Simien Mountains: highest and lowest point

Despite our carefull preparations a lot of things go wrong the first day of the trekking. We get up at six a.m. and store our bicycles and gear we don't need in a room of the hotel. At seven o'clock we are, as agreed upon, waiting for our guides. Both mules and their drivers are ready at the pre-arranged time, but the scout is nowhere to be found. Hiring a scout to protect the tourists and their luggage is compulsary on this trekking. After one hour we send one of the muledrivers to the Park Office. When he returns he tells that the scout is on his way. One hour later again, it is after nine by now, we leave without the scout, under protest of the muledrivers. Fifteen minutes later they refuse to go on; at the same time the son of another scout runs towards us to explain that his father - who is on the way - will escort us. We continue and in the decent of the first climb the scout catches up with us. His name is Haile Niggesh, he is sixty years old and has over 34 years experience as a guide, walks on plastic sandals and is armed with a loaded AK-47. He is soon able to show his value when he keeps the begging adults and children out of our way. When we walk over a very narrow mountain track alongside a dry riverbed, one of the mules slips and crashes a couple of metres down onto the rocks. We fear the worst for its fragile legs (and our luggage), but it nervously gets up and one of the drivers cautiously leads it out of the riverbed. Moments later the mule joyfully follows its mate through the mountains.

Today we'll have to hike the longest stretch, 25 kilometres, with a lot of different landscapes: high grassy plateaus, bits of gravel road, narrow mountain tracks over cliffs with fabulous views, steep climbs through pine forests and past hut villages. Nobody told us that the mules would largely take another route, which means that we can't reach our water. Completely dehydrated we arrive after seven hours of climbing at the mountain shelter and campsite of Sankaber, where three women pound grain and make dough in the traditional way. Coffee, macaroni and water make up for the lack of water today.

The second day at eight o'clock we see two klipspringers flee for us. They are one of the dozens of kinds of antilope, like the gazelle, buffalo, capricorn and wildebeest. Not even two hours later we walk past deep ravines between large families of baboons.

They look at us for a moment, then continue their daily activities unhindered: play, deflea and find food. These are the 'gelada baboons' that only live in Ethiopia and are recognisable at the heart-shaped red patch on their chests. At an altitude of around 3000 metres the landscape changes: it is more open and for the first time we see the giant lobelias. These are tall lobelias with a thick trunk, one to two metres high. Some of them have flowered. The trunk of the flower reaches up to eight metres high, from the centre of the plant. After flowering the plant dies.

At a hut village we are besieged by children selling living chicken, eggs and firewood. We have to disappoint them, which does not keep them from accompanying us 'gaily' for an hour or so. At Camp Geech we meet Robert and Martin from Sweden and Slowakia. Their trekking, the same as ours, is three times as expensive, because a specialist advised them to take a cook, guide and five mules with their drivers along. They've never actually seen more than two mules, but they refuse to have their fun spoilt by this cheating. At the campfire of their group some men spontaniously perform a number of Tigray-dances, including all the stiff shoulder movements, square steps and high throat sounds. It takes some getting used to.

The third trekking day is hard because of the long and steep climbs. Peter and I both have developed a pretty big blister. Our feet are used to turning the peddles, walking like this is quite unusual for them. The Ethiopean dust mixed in with the sweat in our Teva-sandals isn't very helpful. At viewpoint Imet Gogo all pain is forgotten when we have a 360 degree-view of gigantic mountains and valleys. On the way we see our first ibex, an extremely rare mountain climber that only exists here. It resembles a huge capricorn with half round horns bent backwards. After this experience we descend into a wide valley completely filled with giant lobelias, an extraterrestrial sight. Then the last steep climb has to be conquered in order to arrive on the gravel path leading to our third camp: Chenek.

