Lalibela is dusty. It’s quiet. If you arrive during the dry season, the red earth seems to get into everything you own, but none of that matters once you’re standing on the edge of a trench looking down. You aren't looking at a building that was pushed up toward the sky. You are looking at a giant, cruciform piece of volcanic tuff that was carved into the ground. This is the Church of St. George, or Bete Giyorgis, and honestly, photos don't even come close to capturing the sheer "how did they do that?" energy of the place.
It is the most famous of the eleven monolithic churches in the Lasta Mountains of Ethiopia. While the others are tucked away in caves or connected by terrifyingly dark tunnels, St. George stands alone. It’s perfect. It’s a three-tiered Greek cross that looks like it was dropped into the earth by a giant, but the reality is much more grueling. Men with hand tools—chisels, hammers, and grit—hollowed out a solid block of stone from the inside out.
The King, the Legend, and the Red Scoria
King Lalibela wanted a "New Jerusalem." He had seen the real one, or at least he claimed to, and after the Muslim conquests made pilgrimage to the Holy Land nearly impossible for Ethiopians, he decided to bring the Holy Land to the highlands. Most historians, including those who follow the work of Tadesse Tamrat, place the construction in the late 12th or early 13th century.
Legend says he did it in 24 years with the help of angels.
Skeptics say it took way longer. If you look at the tool marks on the walls, you can see the rhythm of the work. The stone is a reddish volcanic scoria. It’s soft enough to carve but hardens once it’s exposed to the air. This isn't like masonry where you can hide a mistake with some mortar. If a carver slipped, that was it. The mistake was permanent. Part of why the Church of St. George is so revered is its mathematical symmetry. It’s the only church in the complex that doesn't use internal pillars to support the roof because the roof is the mountain.
What people get wrong about the construction
People often talk about these churches as if they were "built." They weren't. They were excavated.
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Think about the logistics. You start by trenching around a massive block of stone. Then, you start carving the exterior details—the windows, the moldings, the decorative flourishes. Then comes the hard part. You have to go inside. Workers entered through the windows and hollowed out the interior, leaving the walls thick enough to stand but thin enough to create a cavernous, holy atmosphere. They carved the altars, the pillars, and the stairways out of the same single piece of rock.
It’s an architectural "subtractive" process.
Most modern architects would struggle to do this today without advanced CAD software and laser levels. The fact that the drainage systems still work—mostly—after 800 years of torrential Ethiopian rains is a miracle of engineering, not just faith.
Living History in the Highlands
This isn't a museum.
If you visit on a Sunday or during Timkat (the Epiphany), you’ll see thousands of pilgrims draped in white shamma cloths. The smell of frankincense is thick. The sound of chanting in Ge'ez—an ancient Semitic language that mostly survives in the liturgy—vibrates against the stone walls. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and it feels exactly like it probably did in 1220 AD.
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The Church of St. George is the spiritual heart of the country. Inside, the monks guard ancient manuscripts and processional crosses made of gold and brass. They’ll tell you that the hoofprints of St. George’s horse are still visible in the rock near the entrance. Whether you believe the hagiography or not, the devotion is tangible. You can feel it in the way the stone floors have been polished smooth by centuries of bare feet.
Conservation or Ruination?
There is a massive debate right now about the UNESCO "umbrellas." If you go to Lalibela, you’ll see giant, futuristic-looking metal canopies over several of the churches. They were put there to stop the rain from dissolving the stone.
They are ugly.
The Church of St. George is the only one without a canopy. UNESCO and the Ethiopian Heritage Authority have wrestled with this for years. On one hand, the rain is slowly eating the rock. On the other, putting a giant metal roof over the most beautiful church in Africa would be a visual tragedy. For now, it remains open to the sky, which is how it was meant to be seen—especially when the sun hits the top of the cross and the whole thing glows.
Why the drainage matters
Water is the enemy. The original builders knew this. They designed the church with a slight slope and a series of sophisticated channels to whisk water away from the foundation. However, as the rock ages and cracks, the water seeps into the interior.
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- Problem: Humidity levels inside the church are rising.
- Result: Ancient frescoes (though St. George has fewer than others) are peeling.
- Current status: Local priests and international experts are using "traditional" lime-based mortars to patch the most dangerous cracks, but it’s a temporary fix.
Traveling to Lalibela: The Reality Check
Getting to the Church of St. George isn't exactly a luxury vacation.
You’ll likely fly into the small Lalibela airport from Addis Ababa. The drive into town is bumpy. The altitude is over 8,000 feet, so if you try to hike around the trenches too fast, you’re going to be gasping for air.
Don't just look at the church from the top. You have to walk down the narrow, winding path into the trench. It feels like descending into another dimension. The walls tower above you, and the air gets noticeably cooler. You’ll see small caves carved into the sides of the trench where "holy men" used to live (and some still do).
Wear socks. You have to take your shoes off to enter any Ethiopian Orthodox church. The carpets inside are beautiful, but they’ve been there a long time, and the floors are cold. Also, bring a flashlight. The interiors are intentionally dark to represent the mystery of the divine, and you’ll miss the intricate carvings on the ceilings without a little extra light.
What to do after you visit
- Hire a local guide. Seriously. You can find them near the entrance. They know which monks are friendly, which tunnels are blocked, and the specific history of the "Tomb of Adam" located nearby.
- Visit the Saturday market. Lalibela is a living town. The market is a sensory overload of spices, livestock, and hand-woven baskets.
- Check the calendar. If you can time your visit with the feast of St. George (April 23rd in the Gregorian calendar, though dates vary in the Ethiopian calendar), the energy is electric.
- Stay for a coffee ceremony. It takes about an hour. They roast the beans in front of you. It is the best coffee you will ever have in your life. Period.
The Church of St. George isn't just a relic of the past. It’s a middle finger to the idea that "primitive" civilizations couldn't achieve world-class engineering. It’s a testament to what humans can do when they are obsessed with a vision. Whether that vision was fueled by angels or just incredibly skilled masons doesn't really matter when you're standing in the shadow of that massive stone cross.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit:
Before you leave for Ethiopia, download an offline map of the Lasta region, as data can be spotty. Always carry small bills for "shoe-keepers" at the church entrances—it's standard practice to tip the person watching your boots. Most importantly, respect the silence. Even when there isn't a formal mass, people are praying in the corners. A quiet observer gets much more access than a loud tourist.