February 2012 – Our Pod Life

February 27, 2012April 23, 2020

FAQ About Our Climb

How long did it take you to climb Mt Kilimanjaro?

We decided to hike the Machame-Mweka Route because it was advertised as being more difficult than the Marangu route. The Machame trail starts on the south-western side of Mt Kilimanjaro and winds around the mountain, approaching the summit from the east. The trail took us through lush lowland forests and dry and dusty mountain desert, over barren rocky slopes, to a summit with glaciers.

The day before we left for our climb, we had lunch with a young couple from Sweden. They had just completed the Machame Route in six days. After hearing about their exhausting summit/descent day, we were relieved that our trip was seven days long. The extra day provided more time for rest (hooray!) and acclimatization.

The distance we hiked most days was not very far. Not matter what, though, our pace was always “pole, pole” (slowly, slowly). We wanted to acclimate properly so we didn’t die on the summit attempt. No sense in speeding up the mountain, only to spend the summit climb feeling like crap. I really had to reign in my inner border collie – anyone who has run or cycled with me knows I chase figures in the distance, even if I have no chance of catching them. I combatted this mental illness by staying at, or near, the back of the pack.

I was allowed to unleash the border collie on the way down from the summit. I literally flew down the mountain, riding the loose dirt and scree almost to the Barafu camp. It was so much fun. I’m fairly sure I alarmed Robert, our soft-spoken Tanzanian guide, with all my whoopin’ and a-hollerin’. I don’t imagine he sees too many crazy blonde ladies in his part of the world.

How many people were in your group?

There were eight people in our group. I came with Tom and Greg and we met Robin, Graciela, Klemens, Mickey, and Jane. We were so very lucky to have such great people in our group, especially since we were ~~stuck~~ with them for seven challenging days.

Robin, the youngster, hails from Arkansas, where she works as a graveyard manager at Walmart. Despite her small stature, it was quickly apparent to us that she was as tough as nails. Her personality was as fiery as her beautiful red hair. I loved her spirit of adventure, her dry wit, and willingness to share her Snickers.

Jane was the oldest in our group but she hiked like a billy goat. I have never followed someone so sure footed before and it was a challenge to follow her steps up and down rocky slopes. She was as quiet as one would expect a librarian to be, but my conversations with her revealed a very interesting person. I could totally visualize her riding the horse she bought once she retired just because she had always wanted one. I was impressed by her and Robin, both single women who made this challenging trip alone to answer the call of adventure.

I’m not even sure I can write about Mickey without endangering national security. Suffice it to say, he was some kind of bionic man, possibly built by our military. An American Ninja, who protects our nation both here and abroad. He consistently had the best pulse oximeter readings: super low pulse and super high oxygen saturation. He laughed in the face of high altitude. The secret about Mickey: his rock hard body contained a huge heart. He was always the first to offer help to anyone in the group.

Graciela and Klemens were the other couple in our group and I found them to be hilarious. They work and live at AP Farm, just outside of New York City. Graciela is the house manager and Klemens is the chef. They have lived in, and traveled to, many places and had so many stories of their adventures to tell. They should write a book. You can get a good feel of Graciela by reading her guest post on our blog. Her claim to fame during the trip was having anything we might need among her belongings. (She even had a hot water bottle!) I have no idea how she met the weight limit on her bag.

Mickey, Klemens, Graciela, Tom, Robin, Zach (guide), Jane, Greg, and me

Was it cold?

The hike began and ended in soul-sucking heat. Africa is HOT, especially for pink people like Greg and me. After the first day, however, the temperatures began to drop. On day #3, we awoke to ice on our tents at Shira Camp. I was cold, but it was a relief after the unbearable, dry heat of Moshi. (The locals say, “Africa is hot. And, Moshi is hot for Africa.”)

We began our trek to the summit just after midnight (early day #6). It was cold and windy. At the summit, the wind chill dropped temperatures into the negative teens! That is COLD, especially for this California Girl, who thinks anything under 70 degrees is freezing!

I dressed as instructed by our guide, Zach, and I never got cold. Even my feet were warm! Simply amazing and I’m sure it was one reason why I had such a great time summiting.

Top layers: Patagonia Capilene 1 shirt, Patagonia Capilene 2 zip shirt, Patagonia Capilene 4 zip shirt, (Graciela’s) Arcteryx jacket, Mountain Hardwear down parka. Bottom layers: Patagonia Capilene 4 base layer, Sport Hill 3SP wind pants, Patagonia Puff Pants. Other: wool beanie, buff, two pairs of gloves (thinner liner inside big ol’ gloves), the heaviest Smart Wool socks over Injini liner socks, gaiters.

