Home on the Range

After a FORTY THREE hour flight from Arusha, Tanzania I (practically comatose and aged three years) finally landed in Montana. No one screamed at my zombie appearance. Rather, millions of smiling faces crowded the small airport corridor. Half the town of Billings had come to greet me. Not to mention the out-of-state Iserns. Everyone had flown home for my cousin Maggie’s wedding….including my crazy uncle Kurt internationally known aunt Jennifer.
The Setting:

Setting 1: Wedding Site, Billings Montana. Billings was more beautiful than I had ever seen. Usually dry, the land had gotten an unusual amount of rainfall (hurrah global warming) and turned the ground into a vibrant green carpet. The rock rims enclosed the city like a fortress. It was a pleasure to drive all over the beautiful town (stopping for fresh baked bread as always) to help my family with decorations and other last minute items for the wedding. Maggie’s ceremony was at the Zoo complete with flowers and a squawking peacock. I felt like I was back on Safari.

Setting 2: Cabin, Crazy Mountains. The Crazies are in between Big Timber and Livingston. A smaller mountain chain but incredibly beautiful. The cabin is situated among fields of wildflowers and views of snow capped peaks. On our daily hikes we got within feet of moose, fawns, and jackrabbits. I questioned why I had to travel all over the world when the most beautiful place on earth is home.


Cast of characters:

Maggie and Deke Winters (the bride and groom):
Never was there a more beautiful, warm and well organized set of 23 year olds. The wedding was planned to a T—and the minor mishaps that occurred were rescued bravely. When Maggie could not stop crying during the ceremony (for joy, naturally) during the repeating of “for richer or poorer” Deke just informed us that obviously “for poorer” just wouldn’t work out. When the buffet ran out of food before all the heavy eatin’ Montanans (ahem, that’s me) could get their fair share Maggie promptly ordered in pizza. Everyone danced, even my 81 year old granny got a groove on. And the best part was that after the wedding the two could relax in their 5 bedroom house. Yes, in Montana 20 somethings have massive homes with landscaped yards where 30 somethings in San Francisco squeeze into other peoples closets and barely make rent payments. Sigh.

Granny:
Granny is a pistol. Whiskey drinkin’ poker playin’ and internationally traveled (she’s been everywhere I have), Granny is no one to get into trouble with. Little Granny, even with her massive collections of antique jewelry and high society manners, has developed a mouth like a trucker. Upon seeing her son Kurt for the first time in two years she greets him with “Why you orny little shit……come give me a kiss.” Granny is the orny one. And even with severe dementia Granny still manages to whip us in all card games. However her trash talk and victory whoops quickly lose their intimidation when she stops mid play to ask ‘Now what card game are we playing again?” “And who are all you people?”

Uncle Kurt: Uncle Kurt left Montana when he was 18 for Alaska and never came back…well except for a few visits. Uncle Kurt lives in a man made shack, shoots grizzly bears daily (in fact wears a Grizzly vest) and has a huge head of wild red hair. We are not sure what Kurt really does for a living but we do know he doesn’t pay taxes. In fact engraved on his ceiling are the words ‘Red Fox beats the IRS-1999.’ There is a story to that as well as many others on Kurt but my favorite is the story of the pheasant. Kurt was driving through Montana and sees a pheasant crossing the street. Most people would stop to awe at the bird’s beauty. Kurt, on the other hand, screams “Pheasant!” and puts the pedal to the medal. He hits the bird, and loads in into the back seat. Sadly….about an hour or so later…..the bird comes back alive and starts squawking and jumping and losing all its fathers. Everyone on the road stares at the spectacle. Kurt sighs…..and gets the bird out of the back and wrings its neck in front of a terrified group of onlookers. Kurt had dinner on the mind. And sure enough Granny cooked that bird up for a feast that night.




