Being stuck in a small medieval town was a novelty. Until it wasn’t

It’s kind of fun, the first day you get stranded. It’s a novelty. You realise the incoming plane isn’t going to land, which means you’re not going to fly out, which means you’re spending an extra night in your destination of choice. Fun.

My destination of choice is Lalibela, a town of only 20,000 people in Ethiopia that is also home to 11 incredible rock-hewn churches that deserve to be as famous as Petra in Jordan. And yet the visitor numbers here are a fraction of those Nabatean ruins, which means I’ve had the town mostly to myself for the past few days.

There’s just a small group of tourists travelling down to the airport on that first day, where we stand under a blanket of thick cloud and strain our ears listening for the beat of propellers as the plane from Addis Ababa comes in.

Except, it doesn’t. It can’t land if the pilots can’t spot the runway, so there will be no flight today.

We all pile back into the minivan and head back to town, where we sheepishly wander back into our hotels and ask for a room for another night.

And then you have to figure out what to do with all this extra time in Lalibela. There’s only one tourist attraction here, the churches, so once you’ve spent a few days seeing that, you’ve done Lalibela. What to do with another day?

Mostly I just wander around, chatting to locals who are surprised to still see me, eating lunch at the restaurant where “spaghetti with meat” is unexpectedly tasty. I read a book by the hotel pool, which doesn’t have any water in it.

The next day we all go to the airport again, we all wait for the plane again, we all realise we’re stuck again. The next day, the same thing.

This is less of a novelty now, more of a pain. I’ve done town, but there’s nothing much to do but walk around, regardless of how quiet it is. In fact, where is everyone?

I think I can hear something off the main street, down a dirt track through the trees, so I decide to follow it. Nothing to lose. Eventually I spot a large group of people sitting on plastic chairs in a clearing.

Is this a church service? A baptism? A funeral?

But then I spot the TV. On the screen, the familiar sight of red jerseys and green field. It’s English Premier League football; Arsenal are playing.

I have to pay about 50 cents to watch it, just like everyone else, and then a spare chair is found and I join the crowd. It seems like we’re all going for Arsenal, so I am too.

This is the modern-day church, and honestly, I’m here to worship.