Warning! This report is rather lengthy. The reading time significantly exceeds 5 minutes (the typical maximum attention span of the younger generation). It comprises 17 pages in Word and over 150 images, and even these represent only a selection.
The veneer has worn away; Amara’s former splendour loses its lustre with every flake of plaster that falls, every marble slab that comes loose, and every tile that vanishes from the building facades. The colours are fading. The decline of the cinemas continues. But the train is still running. The emphasis is on ‘still’.
My flight is delayed because they’re not very quick at de-icing the plane in
The person in front of me has to pay 200 dirham for his two enormous bags, which can hardly be classified as hand luggage. The lady at the counter looks at my boarding pass, sees that I’ve booked a seat by the emergency exit for an extra fee, and waives me through, on to the bus without asking for any further payment. The bus will take us to the stand where the Fly Dubai aircraft is parked. There is a display on the bus stating that the journey to the aircraft is expected to take 19 minutes. The airport doesn’t seem particularly small... However, it takes only half that time, and we are able to board.
A last view back to Dubai in its full glory. Right upper corner: Burj Khalifa (828 m tall)
On the approx. 6 hours flight from
At the immigration, Asmara airport
I make my way to the counter for my Visa on Arrival (which doesn’t officially exist), leaving behind the security fanatic who is still trying to talk his way out of it with the security officer. He’s probably afraid of losing face, worried that a few pixels on a mobile phone won’t immediately lead to an arrest. After handing in my Visa on Arrival form and my passport and receiving a questionnaire to fill in, I see him standing in the queue at one of the immigration counters, still trying to talk his way out of it with another security officer. But this one, too, makes no move to condemn and punish the act of photography on behalf of the state. When I consider that on previous trips I had already photographed my arrival aircraft on the tarmac at
After a certain wait, I am allowed back into the visa office to pay my 70 dollars for the visa. Two neat receipts and a sticker in my passport are the reward. With that, I proceed through immigration, where an oval stamp is pressed onto my visa. Immediately behind this, two casually dressed gentlemen check that my visa does indeed have this stamp, and I head back down a marble staircase to the baggage reclaim area – where my luggage is already waiting. Two more officials then collect the baggage tags and check that you have taken your own luggage with you before proceeding to customs. All Eritreans must spread out their entire luggage on large tables and have it searched by hand. The tourists are ushered past and asked only sporadically whether they are carrying any weapons. After I reply in the negative, I am released from the compact airport terminal and meet Thomas, our tour guide, who takes me to the hotel. It has taken one hour and 50 minutes to get this far, ten minutes under the average.
Upon arriving at the hotel, we find everything locked up. Knocking doesn’t help, so Thomas calls the night porter. He’s lying comfortably wrapped up on the sofas in the bar sleeping, but hears the phone. Then he jumps up and lets us into the hotel. I move into a corner room, which is beautiful but has certainly seen better days. I settle in and head into the bathroom.
I turn on the tap, but no water comes out. I go back to the night watchman, who has already disappeared under three blankets again and is snoring. Unfortunately, I have to wake him up once more. He understands what the problem is and says he’ll sort it out. I go back to the room. When there is still no sign of movement at 1.45 am, Thomas sends me a text message telling me to pack everything up again and that he would take me to another hotel. Given the time, and the fact that I had already got up at 4.20 am the previous morning, I politely decline and use a bottle of drinking water for the bathroom instead.
The next morning – though, like all time references in
Thomas, a participant who arrived earlier, and I drive to the station, where we meet Elsa, the railway’s general manager, Isac, the engineer, Mesfin, one of the loco drivers, as well as a fireman, a mechanic and some brakemen. Wedi Mender turns up too. However, he now has serious health problems and will no longer be joining us on our train trips. He can barely hear anything. After a warm welcome, we take a look at the locomotives. 442 55 stands unchanged, without its water tanks, in the far corner of the loco shed, gathering dust, pigeon droppings and rust. On the track for maintaining locomotives can be found 440 008, 442 54 with its firebox open and unfinished repairs at the exhaust steam nozzle and 442 56, all of which are said to be operational. In the shed, work is being carried out on 442 59. Some superheater elements have been removed and the corresponding points on the steam header have been closed and bolted. This again comes at the expense of the engine’s performance, but the tubes are leaking at the firebox-side tips, and there are no spares available. Years ago, they started making these reversers themselves from pipes in a makeshift workshop. Superheater elements are also lying on the floor next to the other engines. And while we’re on the subject of the technical aspects… where does one even begin? The completely worn-out wheel flanges of the wheel tyres, the petticoats (the chimney inserts) that are far too wide in design and have even been partially cut out, the missing spark arrestors, the welded-on wheel flanges…?