I may have looked like the Stay Puft man, but I was comfortable.

Did you set up your own tent?

No, thank goodness. It was bad enough just sleeping in a tent, let alone having to put one up. We had 25 porters assigned to our hiking group of 8 people. The porters set up and broke down camp every day. They lugged our heavy equipment up and down Mt Kilimanjaro, often carrying items on their back and heads! It was a sight to see.

At Barafu Camp, as we waited for it to be midnight to start the summit trek, we rested in our tent. Outside, the wind was howling but our tent held strong against the unrelenting buffeting. Now, had I been responsible for putting up my own tent, I would have been blown right back down to the Machame Gate, much like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, but without the cute dog. Thank goodness for those wonderful porters.

What did you eat?

We had a very talented chef, who somehow cooked for everyone with a single hot plate. It was magic, really. We burned a ton of calories every day, but I was never hungry for dinner. I usually ate a plate of plain rice and a bowl of vegetarian soup, despite the offerings of spicy vegetable sauces and platters of chicken. By breakfast, however, I was starving and usually stuffed my face with whatever carb offering they had. My favorite was red millet gruel with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. We also had a wide variety of fresh fruit to choose from: bananas, strawberries, mangos, and pineapple.

The variety of dishes we were served was impressive. One night, we even had french fries. They were soooo good. That might have been the night that others in the group learned that I can kill with my thumbs.

We drank water, water, and more water. I even drank hot water with dinner, because I didn’t want the caffeine from tea. In the morning, I drank a few cups of hot tea to get my motor revving.

I brought quite a bit of food from home but only ate a few bars and chews. The best thing I had was the Snickers bar Robin gave me as a reward for not falling to my death from the Barranco Wall. It had the taste of victory!

You camped????

I think I was so focused on how I was going to have a successful climb up the mountain that I never really thought about what camping for six nights would mean. I haven’t camped since I was in Girl Scouts and this trip was a big reminder why.

I set out so naively, in my clean clothes, with my clean hair and skin. It wasn’t long until I adopted the same “whatever” attitude everyone else had. I couldn’t fight the dirt and smells, and eventually I just stopped trying.

And, having to pee in a bottle in the tent to avoid stumbling around outside in the cold darkness? Nothing really needs to be said about that awful chore, but Greg summed it up quite well in another blog post.

Fact: hair unwashed for seven days stays in a pony tail even after the band is removed.

Was it hard?

While anticipating this trip, I thought for sure that climbing Mt Kilimanjaro would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. Yet, while it was a challenge, it was not as difficult as I thought it would be. Some of that was due to the training we did prior to the climb, but most of it was due to how carefully we were acclimated by our guides. I know attempting to summit with altitude sickness would have made this challenge much tougher.

What will you always remember about this climb?

This was a question I asked the people I spoke to before my trip who had already climbed Mt Kilimanjaro. They all answered in a similar way: “the cold!”. It was certainly cold but two memories will always jump to the front of my mind when asked what I remember about the trip. The first memory is that of Greg’s emotional response to summiting once we safely made it back to Barafu. The second memory is that of one of the porters (Rajaman) singing the “Jambo, Jambo Bwana” song with me when he dropped off the hot water bowl before dinner. Each time, we would sing and do a little dance together and his huge smile always made me feel so happy.

It was THE TRIP OF A LIFETIME and I’m so thankful I was able to share it with the love of my life, Greg, and good friend, Tom. Life is good!

February 25, 2012April 23, 2020

Nature Calls on Kilimanjaro

I’ve been asked a lot of questions since returning from a successful ascent of Mt. Kilimanjaro. One of the most “frequently asked” is “was it what you expected?”. In short, yes and much more. While an adventure of that scale doesn’t have to be life-changing for everyone, you can’t help but return a little different than when you went.

There’s much to chronicle about the entire experience and what it took to climb the tallest free-standing mountain in the world. There will be many posts to come about the physical challenges, the moments teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and the stories of a group of people forever connected by a ridiculously high mountain on a continent half-way around the world. But let’s start with the things that one can’t possibly prepare for and that nobody tells you about. I have no shame, so if you’re offended by talk of bodily functions you may just want to stop here and remain in blissful ignorance.

