You’re standing on a dusty ridge in the Ethiopian Highlands, looking at nothing but red volcanic tuff and scrubby bushes. Then, you lean over the edge. Suddenly, the ground drops away. Forty feet down, carved directly into the bedrock, sits a perfect Greek cross. This is the Church of St. George in Lalibela, or Bete Giyorgis, and honestly, photos don't do the scale of the thing justice. It isn't built. It’s excavated. Someone—or rather, a massive team of 12th-century craftsmen—hollowed out the earth to leave a cathedral standing in its wake.
It’s weirdly isolated from the other ten churches in the Lalibela complex. Most of the shrines are connected by a labyrinth of dark, damp tunnels, but St. George stands alone in its own deep pit. Legend says King Lalibela was finishing up the other churches when Saint George himself rode up on a horse, looking pretty annoyed that he didn't have a house of worship yet. Lalibela promised to build him the most beautiful one of all. If you look closely at the entrance of the trench, there are indentations in the rock that locals swear are hoofprints from the Saint’s horse. Believe that or not, the engineering reality is even more insane than the folklore.
How the Church of St. George in Lalibela was actually made
Think about how you build a house. You get some wood, some brick, maybe some concrete, and you pile it up. To make Bete Giyorgis, they did the exact opposite. They found a giant slab of basaltic scoria and pounded away at it until the "building" remained. This wasn't a "measure twice, cut once" situation; it was a "mess up once and the whole project is ruined" situation. There’s no room for error when your raw material is the planet itself.
The builders started by trenching around the perimeter. They dug deep into the rock to isolate a massive, four-story-high rectangular block. Once they had the block separated from the surrounding cliff, they started carving from the top down. They shaped the roof first—which features three concentric crosses carved in relief—and worked their way to the base.
Inside, it’s just as mind-blowing. They didn't just hollow out a room. They carved pillars, arches, and a domed sanctuary out of the solid stone inside that block. They even accounted for drainage. If you look at the base of the church, the floor is slightly sloped, and there are small channels to ensure the torrential Ethiopian rains don't turn the pit into a swimming pool.
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UNESCO calls this "rock-hewn" architecture, but that feels like an understatement. It’s subtractive sculpture on a structural scale. Architectural historian David Buxton once noted that the precision of the right angles and the consistency of the wall thickness suggest the builders were using sophisticated geometry that we still don't fully credit them for.
The King who wanted a "New Jerusalem"
To understand why anyone would go through the trouble of carving a church into a hole, you have to look at the 12th century. Jerusalem had fallen to Muslim forces under Saladin in 1187. For the devout Christians of Ethiopia, the pilgrimage to the Holy Land became incredibly dangerous, if not impossible. King Lalibela decided if his people couldn't go to Jerusalem, he would bring Jerusalem to them.
He renamed the local river the "Jordan." He named the hills around the town things like "Mount of Olives." The Church of St. George in Lalibela was the crowning achievement of this symbolic landscape. It’s meant to be a physical representation of the spiritual journey. When you walk down the narrow, high-walled trench toward the entrance, you feel a sense of compression. You’re literally descending into the earth. Then, you enter the church, and the ceiling soars above you. It’s a deliberate architectural trick to make you feel the transition from the earthly to the divine.
Living History: This isn't a museum
One of the biggest mistakes tourists make is treating Lalibela like a dead site, like Pompeii or the Pyramids. It isn't. It’s a living, breathing community. On any given morning, you’ll see white-robed pilgrims leaning against the red stone walls, chanting in Ge'ez, an ancient South Semitic language that’s mostly used in the liturgy of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church.
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The smell is what hits you first when you step inside. It’s a thick mix of old beeswax candles, frankincense, and the faint, musty scent of centuries of damp stone. The floors are covered in thick, slightly frayed rugs. In the shadows, you might see a priest holding a massive, ornate processional cross made of brass or silver. They’ll let you kiss it if you’re respectful, a tradition that has continued unbroken for 800 years.