Aunt Jennifer: My amazing aunt is only 10 yeas older than me but has lived twice the life. Jennifer works in development for a subset of the World Bank. In between meetings in DC and a zillion trips to countries like China, Togo and Blahblahastan, Jennifer found time to complete a PhD in three years. (After a measly Masters from Princeton and a wimpy CFA). However, the intellectual high flying lifestyle (literally as she spends most time in planes), has not made Jennifer lose her Montana roots. She drove us around in a Mustang convertible and insisted on a few games of lively pool over cheap beer at the diviest bar in town. How many academics hustle pool tables I wonder?

Aunt Candy and Uncle Dan: Recently retired Candy and Dan were my gracious hosts for the week. They own a house on the outskirts of Billings as well as a hand built cabin in the Crazies that we so love.

Candy is a woman of ritual. Every day she gets a square of dark chocolate out with her coffee, goes on a 5 mile hike, and performs yoga at home with a single lit candle. Candy, upon hearing my ashram tales, is about ready to book her own ticket to India. (I glossed over the self purging portion).


Dan, on the other hand, is less ritualistic and has random hobbies like scaring away bears from the cabin property by yelling and jumping around in his tightie whities and repairing his 1947 jeep (they had a 60th birthday party for the jeep last year complete with ice cream and cake).

Candy and Dan also own Beaux, the farting dog. This dog’s gas is legendary as most people leave the room as soon as he so much as sticks his nose in. Beaux was not invited to the wedding.

Eric and Nancy (my parents): Although I still visualize them reading bedtime stories to me in Paddington Bear voices, my parents remain an enigma to most. My lovely mother is a dignified chemist, my father a crafty engineer……but both live in eastern Washington, own Harleys and compete in ball room dancing. Their dancing is actually starting to take over their lives and the whole family is about to have an intervention. During Maggie and Deke’s reception they each carried in little suede bags. At first we thought these were extra presents for the bride and groom. But oh no,…inside the suede bags were special suede soled dancing shoes they changed into for the dance floor. (”Ack—we cannot dance in normal shoes!!! They do not slide properly!”). At the first beat of Ricky Martin, father whisked my mother off and they were absent from conversation for the entire evening. I tried to cut in, but since I didn’t know what the “One step quick turn slow step” was, I gave up. Sigh.

Lauren Anderson and Nate Kendall: Lauren, my cousin and her boyfriend Nate are the upcoming artists of the family. Lauren is most recently known for her photography shown at Yerba Buena in San Francisco. Nate is most recently known for his new album, Songbird Sing, that I shamelessly plug on any occasion I get. The two live in San Francisco and come to any creative emergency I may have (one was decorating Christmas cookies). It only made sense that the two were assigned as chief artistic directors of the wedding decorations. I tried to claim the “tousled tulle” look as my own…but we all know the streamers filled with fresh flowers were a byproduct of Lauren and Nate.





After the Setting and Cast of Characters it would make sense for me to start a story. But you will have to wait…I am working on a book of ‘em! Afterall the adventures my family get into are much more exciting and hilarious than anything I encountered overseas…..

Dressed in Khaki: The H&M Safari Experience

Although with a slight Kilimanjaro limp, Monica and I were ready to tackle the Serengeti plains and Kopjes (those fake looking zoo rocks) and check off Lion Chasing on our Africa "To Do" list. We were armed with everything we needed:

1. THREE cameras (the best one courtesy of Mr. Tang)
2. Swahili phrasebook (updated by our Kili guide Yusto with er..colorful slang)
3. Four bottles of Deet insect spray and creme
4. Fancy Safari suits...well okay we couldn't bring ourselves to be too matchy matchy in khaki least anyone think we were a middle aged couple (although we were starting to feel like one)...but we did wear light colored clothing with lots of pockets and zippers and had on matching sun hats.
5. Patience....it's not like the leopards will stop what they are doing to jump out of trees for us! We knew we would need to bide our time as the wild unfolded before our eyes.