THE GREEN BOX:
While not technically a box, this is what the toilet tent was affectionately named. Basically, this consisted of a square Coleman toilet that sat about 18 inches off the ground with a “seat” barely large enough for the average Hollywood female celebrity to fit on or hover over. The unit had a thin rod used to open the hole and a small water reservoir with a pump to “flush” (a term used in the broadest possible way) the contents. Because the toilet had a limited capacity, we were instructed to restrict the amount of toilet paper used and to avoid filling it with fluid. Solid waste only, please. The toilet wasn’t green at all (a dingy white) but it was enclosed by a green tent structure with a zipper door on the front. The zipper worked well for the first couple of days, but later in the trek one had to strategically place safety pins to create any sense of privacy on the loo. We also discovered that the toilet wasn’t particularly effective at dropping contents into the holding container and required the use of primitive tools. This problem was solved by an agreement that the first “users” in camp each day find a stick to keep in the Green Box. This trek was all about teamwork, including proper tools for poking poo. We were even scolded as a group with a post-meal briefing on proper instructions for using the Green Box, including the advice “if the toilet’s full of shit, don’t shit in the toilet”. Good words to live by, one and all.

Some of you are reading this and asking “who pays to climb a mountain and go poo in a box that requires the occassional poke to operate?” You would understand if you saw the poor excuses for outhouses that the porters are required to use, or even the less palatial facilities provided to other groups. The Green Box may have required some dexterity to hold the broken zipper in place while trying not to fall over like Humpty Dumpty, but it was the Taj Majal of Toilets on the mountain. We are forever grateful to our Toilet Porter who had the dubious and slightly higher-paying job of emptying it (into the permanent and oh-so-horrible outhouses), carrying it, and setting it up every day.

THE PEE BOTTLE:
Let’s just get matters of bodily waste out of the way. First, keep in mind that you’re expected to drink at least five liters of water every day. That’s 169 ounces or 1.3 gallons. Every day. Add science (you pee more at high altitude), side effects from Diamox (a medication to minimize altitude sickness that makes you pee more frequently), and mostly middle-aged bladders that seem to shrink by the hour. It’s a miracle that Mt. Kilimanjaro hasn’t completely eroded in a tsunami of urine. Before meals. After meals. Along the trail during announced breaks. Find a rock, a tree, a bush, or just turn your back to the wind and the rest of the group. One member of our group, Graciela, even brought Depends but we don’t believe she ever actually wore them. And there’s no truth to the rumor that she drove across the country to stalk her ex-boyfriend NASA astronaut.

If you’re a woman, the greatest invention ever is the “Freshette”, a delicate misnomer for what is basically a funnel that mimics a penis, allowing you to pee standing up and without dropping drawers. The first time that Bev used her penis on the trail, she returned from the bushes exclaiming that it was AWESOME and that she was jealous of men MORE THAN EVER. The “Freshette” also provided some romantic moments, like the time when the group stopped for a bathroom break at an open windy spot on the trail and Bev asked me to “go” with her so that she could learn how to deal with swirling cross winds. This is why we’re a great couple. She can teach me how to kill with my thumbs and I can pass along tips on how to pee standing up in a windstorm. Unfortunately, nobody thought to capture this Kodak moment of the two of us side by side, probably because they were in complete awe of our special relationship. But here’s a photo of Bev flying solo with her “Freshette”.

P1000162 — Always keep your back to the wind!

Unfortunately, the bladder stops filling for nobody, regardless of how freezing cold or dark it is outside, nor how much effort it takes to unzip a sleeping bag, stumble out of a tent, avoid tripping over ropes keeping your tent upright, and walking to the edge of camp. The first night on the mountain, one could hear tents opening all night long. It was like a symphony of zippers. During that first night, I tripped getting out of the tent and landed on all fours. My loud exclamation of “oh f**k” was probably heard throughout camp, but nobody said anything because they were all wrestling with their sleeping bags or trying desperately not to go pee for the nineteenth time. This was the night that we discovered the beauty of the Pee Bottle.

The Pee Bottle is exactly what it sounds like. A wide-mouth Nalgene bottle that holds a full litre with a screw-on lid, this vital accessory allows you to go pee without leaving your tent until it requires emptying. Our initial resistance to using the Pee Bottle (really – who WANTS to urinate in the tent and risk spillage?) was overcome by the sheer effort it took to locate your headlamp, get out of your sleeping bag, leave the tent without killing yourself, step into sub-freezing temperatures, and walk away from camp just to pee. And at high altitude, where the slighest effort was completely exhausting. Yeah, hand me the Pee Bottle. No problem. Our Pee Bottle was green so that it wouldn’t get mixed up with our water bottles. This became less of an issue after a few days, when the Pee Bottle smelled, well, like a Pee Bottle. It became one of just many aromas that made our cozy fabric home with a zipper front door so, ahem, special.

