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The Art Deco gem baking in the African sun
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By Paddy Magrane Arriving in Asmara was an unsettling experience. After passing through the small, brightly-lit airport at four in the morning - my passport processed by a serious-looking customs official who seemed surprised anyone would want to visit his country - I was offered a lift by John, a Brit who worked for the UN who had come to pick up his parents. We climbed into his white 4x4 emblazoned with Africa's most famous initials and headed down near-deserted streets into the capital. As he drove, John gave me a snapshot of the country. The impression was of a paranoid state teetering on the edge of resuming its war with Ethiopia - the conflict it won in 1993 but which flared up again briefly in 1998 over a border dispute. John dropped me off at my hotel and I climbed into bed feeling a little confused, wondering whether visiting had been such a good idea. The next morning, any doubts I had evaporated as soon as I opened my shutters. Bright sunshine poured into the room and I looked out on to a fantastic view - a villa (I later learnt it was the Italian ambassador's house) with pale blue walls and a garden of neatly manicured lawns, palm trees and bougainvillaea. This was the Asmara I'd read and begun dreaming about in the months building up to my trip - a city envisaged by Mussolini's architects in the 1930s as a Modernist experiment, with wide streets and bold, beautiful buildings. It was this version of the city that took over in the coming days. Each morning, after a breakfast consisting of a head-clearing espresso and a pastry that any chef in Florence would have been proud of, I headed out into the streets under cloudless blue skies. I soon realised that a simple stroll here was, unlike in so many other African cities, a distinct pleasure. People don't hassle you in Asmara, they are merely friendly and gently welcoming. So you are free to soak up streets filled with Modernist buildings painted in soft peaches, blues and creams without any pestering at all. Opposite my hotel I discovered the abandoned Sudanese embassy, a
fragile beauty just waiting for a sensitive restoration job, with broken
pale blue shutters overgrown with pink bougainvillaea. Its elegant state
of decay contrasted sharply with what is probably Asmara's most famous
building - the Fiat Tagliero - now fully restored. Built as a garage in
1938 by architect Giuseppe Pettazzi, the Tagliero once pumped petrol in
the most dramatic of settings: beneath two vast concrete wings, each
nearly 30 metres (96ft) long, jutting out from the garage's central
building. Legend has it that at the time no one believed they would stay
up unsupported. Pettazzi put removable pillars under the wings and then
used a gun to force one of his workers to knock them away. The wings are
still standing on a building that looks more like a fighter plane than a
petrol station. Visit the Tagliero at six in the evening as it turns a
golden colour against the deep blue evening sky and, possibly fo! A final mention should go to the Impero, a rather extraordinary cinema on Harnet Avenue. Painted in a rich earthy red, the front is decorated with what look like huge wireless buttons. In the 1930s, cinemagoers must have felt they were not only entering a palace of entertainment, but an actual entertainment machine. Asmarinos have not just inherited architecture from their former colonial power, they have taken Italian bar life to their hearts as well. A great place to experience this is the Bar Crispi. Named after Francesco Crispi, the Italian Foreign Minister in charge of the original colony of Eritrea, it's not much from the outside, but inside, once your eyes have adjusted to the drawn-curtained darkness, you discover one of the most intact Modernist interiors in the city. A rounded chrome top bar serves cold, dry Asmara beer (once brewed by Italian beer magnate, Signor Melotti), more incendiary Asmara gin or the to-be-avoided-at-all-costs homemade wine. Nonchalant locals sit on chairs made with a simple flexible loop of steel that would not look out of place in the Design Museum. For less of a speakeasy experience, head back into town to the Vittoria, reputedly Asmara's oldest bar. Here the elderly gentlemen of the city gather for an evening coffee or a vermouth. Served by waitresses in elegant olive green uniforms, the men lounge in well-cut suits and 1950s-style sunglasses like extras in a Fellini film. The evening I went, one caught my eye and lowered his sunglasses to utter 'Buona sera e benvenuti'. After an aperitif, you could do worse than join the passeggiata, when Asmarinos promenade up and down Harnet Avenue. It's a time to marvel at the sheer incongruity of this relaxed Mediterranean custom in the middle of Africa, and try not to stare at so many beautiful women gathered in one place - most wearing the latest European fashions. As you stroll among these calm, seemingly content people, it's easy to forget the daily struggles most Asmarinos face. Despite the impression the city gives, it's not all beer and pastries in Eritrea. Like its neighbour, Ethiopia, the country is desperately poor and experiences droughts every two years at least as bad as the infamous one of 1984 that led to Band Aid. While I was there, the water was regularly turned off in the capital during the day to protect reserves. I suppose what I'm saying is, you should not travel there expecting a well-oiled tourist machine. In fact, with the exception of the out-of-town Inter-Continental Hotel, with its air-conditioned rooms and two pools, most hotels are fairly simple. But I feel the last thing Asmara needs is more slick tourist joints that isolate visitors from the country they are in and put dollars into a small number of already deep pockets. My advice is, stay in the centre, spend your money in as many of the wonderful cafes and bars as possible and let Asmara - with its jaw-droppingly beautiful architecture and spirited, friendly people - envelop you in the warmest of welcomes.
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