Wedi Mender (to the left)
442 59 minus some superheater elements ...
In the spar parts compartment
Detail of the side water tank of a 442.
We can see the crossbar for the central lock for the firebox door being fitted back into the firebox. Whilst a number of fitters watch the two men working on the engine, Thomas discusses the trip with Elsa and Isac. Actually, everything has been written down and is available in translation in Tigrinya, but once again the train composition, the locomotive allocation and the departure times need to be discussed to ensure that everything goes smoothly.
Thomas, Isac and Elsa, discussing the tour
Isac claims that 202 002 is also operational. There are cobwebs on the water level test cocks. When I expressed my doubts, he changed his stance to: “We’ll give it a try”. There hasn’t been time so far, after all; they’ve only known for a year and a month that we want to use this locomotive. Loco driver Mesfin shakes his head; he thinks it unlikely that this engine will be able to produce any steam. So do I. A few weeks ago, Isac had still promised it would, but something about it hasn’t been done. We agree on the status: it should still be sufficient for shunting in the station. I ask them to start firing the locomotives the night before we want to run it, and not just in the very morning we want to photograph it. If they’d do it this way there would still be time to repair something on the locomotive. My fear is that the boiler tubes might be terribly leaky. During the last run, the water ran out of the smokebox faster than the only working injector could keep up.
Spider webs at the water gauge of 202 002
As a loco driver, you still earn no more than 1,700 Nakfa a month, which is just under 100 euros. On top of that, you are provided with a small flat or house in a modest neighbourhood, and, broadly speaking, you also receive two sacks of rice a month as part of your pay. You have to make do with that. Firemen, brakemen and mechanics are paid even less than loco drivers. The ***Sunshine Hotel charges 1,245 Nakfa, or 83
On Saturday evening, the restaurants are all absolutely packed. The city is buzzing. Families, friends and Valentine’s Day party-goers fill the streets, bars and cafés. But by around 11 pm it quietens down; only around a few closed internet cafés can you still see many people standing in the street well past midnight, trying to do something online. However, at 1 am, internet traffic decreases and speeds up, which is why many people buy an access code and then use it in the Wi-Fi zone of internet cafés during the night.
WhatsApp is blocked, but can be used to some extent via a VPN. YouTube is also blocked, but trying to watch a video is a lost cause anyway. To do so, you’d need to have friends at one of the embassies or be a government official yourself.
On Sunday, I take a walking tour of
But politically, different priorities are being set – though I’m not entirely sure that any are being set at all. First the shutters hang crookedly, then the plaster or façade tiles start to flake off, and then the exposed masonry begins to crumble. A building has a huge ‘reserve of resilience’ against environmental influences, but even that doesn’t last forever. Some buildings are already uninhabitable, others are set to follow suit, such as the Alfa Romeo House, another architectural icon. Some of the buildings that have been renovated stand unused and empty in the landscape, foremost among them the Fiat petrol station and workshop with its sweeping roofs, which virtually every guidebook features, if not as a cover image, then at least as a testament to Art Deco in its picture section. Shattered windows, rotten wood, crumbling plaster, letters from advertising signs hanging crookedly or having fallen off – it is a tragedy unfolding here.
The boil in the cityscape: the Red Sea Building.
Friends you meet ... VW 1600L Variant
Yet the city is full of life. The numerous cafés, the friendliness of the people, the good coffee… The city and the whole country have such vast untapped potential that hopefully a future government will be able to harness it.
What is new are traffic lights with LEDs, monitored by CCTV cameras. No one I ask likes them or thinks they make sense. A number of new road signs have also been put up.
Paved over the footpath, put in a new hot-dip galvanised sign, filled it in, job done. Yes, the road traffic, so ‘plagued by congestion’, is now flowing much more smoothly than before. Sorry for the irony. If only the council hadn’t needed to do that…
In many places, there’s been a smell of sewage lately. And yes, the pipe network, which was built around 100 years ago, has reached the end of its planned lifespan and, in some cases, has already exceeded it. In some places, new pipes are already lying on the road, and you can see workers chipping away at the road and digging it up so that these new pipes can be laid and connected.