Pee Bottle stored between sleeping bags - YICK

FARTING:
Hey, if somebody can make a gazillion dollars writing a book titled “Everyone Poops”, I can write about what happens to your insides when climbing from 4,000′ in a 90 degree cloud forest to 19,340′ with a wind chill aided temperature below zero. We knew that flatulence would be more prevelant at higher altitude. According to Wikipedia, source of all things occassionally accurate, High Altitude Flatus Expulsion (HAFE) is a gastrointestinal syndrome which involves the spontaneous passage of increased quantities of rectal gases at high altitudes. The phenomenon is based on the differential in atmospheric pressure. As the external pressure decreases, the difference in pressure between the gas within the body and the atmosphere outside is higher, and the urge to expel gas to relieve the pressure is greater. The condition is also known by backpackers as High Altitude Gas (HAG). I called it RIP, as in let it rip or Rest In Peace to the poor hikers behind me. Poor Bev was certain that she would be discovered asphyxiated in the tent, cause of death poisonous gas. We were a rootin’ tootin’ bunch and really didn’t care. Besides, after a while it was hard to differentiate between HAG and the smell of the same shirt and pants you’ve worn for days.

BATHING AND GENERAL HYGIENE:
There’s no such thing on the mountain. Unlike campsites in the USA, where fresh water is available at many campsites to wash your face, hands, and maybe even take a dunk in, the only source of water for washing on Kilimanjaro was a small tub of warm water that the porters brought to our tents every morning and afternoon. The tub contained enough water to wash your hands and a bar of soap was available upon request but after the first day, we abandoned soap because it simply created an extra film over the dirt and grime. We all became reliant on hand sanitizer gel to constantly clean our hands and the occassional baby wipe to wipe our faces. Bev was smart enough to pack some oversized 4X6″ “fresh bath wipes” to “bathe” with and we indulged in that luxury more than a few times in our seven days on the mountain, rolling around in our tent to administer a waterless “bath”. Oddly, we felt much cleaner afterwards, at least until we had to put the same disgusting clothing back on.

We managed to brush our teeth every morning and evening every day, even if it required the use of valuable treated water. Others gave up on dental hygiene after a few days, succumbing to the reality of incessant dirt and stink. I figured that even if my mouth tasted fresh for a couple of minutes a day, it was worth it. I couldn’t run a comb through my hair and my beard made me look like an old homeless man, but my teeth would be clean twice a day.

Little things become big moments on Kilimanjaro, including a taste of fresh toothpaste and a Wet One to wipe your face. What a great vacation!

February 20, 2012April 23, 2020

Wildlife Whisperer

Believing we should make the most out of our trip to Africa, we signed up for a five day safari to follow our Mt Kilimanjaro climb. We assumed we would be in a Land Cruiser with people we didn’t know so imagine our surprise when we learned we would have our own vehicle and guide. We were the last of our climbing group to get in a vehicle and I’m telling you, they saved the best for last. We quickly learned that our driver/guide, Deo, was amazing. After proper introductions, Deo suggested we start a “species list”, promising that it would exceed 100 different species. Lucky us!!

Deo is from Tanzania and lives in Arusha, a bustling city about 45 minutes away from Moshi, where we stayed before and after our climb. He’s 27 years old, married, and the father of a three-year-old daughter. He is very smart and well-spoken, and his love of all things safari is infectious. He attended the College of African Wildlife Management (http://www.mwekawildlife.org) in Moshi for a year, so he is very knowledgeable about wildlife. He knew the answer to every question we asked and offered so many interesting facts about animals and birds we saw.

Our safari was to begin at Lake Manyara National Park, a 3.5 to 4 hour drive away from the Springlands Hotel. To reach the paved road, we had to travel about a mile or so on a road that remains unpaved for political reasons, much like the pot-holed road leading to the Mt Diablo south gate. As we bounced around like popcorn kernels over high heat, Deo just laughed and said, “Enjoy your African massage!”

To an outsider, driving in Tanzania appears to be completely chaotic. For example, in Moshi, a town with a population of over 140,000 people, we saw no stop signs or street lights! There were cars, motorcycles, bicycles, push carts, and pedestrians everywhere! Arusha, a much bigger city of over one million residents, had few traffic management signs/signals. And, I never saw any police officers, except for one standing by the road outside of Arusha.

Yes, everyone is squeezing on to the wrong side of the road to pass slow traffic. Done at full speed - no slowing allowed! Insane!