We took off in a dusty Land Rover with our new guide Rama and headed for the Simbas and Twigas (lions and giraffes).

To get to the Serengeti was an amazing full day drive worthy of an explanation itself. We drove through Masai villages (the only East African tribe to maintain traditional clothing and lifestyles), monkey forests (those pesky red butted baboons), and many large shallow lakes teaming with bird wildlife.



To fully give our loyal audience a taste of an African Safari I will divvy up this section into three segments: Bush Accommodation, Land Rover Cruising, and Key Animal Factoids.




Bush Accommodation
Although we were very hopefully to get the Ritz in the Bush experience, our Safari company was a bit more rustic...and thus thoroughly legit. Our accommodation ranged from mobile tented camps with hot bucket showers (explanation forthcoming) to permanent tented lodges, to brick and mortar REAL lodges complete with organic gardens and game rooms.

At first the hot 'bucket shower' label scared us. After Kili we wanted to be done with baby wipes forever! Was a faucet too much to ask for? I had terrible images of me pouring a bucket of water over Monica as she stood outside naked in the shrubs rubbing herself with wipes. Eee gads....Was this some bad "Girls gone Wild" scheme..."The Bush in the Bush?"

Thankfully it was not so....there was some fancy contraption where the staff poured kettle heated water from a bucket into a pipe that did indeed come out a faucet in our makeshift bathroom. The water only lasted 4 minutes....but after Kili--this was luxury.



Most of Serengeti accommodation is in tented lodges--these are permanent solid tents (large as a small cabin) that are scattered around landscaped grounds. The tents are complete with 2 double beds, a small bathroom, and of course mosquito nets. The tented camps also had separate units for a restaurant and bar where all the khaki clad hung out to talk about their animal sightings.



Land Rover Cruising

For those who are inspired to go on a Safari--let me warn you....while an exciting experience it is A LOT of car time. A lot of car time on really bumpy dusty roads. So if you are prone to car sickness, short attention spans, or hate the "I spy..." game than a Safari may not be for you. Now if you can deal with all of this then a Safari can be quite fun. There are animals everywhere and Monica and I felt pretty darn cool when we could say "Oh it's just another Gazelle herd out there with the random giraffe. Yawn." After day one we were already on the hunt for the elusive predator cats. Leopards, lions, cheetahs, oh my! While we just finished a male lion sighting, we would often see a brand new Safari group ogling a lone giraffe. Monica called this the "starter giraffe," the animal that gets the safari going before the clients are ready to move on to the more dangerous animals.



Now, please note that the Safari Land Rover in no yuppy Landrover that San Franciscans take to Whole Foods. No, no...this vehicle has no cushy seats, leather interior, or fancy sound system. Monica and I affectionately (or not so affectionately) referred to the 12 hour a day vehicle as "the Metal Box." However, the really cool thing about the car was that it had a pop top--so we could stand like prairie dos with our heads outside the car scanning the plains for Cheetahs and Rhinos. We did indeed see every animal we wanted. Our guide throughly annoyed us with all the fake animal noises he made ("this is Wildebeest mating cry" "This is dying hyena sound") but he DID effectively scout out every animal we had on our list and then some.


Random Animal Factoids


We saw lions eating elephants, cheetah moms mourning their lost young, and Topis (Elk like creatures) mating. We were living the Discovery Channel. There were a few things that Monica and I learned that either changed our perspective on life or gave us good dinner party topics:



1. Male lions suck. You may have known that the male lion is lazy and leaves all the hunting to the females while it sleeps the day away. But did you also know that the male lion who heads up the lion herd changes every few years? Every time a new male lion takes over it kills, yes KILLS all the baby cubs in the herd(as they were offspring from the past male). The lionesses try to defend their babies but to little avail. As soon as the cubs are killed the females immediately go into heat again. Talk about male dominance. I am so happy I am a homo sapiens.