After returning from a morning stroll around town, I have breakfast at the hotel. The omelette comes with chilli – I’ll have to be careful. The orange juice is freshly squeezed, and if I were inclined to enjoy coffee, that too would be of the highest quality. Then the peace is over; a call from
In the end, everything was cleared up; he had read the first hotel on the list where we only have twin rooms, and hadn’t read on to the hotel with the single rooms. But it was one of the usual challenges of such tours.
The 4-star Hotel Albergo Italia has discontinued its internet connection service. Too modern, they don’t need it. So in the evening I go to the
So the next morning I go back to the Crystal Hotel and try to log in, but after 30 minutes of unsuccessful attempts to establish a connection, I give up and order a taxi to another hotel. The taxi arrives after ten minutes. Once at the Expo Hotel, I ask the taxi driver if he could please wait 15 minutes; I just want to send the emails I’ve already written. He agrees and even gives me his phone number. After 15 minutes, I come out of the hotel again and see no taxi. The hotel staff ring him. He says he’ll be back in five minutes. When he still isn’t there after 15 minutes, the hotel staff ring again. He says two minutes. When he doesn’t turn up after another ten minutes, we call another taxi, which then brings me back five minutes later.
Reducing the load :)
Our train is standing at the station, ready to depart, when we arrive. Surprisingly, we set off on time, reaching Arbaroba an hour later, where we take a few shots before heading down to Tunnel 13/14, where we manage to capture the double tunnel shot in full sunlight at the first attempt. In Lessa, our locomotive takes its place at the front of the train again. We reach Nefasit as the last rays of sunshine fade. A day without any deviations from the plan – when was the last time that happened in
There’s no water in the hotel again, so down to reception. They want to check whether there really is no water. As if we were too stupid to turn on the tap... After even expert handling fails to coax a single drop from the tap, a phone call is made. Someone arrives and says they just need to turn on the shut-off valve at the central water supply pipe for the hotel. Once that’s done, the water comes back on. By evening, it’s turned off again, so it’s a good idea to fill a large water bottle with tap water for when there’s no water.
At the Expo Hotel, the internet allows WhatsApp and the receipt of emails, but you can’t send them there. I do that in the evening from the
This is the reason, why Nefasit is the end of the line. Nefasit lower end of the station.
There is no trace left of the thick clouds that shrouded Nefasit just two days ago. The air is dry, and the sun rises clearly over the mountains as we make our way to Nefasit by bus. Our train is waiting there, ready to depart. Just as the sun comes over the mountains, we enjoy several photo stops. Then we board our train and set off until 442 59 has to stop to rise steam pressure. We take the opportunity for another photo stop. As our train passes the photo spot after a 20-minute steam-up break, sparks ignite a fire. It spreads rapidly down the mountainside. All attempts to extinguish it with brooms, shovels and water from canisters fail. After a while, we continue on our way, once again until the engine runs out of steam. Here again, this results in a photo stop. Afterwards, our locomotive manages to reach Lessa with its last ounce of strength. The locomotive’s water is running low, the sun is soon at its zenith, and so we decide to travel to Arbaroba in the passenger carriage alone, where our buses will take us for lunch.
Whilst the group is having lunch, I head to the
Once the Ural had set off again towards Lessa, we let our train from Arbaroba roll downhill a little further. By now a breeze had picked up, blowing cooler, damp air upwards. As our train rounded the bend, the locomotive belched out photogenic plumes of steam that were to accompany us for the rest of the day.
Coffee service on our train.
Breakman in the tunnel
As the internet at the
We were forbidden from driving down to Lessa the following day. So we changed our plans and drove on to Shegereni. The vegetation is much sparser on this stretch. The ash pan on our loco wouldn’t close properly, and during the journey ash, embers and slag kept falling between the rails and smouldering there, though they didn’t cause any more fires – fortunately.
