Jambo, Kilimanjaro!

According to our guide, the most common translation for "Kilimanjaro" is "a big hill with some snow on the top". After being up at 19,341ft and living to tell the tale, I can assure you it's WAY more than that. As you can tell by virtue of me writing this, we made it. Kaka ("brother") Greg, dada ("sister") Jackie and I summited Uhuru peak just before 7AM on July 26, 2012. Well, the two of them summited just before 7AM. I was more like 7-something, as I, ironically, ended up being "one of those poor saps who suffers from altitude sickness" whom I referred to in my last blog entry. Awesome. Some of you (Mom) may want to know what it was like. What follows below is the story of three work colleagues, who became friends and are now family, getting to the top of the world's tallest free-standing mountain...

(Important note: My friends are much more technologically advanced than I am, and dada Jackie has this awesome device to hook up a camera's memory card to an iPad...so...drumroll please...all of the photos you see in the blog going forward will be my own! WOOHOO! Now back to the story.....)

After much deliberation and emailing back and forth with our tour agency, ZARA Tanzania Adventures, our little crew decided on the Machame Route. While Machame is typically done in six days, we had some advice from a friend (THANK YOU, RAGEPORT) that doing the climb in seven days would allow for additional recovery of any ill effects from altitude sickness incurred on the way up. Note: for all of you future Kili climbers, heed this advice. Trust us - it's worth it. Day One had us up and at 'em early, arriving at the Machame gate around 10AM, led by our handsome and energetic guide, Joseph (nicknamed "Photo" because of all of the tourists constantly asking him to snap their picture), and our assistant guide, Joel (whom we called "Joe" the entire time by mistake...um...oops). The first day's hike was a manageable 4.5 hours through dense rainforest up a surprisingly well-manicured trail. We reached the camp at around 5PM, were welcomed by freshly-popped popcorn (a daily treat), and shown to our tents. And our private bathroom. Yes, private bathroom. It was one porter's job (our buddy Jerome) to carry a toilet for us every day, all the way up to our last camp at 4,700M. Bless him. Dinner. A round of cards. Bed.
At Machame Gate, ready to hit the trail!


Perhaps a little too excited about our private toilet:


Our first dinner (Deo, our cook, totally rocked and the food was delicious):



On Day Two, we transitioned to the Heather / Moorlands region of Kili. The Machame trail is unique in that it wraps around the peak and shows off a variety of landscapes. As opposed to the rainforest, the Moorlands were much rockier, and the vegetation transitioned to coarse shrubbery and fields of "everlasting flowers", a genus (species? anyone? whatever) of flower that grows on the mountain year-round. Here's a visual:


The hike to Shira Camp, at 3,800M, was short, and we arrived by lunch time. A nap followed lunch, then we were excited to explore the one and only Shira Cave! "Wow," we thought, "a big cave right here in the side of Mount Kilimanjaro? Amazing!". Let's just say Shira Cave wasn't quite what we thought. Here it is in all of its magnificence:


Yeah. But the lack of a cool cave was TOTALLY compensated for by the view from our campsite, and the incredible sunset we got treated to that night.
View:


Sunset:


Day Three brought the heat, the cold, and the headache. I started to feel a little brain pain coming on at the end of the second day, and began to take Diamox for altitude sickness (I avidly protested this at first, thinking the meds made me a wuss, but would not have made it to the top without them...thanks, Diamox!). The third day had us hiking up to Lava Tower Rock, at 4,600M, then back down to Barranco Camp where we'd sleep at 3,850M. Pretty sure I spoke, at most, 7-8 words during the entire 7-hour hike. One word an hour. Seriously. And for those of you who have ever spent an hour with me, you know that's REALLY WEIRD. My head was pounding, I was short of breath, and felt nauseated throughout the entire day. I only started to feel better after taking four ibuprofen and lying in the tent listening to James Taylor for a few hours after the hike was over. If you haven't listened to James Taylor recently, go and do it now. I had totally forgotten about the guy, but one afternoon made me a superfan all over again. God, I love James Taylor.
Our team hiking from Lava Tower Rock down to Barranco Camp:


