Seven days on the Kilimanjaro
I'd been preparing for it for months, but the closer
I got to departure date, the more it felt like an unbelievable and
truly mad idea to climb Africa's highest peak, the highest
free-standing mountain in the world, the Kilimanjaro. To try climb
it, at least. I was intimated, as it is expected when facing
something unknown, respectable. I went for it nevertheless.
Day -2.
4 am: baaaah.... It may not have been a good idea to
order dinner from the Indian. I present all symptoms of a proper food
poisoning. And I have to get into a car this afternoon, and then on a
sequence of planes. It will be fun.
6 pm: ok, I may actually make it. I drank about 2 liters of re-hydration solution today, combined with ginger tea, I
took all pills the clinic could give me, and haven't eaten since last
night. Ready for a Kigali-Bujumbura-Nairobi-Kilimanjrao trip. ETA
09:00 tomorrow.
Day -1: food poisoning is all gone, but I've been
wearing this dress for the last 30 hours, and it's nice and hot in
Tanzania. And I can't find the container for my contact lenses. At
least there is a bunch of cute Spanish boys in this hotel; they've
just gotten off the mountain and now they enjoy life. They don't even
seem exhausted. Maybe there is hope?
Day 0. Problem of the contact lenses solved, I found
some sort of a container. Spanish cuties tried to get me worried by
saying things like „freeze”, but I'll worry about that when I get
there. Right now I'm busy with the email I received five minutes ago,
for a job application, including a link to an online test that I have
to send back within 24 hours. Good thing we're only leaving tomorrow,
and I think I've even seen a desktop computer in the lobby.
Later: The desktop computer had slower internet than
we did back in the old dial-up days, but I finished the test
nonetheless. From tomorrow on, it's really climbing only. I even got
ski pants, when it goes below zero, or when I go beyond 5000.
Day 1.: I have to admit, I have a drinking problem.
Mainly because I managed to fix the pipe of my camelback in a way
that blocks the flow of water. Maybe this mountain is too complicated
for me? It started so well though! At the Machame gate the ranger
greeted us in Hungarian, and we had enough time to observe and
evaluate our fellow hikers. There is a superfit GI Joe, two Dutch
girls, one Australian, a bunch of guys seemingly from an office, and
one who looks like an accountant even in his mountain gear. Today we
only walked in rainforest, which always makes me feel like I'm in
some science fiction with dinosaurs and stuff.
Day 2. : So, that weird tummy discomfort that is
supposed to be the warning sign of all altitude problems? I have it.
I can barely look at the breakfast (porridge, scrambled eggs,
sausages, fruits), but the guide stands by the table until I finish
it all. He would make an excellent grandmother, he keeps chanting
„eat more”. On this part of the trek one can still find toilet
„huts”, otherwise it's the endless jungle to serve as bathroom.
As long as the jungle lasts, that is. The further we get the smaller
the trees are, and by the end of the day they are replaced by bush
and rocks.
I'd never wondered before how it must feel to walk on
rocks scattered all over the place for hours, but now I know. Pretty
annoying. Especially when it starts raining, the cloud descends, I
can't see further than 5 meters, the rocks are slippery, my hands are
cold. The GI Joe of course doesn't even raise an eyebrow facing all
this, and the Australian girl must be simply crazy, I have only seen
her skipping, at an altitude when some start having problems
breathing.
Day 3. : If I don't even notice that my nose is half
frozen by the morning and that I have bruises all over, despite the
nice mattress, then it means I'm adapting my needs to the
possibilities provided by the environment? Or descending in Maslow's pyramid (while ascending on the mountain) is really marked by the
fact that I don't even mind doing my thing in the bush or among the
rocks?
I was told this will be a long day, but I lost all
sense of time. The cloud comes, the cloud goes, we get rained at,
hailed at, the Shira plateau doesn't seem to end, and when it does,
it becomes a mysterious moonland. Not that I've ever been on the
Moon, but it sure looks like this. Too bad my steps aren't as light
as they would be up there. Today's highest point is at 4600 meters
above sea level, from then on it's downhill – on slippery rocks,
for a change. We get to the Barranco-camp exhausted, soaked, cranky,
but after dinner the sky clears out and we get to see the peak. Quite
a treat. We have a little debate with our cook, who is concerned that
we don't eat and drink enough („First day, no milk. Two day, no
milk. Why no milk?”), and our guide who is worried about me being
too quiet. Maybe he's comparing me to the Australian chick, she came
down the hillside jumping around to freestyle rap. I just hope the
accountant got here too, he seemed to have a lot of struggle when I
last saw him.
Day 4: We couldn't see it last night, but the
Barranco-wall, today's first (and main) challenge is right at the
end of the camp. It looks completely vertical, but they say it isn't.
But then again, they also say summit day won't be terribly hard, and
that the night wasn't too cold, and still, I look like a
Michelin-doll every night now, as I try to put on all my clothes. I
put some chocolate powder on my porridge to please the cook, and
while lining up at the loo I learn that I'm not the only one who has
to go there a lot. (Yes, I got to the point when discussing this with
shivering strangers who haven't showered in 4 days is completely
normal. One more floor lower chez Maslow.)
