As I write this from inside an air conditioned house with a big-screen TV blaring a trashy American network talent show, I look back on my time in Tanzania with both regret and the fondest memories. It just so happens that I also never posted any sort of wrap-up for the three of you who kept up with this. Hopefully nobody was worried that I hadn't quite made it home after the last post...and for anybody who did, I apologize for waiting a year. As I returned to this page to finally put the blog to rest, I found this gem of a draft, dated 6/10/2010, waiting for me:
"Talk about multi-tasking. I'm writing this post as I pack up my life again to head home. The last week has gone by like a downhill dala-dala, but the week before that was very pole pole (slow). For those of you who don't know already, on clear days I have had a perfect view of Mount Kilimanjaro from my back door. I have seen other mountains in my life, but the fact that this rises alone out of the savannah and displays glaciers in the middle of Africa means that jaws are dropped very frequently among those new to Moshi. Curiosity killed the cat, but I'm more of a dog person, so I decided to climb it as my last adventure in Tanzania."
So packing turned out to keep me pretty busy. And waiting until the last minute to pack and post maybe wasn't the greatest idea. And then Europe happened. And then visiting friends happened. And then searching for jobs and buying a car and applying to schools and Christmas happened and hockey season happened. But to be completely honest, it wasn't a total coincidence that I happened to pick today to revisit the blog. Exactly one time around the sun ago, at this moment, I was approaching the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. In a fitting conclusion to my time in Moshi and my attempts to share it with you, I hope to share what I can remember from the climb and my journey back to Durham.
Perhaps as a bit of foreshadowing of my last night in Tanzania, an all-nighter was definitely pulled before my early morning departure to climb the highest mountain in Africa. Two of Malavika's friends from the U.S., Matt and Maneesh, had decided to do Kili as a part of their world tour. They are not a small boy band, but rather two med students taking time off before residencies. Leading the operation was Peter (aka Pasian), the independent organizer of my safari trip with Maria. This meant two things: it could get a bit disorganized, and we got Sayid as a cook. While the latter outweighed the former (more on that later), we still had to push through some uncertainty at the beginning of the journey. Although the trip pricing was set for four people, we only had three that we knew of. The night before the trip, we had to meet Pasian in town to pick out the supplies we would need to rent and go over a few last minute details. So I headed to the designated shop in town, picked out boots, socks, rain gear, walking poles, etc...all while waiting for Pasian to show up. Not a big deal, except Matt and Maneesh's bus from Dar had been late, so they were still straightening things out back at the compound. That really wasn't a big deal either, as they eventually showed up and we finally got to meet Blake, the fourth member of the group. Blake (or "Blacky" to our guides) was another American, but he had traveled all the way from his UN job in Malawi to climb Kili. In typical Tanzanian fashion, things had unraveled and naturally smoothed themselves over. We had to wait until the first morning of the trek for them to fall apart again.
Fully packed and completely nervous about everything from the weather to my boots (I'd had serious boot problems climbing Meru), our door-to-door private dala-dala picked up most of the constituent parts of the climbing party. Like many trips set up by individuals (as opposed to larger companies), our organizer himself didn't take part in the climb. Instead, a quiet but cheery man named Nestor was to be our head guide. I could tell early on that Nestor didn't speak as much English as many of the other guides, but his claim of having climbed the mountain over 100 times put any doubts to rest. Except for his name, that is. Until about the fourth day of the trip, all the mzungu members of our group thought our guide was named "Nesto" or "Ernesto." The fact that he put up with this for so long gives you a glimpse into how patient one has to be to not only climb that mountain so many times, but also to lead lazy foreigners up its slopes. Anyway, the ride to our starting point of Machame seemed to last a few hours longer than the 30 minutes it took. In the TANAPA tradition, the entrance to the national park was an impressively monstrous gate connected to a half-finished office/bathroom complex. On planet earth, this would be a quick stop to smooth over details before departing, right? Wrong. Due to issues with paperwork and the credit card machine, we were stranded for at least two hours in twitching anticipation of the mountain that was literally breathing down our necks. If this sounds familiar, the same kind of thing happened in both Arusha and the Serengeti. In this instance it was convenient for the hawkers reaching through the gate, and I had learned to just laugh it off. It was also time for us to meet the surprise fifth member of our group. This young Swedish woman's name somehow escapes me one year later. I know this is inexcusable after spending six trying days in a group with her, but I'm sure I'll remember as soon as this is posted. (I also hope her powerlifting hobby and new husband are treating her well back home.) Anyway, things were straightened out by Pasian and we set out significantly later than expected...strangely just before the threat of darkness would have sent us back to town.
