As I stumbled groggily out of my hotel room in Mekele, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety. I was about to embark on a journey to one of the most remote and inhospitable places on earth, and I only had an iota of what to expect. But as luck would have it, I’d discovered my hotel was conveniently located right next door to the office of Inside Ethiopia Tours. It was like stumbling upon an oasis in the middle of a desert – or, more accurately, stumbling upon a lifesaving bottle of Ativan when you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack.
They made copies of my passport and gave me a thorough briefing on safety and logistics, all while injecting some much-needed humour and reassurance into the proceedings. Suddenly, I felt ready to take on anything the Afar region could throw at me – or at least, anything that didn’t involve too much strenuous exercise before I had breakfast.
Eventually, with everything sorted, we set off in our five rugged 4x4s, ready to brave the harsh and unforgiving desert terrain. Two were packed with travellers, two others carrying supplies, and one transporting our guide. I wandered onto the streets of Mekele to where our vehicles were parked. Our eclectic group included three Polish geologists, two adventurous Japanese girls, a Washingtonian Ethiopian-born man, and myself – a thrill-seeking traveller from the Pacific Northwest.
The geologists rode in one vehicle, while the rest of us were crammed like sardines into another. By the grace of God, I managed to avoid the middle seat, and the two Japanese girls switched it up between the two of them.
Eventually, we started driving and left the Tigray region behind. We made several stops along the way; our first stop was at a humble yet bustling coffee shop owned by a local woman. The cafe was made up of tarps draped over wood frames, and plastic tables perched precariously on the dirt-covered ground. While I declined coffee (not my cup of tea, so to speak), I watched as khat-chewing (pronounced either ‘chat’ or ‘cat’ depending on where you are) locals sold the stimulant from the back room.
I sat, coffee-less, and people-watched next to my new friend from Washington. His name turned out to be Sisay, and he was very excited that we had both travelled from the Pacific Northwest. Since our driver spoke minimal English, I often looked to Sisay, who was fluent in Amharic, for further information.
After hopping back into the vehicle, we began to drive. And drive. With the windows rolled all the way down and my hair blowing in every direction, the wind changed from cool to warm as the landscape merged into nothing but black volcanic rock and sand. Eventually, without a paved road to follow, we made our own thoroughfare.
Despite motion sickness being a main setback for visitors entering the area, everyone in our car was having a great time. My years of re-riding the Indiana Jones Adventure at Disneyland were finally paying off. The two Japanese girls and I giggled as we bounced around in the backseat, narrowly avoiding whiplash.
Unbeknownst to me, our driver had picked up some khat and offered us all a chew. It’s up for debate whether the drug is truly a “dangerous” narcotic or not. It’s legal in Ethiopia, as well as many other East African countries and is an integral part of Ethiopian culture. Our driver informed us that it’s best taken with peanuts because they help offset the plant’s naturally bitter taste. I, personally, chose not to partake, but the two Japanese girls happily gave it a go. Part of me is upset I didn’t indulge in the authentic local experience, but I generally tend to steer clear of anything that could potentially trigger a migraine.
After several more hours of driving, we arrived at a local village where our guide negotiated our climbing permits. Fellow tourists being escorted by several other tour companies were also waiting as a dispute over money took place. The Afar people tax the tour companies to ensure they receive their share of payment for the protection services they provide. It’s the primary way tribes bring in money for the local economy, so if an operator fails to pay what they owe, it is guaranteed to stall the travel process.
While we waited, our cars were swarmed by local Afar children, both genders adorned in their sanafils: a piece of fabric which is tied around the waist, similar in style to the modern maxi wrap skirt. Most were working hard to solicit pencils or water bottles from their latest visitors. I must admit, there are few things more heartbreaking than denying water to children living in the hottest place on Earth. Despite their desperate pointing at our half-full plastic bottles, we simply did not have enough water to supply each child. After the crowd dissipated somewhat, a young boy remained at my window, politely gesturing to what was left of my drink. I knew what he wanted, but for some reason asked anyway. “Do you want my water?” He nodded eagerly as I pulled the bottle out of the seat-back pocket to hand to him. He took it from me and walked away to a less populated area, where he downed it faster than anyone I’d ever seen. He then dropped the bottle on the ground, kicked it, and went back to his friends. I felt disgustingly privileged to simply reach into the trunk and grab a new one for myself.