Up on the wall we are like little spidermen, in a
single file, slow and patient. We only stop when we can't breathe
anymore, or when we have to let a group of porters pass. It's
unbelievable what these boys and girls are capable of. They put a full
kitchen on their heads, and then climb over the wall, uphill,
downhill, while I'm trying to decide whether inhale-exhale or
left-right should be more important. (And by the way, whoever says
the Kilimanjaro is an easy hike because there is no technical
climbing, should reconsider the concept of easy. Danke schön.) Our
GI Joe friend of course completes the wall without a blink of an eye,
and the Aussie girl loudly cheers for everybody. We need it, as well
as the spontaneous party on top of the wall (at 4400 meters. I have
no idea who brought speakers, I don't even have a hairbrush.)
Day 5: I'm starting to slowly accept, because I
couldn't deny for much longer, that we're getting really, really
close to the hardest part of the trip. I fell asleep with a little
shortness of breath, and put on all my clothes except for the ski
pants. I was cold nonetheless. In the morning I shove the porridge in
my mouth without any conviction, and don't even mention that I
noticed the increasing number of sausages per person served. I think
twice before venturing out to the bathroom. It is very far. And seems
to be put on the edge of the cliff. The peak peeks out from the
clouds time and again, maybe as a motivation, but I sense a little
teasing in there too. Far away, so close.
No choice left, we have to go. While walking, I don't
actually feel any pain. I follow my guide as a little donkey, and if
I have to catch my breath when I stop for a drink, it's not only
because of the altitude. When I take the time to look around, it
strikes me how beautiful, how wild, how different it all is. If I had
the energy to think, I would note that it's also very divers: since
the Machame we've seen jungle, evergreen, alpine desert, moonland,
volcanic ash. And definitely more than enough rocks. Next time I see
a bigger stone it'd better be in my engagement ring.
We get to base camp early afternoon. It's very cold.
Since we start the summit climb at midnight, we should try to rest
the afternoon. It doesn't even occur to me to get changed. One, I am
already wearing everything I have, and two, to perform a baby
wipe-supported self-cleaning, I would have to get undressed. Again,
the higher we go on the mountain, the lower we get in that pyramid
of needs. Our guide gives a short briefing and asks how we are. How
could we possibly be? I am very, very excited now. Nervous. Up until
now everything was going just fine – considering of course that
we've been going up a mountain for five days - , but now I feel like
all my faith is slipping away and I don't understand why am I even
here. So I eat some mango, at least the cook will be pleased.
Day 6: The days are blurring together. I'm woken up
before midnight, I am completely confused, my heart beats like crazy,
I don't understand anything. I'm pretty useless in the morning in
general, and this, in the middle of the night, being dragged out of
my tent, just makes it much worse. Except for the below zero
temperature, the weather is gorgeous. The sky is clear, it's almost
full moon, the stars are bright, and yes, the intimidating, snowy
Kilimanjaro is right there, in all her majesty. It's almost scary.
But I have no time to reflect on the deep beauty of nature, we have
to leave. Our fellow madmen are strolling in front and behind us, in
a single file again, with their headlamps shining like an army of
fireflies.
I start losing all marbles around 4 in the morning.
I'm exhausted beyond measure, I can't decide whether I should eat
some chocolate, or throw up rather, or sleep, or cry, or I don't
know. I suddenly recall that I brought some music, and for a while I'm
pushed forward by The Killers, Florence, Mika and Milow. But then I'm
just sitting on some rock, munching on dried pineapples, and even The
Kooks can't cheer me up anymore. I lie when I answer “mzuri sana”
to those who pass by (meaning “very good”, the usual Swahili
answer to “how are you”), but in reality I have no idea how to go
on. Or what for.
Then the sun comes up. It's always like this in this
part of the world: sudden, unexpected and short. The clouds become
pink, then orange, the Mawenzi peak emerges, and that's it: it's
morning. Which makes me feel like there is hope in the world again.
It doesn't make me move any faster though, and I get more and more
hopeless by every minute, seeing how far we still are.
Three hours later, around 9 in the morning I finally
get to the Uhuru-peak. I'm not sure what makes me happier: that the
sun is out and I can take off my gloves, that my phone didn't freeze
and I can document the achievement, that I can sit down a little, or
that from now on I only have to go downhill. Maybe all of the above.
And the fact that tomorrow afternoon I can finally take a shower, and
will sleep in a a real bed. And won't need to drink from the
camelback. Moving upwards in the pyramid.
In the afternoon it snows a little in the base camp,
and then we start the descent. By the evening the landscape starts to
look like it may be inhabited by humans. Below 3000 meters one can
even see actual trees! The Aussie girl turns out to be Canadian, and
the Dutchies want to wash their hair as much as I want to wash mine.
In general, everybody is relieved and very proud.
Day 7: We made it! I thought it would be easy
downhill, I could breathe and everything, but instead now I have two hurting knees, three blisters and, for the first time in a week,
proper sore muscles. And a picture with the Hungarian flag and the
certificate stating that I did actually climb this mountain, and I
start to believe it too.
In the bus, on the way to Arusha the radio is on full
blast (as anywhere, any time, in Tanzania), but it doesn't bother me
now. I don't even mind that it's the Westlife cover of ABBA's I have
a dream, I sing with them.
Day 14.: On the way to Nairobi, after take-off, the
pilot says we should have our cameras ready. We are lucky, the
weather is clear, and we can have an aerial view over the
Kilimanjaro. She's majestic. But I'm no longer afraid. After all, we
have a history.