We set off from
We arrive in Shegereni at 7 am, however, there is no sign of a train. Thomas calls Daniel, the loco driver in charge. Yes, there are problems with 442 56. They have to leave it behind at the summit, and the train will only reach Shegereni with 442 59. I ask which carriages he has with him. The reply: “We’re still in
On arrival at the depot, we find 442 59 in steam. 442 56 is at the rear of the depot. Water and steam are pouring out of its washout hatch in front of the driver’s cab. Three men on the boiler are trying to reach the hatch bolts through the steam which bursts out of the pressurised boiler. Only once the pressure is off the boiler they are able to reach the bolts. Sealing the wash hatch won’t take long, but it will be hours before pressure is back on the boiler. So I decide to have 442 59 turned into the sun to take some shunting shots in the station. Whilst turning the locomotive, it becomes apparent that the sidewater tanks of 442 55 are positioned too close to the turntable and protrude into the path of 442 59. So they want to move the locomotive a little further back on the turntable. However, it has neither an air, vacuum nor steam brake. As the cut-off is operated by a screw rather than a lever, the locomotive cannot be slowed down with counter steam quickly enough given how short the turntable is. The locomotive ends up with its high-pressure bogie in the mud. The attempt to simply drive back onto the turntable fails because the rear rail cleaner (I do not know what this metal bar which hangs short above the rails is called) and the two axles of the high-pressure bogie are digging deeper into the mud. Then winches are fetched, followed later by a hydraulic jack from the derailment recovery kit donated by
A biref visit to the diesel shed: Littorina no. 7 and the fairy tale railcar.
After taking a few photos of the shunting manoeuvres needed to assemble our train in the afternoon (no, this hadn’t been done either the night before or that morning), we agree to meet up with our train at 1.30 pm in Shegereni. We turn our attention to lunch and then realise that the rolling stock still sits in
The narrow diameter of the hose through which the water is running from the lorry parked on the bridge over the railway further slows down the process. Nevertheless, we manage to get some good shots in the most beautiful afternoon light. As the clouds have now drawn close to the track again, we are also treated to some photogenic steam. At dusk, we reach
A new morning breaks over
Once everything is finally in place, Daniel, our locomotive driver for the day, pushes the train towards Keren. He gathers momentum for the gradient. Andiamo! What follows is an explosive burst from the 440; the exhaust doesn’t sound like it’s coming from a compound locomotive, but hammers crystal-clear through the night. We’re reaching the level crossing. The locomotive’s whistle may not be working, but you simply can’t fail to hear this volcanic eruption. The Mallet rages up the mountain until halfway up the gradient, then its breath weakens, and just before the summit it almost runs out of steam completely. With a boiler pressure of 5 bar, it drags itself into the summit station. The sky has turned orange in the meantime, and there are only ten minutes left until sunrise. The locomotive moves to the other end of the train and then rolls down the gradient, pushing the train. As the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, I give the order to depart. The first attempt to start fails, and Daniel rolls back further to reach one of the more or less straight sections. The sun has now risen completely above the cloud layer and is shining brightly. With great effort and violently spinning wheels, 440 008 manages to haul its four empty goods wagons up the final gradient.
Because it was so lovely, we try it again straight away. And again ... Then we roll down the gradient bit by bit, and let the locomotive start up against the gradient again and again until it needs water. To avoid consuming too much time, we’ll only take as much water as needed for the next and for this morning final photo runpasts. We’ll then head back to Shegereni and take our coaches to
When we return after lunch, the train is standing just as we left it – the locomotive still without water. The problem is that no one can get hold of the water tanker driver. We move our train into the water tank position beneath the Devil’s Gate road bridge, but not before making one last photo stop using our remaining water supply. 20 minutes later, the water tanker finally appears, and the filling procedure begins. Once this is complete, we roll down towards Arbaroba and begin our afternoon photo shoot below Tunnel 22. Amidst many more photo stops, we chug uphill towards
As the Turkish Airlines flights, which most of us had travelled on, are not operating as booked for the trip, most of us have an extra day in
All the other workshops remain locked this time – it is Saturday, and whilst not much gets done at the workshop anyway, certainly nothing is done at the weekend. Lunch, a city tour, dinner, and then most of the group bids farewell and heads home.
If you ignore the internet cafés, Keren almost takes you back to a time before the invention of the computer. Camels, goats, donkeys and cattle are traded for cash, and the weekly market bustles away in the dry riverbed. The town’s two cemeteries serve as a memorial to those who died in the Second World War, when British troops defeated the Italians and Eritreans. The British cemetery is situated some distance from the town, whilst the Eritrean/Italian one is close to the town centre. There lie the remains of the fallen: Eritreans on the side where the Italian flag flies, and the Italian war dead on the other side of the cemetery, where the Eritrean flag has been hoisted. The question of whether it was all worth it can only be answered with a ‘no’. Although the Italians were driven out of
road to Keren
Euphorbia and a Mercedes on the way to Keren
Yacaranda in blossom
Cinema in Keren
Railway station in Keren
Just before Ghinda, we pass a level crossing. The tracks have now been covered with tarmac. Elsewhere, a section of track has been torn up to make way for a dirt track. This hardly looks like a commitment to preserving the railway.