2. While on the subjects of males...Monica and I would like to add in a new phrase--'Hung like an Elephant'. We are going to change the whole horse saying after we saw our 3rd male elephant...er...unit...dragging on the ground. 5th leg is an understatement. Very disturbing.

3. Male ostriches turn their necks and legs bright pink when they are ready to mate. I guess this is a sign to all the females out there who like the rosy color? Kindoff like flashing a Thomas Pink shirt and a thick wallet?

4. Conversely, female baboons turn their little behinds pink when they are ready to mate. From our personal observation it seemed all the females we saw were primed and ready to go. They must have been the human equivalent of the older women we see hanging out of their tops in cheesy bars in California. Also similar to some human females we have seen on Jerry Springer, female baboons fight each other aggressively with baring teeth and horrendous shrieks....again another phrase change...no longer is it a cat fight but rather a baboon fight.



5. Wildebeest are as stupid as they look. The migrating animal often gets lost on its way north to Kenya. Therefore the poor dumb beast has taken to befriending the smarter zebra and following the white and black stripes up the migratory path.

6. Hippos have a terrible life. In addition to winning the ugly award, their skin is extremely sensitive to sunlight. So that they do not get sunburnned, they spend most of their life hiding in cesspools, completely submerged underwater. Their only friends are crocodiles.


Animals are amazing creatures......but although the Safari was an experience of a lifetime I am ready to happily go back to random human cougar sightings in the Marina or stripe (shirt not zebra) outings in the Mission.

Kilimanjaro--The Detailed Climb

****UPDATE: KILI PHOTOS UPLOADED****FOLLOW OUR JOURNEY! : )
(I am down two toenails now but both Monica and I have recovered nicely from reduced oxygen)





Monica landed safely in Tanzania and indeed discovered me coming out of yogi bliss and ready to tackle the Africa wild. Today, one week after the start of our Kili climb, limbs sore and backs aching, we decided to give you our personal play by play of the daunting climb's itinerary and our own personal sentiments.



Day Zero: "Today your guide will come to your Movivaro Coffee Lodge and brief you on your climb."

Monica:
We were told we would meet our tour rep and climing guide (aka, the man who would be entrusted with our lives over the next 7 days). I wasn't expecting the climb to be that huge of a deal. Many of the people whom I told I was attempting to climb Mt. Kili responded with something like "Oh, you'll totally make it to the top. My 80 year old asthmatic paraplegic grandfather did it." This is where I call bullshit. During this briefing, we learned:
- Mt. Kilimanjaro, at 19,344 ft above sea level, is Africa's highest peak and the world's fourth tallest free-standing mountain.
- Only 50% of climbers who attempt to reach the summit actually succeed, and many die.
- To date, only 31,000 people have reached the summit.
Oh sure, sign me up! It was during this briefing that it totally hit me what we were about to do. My mind was racing...was it too late to escape? The Seychelles! I had always wanted to go there. Where else could we divert to? I tried convincing Heidi we'd have a way funner time drinking pina coladas while frolicking in the Indian Ocean, but she was too distracted by the cute tour rep to notice me freaking out. Apparently there was no turning back.

Heidi:
After the briefing about the freezing cold, muddy paths, and in-depth details about altitude sickness, the cute tour rep went to do an equipment check to ensure our balaclavas (Darth Vadar face masks) and trekking boots were Kilimanjaro-worthy. It then dawned on me that I was willing to sacrifice part of a house down payment to put myself in harsh misery for 7 days. Sure, I love the mountains but I despise the cold. Monica was trying to tempt me out of the climb to some unheard of island off the coast of Africa. Hmmm...


Day One: Today you will climb to Machame hut on a moderate climb to the edge of the Kilimanjaro forest. Altitude: 3,000 meters."

