, coming to Ethiopia.
