****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.
My friend Brooke inspired me to do a triathlon with her. You may recall her name as the interviewer on the Brooke Bryand show and author of Brooklyn's blog: http://brookebryand.blogspot.com
Biking was no easier. I didn't own one, to start with. My dear friends, Nga and Clarence escorted me to the bike shop to help me pick out a suitable road bike. Long legs, once my pride, were now cursed as few bikes fit my odd shaped frame. The whole too much leg, no torso curse. After hoping on a variety of models, I finally decided upon the women's model of a beautiful Cannondale synapse. I selected padded biking shorts (try walking around in depends for a while), padded gloves, a helmet, and some sexy white racing shoes. The credit card total was more than I care to admit. After spending this much money I was anxious for my bike to arrive so I could start parading around with it. I was pleased to look the part! My bike took TWO LONG WEEKS to arrive. I was so excited to pick it up and be seen in my new gear, joining the cycling elite of San Francisco. Sadly luck was not on my side. For the non cyclers out there---Bike shoes clip in and out of the bike pedals, locking you in and making you one with the bike. For a newbie--this clip in deal was no easy task.