At first, I was white knuckling the drive in the back seat, wondering if my sorry excuse for a seat belt would save me if we crashed. However, as the drive (and my life) continued, I realized Deo was navigating the traffic by communicating with other drivers using his turn signals, headlights, horn, brake lights, and hand signals. It was a complex language and I’m still not sure how the turn signals factored in, but it was a language of cooperation. No one seemed to have the “me first” attitude we find over here in the US. It seemed to be universally recognized that everyone had to work together to keep from having a major pileup. Still, the drive was akin to riding a heart-stopping roller coaster for hours, so I was glad to finally arrive at Lake Manyara National Park.

Thanks, Deo Earnhardt, for getting us there safely!

Our first introduction to Deo’s bionic eyes, was on day one of the safari in the Lake Manyara National Park. He stopped the Land Cruiser and pointed to a pile of rocks to our right. He said, “See it? See the klipspringer?” Um, no. All I saw was a bunch of grey rocks. And, then something moved ever so slightly and I spotted one of Africa’s small antelopes on the kopje. Wow! How did he ever see that, especially while the vehicle was moving?

On day two of the safari, while in transit between parks, Deo showed us his home town of Karatu (http://www.tanzaniatouristboard.com/places-to-go/towns-and-cities/karatu/). He grew up in the valley, on a coffee plantation, where his father worked. Deo swears it is why he loves coffee so much today. The area was so beautiful; lush greenery against the red-orange lava soil ground.

Poor Deo had to change a tire on the Land Cruiser three separate times over five days. In the heat of Africa. In the dust of Africa. With a wobbly, uncooperative jack. The final flat came while we were heading into the Ngorongoro Conservation Area from the Serengeti. A young Maasai boy (http://www.maasai-association.org/maasai.html), about 12 to 13 years old, ambled over from his goat herd and watched in silence as Deo fought with the jack. This young boy was so skinny and his clothing (robes/sheets) was drab and dirty. He wore no jewelry.

A second safari jeep pulled up and a tourist waved his lunch box at the boy, who ran over and grabbed it in the blink of an eye before the jeep sped away. We watched as the boy ripped open the box and hid the contents (juice box, chicken breast, cheese, etc) deep in his robes. I then noticed three males, who had been relaxing in the shade of a tree about 200 yards away, suddenly on the move. When the boy noticed they were walking towards him, he stuffed an entire dinner roll in his mouth and ran back to his herd, as though nothing had happened. Yeah, that didn’t work….the three older boys (17 to 19 years old) cut him off, roughly frisked him, and removed the hidden food. It quickly disappeared into their robes.

The three older boys then came over to watch Deo work on the tire. They wore similar beautiful, brightly colored clothing and a lot of jewelry. All three had short hair dyed dark red. They carried knives in sheaths across their chests. Maasai punks, apparently. The younger boy stayed away, defeated. Poor kid – a victim of bullying here in the middle of nowhere.

Deo was definitely of the opinion that tourists should not give the Maasai people water or food, as it disrupts their traditional way of life. Still, it was difficult to see very thin children and not want to give them my food, water, and money. I had to check myself so I didn’t go all Angelina Jolie and bring home a brood of adorable children.

On the long drive from Ngorongoro to the Kilimanjaro International Airport, we saw village after village of poor people. We saw kids as young as 5, doing chores such as lugging water in buckets, collecting firewood, and running cattle. So many of them cheerfully smiled and waved as we zoomed past in the Land Cruiser.

It made me wonder what they dream of becoming when they grow up. With no access to television or other media, and few, if any, years of schooling, are they exposed to ideas that fire their imagination? American kids want to be astronauts, fire fighters, sport figures, or vets…what about Tanzanian children?

I asked Deo what he wanted to be when he was little. He remembered being able to identify 35 different species of wildlife at age 7. He remembered seeing the safari jeeps drive through his town on their way to Ngorongoro. He dreamed of becoming a safari guide and owning his own business. Now, as a grown man, he’s working his way towards his dream. He has worked for three years as a guide for established companies and is saving to buy his own jeep. Once he owns a jeep, he will start his own guide company. He wants to keep it small so he can control the quality of the safari experience.

What an amazing young man. I will never forget him and how he excitedly pointed out animals and passed on information about them to us. I won’t forget how he leafed through his well-worn Serengeti guidebook to check a fact he’d told us. I won’t forget his big smile, goofy jokes, and ready laugh. I wish him great success and have no doubt that he will reach his career goal. How lucky were we to have met Deo?