Aside from the horrible altitude sickness, Day Three was notable because we came to the realization that most of the words and names from "The Lion King" are actually used in Swahili. For example, people really do use "Hakuna Matata" in conversation. "Simba" means "lion". And "Rafiki" means "friend". Apparently "Nala" doesn't mean anything (I asked), but to make up for that one, our guide taught me how to say "let's go, white people!", which I happily shouted each time we got up to hike. The porters got a real kick out of that. Speaking of porters, these dudes are just AMAZING. They carry a backpack full of their own stuff, then they carry your stuff in a bag ON THEIR HEAD. And still run by you on the trail to have your camp set up before you arrive. Incredible.
Porters scaling Barranco Wall:


Day Four arrived, and I felt about a THOUSAND times better and ready to tackle Barranco Wall, a vertical rock face that marks the beginning of the trail to Karanga ("Peanut"...unclear why the name is relevant) Valley Camp. This was the most fun hiking of the trip for me. I love a good day of rock scrambling. So fun. Plus, when we got to the top of the wall, it looked like this:





We made our way across the now-barren landscape (see below) to Karanga Valley Camp, where we did an afternoon acclimatization hike and hit the sack early. Well, early-ish, as usual, since we had by this point moved into one tent due to the FREEZING COLD night temps (think Fahrenheit teens) and stayed up trading stories, telling jokes, and peeing 1,000 times from all the water we were drinking to stave off altitude-induced dehydration.
Hiking to Karanga. Pretty sure 76% of this dust is currently under my fingernails:


On Day Five, we made our way to the highest camp of the hike, Barafu, at 4,700M. We'd be waking up at 11PM to start our ascent to the summit at midnight, so we tried to get to bed early. But the porters jamming out to reggae and shouting in Swahili, the crew of middle-aged Belgians up chatting in the tent next to us, and the excitement of getting ourselves to the top of this...


...made it difficult to sleep. Just one short hour after we finally drifted off, our waiter, Adam, was waking us up with hot tea. It was time to start our ascent.

To say that it's "cold" on the top of Mount Kilimanjaro is a drastic understatement. It is FREAKING BONE-CHILLING FREEZING UP THERE. I, of course, was underprepared and totally lucked out that Jackie had made a trip to the North Face and Patagonia outlets the week before the trip, stocked up on thermals, and was willing to share. In addition, we rented down jackets from the trekking company (which resulted in me looking like a Teletubby in all of our summit photos) and were gifted some hand and toe warmers from a new friend we made on the trail (thanks, Mona!). But we were still cold. The ascent to the summit typically takes around six hours, and is mostly done in the dark, with the goal of arriving on "the roof of Africa" as the sun rises. Let's just say the sun had already risen by the time I got there. While I had been feeling much better thanks to the Diamox, the quick ascent from 4,700M to almost 5,900M in one morning (or, more correctly, one middle-of-the-night) was too much for my poor altitude-confused body. I literally couldn't breathe. Our amazing guide noticed early on that I was having much more trouble than the others, and had Greg and Jackie go on ahead with Joel while I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say the seven hours it took me to reach the top of Mount Kilimanjaro constitute the most physically challenging experience I have EVER had. Aside from the physical pain, the mental challenge to retain some shred of sanity when you're walking uphill for seven hours in the pitch darkness unable to breathe was pretty tough as well. I'll admit to having a few (okay, maybe more than a few) moments of silent, frozen tears streaming down my face as Photo literally pushed and pulled me to the top. Man, am I glad I never have to do that hike again. EVER. When I finally arrived at Uhuru Peak and was able to dry (read: freeze) my tears and catch my breath, I was totally taken aback by the stunning scenery. Glacial ice fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the sun coming up over Kilimanjaro's smaller peaks made for an impressive view from the summit. It was exhilarating to be there, and the view was almost worth the pain...almost.
Three happy Bainies at the summit (as promised, I am the Teletubby):