The hike on day one was surprisingly easy physically, but marred by a mix of heavy drizzle and light rain. We reached camp after about three and a half hours of a moderate climb on a wide open trail through (go figure) a rainforest. We heard a few monkeys, but for the most part it was just a wet, shady, mossy day hike. After overcoming all the inertia at the starting line, we were ready to just get set up at camp and rest up. The one piece of advice I didn't read beforehand (probably because it was omitted as common sense) was that moisture is your enemy on trips like this. I had worn shorts all day, but the nighttime temperature was easily down in the lower 50s at our first camp. This doesn't sound bad, but when one set of your clothes is wet and the warm sweatshirt you brought was somehow set aside on top of a soaking wet tent, sleeping isn't necessarily pleasant. I guess the real kicker in this scenario was that groups are not allowed to build fires on the mountain due to limited access to firewood. Gas stoves are carried up for food, but this leaves no options for drying out clothing besides shivering out some body heat from inside your sleeping bag. Repeat this four more times at increasing altitude and daytime sweat, and decreasing temperature, and you have an idea of what my nights were like that week.
The nights weren't all that bad, as our heroic crew of porters cooked us an astounding amount of food. Sayid (pictured below) has probably been at this for a handful of decades, and the dozen or so others showed superhuman strength in (sometimes literally) running ahead of the group to set up camp at the end of the day. With most of the gear. Without liters and liters of water. The truly sad part about this is that the hardest workers earned only little more than what we expat college students could scrape up for tips at the end. Of the over $1000 per person (often 4-5 times that amount for luxury companies), most goes to park fees that support the fiasco that had almost kept us grounded. Fair or not, these guys come from all over to grind out trip after trip whenever possible. The work setting is much more breathtaking than my current office, and it's not a bad place to spend time with friends who happen to also be colleagues, but the pay would be simply considered inhumane in this country.
For the sake of length and my memory, the middle three days almost blend together. The Machame Route we took started us at slight elevation near the 8 o'clock position on the inactive volcano cone. Climbing straight up would make sense, but unfortunately nature did this to the mountain at some point. As a result, we would have to traverse about eight large valleys to reach the 2:30 position and prepare for the final ascent. I had seen the mountain hundreds of times from a distance, but had absolutely no real appreciation for the geographical nuances of Mt. Kilimanjaro. What looks like your stereotypical up and down climb on a snowcapped mountain turned out to be up-up-uppp-downn-up-down-uppp-downnnn-upppp-down-upp-downnn-uppp-downn-uppppppppppppppppppppppp-downnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Do I even need to write more after that description?
Day two presented a slightly longer hike that transitioned us from mossy foggy rainforest to misty dreary rocks with some plant life. Four or so hours of a pretty straightforward uphill hike led us to Shira Camp. A wide open rock field with a 180 degree vista over a steep drop-off, we spent our second night here wondering what was really ahead. The night would be significantly colder than our first. The nearby helipad also served as the highest point of evacuation in case of an emergency. Above this point, the only animals were humans, crows, and field mice, two of which live primarily off the scraps of the third.
As expected (but not desired), we woke up to frost on the door flaps of our tents. The morning porridge provided a crucial warm-up and we began our cut across the southern slope of the mountain. Our third day of hiking served as an acclimatization day, meaning we would hike from 13,000 feet to 16,000 feet, then back down again (farther around the mountain) to camp. This is built into the route to assist climbers with the rigors of pushing up near 20,000 feet at the summit on the final ascent. The other three guys in the group decided early on that they would use medication to prevent altitude sickness, but our Swedish friend and I stubbornly (and possibly somewhat dangerously) decided against it. I had heard varying reviews about what the medications actually do, and at the same time I wanted to at the very least carry my own weight to the top without any help. The med-free group eventually dwindled to one (plus all the Tanzanians), but I did suffer through pretty constant headaches for the last three days. It definitely added to the psychological challenges of the climb, and I know that I was a lot less pleasant to live with these days, but I felt proud after pushing through all of it regardless.
