01 A postal bicycle, in 1898

The origin is as prosaic as it is precise. The first bicycles reached the territory in 1898 and were used for postal deliveries in Massawa, the Red Sea port. From there they climbed to the plateau. In 1936 the federation was set up and in 1937 the first organised race was run, with clubs beginning to form in Asmara itself.

Those first races were reserved for Italian riders. Eritreans were not admitted to compete until 1939, and as soon as they could, one of them took the win: Ghebremariam Ghebru. It is the kind of fact remembered inside the country far more than outside it.

The gateway of a market built in dark stone masonry with red brick surrounds: a large central arch with a metal gate leads into the compound, flanked by two smaller blind arches, and above the whole rises a brick bell-gable with two openings and a railing; a sign in Tigrinya letters runs across the frieze; low halls of the same stone with wooden windows extend to either side; in front, on the unpaved street, stand eight or ten cargo bicycles with flatbed trailers and spoked wheels, some loaded and some empty, and a dozen people standing or pedalling, seen at middle distance; the sky is deep blue.
Cargo bicycles waiting at the gate of the scrap market. Before it is a sport, the bicycle here is a working tool.Mheidegger / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY 4.0·CC BY 4.0

02 From the local club to the Tour de France

What began on a city circuit has ended on European roads. In 2015 Daniel Teklehaimanot became the first Eritrean to start the Tour de France, and that same year he was the first African rider to wear the race's mountains jersey, having won that classification at the Critérium du Dauphiné.

A capital of a million people, in one of the least visited countries in the world, that has put its riders on the podium of international cycling. The starting point is this sloping street.

Confirmation came later with Biniam Girmay: the first Black African rider on a podium at the road World Championships, in 2021, and winner of the green jersey at the 2024 Tour de France. Eritrea is now considered one of the continent's leading cycling nations, and not by chance or on the strength of one isolated case.

A pale concrete former service station shaped like an aeroplane: a vertical central body topped by a curved gable carrying the letters "FIAT" in red and two flagpoles, below it a horizontal volume with the name "TAGLIERO" in relief and a curved glazed lookout, and on either side two enormous cantilevered concrete wings extending with no pillar holding them up; the ground floor has large windows and a canopy with cars parked beneath it; a metal fence and a patch of dry grass run in front, a cyclist crosses the roadway in the foreground in profile and three people walk at a distance on the right; the sky is deep blue and cloudless.
A cyclist crosses in front of the 1938 service station. Here the bicycle is part of the everyday landscape, not of the weekend.Sailko / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0·CC BY-SA 3.0

03 What the altitude does

The explanation repeated both inside and outside the country has two legs. The first is altitude: Asmara sits at 2,325 metres and most of the country lies above 1,800. Training every day at that height produces the physiological adaptations that in Europe are chased with three-week mountain camps.

The second is the terrain. The road down from Asmara to Massawa loses more than two thousand metres in a rosary of tight bends, and it has been the natural training ground of several generations of riders: a long sustained climb in one direction, a technical descent in the other. Nothing has to be built, it is already there.

For the visitor there is a practical and unromantic corollary: that same altitude affects you. At 2,325 metres you feel the first day climbing a flight of stairs, and if you plan to hire a bike it is worth spending the first days riding gently. What gives the locals an advantage takes one away from you for a week.

A wide avenue in the centre with the roadway empty in the foreground and a row of thick, ringed date palm trunks planted along the right-hand pavement; behind them, a four-storey pale yellow building with metal-railed balconies and, at street level, shops signed for a café and a travel agency; on the left, a lower block with awnings, a traffic light, a white van and two yellow taxis, and a line of parked bicycles against the kerb; on the right-hand margin, a green and blue bus shelter with half a dozen people seated, seen from a distance; the sky is deep blue and cloudless.
The main avenue on an ordinary day, bicycles parked against the kerb. On race Sundays this same roadway is closed and the pavements fill up.Sailko / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY 3.0·CC BY 3.0

04 How to see it

First: you do not need to hunt for it. If you happen to be there on a race Sunday you will know about it, because the circuit runs through the centre and the crowd lines the pavements of the same avenues you have been walking all week. You watch it free and standing, like a European classic, but without barriers and without tickets.

Second: look on weekdays too. The bicycle here does not live on sport alone. At the scrap market, on deliveries and in daily journeys, the bicycle with a trailer is a working vehicle. That everyday base is what holds up the rest, and it is the part that never makes the sports reports.

And third: use the fact to read the city differently. Asmara is easy to walk because it is flat and compact, but it stands on top of a plateau, and everything around it drops away. That geometry — a flat city on an edge — explains at once its urban form, its climate and why its riders climb so well.

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Lucía Montes

Worth Knowing editor · Flowtravel

Lucía chases the fact that changes how you look at a place.