Legends link bees to the creation of Ethiopia's greatest sight. The rock-hewn churches of Lalibela lie in the remote Lasta Mountains where electricity, an all-weather road and airfield are barely a decade old. They are attributed to the 12th-century King Lalibela who as a child attracted baffling swarms of bees. Viewed as an omen of kingship, the existing king – his brother – grew jealous and attempted murder. Through either real exile or heavenly coma, Lalibela was inspired to build an Ethiopian Jerusalem. His brother abdicated, masons flocked....and the rest was hallelujah!
It's an extraordinary place. 2600m high, the air is clear and the light sharp. The town – more of an overgrown village – is cradled by stark table mountains roamed by shepherds and hardy villagers journeying to distant hamlets. One morning we joined them, our mule train bound for the lofty church of Asheton Maryam.
As we plodded up through Lalibela, wood-smoke veined its lanes and children scampered among striking round houses. Our trail contoured across the hillside, then zigzagged to a plateau of patchwork barley fields and wattle-and-daub huts. We climbed again until the mules could walk no further. The narrow path tapered to a notch grooved into the cliff. Steps tunnelled the last few yards and beyond a wooden gate we emerged before the church.
His morning congregation gone, the priest had time to proudly show us ancient much-loved treasures. There were ceremonial crosses with dangling scarfs and exquisite illuminated gospels on vellum. Out on the surrounding precipice we gazed down on crumpled dun hills and barren scarps, at conical thatched huts with corrals of stakes and twigs.
Yet Lalibela's heart and soul resides back in town straddling a ravine they call the River Jordan. There are two groups of churches, twelve in all. Bet Giorgis, the thirteenth, was allegedly compelled by St George himself and remains the most celebrated part of this haunting site.
Along with the thousands of workers assumed to have laboured here, Lalibela's achievement is breathtaking. When not excavating caves or fissures they began with massive trenches hewn from volcanic tuff. The resulting monoliths were hollowed out and refined with bas-relief porticos and pitched roofs. Cruciform Giorgis is unique.
Solomon, our guide, led us from trench to church to cave to fertility pool. A few cramped alcoves held ragged hermits or the embers of their fires. We fumbled down pitch-black passages and climbed up through trap doors. We passed the 'Tomb of Adam' and stood awed within
© Amar Grover