Our third camp provided probably the most amazing view of all. Situated in an open area overlooking a rocky river, we saw the mighty Western Breach to the north, the Barranco Wall to the east, and a valley emptying into the sky to our south. Looking up towards the peak, it was finally possible to see all the fine details of each individual glacier and start to grasp the sheer scale of it all. To top it all off, the camp's outhouse probably had the best views of all this, leading Maneesh to declare it the "Most Scenic Outhouse in the World." I also maintain that "Furtwängler" is the absolute greatest glacier name of all time. The next morning we were to climb the imposing wall across the river, but some much-needed sunlight before sundown gave us time to warm up, stretch out, and dry out.
Day four was another up and down day through terrain that looked like it belonged on an asteroid somewhere between the moon and mars. Our climb up the Barranco wall was physically, but not technically challenging. It was the closest we would come to needing gear, but only required some extra care, attention, and effort compared to the rest of our climb. This day was plagued by overthought, as began by climbing this 400-foot wall without knowing that on the other side we would just be descending again. This repeated over and over, and it took us a few repetitions to learn to be pessimistic about what's over that next hill. Nevertheless, we saw some undoubtedly unique rock structures this day, including the breathtaking Mawenzi. From Moshi, this looks like Kibo's annoying little brother. From Barafu Camp ("Ice" Camp, our fourth), it looked like the rocky hand of the devil himself bursting out of the earth. We wouldn't be going anywhere near it, but this just blew me away flanked in the sunset by miles and miles of ancient lava flows.
We arrived at Barafu Camp at about 5pm on the fourth day. The temperature there didn't feel so bad after a strenuous day of hiking, but this changed quickly as the sun disappeared over the mountain to the west. We took in our last view of the peak from a distance before fueling up on rice, porridge, and tea and taking the most important power nap of our lives. We got to sleep four freezing hours from about 7-11pm, then woke up to the earliest/latest breakfast ever. Headlamps and reserve tanks leading us, we set out at midnight in complete darkness. This strategy of night summiting is standard, and I figure it has more to do with not freaking out about your treacherous surroundings than having enough daylight to descend afterwards. These 5 hours and 10 minutes of climbing added up to become one of the hardest things I have ever done.
After about 45 minutes of a very steep climb we were all winded, freezing, dehydrated, and suffering from headaches. In a move that was either very strange or very ingenious, Nestor never asked if the group needed a break. Being polite kids, however, we had all non-verbally communicated to each other that we desperately needed one. The entire trip up the grueling serpentine path, we probably stopped only six times. At one of these breaks about 3 and a half hours in, I urgently felt the need to put on a third pair of socks. I lived for snow days when I was little, so I know the numbness that comes with exposure to the cold. What I felt was slowly creeping to the next level though, and this decision probably helped avoid a scary situation. To give you an idea of how cold it was, in the time it took me to get my gloves off and untie my left boot, I had lost enough feeling in my fingers that I had to put the gloves back on and warm them up before doing anything else. And it only got colder and windier as we approached the top.
As we finally reached a bit of a plateau at Stella Point, the fact that we still saw no sign of the sunrise told us that we had blazed up the final leg. We had passed several groups, and were definitely leading at this point. This news wasn't completely positive, however; we would have to wait 30-45 minutes at the summit if we wanted to see the sunrise in its entirety. Pushing on under balaclavas, the end was in sight. One step at a time, I only needed to cross about 1000 feet of a sidehill snowfield that sloped out of sight down to the base of some enormous glaciers...in the dark...with only one working pole. Experienced climbers would probably scoff at this, but I can say that I at least impressed myself in rallying the determination to trample these obstacles. As surreal as every bit had been to that point, finally reaching the top of that mountain was unbelievable. We had gone [way too] fast and arrived at 5:10am to make us the first group to set foot at the top of the African continent in June of 2010. It was still mostly dark at this point, but it is a pretty indescribable feeling when you can peek over the edge of the land you're standing on to look down at the tops of clouds. We each took our turns for pictures in front of the famous sign and took a few minutes to soak it all in. Millions of people have seen Kili from below, but to look down into its giant crater from the summit with faint hints of orange and pink creeping over the horizon...just wow.