In Ghinda, we want to visit the station. Passenger carriage 02 has been standing there for years, along with a few goods wagons and the steel frames of others. We take a few photos when our tour guide, Philmon, steps in and urges us to leave. He says it’s now a military camp, and he’s even seen a Kalashnikov. The day before, Elsa (the railway’s general manager) had assured us she’d ring them up and we’d have free access. Never mind, we’ve photographed everything and head off to one of, if not the best restaurant in town. The choice between pasta with tomato sauce or pasta with meat sauce isn’t exactly extensive, but it reminds me of happy student days.
Ghinda
In Mai Atal, the bus is supposed to park right by the road. But Philmon lets himself be persuaded to go to the station and ask if we’re allowed to take photos here. Yes, no problem. The station building has now lost almost its entire roof, although the ground floor is still inhabited. It doesn’t rain often in this area …
A clothesline hangs over the main track, and thorny bushes have grown wild over the tracks. The 1930’s diesel locomotive and the estimated 70 carriages stand exactly as they have done for many years, if not decades.
Railway track near Dogali
Diesel loco from 1935 in Mai Atal
On the way to our hotel in Massawa, we stop at the Soviet aircraft (a Tupolev?), which is now almost completely overgrown. On the journey there, we see new buildings, some almost finished, others still under construction. A crane stands motionless between the houses where work has ceased. I ask our tour guide who on earth would want to move in there, given the temperatures that prevail here in summer (often reaching 50 degrees). Many, he says, because the houses have air conditioning and the electricity in Massawa – within sight of the power station – never cuts out. If only all that building material had been used for the renovation, or rather the rescue, of the old town!
Russian aircraft in Massawa
In Massawa, the same tragedy as almost everywhere else in the country. Only remnants of the roof of the station building can be glimpsed, whilst it remains inhabited. A railway crane stands just as we left it in 2014. We see a carriage with bullet holes, the partly overgrown tracks to
Massawa: Even modern houses are rotting away – as well as the railway station.
The Grand Hotel Dahlak has beautiful grounds, but … The pool is half-dry and filthy, damp is seeping through the roof, and the seat cushions on the sofas in the upper lobby are starting to show their foam padding. There is a single hook in the bathroom of a double room and otherwise no way to put anything down or hang anything up (there must have been a towel rack at one time; the remains certainly suggest it was there before), sockets protrude from the bare walls, the doors are the cheapest tin doors from an Arab DIY store, the tin-framed sliding windows do not close properly, there is only one seat in the room for two … The old air-conditioning unit by the window has now been supplemented by one hanging crookedly on the wall. The water is drained via a hose that leads into a bucket in the corridor. So the whole corridor is full of buckets. These buckets will prove significant later on. In the car park in front of the hotel stands a large emergency generator. Given that “there is always electricity in Massawa”, it is actually a useless asset.
I ask for a room not facing the street – and am given a room directly overlooking the street. From there, you can easily count the lorries coming from or heading to the port at night.
The 4-star Dhalak hotel:
At dusk, we head to the famous Sallam Restaurant, where fish is traditionally cooked in an oven. The town is dark; apart from the road to and from the harbour and a stretch of the main high street, it is lit at best by the lights of the boats and the lamps of the restaurants. Cyclists ride through the dark alleys without lights. It is only in the dark that you can tell which of the ruins are still inhabited – because a glimmer of light shines out from them. Surrounded by cats, we are served an excellently grilled fish. At the end of our supper, it starts to pour with rain. A very unusual weather phenomenon at this time of year. The rain eases off quickly, but it continues to drizzle for hours, so that when we return to the hotel, the corridor and the staircase of the Grand Hotel Dahlak are partially under water. Rain is running down the interior walls from the ceiling.
Ruin of the Banca d'Italia
In the 4-star hotel, there is cold water for showering. The shower bracket has broken off. What gives me pause for thought is that there is a large bucket of water standing next to the shower, with a ladle hanging beside it. It is strongly reminiscent of a traditional mandi in
The next morning, there is neither electricity nor water. As we hadn’t filled the bucket next to the shower with water as a precaution, we now have to use the bucket of water from the air conditioning system for washing and flushing the toilet. So they serve a dual use.