Just before the camp is a vista between the rocks, offering a view of Imet Gogo and the northern valleys. The camp itself is beautifully situated in a broad valley between steep and high cliffs. All around are lobelias, a charming brook flows calmly through the camp, there are puddles and a lot of baboons walking around. To the left are five round stone huts for the scouts, at the right side of the path the familiar shelter and the campsite (pronounced camp Zeist by scout Niggesh, like the place where the Dutch national soccer team trains). We situate our tent between the lobelias with their widespread leaves. Even now we have to refuse 'help' when we pitch the tent. This help consists of no more than the useless holding of a guy-rope or something of the kind, because people have no idea how our tent has to be set up. Of course they do expect to get paid several birrs for their service. When we unpack our luggage we discover that the muledrivers managed to break one of our unbreakable mugs. A real feat, we haven't managed to do so the past eleven months. At this camp an American and Englishman greet us in the traditional Ethiopean way: 'Hello, give me ten birr, give me your shoes, give me your tent'. Foreigners integrate real fast here.

The fourth climbing day I stay in the camp and observe the baboon families. My period has started and I am dead tired. Niggesh, Kelly and Peter head for the summit of the Bwahit. After piercing and bandaging his blisters, which have multiplied by now, walking goes fairly well, although the height makes Peter pant for breath. He has no problems following the guide, unlike Kelly who is having more and more trouble, just like yesterday. Via a high cliff offering fantastic views they arrive at the climb leading to the summit of the Bwahit. This climb mainly consists of stones, with here and there pieces of moss with flowing water underneath. Navigating between the rocks and lobelias, observed by a group of baboons, they ascend the steep slope metre by metre. The summit of the Bwahit seems to move further away the more they ascend. After a short rest they climb the last part up in thirty minutes, after which they are rewarded with a magnificent view all around. Peter poses with Niggesh and his AK-47, then they relax in the sun and enjoy dry bread, water and sweets. On the way back Niggesh and Peter spot four more ibexes in a valley close by. The sky starts to darken and the first splashes of rain fall.

On the gravelroad an half empty truck going past the camp takes them along. Since none of us really feels like walking the entire track back to Debark, this time via the gravelroad, they arrange a lift to our hotel for eighty birr (eighteen euro) double the amount the local people pay, which is fair. They snatch me away from my family (like Peter says), we quickly pack our stuff and land in the truck between sheep and goat skins. The sky turns from grey to black. It trickles and the athmosphere feels quite threatening. Every minute it gets colder; jolting and shaking we see broad veils of rain all around us. The views are at their best now, because all haziness has disappeared. In the last kilometres to Debark all heavenly wind and rain sluices open to the full and the comfortable ride becomes a journey from hell. Just before the village the gravel turns into mud and the heavy truck starts sliding. The road slopes to the left and the car brushes barely past a wooden garden fence down the hill until after twenty metres it comes to a standstill, slanting dangerously to one side. If the slope would have been a little bit steeper the truck would have overturned. We jump off the truck, under the watchfull eyes of a crowd of laughing people. Instead of the pre-arranged eighty birr we pay the driver sixty, because we will have to walk the last kilometres carrying our heavy luggage. The driver demands the remaining twenty birr, which we have no intention of paying. A howling crowd surrounds us and Niggesh steps into the breach for us. Subsequently he has to suffer for it, people start pulling, pushing and calling names. We persist though and succeed to set him free. Again we witness how greedy, rude and arrogant these people are. We fight a way through the crowd, when Kelly falls on a slippery slope. Instead of helping her, twenty people stand around her and laugh, which fuels our anger and frustration. We escape the crowd and slither over the muddy road to the centre of the village. Almost every person on our route make fun of us in our faces, while we try to stay afoot with the heavy bags. Children run around us, screaming and calling names. Exterminate, is the only thing we can think of, while we kick them away from us and scold them. I have picked up a big stone with which I threaten them.
Even on the terrace of our hotel we get no respite. After we've said goodbye to Niggesh, whom we give a big tip, the crowd of staring and laughing people gathers again. We stare and laugh back and call 'hidu' and 'tamelazu'. The Amhari words for 'get lost' and 'go to hell' don't make a lasting impression on this degenerated people though. Filled with feelings of disgust we don't leave the hotel anymore that night and decide to take the bus back to Gonder tomorrow. After that we only have one wish: to leave this country as soon as possible. A last visit to the hotel toilet at night confirms our impressions: no water, no paper, the shit is fingerpainted over walls and ceiling. This place has never been cleaned since it has been built ages ago, despite the huge staff that idles in the place doing nothing much.