The glaciers were absolutely one of the most sublime things I have ever seen, but some say they will be gone by 2015. Just thinking about how special it was to see these first-hand before they disappear makes me want to go through all the struggles again right now. Even a year later, these moments stick with me like nothing else.
Unfortunately, the decision was made by Nestor that we would have to descend rather than wait for sunrise. The grave look on his face when he told us it would be dangerous to stay much longer in the cold was more than enough to push us back down off of what we had worked so hard for. In retrospect, the mix of exhaustion and relief and altitude and extreme cold prevented me from soaking it all in like I would have at sea level. Like many things, memories and pictures will have to suffice. The hike down literally shed light on what we had done under the cover of darkness. The steep incline we had snaked up at a snail's pace turned into challenging and somewhat reckless pebble skiing straight down. Hours and hours of this (and a few spills on the way) led us back to a real path. Here we...continued to walk downhill for a few hours. After this, we ate lunch and...walked downhill for a while.
Needless to say, low camp was a welcome sight after walking from midnight to 5pm with few real breaks. After a restful night, and the (muddy) last leg of the downhill, we came to the end of it. Our celebratory lunch at a roadside restaurant in the village of Mweka gave us a chance to reflect on the trip and really thank everyone who helped us through it. The ceremony for tipping each crew member was beautifully Tanzanian, with the climbers saying a few words and calling each person up individually to congratulate them.
Returning to Moshi and what I had come to know as real life was a bit of a struggle. My house welcomed me back without any electricity (or hot water), so I had to hike down to Donato's house a half mile away to take a terribly urgent shower. A few days later, before I knew it, it was also time to pack everything up and say my goodbyes. Between wrapping up at work, buying some last minute gifts, setting up a farewell dinner, and cleaning up my place, the last week in Tanzania was an absolute blur. I was ready to go back home, but there's no doubt I've missed Moshi from time to time in the past year.
If you want a definition of "culture shock," try going from the top of Africa to the streets of Amsterdam in a matter of six days. On my way back to America, I had a great time visiting some new Moshi friends who were already back home in the Netherlands and Germany. Dorien and Christian were beyond kind in letting me stay at their places. I gave Dorien, Mirke, and Henriette an excuse to take a touristy bike tour of Amsterdam before we met up with Jasper and Jacob for dinner and a round of billiards along the Amstel.
In Bochum, Germany I met up with Jonas and Christian to catch a few World Cup soccer games outside in the town plaza. Christian also took me to the nearby Zollverein, which is now a converted coal mine and factory complex. The giant brick buildings now serve as a performance and gathering space, as well as a museum covering the history of industry in the area. It really reminded me of the American Tobacco Campus in Durham as another example of creative ways to deal with economic challenges.
From Bochum, I moved on to my favorite city in the world: Berlin. It was even more exciting to be there this time, however, because I was meeting up with two friends from Penn. Sarah and Courtney were at the end of a European trip of their own, and I had a great time showing them some of the highlights I had seen on my first trip there. As proof that there's always something new in Berlin, on the other hand, I got a call from Moshi regular Jan inviting us to watch Germany's soccer game on a 20 foot screen at a beach bar on the Spree River. I was also totally surprised to have a chance to meet up with Junna (another Penn friend), who was visiting from London. Remember the saying about Berlin? We cheered on her home team of Japan at an impromptu backyard bar with a jerry-rigged roof and TV setup. After all of these friends had moved along, I spent my last night in the city at a Jack Johnson concert. I also came to the conclusion that German people love Jack Johnson.
A few trains and planes later, I was back at RDU and back to the real post-college world in the U.S.. I spent six months trying to find a job, and ended up with three somehow. I was also accepted to grad school and will be starting work towards a Master's in Public Health in the fall. I only share these boring details because they mean I'll be hoping to do more work overseas next summer. Whether that's in Tanzania or somewhere else, I'm not sure for now. Either way, my extended stay in a country halfway around the world gave me experience and perspective that even a million hours of the Discovery Channel or a million issues of National Geographic could provide. That said, I can only express so much with clumsy words and wannabe photography skills. Don't just wonder what it's like; go there and do that.
Thanks so much for reading. I hope you got something out of this, because I sure did.
Some links...
Days 3-5 as mapped on my GPS watch:
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/36215336
All of my pictures from Kilimanjaro:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.721038715477.2314907.615904&l=e79002e2e4
