Here’s a little bit of reflection on Tanzania, mixed with some cultural and political commentary (yes, I hear the groaning), ending with a great line from my hilarious sister.
One of the experiences that has stuck with me from Tanzania is the quiet strength of women in their culture. Their physical strength, carrying a remarkable amount of weight on their heads, was surpassed by the strength of their presence and character. The owner of Zara Tours, the company that owned the hotel where we staged for our trek, is a woman and while that was unusual in Tanzania, it was one small sign of progress on a continent that has posed immense struggles for women.
It was also a relief to spend two weeks in a country that had never heard of Mitt Romney, Rick Santorum, or Newt Gingrich. Of course, everyone knew of Barrack Obama and we even saw a small roadside stand that said “Obama ’08” and, at the bottom, “The Hillary Clinton Shop”. It was unclear what the stand’s original purpose was or what the proprietor used to sell in the Hillary shop, but like all things done in “Africa time”, four years later there was no urgency to remove it .
After visiting a relatively progressive third world country, it was startling to return home and hear our GOP presidential candidates, each vying to be the leader of the free world, outmaneuvering each other to strip women of their right to make reproductive decisions, while supporting efforts to grant employers the power to deny insurance coverage for any procedure, prescription, or treatment that they have a moral objection to, including contraception. According to the United Nations, more than 200 million women worldwide who want to use contraceptives do not have access to them. Women in many developing countries walk miles to the nearest health clinic in search of birth control, only to return home empty-handed due to severe shortages. Yet, here in the most developed country in the world, where contraception is readily available, men are campaigning to become President on a platform that declares outright war on women. As a very smart woman I love has noted, none of the Republican candidates are lobbying to have Viagra banned by insurance companies. Maybe it’s time to take away Rick Santorum’s little blue pill.
All of this leads to an email exchange with my sister, a progressive who happens to live in Tennessee. Our online conversation took place following the announcement that Rick Santorum had won the GOP primary in her home state. You should also know that my sister is one of the funniest persons in the whole wide world and that includes Bev, who everyone knows is pretty damn funny. (Oh, and before anyone gets all twisted in knots over this, I DO know that women vote Republican. Many of them are in their right mind. I also divorced one of them.)
ME: “Santorum? Really? You live among vey disturbed people.”
SISTER: “Um… yeah. Apparently Romney wasn’t religious enough.”
ME: “Since no woman in her right mind would vote for any of the Republican candidates (except maybe those who live under Taliban rule and don’t realize that the Stone Age is over), what really puzzles me is how the GOP kept all of the women in Tennessee locked up and away from the polling places on Election Day.”
SISTER: “They put aspirin between their legs and hence, couldn’t drive to the polling places.”
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!
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 Infamous Green Box
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”.
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!
When I was a kid in Boy Scouts, I loved tromping around in the woods and finding interesting stuff in nature. One of the coolest things to find was a good walking stick. If it was the right weight and height, you could swing that stick, poke stuff with it, beat it against trees, and when you got bored with it, test your javelin skills. Using it for walking was pretty low on the list of applications for a good stick. That’s what your legs were for.
Now the walking stick has been replaced with carbon poles. Until this Kilimanjaro adventure came along, I never would have known that such a thing existed. But after we took a class on using trekking poles, I’m amazed at the difference they make. More power, better balance, and preserved knees. And who knew that there was so much technique required to go up and down steps?
After learning pole basics, the class moved into parking lot to practice some fundamental “moves”. The instructor told us to “walk with attitude”, explaining that it gives you more power in your stride with the side benefit of reducing our chances of being a victim. We laughed when the instructor pointed out Bev as the model for “walking with attitude”. HA! That was nothing. I’ve seen her puff up like blowfish on the South Side of Chicago.
Yeh, I’m old. Let’s get that out there right away. I remember when there were only seven television channels to choose from and if you wanted to learn about what was happening in the world, you read a newspaper, listened to the radio, or watched the evening news. Life was pretty damn good.
And if you needed hiking shoes, you went to a store and picked out a pair from two or three makers. It wasn’t hard because they all looked like this. All you needed to decide was high top or not. After making your big purchase, you took them home to spray waterproofing gunk on em and oil them up like a good baseball glove.
I don’t want a return to the days of breaking in old leather hiking boots and inevitable blisters but when did there become so many choices? Short, tall, GoreTex, mesh, leather, hard toe, not-as-hard toe, and shoes for carrying less than or greater than 30 pounds on your back. As Bev told the shoe sales guy at REI, if I’m carrying more than 30 pounds in a backpack, we’ve got a problem.
So off to REI we went. If anyone’s wondering, REI stands for Recreational Equipment Incorporated. It says so right on the awning over the front door. Who knew? I always wanted REI to stand for something cool like Radical Everything Imaginable, so some boring corporate name was a bit bubble bursting. The lawyers must have been in charge on the day they named the company. Happily, the name is the only boring thing about REI. Three steps inside the store and you want to turn to a sales person and yell “I’ll take one of everything, please”. If I ever win the lottery that I rarely play, I’m going to hire a personal shopper for me and Bev, and then accompany that highly compensated person to REI, where we’ll sit and have cool stuff brought to us while we dream of amazing adventures.
In the meantime, though, we settled for being assisted by Jesse and Toby in the shoe department. They were sort of like our personal shoppers, except that we had to share them with about 35 other people. They even helped another customer who was overheard saying that she was planning to hit the Mt. Whitney Permit Lottery this summer. Bev said something that sounded like “not if she breaks her leg trying on shoes”, but I couldn’t be sure. Jesse and Toby kept the hiking boots coming… Merrill, Vasque, Oboz, Keen… men’s, women’s, one size up, one size down… a parade of hiking boots!
And the winners were the Oboz Yellowstone II. One in men’s, another in women’s. So comfortable and snug like a sock. Now we just need to break them in and put them through their paces on the trails.
And we have the great sock experiment. Synthetic or “smart wool”. Thin cushion or medium cushion. So many decisions…
Here’s a little bit of reflection on Tanzania, mixed with some cultural and political commentary (yes, I hear the groaning), ending with a great line from my hilarious sister.
When I was a kid in Boy Scouts, I loved tromping around in the woods and finding interesting stuff in nature. One of the coolest things to find was a good walking stick. If it was the right weight and height, you could swing that stick, poke stuff with it, beat it against trees, and when you got bored with it, test your javelin skills. Using it for walking was pretty low on the list of applications for a good stick. That’s what your legs were for.