There is a sort of spiritual gravity here. Even if you aren't religious, the sheer weight of the devotion that carved this place out of the mountain is heavy. You can see the tool marks. You can see where a chisel slipped slightly on a window frame. It makes the history feel very close.
Common Misconceptions about Lalibela
- Aliens built it: No. This is a common trope used to discredit African engineering. The tools found on-site and the stylistic evolution of the churches prove they were built by Ethiopian hands over several decades.
- The Knights Templar helped: There’s a popular theory that the Templars stopped by on their way from Jerusalem to help with the carving. While there were certainly connections between Ethiopia and the Crusader states, there is zero archaeological evidence of Templar involvement.
- It’s a single building: It’s actually part of two main groups of churches, with St. George acting as the outlier. Each church has a distinct architectural style, from the cave-like Bete Meskel to the massive, Parthenon-like Bete Medhane Alem.
Why it's still standing (and why it’s in danger)
The Church of St. George in Lalibela has survived 800 years of earthquakes, rain, and political upheaval. The volcanic rock it’s carved from is relatively soft when first exposed, but it hardens over time. However, "hard" doesn't mean "invincible."
Water is the enemy now. The porous nature of the rock means that moisture seeps into the walls. In the summer, the heat expands that moisture. Over centuries, this causes the stone to flake away—a process called exfoliation.
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UNESCO has installed massive, somewhat ugly protective shelters over some of the other churches to keep the rain off. Thankfully, St. George hasn't been covered yet. It’s the only one you can still see from the rim of the pit exactly as it was intended to be seen. But the debate is ongoing. Do we preserve the stone at the cost of the view, or let the church slowly return to the earth it came from? It’s a tough call.
Planning the trip: What to actually do
If you're actually going to make the trek to the Lasta Mountains, don't just fly in and out. Most people take the "historic circuit" flight from Addis Ababa. It’s easy, but it misses the point.
- Arrive for Genna (Ethiopian Christmas): If you can handle crowds, show up in early January. Tens of thousands of pilgrims descend on the town. They sleep in the fields, they sing all night, and the atmosphere at the Church of St. George is electric. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and it’s the most authentic version of the site you’ll ever see.
- Get a local guide: Not just for the history, but for the keys. Some of the smaller chapels are locked, and the priests only open them for people they know or for those who show genuine interest.
- Check the shoes: You have to take your shoes off to enter any Ethiopian church. You’ll be doing this fifty times a day. Wear slip-ons. Also, watch out for fleas in the old rugs—thick socks are your best friend.
- The "Hidden" Windows: Look at the windows of St. George. They are carved with different styles of crosses. Some look like the Swastika (which is an ancient solar symbol in this context, nothing to do with 20th-century politics), and others are Maltese or Latin style. They represent the diversity of the early Christian world.
The Actionable Reality
The Church of St. George in Lalibela is a testament to what humans can do when they have an obsession. It’s not just a "bucket list" item. It’s a reminder that sophisticated, massive-scale engineering didn't just happen in Europe or Egypt. It happened in the heart of the Ethiopian highlands, carved by people who looked at a mountain and saw a cathedral.
To see it properly, you need at least two full days in the town. Spend the first day wandering the main clusters, but save St. George for the late afternoon of the second day. When the sun starts to dip, the red stone glows a deep, fiery orange. The shadows in the pit get long and dark. That’s when the silence of the place really hits you. You’re looking at a miracle made of sweat and iron chisels.
Next steps for your trip:
- Check the visa status: Ethiopia’s e-visa system is generally reliable, but verify current travel advisories regarding the Amhara region, as local stability can fluctuate.
- Book a flight to Lalibela (LLI): Ethiopian Airlines runs daily hopper flights from Addis Ababa. Driving is an option if you have three days and a love for bumpy mountain roads, but flying is the standard.
- Pack a high-quality flashlight: The tunnels between the churches are pitch black and the floors are uneven. You'll need it to see the wall paintings inside the darker sanctuaries.
- Respect the Liturgy: If a service is happening, stay at the back. Don't use flash photography during prayer. These are active places of worship, not just tourist sites.