The Japanese girls, Sisay, and I walked over to some nearby rocky hills where a few other tourists were admiring the sunset. It was getting dark, and we still had about an hour and a half left to go before reaching Erta Ale, followed by a three-hour hike to the summit where we’d spend the night.
Upon arrival at our base camp, we were fed a huge supper, where I, ironically, ended up only having a bowl of soup, as the heat had curbed my appetite. From there, our essential supplies were loaded onto the backs of camels, our flashlights came out, and we began our ascent to Erta Ale. I’d read mixed reviews online in regard to the difficulty level of the trek. Undeterred by the fact that I nearly ate dirt several times thanks to loose volcanic rock, I found it was a comfortable trip to the top. That said, as the cute Polish geologist came to walk ‘n talk with me, we, tragically, hit the steepest part of the route. He asked me about Canada and I asked him about Poland, trying my very best not to sound like one of the cranky camels.
Two and a half, or maybe even three hours later, we arrived at the area where we’d be spending the night. It was pitch black, and our opportunity to see the lava lake at night was nigh. We were each handed a paper-thin mattress and told to set up “camp”. By “camp”, I mean we placed a mattress between a semicircle of large rocks. Our guide advised us to pull out our scarves or masks, as we were about to climb higher before heading down deeper into the caldera, where the smoke would be thicker and much more pungent. My scarf decided that this was the ideal situation to untie itself several times and allow me to inhale large amounts of smoke — this led to several unflattering coughing fits. Luckily for me and my pride, many people were in the same boat and together we hacked up a storm.
Before I left for my expedition, I’d been made aware that within the last few years, the usually bubbling lava lake at Erta Ale, was primarily hidden under a thick layer of smoke from its last eruption in 2017. Companies will tell you that, a) sometimes you can see it, and b) it’s often weather dependent, because, well, no lava flow means no cash flow. This was, unfortunately, the case during my visit. In contempt of this fact, I have zero regrets about my decision to visit Erta Ale.
After taking a few anticlimactic photos and trying to concentrate on the facts being paraphrased by our guide, we descended back to our camp, which is where my favourite part of the entire experience took place. I may have declined the khat… but I found myself battling an abhorrent migraine… however, I was battling an abhorrent migraine under the clearest, most pristine sky I’d ever seen. Meteors shot through the atmosphere so frequently, my wishes could barely keep up. My head was pulsating at an alarming rate, but my awe was even more overwhelming. It was cold at night (I’m Canadian through and through, so you know it was bitter), so when I had to slip out from under my sheet to relieve my bladder, it was more of a challenge than the previous day’s trek. Tripping over rocks and trying to find a place far enough away from the group to pee was an adventure in itself. I didn’t want to turn my flashlight on and wake anyone up, so I relied on my well-adapted night vision to get me safely across the rubble. I only fell twice.
At five am, we were provided with a boisterous wake-up call so we could watch the sunrise from atop the volcano. Unfortunately, the lava was still largely concealed by thick layers of gray and black smoke, but the view of the sun rising over the desert horizon was unbeatable. I clamoured upward and perched myself on the highest possible rock, admiring the landscape. Hues of yellow and orange painted the sky so thoroughly that it felt as if we had been painted onto a Mark Rothko canvas. It’s amazing to feel like you’re part of a work of art.
After descending back to basecamp, we were treated to another massive meal which included pancakes, fruit, eggs, and some traditional Ethiopian dishes.
The desert was already heating up and several of the campers were finishing up their breakfasts. While everyone was distracted, I decided it was time – time to find a quiet spot to empty my bowels. You’re probably wondering why something so foul is being included and I promise there is an excellent reason. In the Danakil, you will rarely find a private place to do your business, but here, among the rubble, I laid eyes on a large bush that seemed to be calling my name. It was perfect. Walking five minutes further into the blistering desert was a small price to pay for what I, at this point, considered a luxury.
I squatted behind the shrubbery, keeping my eyes peeled for locals and fellow expedition members. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I felt unseen eyes land on me. My body did a 180-degree jerk as I spotted the peeping tom: a wild camel, chowing down on some precious desert grass. A better outcome than anticipated. My anxiety began to settle as the even-toed ungulate and I stared each other down. I didn’t stop pooping and he didn’t stop chewing.