Sunrise over one of Kili's giant glaciers:


The desolate, icy, and beautiful landscape at the top of the mountain (note Greg, in the center of the photo, walking down the trail in front of me):


The elation we felt after reaching the summit didn't last long - we still had seven hours (yes, SEVEN) of hiking to reach our last camp, Mweka, at 3,100M. For those of you who are good at math, you'll notice we came down almost 3,000M in elevation in one day. Yeah. My knees still hurt. It was a trio of very tired, very dirty, and very happy campers getting into our tent that last night. And while we were glad to be going back to a bed and a shower on Day Seven, it was a sad goodbye to our team of 13 (8 porters, 1 toilet porter, 1 waiter porter, 1 cook, 1 assistant guide, 1 guide). They were really wonderful.


All in all, Kili was awesome. I say now that I'm glad I never have to do it again, but I'm sure, a few years down the road, I'll forget just how painful the altitude sickness was and consider trying another big climb. But for now, let's just say I learned one very valuable lesson from climbing Mount Kilimanjaro: I am a day hiker.

For all of you considering the climb, I'd highly encourage you to do it. It's definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and a great way to do a high-altitude climb without having to spend time and money on a lot of gear and training. If you're interested in making the journey, here are some tips, tricks, and suggestions we compiled throughout the hike:
1) IT IS REALLY COLD. Bring lots of warm layers.
2) Get a prescription for Diamox. Just in case.
3) Use a Camel Bak. These were incredibly convenient. I'm so obsessed with mine I'm considering writing a song about it.
4) Bring electrolyte gels, Gatorade, or some small snacks to keep you going on the trail between meals.
5) Baby wipe showers sound gross, but they're totally worth it. You will get FILTHY.
6) Bring a book. I did not do this. I was bored.
7) Ask your guides to teach you Swahili. Not only will they like you more, you will learn how to say fun things like, "yeah, I'm cool, I'm crazy like a banana".
8) There is ALWAYS room in your bag for ibuprofen and Pepto.
9) Do not try to either diet or tan while on Kilimanjaro. You need the carbs (even you, ladies), and the sun is brutally strong. It will get you. Watch out.
10) Prepare for the summit day to SUCK, but know that when it's all over you will have been on top of one of the world's seven continents. How cool is that?

Hope this helps anyone who's interested in getting up to the top of Tanzania, and, as always, I'd love to talk more, so if you want more info don't hesitate to get in touch. I owe a HUGE thank you to my amazing travel buddies, Greg Olwell and Jackie O'Brien....


...who were fun, entertaining, encouraging, patient, and generous throughout the entire climb. You guys are the best. Without you, I never would have received this awesome and totally frame-able certificate of achievement:



What a week. And now the beaches of Zanzibar are calling my name...


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Location:Moshi, Tanzania

So long, Europe. Hello, Africa.

San Sebastian, Biarritz and London treated us quite well. More than quite. The Basque Country turned out to be an incredibly culturally rich place to spend some time, and we were sad it had to come to an end. We spent the last couple of days sitting on the beach lazily eating treats from Mercado La Bretxa, a market comprised of various local food stalls featuring excellent artisanal Basque cheeses, meats and breads; walking around town and enjoying views from the top of Mount Urgull (see below), and meeting various travelers from around the world at pintxos bars (including one group of Londoners who successfully approached us by having one of their mates crouch down and speak like a hobbit). A stop at the Guggenheim in Bilbao proved a worthy detour on our way back, although the main attraction for us was the architecture of the museum itself, as opposed to some of their exhibitions like "The Inverted Mirror", which featured things like giant pink canvasses. With nothing on them. Modern art. Hm.