Heidi:
We decided not to go to the Seychelles. Instead Monica and I found ourselves outfitted in gaiters, hiking poles and "Outdoor Girl" fleeces staring the 20,000 ft ascent up Mt. Kilimanjaro. Despite the fact that we were accompanied by cheerful guides, laughing camp cooks and a zillion singing and dancing porters, we still knew we'd be spending a LOT of quality alone time together. We quickly drafted a discussion list in case our usual topics (Jimmy Choo sales and world peace treaties) grew stale. However, we never had time to use it. Even after our first day of climbing, we collapsed at the campsite in sheer exhaustion while the porters threw up their hands and leapt into a Swahili song and dance around us.

Monica:
The best part of our first day was arriving at the campsite, tired and muddy, to find all 20 of our porters singing and clapping to greet us and congratulate us on our first day’s accomplishments. One note about the porters….they are the BOMB. It takes about 20 porters to carry equipment, food, supplies and luggage for a party of 2 from campsite to campsite. These guys hustled up the mountain past us, balancing huge gear bags on their heads, muttering “Jambo” as they passed. They always arrived at the campsites well ahead of us and would have a bucket of warm water and soap ready for us (heretofore known as “washy washy”), tea and snacks set out, and our sleeping bags set up in our tent. Dinner our first night was served in the mess tent, complete with tablecloth, candles and real glassware. We enjoyed carrot ginger soup, coconut rice and Swahili-style stir-fried beef and fresh veggies. After dinner came bedtime prep. This usually involved crawling into our tent for a quick wipe down with baby wipes and piling on layers of clothes (5 on top, 3 on the bottom, 3 pairs of socks), then struggling to stuff ourselves into our sleeping bags. Nighty night.




Day Two: “Rising early, you cross a stream and climb up a steep ridge for 4 hours and then onto the moorland of Shira plateau.” Altitude: 3,840 m.

Monica:
One of the most fascinating aspects of climbing Kili is moving through the different ecosystems. Day One took us through mist and lush vegetation. Day Two was very different. Trees became shrubs and dark green became pale green. The ground changed from damp earth to dry and rocky. Now, these are no Mickey Mouse hikes. We averaged a vertical of 2,500 ft per day, working our way through loose gravel and rocks, boulders and volcanic formations. All the while, oxygens levels in the atmosphere were quickly dropping (at the summit there is half the amount of oxygen as the base). There is a neat little contraption that the guides have to instantly measure our body’s oxygen level. It’s non-invasive—you just clamp it on to your finger and a mere 15 seconds later you have a read-out on your body’s oxygen level and heart rate. Having Yusto, our lead guide, measure us became a nightly ritual. The first two nights both Heidi and I proudly provided a read-out of 98%. It appeared as though we were well-prepared for our ascent to the rooftop of Africa.




Heidi:
After we cleared the forest, Monica and I could appreciate the beauty surrounding us. Lush, exotic vegetation framed the views of Mt. Kilimanjaro’s peak in the distance. The views made the tiresome uphill day going “Pole Pole” (slow) worth it. Our enthusiasm with the scenery helped us bond further with Yusto. In fact, in the evening he challenged us to a game of cards. If we played “Yusto-style,” he would teach us more Swahili words. Playing cards with Yusto was a true cultural experience. He grinned broadly, flashing his shiny white teeth with every hand he won. “I am king!” he declared proudly. “I am Simba! (lion)” “I must win many, many times!” Yusto was indeed good at cards. However, I think he took advantage of our high-altitude loopiness. He had chosen a game with complicated, convoluted rules that our oxygen-deprived brains could not follow. Even though we lost every hand, we still laughed over our candlelit game. Our gruesome tiring midnight “F.A.” (Final Ascent) up to Kili’s peak seemed years away.


Day Three: “Today you will climb up and down for 6 hours over mountain vegetation and scree with rewarding views of Baranco Valley. Altitude: 3,950 m.