Breakfast in the old town and to enjoy the view, we take our seats in the plastic chairs just before the harbour wall begins. The view stretches from the new buildings with their crumbling roofs, past the bullet-riddled
On a tour of the city, one sees nothing but decay and ruin, even though work is being carried out on some buildings. Our tour guide stops at a building and remarks that this crack (he points his finger on) in the masonry was not there last month. The architectural styles range from Moorish and Arabic to Turkish and Italian, although the Italian builders mostly drew inspiration from the Arabic style. Whilst earlier builders used coral stones for construction, which have withstood the harsh conditions of heat and salty air for centuries, the Italians built with reinforced concrete, mortar and plaster, which requires more maintenance in the climate of Massawa to preserve the buildings. For as soon as the steel is exposed, it begins to rust.
The war raged fiercely in Massawa, and one of the decisive battles of the War of Independence was fought here in 1990. A photograph, showing Ethiopian fighters emerging from the sea to surrender, hangs on many walls and buildings in
Left to the truck was our breakfast restaurant.
This is the sink between the guest's room and the toilet. I also took a picture from this small etablissement, but I don't want to freighten you.
The bar next to our breakfast restaurant.
ex hotel Torino
Banca d'Italia
Shaafi mosque (11th century)
Life in ruins:
On the way to Green Island.
We visit the lido, which the Italians built around 100 years ago. A security guard, wrapped up in a warm jacket, opens the barrier for us. The site is still in operation. Wooden changing rooms stand at the edge; there is a restaurant and a pub, in front of which empty water bottles are stapled in wooden crates. Further back is a low-rise building that probably once served as holiday accommodation.
On the beach, camel owners offer rides on their animals. A female attendant makes sure that no one leaves their belongings on the sun loungers covered with threadbare mattresses. The sea slopes gently into the water. It isn’t crystal-clear water, like further out on the
Dinner is served in the new district of Massawa at a posh restaurant, where we are served a delicious “Cha Cha” fish dish.
Posh but empty ...
When we ask our tour guide when the renovation work will finally begin, he says it is not yet the right time to start. Has the right time not come for over three decades? Perhaps, however, they want to spare the architectural gem from demolition before building over it all with new concrete blocks.
Summary from a female traveller: “What on earth is to become of this country? It’s absolutely dreadful!”
Comment from a male traveller: “There’s a technical term for the state of the city: F*cked!”
Harbour tracks
We take a detour via
The Central Hotel in Adi Keih has been renovated! At first glance, the rooms look acceptable, at least until you sit on the bed. A block of concrete has a lower Brinell hardness than these so-called mattresses. Fortunately, there is electricity and water. My room is one of those that even has a bathroom. The toilet flush doesn’t work, so I fetch water from a water barrel in the communal bathroom using a cut-open plastic canister to flush it. I ask at reception about getting it repaired. They then give me the key to the neighbouring room. The lights don’t work in there. There are three light switches scattered across the wall, but none of them turns anything on. Back at the receptionist, she tells me that for this room, the light switch is located outside the room, in the corridor next to the door. I go back upstairs and flick the switch. Nothing happens, so the choice is between light or flushing the toilet.
The decision is made in favour of the light and the manual flush. The bathrooms of the two adjoining rooms are connected by frosted glass panels. You can also open them to see if your neighbour is currently on the loo. An architectural decision that remains inexplicable.
The doors to the rooms creak so loudly that you can clearly hear every single movement throughout the entire corridor. As many rooms do not have their own bathroom, the entertainment value at night is considerable. But I have to get up twice a night anyway and sit on a chair to rest. The rock-hard mattress is probably only suitable for people who were either prepared to book a fakir course or who are so well-padded themselves that their bones don’t ache.
Incidentally, the toilet flush in the shared bathroom doesn’t work either. Some people, however, haven’t quite got the hang of flushing using the water canister provided, and so the previous user’s souvenirs can be examined in the porcelain bowl.
The shared bathroom in the Central Hotel of Adi Keih. I’ll spare you the sight into the loo.