Abby and me celebrating our last night in San Seb by taking in a view of La Concha Bay:


After putting Abby on a plane back home this morning, I'm making the two-hour journey from Kristin & Sam MacDonald's home in Barley to Heathrow for my flight to Dar es Salaam. The reality of Kilimanjaro is fast-approaching, and I'm starting to wonder if I should have trained a little. Or at least gone for a jog once or twice. But I suppose there's no use in dwelling on the past and I should focus on the future...and the glass of wine I'm going to have at the airport. A brief stay in Barley was a nice opportunity to get my first glimpse of the English countryside, and to see Kristin and Sam's kids, whom I suppose would correctly be referred to as my "step-nephews" (Oliver, who turns eight tomorrow, and Jasper and Angus, four-year-old twins whose primary school Sports Day I had the pleasure of witnessing this morning...who doesn't love a good egg-on-a-spoon race?). I'm currently being whisked to London on one of the UK's speedy, efficient, and clean commuter rails, taking breaks to
look out the window and get a glimpse of farms that dot the hillsides. And cows. Sometimes I see cows. Check it:


I'll arrive at KRO tomorrow morning around 11AM, and will be met by our trekking company, ZARA/EWP, for a shuttle into Moshi. A BBQ at cousin Matthew's home in Moshi should be a nice welcome to Africa, and we fearlessly start up Kili on the 21st. We'll be taking the Machame, or Whiskey, route up the mountain. Machame is the most travelled of the routes but also apparently the most scenic as it offers the climber the opportunity to experience a variety of different terrain: rainforest, desert, other types I can't remember right now, etc etc. I haven't hiked - or camped - for seven consecutive days since I was 13 years old, so hopefully I've still got it in me. We'll find out soon enough, I guess.

I'm assuming my Internet connection will be spotty until I return from my sojourn up Africa's tallest peak, so until then, please keep your fingers crossed that my boots fit right, my water purification tablets do their job, and I'm not one of those poor saps who are highly susceptible to altitude sickness. Because that would suck. Mom, don't worry. I'll Skype you before I leave. Cheers.

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I surfed. And it was awesome.

That is all.


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Location:Paseo de Salamanca,San Sebastián,Spain

Foie gras, beaches, and giant babies

I can't say it's been a bad life in Basque Country so far. I'm writing from here...


...la Plage Grande in Biarritz, France. After a night of pintxos and partying in San Sebastian yesterday (where it became eminently clear to us that we are by far the oldest travelers in a 100-mile radius...or at least the oldest travelers who enjoy having a few chupitos - shots - with the locals), we boarded a bus to Biarritz this afternoon to lie on the beach, drink rose, and read. We located two very important things:
1) A secluded swimming hole.


2) The world's largest baby. Seriously. Look at that thing. It's enormous.


Biarritz is gorgeous. The city doesn't quite have the charm of San Sebastian, with its tiny, winding, old city streets, but it's clearly a place where the French, and tourists alike, come to see and be seen. The beach is packed with topless sunbathers (guy friends, take note) and there are rock outcroppings scattered around the ocean's edge that are perfect for climbing. Or just looking at if you're tired. All in all, not a bad place to spend an afternoon. Tonight we're heading back to San Sebastian for more eating and drinking. We've almost become regulars at some of our favorite spots, and don't want to let our beloved bartenders down by not showing up for our typical 10PM pintxo.

Speaking of pintxos, last night we stumbled across (or "were guided to" by Rick Steve and the kindly elderly lady at our first hotel) the best food we've had in San Seb to date. For 11 Euro, we had two glasses of wine each, a giant portion of freshly-seared foie gras accompanied by a pureed apple compote, tender veal cheeks braised in Rioja wine that fell apart under the slightest touch of our forks, a giant round of goat cheese stuffed with roasted vegetables and covered in basil oil, and, courtesy of our friendly bartender, a chocolate mousse drizzled with an orange reduction. Yes. Please. Abby and I have made a pact to go back to this magical place, La Cuchara de San Telmo, every single night. For the rest of our lives. Or at least until we leave San Sebastian on Wednesday. We're also addicted to Txepetxa, an anchovy bar where more than half of the menu consists of fresh anchovies with a variety of toppings. We sampled the antxoa with jardiniera, one with a delicate spider crab crema, and a third with a light spread of foie topped with apple compote (they're obsessed with this foie-apple combo...and so are we). De-li-cious. In case you're having trouble picturing anchovies being de-li-cious, this may change your mind:


On the docket tomorrow: a surfing lesson on Zurriola Beach, perhaps a wine tasting, and just generally hanging out. Which we've gotten pretty good at. All this, of course, after another night of pintxos and tinto. Well, after we finish the fresh baguette and hunk of Gouda I have in my purse...