Heidi:
Today Monica and I incorporated two new activities into our daily climb. Rock climbing (actually quite fun as it broke up the monotony of our slow echoing steps) and scree. Scree is a miserable dry rock formation that loosely covers steep vertical inclines. Its sole purpose is to undermine climbers, causing them to slip, sprain or die. It ranges in size from large 10 pound rocks to small pebbles forming gravel. Scree comes in many varieties: muddy scree, dusty scree, icy scree, slippery scree, ankle-spraining scree, etc. It crunched underneath our feet before rolling down the mountain to torment other climbers.




Monica:
Scree is evil. Scree sucks. We hated scree so much we made up an “Non-Ode to Scree” (yes, even Heidi ran out of stuff to talk about).
“Scree, scree, miserable scree
How I hate thee
You cause so much miseREE
Especially when it’s raiNEE
You cause injuREES
Why are you so slippeREE?

And on and on…

Day Four: “You ascend up the Baranco wall and walk across more scree and ridges to the Karanga Valley with views of the glaciers.” Altitude: 4,100 m

Heidi:
More scree. To relieve the tension of climbing in scree, eating meals made from powdered milk, and seeing each other in the same muddy, unwashed pants every day, Monica and I decided to forego the recommended evening acclimatization walk to play Beauty Parlor. This consisted of using extra wet wipes, a basin of tea kettle-heated water, “Pssssst”-brand dry shampoo, and a toothpick to remove dirty from under our nails. Yusto and Boniface (trainee guide) laughed at us, asked how the jacuzzi was and asked if we wanted a hair dryer. We ignored their snickers and pranced into the mess tent for dinner. We felt like African mountain princesses. Yes, we had on dusty ski hats, head lamps, and the same ol’ muddy pants but we truly felt mountain clean.


Monica:
The star of the camp crew was Nico, a shiny, happy man who was in charge of waking us up (“wakey wakey”), administering “washy washy,” and serving our meals. Before each meal in the mess tent, Nico would stand proudly over the table and pronounce “Welcome dinner! Bon appetitti!” While his English was generally passable, he must have fallen asleep during the class on food. He would often say “Tonight we eating fried potatoes!” as he spooned baked beans onto our plates. Whenever we declined seconds, he would scold “No eat, no go up!” Our obsession with the evening oxygen monitoring continued. However, things turned grim when my read-out dropped to 81%. While Heidi flaunted her 95% readout, I was certain I was going to die in my sleeping bag that night. Not helping matters was Heidi asking if she could have my shoe collection if I were to die. Yusto assured me my reading was perfectly normal for this altitude and that I had nothing to worry about.

Day 5: “The last stage to Barafo Hut is quite steep and we advise taking it easy as you must rest before your final ascent this evening.” Altitude: 4600 m at camp.

Heidi:
Yusto gave us a long briefing for our F.A. (Final Ascent). I realized the sheer insanity of our trek. We were going to sleep for three hours and wake at 10:30 p.m. getting out of our tent in SUB-ZERO (no, not the fancy fridge) temperatures, climb up a mountain, cross glaciers, and breathe in half the oxygen of dear San Francisco. Hello. I have circulation problems and was likely to get frostbite. Monica previously experienced altitude sickness in Tibet and was likely to collapse and pass out mid-journey. We plagued Yusto and Boniface with frenzied questions and concerns. Yusto, true to his nature, laughed at us and brushed our fears aside. “Trust me. I know path. I am Simba.” He then resorted to Swahili swear words and insults to take our minds off of F.A. “Gori” (foreskin). “Unafirwa” (you f***** anus). And our favorite: “Kuma kubwa chupi ndogo” (You’re vagina’s so big your underwear can’t fit in it.

F.A.: “You rise late night and begin your climb to the summit. You pass through glaciers to Uhuru Peak where you watch the sun rise from the top of Africa.” Altitude: 5,896 m.