The shower is a different matter. We have one in our bathroom. And there’s also a boiler which, according to the temperature gauge, provides water at 80 degrees Centigrade. But when you turn on the tap, nothing happens. A few scattered drops of water struggle to emerge from the shower head – that’s all. If you switch to cold water, a thin, intermittent stream trickles from the shower. You might be able to wet your hands with it if you have enough time, but you can’t shower. In the communal bathroom, the boiler’s wires are hanging loose in the air – so it isn’t filled with hot water. And yet the overall impression of the best hotel in town remains positive: it has been renovated, and compared to my last stay, a significant improvement has been made. We also had a constant supply of electricity. But even without installing a state-of-the-art Wi-Fi network, there is still room for improvement when it comes to the basics.
In the morning we drive to the edge of the Rift Valley at Qohaito. Unfortunately, our local guide is turning up a bit late and the road is slower than expected due to roadworks, so we only arrive as the sun is already rising. Nevertheless, an incredible view rewards all our efforts. We visit the approximately 2,700-year-old ‘Egyptian tomb’ and the remains of a temple dating back some 3,000 years.
By throwing a stone on the ground, the local guide draws our attention to the fact that the ground beneath us is hollow, and that many treasures still lie waiting to be unearthed beneath the surface. However, the government does not wish to encourage excavations, as this might lead to a connection being drawn with the history of the period under Ethiopian rule, which runs counter to
Incidentally, it was from this very spot that German scientists, during the period of Ethiopian rule following the Second World War, transported numerous mummies to
Afterwards, we visit the cave paintings, which are approximately 4,000 to 5,000 years old (estimates vary), along the ancient trade route from the Red Sea to the Qohaito high plateau, as well as the dam built around 700 BC, which created a water reservoir for the inhabitants and which still stands and is used today. Who still builds structures today that are meant to last for millennia and remain functional? In our fast-paced world, some modern buildings from the 1960s are already falling victim to the wrecking ball (and in most cases, it is hardly a loss to see the architectural drudgery and concrete rubble that was built there go).
Qohaito, remote as it may be, has no roads – certainly no tarmac ones – but it does have a hospital and a daily bus service to Adi Keih.
The permit we had already been granted to travel to Senafe was revoked without further ado. We had already seen quite a few lorries with many young men in the back during our train journey. These were members of the army being taken to Senafe, as there are reportedly renewed tensions on the border with
Adi Keih
We drive back from Quohaito to Adi Keih, have lunch, and chug our way back to
Dekemhare
Back in
On the last day of the trip, we wind things down at a more leisurely pace with visits to a few churches, the Italian and Jewish cemeteries, the synagogue and the Alfa Romeo House; we enjoy a coffee at the opera house and an evening meal – and then war breaks out in the Gulf region! In some hotels, CNN and other news channels are playing on mute; we read the breaking news from the ticker tapes. Airspace over
Asmara (no, not the sights, the real life):
Okay, one of the sights, the theatre house
We bid farewell to the railway staff in a small group. They have gone to tremendous lengths to organise a successful tour within the limits of their capabilities. This is rewarded with a generous tip. We discuss technical issues with the locomotives and how to resolve them; they give me a list of items to procure for the locomotives, and then I listen to the drivers’ stories about how they joined the railway and became loco drivers. None of them have completed formal training in this field; with the exception of a two-month course taught by Stefano from Italy and learning by watching the older, now deceased engine drivers, they have acquired everything through ‘learning by doing’. As always, there are all sorts of opinions about the future of the railway, none of which allow for a reliable conclusion. Yes, the damage to the track could be repaired within two months, but there are obstacles and a lack of coordination at a government-affiliated office that seem insurmountable. Yes, preparatory work has been carried out as far as the Ghinda area, and yes, in principle it would be possible to travel between Ghinda and Damas, etc. But no conclusions can be drawn from this. It’s better to approach this with the benefit of 17 years’ experience of travelling to
On the evening before the return flight, there is a most unpleasant encounter with a former high-ranking officer of the former liberation army, who was implicated in a corruption scandal and subsequently sacked and transferred to an insignificant post. He clearly wanted to make a name for himself and show off once again when I was taking night-time photos about 5 metres from the hotel. He claimed I was in a restricted area and asked me who had given me permission to be there and take photos. I’ve come across this sort of person in many places around the world, but this one is a prime example – he can’t tell the difference between a tourist and a terrorist any more than he can between a camera and a Kalashnikov. I wonder which German tourist has carried out a terrorist attack in
This is the picture I took when the man said: prohibited!
Will there be another trip to the railway in
An interesting report on the railway and its role in the economy and the war of liberation can be read here: https://www.asmarino.com/articles/2070-eritrea-de-railing-railroads-and-history
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