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Location:Place Bellevue,Biarritz,France

And we're off....again

Well, I'm back. After wrapping up an amazing and action-packed Spring quarter at Kellogg (which included living out my dream to be a rock star, meeting the mayor of Helsinki, the best Memorial Day weekend in history, and spending much-valued time with my incredible friends), it's time to hit the road again. I've decided to resurrect this blog, under a slightly different name, at the request of a few fans (Mom, this means you) and friends who like to read anything but current events when they're bored (shout-out to Sarah Tabb). Given I don't have access to a laptop this time to upload photos, it might not be as exciting, but hopefully I'll give those of you who care at least one reason not to do any work this afternoon.

I'm writing now from my tiny little pension in San Sebastian, Spain, where Kellogg friend Abby and I arrived last night to spend a week eating, drinking, and beaching. So far, we've done our job. San Sebastian is a gem. We had originally planned to go spend a week in Croatia, but, after finding it difficult to make the trip work within our allotted seven days, took the recommendation of a few friends, flew into Bilbao, and hitched a bus to San Seb. And we're thrilled we did. The city is fringed by two scenic beaches, La Concha and Zurriola, and set against a backdrop of lush, green mountains. Our hotel is nestled in the quaint Parte Vieja, or Old City, which occupies the peninsula between the two beaches. In addition to being a great city for walking and sightseeing, San Sebastian has an unique (and totally AWESOME) food culture. The streets of the Parte Vieja are lined with bars that serve pintxos, Basque tapas that run the gamut from toasts draped in jamon Iberico to more elaborate dishes like toasted goat cheese with caramelized plum jam and basil oil drizzle, and tiny tarts stuffed with salted local spider crab. The pintxos (Rick Steve's guidebook indicates to the traveler that this is correctly pronounced "PEEN-chos", which Abby and I of course got a huge kick out of) bars are open from 2-4PM, and again from 8-11PM. When the jatetxeas close, the rest of the time in the city is spent drinking vino tinto (local red wine, priced at 1-3 Euro/glass) at outdoor bars, hiking up Monte Urgull to look out over the bay, or taking surfing lessons at Zurriola Beach. I'm in heaven. Plus, I get to use my Spanish. Though Basque is the language of the region (a language that apparently has no roots in any other known spoken tongue..crazy, right?), colloquially, everyone uses Spanish. Therefore, I obviously feel like a total badass because l've not only been able to navigate and order food, I've also had the pleasure of some basic conversation, for example, with our cab driver last night, who waxed poetic about how women can't multi-task. Cute.

This afternoon has been busy wandering the city, eating pintxos, drinking tinto, and watching the parades and outdoor concerts to celebrate the last day of San Fermine, the festival made famous by the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Tonight...same thing. What a life.

Up next in my travels: a few more days in San Sebastian, followed by Tanzania (an excursion up Mount Kilimanjaro), Mozambique (building homes for orphans in Maputo with Habitat for Humanity then diving with whale sharks off of Inhambane), perhaps a safari through Kruger National Park in South Africa, then a three-week stay in Turkey. I can't wait.

Thanks for reading. Again.

PS I warned you before that I wouldn't be able to upload any photos to this blog due to my lack of access to a laptop to download from my camera, but I figured one picture-of-a-picture of delicious snacks consumed this afternoon couldn't hurt anyone...



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Location:Calle del Puerto,San Sebastián,Spain