Heidi:
I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous. And it was too damn cold. We had on millions of layers and two sleeping bags each but it still wasn’t enough. Before I left the tent I put on enough layers to resemble Ralphy’s brother from “Christmas Story.” I teetered out of the tent ready to go. I couldn’t be sure but it felt like negative 200 degrees outside. Why was I signing up to climb for seven hours up, three hours down and ANOTHER four hours down to the next campsite in freezing cold non-breathable air? I was entering my personal hell. My very expensive personal hell.

Monica:
The Final Ascent...this was the dreaded event that had loomed over us for the last five days and it was finally here. I was petrified. I was voluntarily entering my version of hell -- extreme physical exertion, arctic climate, very unflattering attire. Sigh. Let's face it. I'm not "Adrenaline Girl." Nor am I "Extreme Sports Girl." In fact, I am really only "Outdoor Girl" on weekends when it's sunny in Marin (and if there's not a sale going on at Neiman's.). Was I out of my mind? Who was I trying to be?

Heidi: I trudged up energetically hoping I could generate enough body heat to warm up my numb hands and feet. Ha. Yeah right. The climb was so steep and oxygen so scarce that pole pole was all Yusto allowed us. We trudged a new type of scree, snow-buried glacier scree, in silence. Seven hours of silence. Yep. My personal hell.

Monica: Words cannot describe the pure misery of the next seven hours. To give you a sense of how slowly we climbed, every step I took was followed by a 3-count before I took the next step. Try that right now, all of you. "Step-one-two-three...step-one-two-three..." You would go out of your mind, too. I was barely moving yet my chest was heaving as I gulped and gulped air that might as well have been water. Many of the climbers around us were in bad shape. Some even collapsed and their friends would pick them up and they'd keep plodding along. Finally, somehow, the seven hours passed and the sun started coming up over the mountain.

Heidi: After six hours of silent, dark climbing, we reached Stella’s point, the first point on the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Although we still had another hour to get to the highest peak, Uhuru, we had made it. We were at the top of Africa’s largest beast. I cried. Not emotionally, but because my feet and hands were in searing pain from the cold and I was sure all my limbs would have to be amputated before we returned. I couldn’t focus on the breath-taking views, marvel at the altitude we had accomplished because my mind was too busy planning out my life as a future amputee. Boniface saw my cold-induced tears and urged me to run ahead with him to warm up. But how can you run at 20,000 ft wearing a North Face fat suit? Rather than look ridiculous, I told him we had to wait for (annoying toasty, well-circulated and non-amputee-risk) Monica as I couldn’t reach the top without her. It was true. Even in our own personal hells we were in this together. We made it to Uhuru and watched the sun continue to light up the sky as we snapped our tourist photos under the famous Uhuru sign. Perhaps this was worth an amputation.


Monica: They say you're supposed to feel an emotional release when you reach the peak. I can't say that really happened, but the feeling you get from standing on top of Africa's highest point is indescribable. With the sun just rising, and only few others around us on Uhuru Peak, looking around at the clear skies below I felt like I was in an outerworldly place looking down on earth. You only have a few brief moments to savor the feelings of relief and accomplishment...our oxygen levels were low and we still had three hours of descent ahead of us. No matter...Heidi and I would always be the 31,150th and 31,151st climbers to reach the top of Africa. Mission accomplished.





Day 7: “Continue the descent to Mweka Gate.”


Heidi: So…I didn’t need to be amputated afterall. The long hike and descent had only cost me a toenail. After 14 hours of climbing and descending our last day on Kilimanjaro was relatively short. At breakfast and lunch time we still got sung and danced by the porters, still got urged to eat by smiling Nico, but all the routine seemed an echo of the past. We had accomplished our mission. We were mountain climbers. We were fluent in Swahili (well curse words anyway) , and we were very very dirty. The city girls had worn the same pants for 7 days. And that whole “Psssst” dry shampoo bottle thing didn’t really work. It ws time to enter civilization again. And by civilization I mean a safari camp somewhere in the remote Serengeti. Yes, the next part of our adventure was about to begin. H&M Part Deux.