And, shall we go down?  Tootled back to the Stella Point – oh **** look what we climbed?  1,000m of slippery, sliding shale….  Now – I can’t see where my feet go – yes?  A guide linked arms with me, said come…  We get to the edge…  Talk about leap of faith – Ye Gods, St Bernard, Patron saint of hill climbers – stepped the front foot out and down – somewhere?   That elephant who I had been pushing up the hill was now accelerating fast behind my back and pushing me back down the hill…  6 hours up, a couple down.  Basically, you ski down without the skis.  As you step, the shale slips and your foot whizzes down, hopefully taking the leg and other foot too.  After 100m or so, my porter lets go and says – you go now, you OK, I go back and help others who need help more, bye.  But, but, but, I need help…..  No, you don’t – bye…   Shove – wheeeeeeee……  Hmmm, foot, skid, foot, skid… Came up behind Ben, who was helping Alex, who had got a bit dizzy and world moving.  They were belting down at some speed, back to real oxygen filled air, so I tagged along (get it done quick?)  – and there was slightly wobbly Alex still leaving me in the dirt – they would fly down, wait, I would catch up.  They would fly, wait, I would catch up….  At one point, Ben asked if I was OK….  Well, the world is a bit upside down too?  And kind of black around the edges?  Ahh, that’s OK then, let’s go, keep up….  I think I remember less of the down than the up, if that is possible.  I know when I made it to camp, I bypassed the dining tent with the best sweet orange juice you’ll ever taste (according to Ben) and woke up in my tent a couple of hours later…  talk about zoning out.

A quick lunch, pack kit bags, load back packs, and we move.  Every step down, the air is thicker and fuller, it’s easier to breathe and move, your pack feels lighter….  And – those feet are still going down on their own, since I can’t see where they are going…  Got to the horrible smooth rock between Kosovo and Barafu…  Help?  Na, you OK.  Alright then – extend foot, drop foot, see where it lands…  When I went to buy my hiking boots, I said the most important thing was grip – having two left feet, I tend to slip.  Ahh, these boots have a 9.9 grip test rating, running over a wet marble floor.  Perfect.  I think I must look like a drunk hippo when I wear them through airports – my body is travelling quick quick, quick to get where I’m going, and my boots go grip, grip, grip, meaning that I trip over my feet and leave them behind.  On that little rock – perfect, thank you boot sellers…  From there – well, you just stroll down a wide, smooth highway of a path, a few hours later hitting Millennium camp.  At this point, having got up, and now getting down, if I had had the option, I would have kept plodding and gone right through to the end.  With only another half day of walking ahead, the thought of another cold, uncomfortable night in a tent wasn’t appealing…  But, our final night passed, and a lot better than normal.  For one, we were much lower at 3,820m, meaning that our bodies had way more oxygen, which helps to combat the insomnia.  And secondly, we were all so tired after our sleepless night and little hill walk, we would have slept lying in a field of rocks.  Strangely – exactly what we did…

The guides earn their wage, but it isn’t massive amounts.  So, each hiker is asked to please bring US$120 with them, as a tip for the staff.  How amazing was this group of people – not only was this hike for charity to begin with, but the tips were about US$1,000 over and above what was asked for, as well as a huge bag filled with hiking boots, sleeping bags, jackets etc etc etc, which would be shared among all who climbed with us…  So, the day before summit, all this money was collected, and Ben and Julio, the main guide, used the matrix they are provided with, and divided this out, from our “wi-fi” toilet tent guys, through tent porters, chefs, waiters, water carriers, porters, camp manager, assistant guides and main guides.  Everyone gets their cut.  On our final morning, speeches, hikers giving groups their envelopes, porters and guides singing and dancing, much cheering, celebrating the successful climb, our safe return and the end of a busy week for most of our wonderful helpers.  We never saw the majority again – they packed up camp, ran it down the mountain back to the company offices, ticked all their boxes and went off home to rest and get ready for the next climb.  The only people with us now, were our main guides and assistant guides, as well as Jackson the ambulance man, who all stuck with us until the rangers office, with our welcome home sign.  Ben, Kate, Alex.

But, I get ahead of myself – the walk down, finally got easier and was more of a stroll through forest than climbing down a rock face.  Walking out of open views and into forest was a little sad actually – we said good bye to wide open spaces, to being above the clouds and seeing other mountains around us, and saw – well, stunning trees, draped in curtains of ferns, delicate little flowers, and the colobus monkeys, who always remind me so much of Elvis – their tight little black suits of hair, with the long white fringes along what would be the seam lines, swinging away in the tree canopy as if they are jiving and twisting to rock ‘n roll….  So much more vivid and mobile than the little blues at the start…

And suddenly, we see real toilets – well, kinda real.  Long drops with wooden sheds.  And then, shock horror – a car.  Well, a Land Rover ambulance.  And then – back to real life….  And the adventure was done.  Just tired, dirty, sweaty people, sitting on a concrete block under a sign saying congratulations and drinking Kilimanjaro beers.  Well then….

My lesson taken from this – slow down, smell the coffee.  As one of my twinkle pony riders told me – patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace, Grace is the little girl who doesn’t wash her face…  I am always in such a hurry to get the job done, I had a hill to walk, come on, let’s get to it, more to do after this one, my next teaching week is waiting,  move up, move out… And looking back, for all I thought I was taking it all in, I do think that I could have lived a lot more in the moment – as I have written this, I think I have spent more time thinking of it all than I did actually walking the route.  I cannot tell you how much that plod along pace got to me those first couple of days, but by the end, the final descent, when some of our group were rushing off to get there, (beer was calling) I was happily strolling mid group with a few others – it’s not always a race to get things done, sometimes we need to do less, or at least do it more slowly, and enjoy the process.  I plan my life by the trip – a week here, two weeks there, and think maybe I count my life down too fast, instead of just being…  (As I type this fast to get through it so I can move onto other things…)

Accept help sometimes – Oh My.  A lesson not learnt, but at least it is on the radar….  I may like to think that I can do it all myself, on my own, but without Margaret and her smoke, Rama and his hug, 70 odd porters, rafiki and assistants, Ben and Kate, all my sponsors and friends kicking my butt to train, (cough cough) I wouldn’t have got there.  And, I would have got there much easier had I let Kate and Ben farm out my day pack…  But….  Well, let’s just say that it’s a lesson in awareness but still a work in progress….

And now I need to dash – my to do list is too long, with too much on it, I can’t keep up and don’t have time to dwell any longer 😉   Hmmmmmmm…….  Pole Pole.

Now, part of the drive to do this – when I was working in the Caribbean and my friend Margaret had finished her chemo and radiation, she came to visit.  On a neighbouring island there was a volcano, with weed growing farmers all the way up.  She had heard me talk about this volcano and how I wanted to climb it.  When she came to visit, she said, she wanted to go up too.  My first thought was ya, right, No.  Yes, that is what she wanted to do…

A local friend said, if she wanted to get up there, we were all going, and she would summit – she needed to test her body, explore that it still worked, find a challenge and get it done.  We would go slowly, and would help, but if that is what she needed to do, it would happen.  Against my better judgment, we set off with our weed smoking guide billowing sickly sweet smoke behind him, and we all got to the top.  And, (luckily) down again.  Margaret was exhausted and had her own personal elephant to push up that hill, but with incredible stamina and stubbornness, she got there.  Afterwards, she said that she thinks that second hand smoke floated her up a lot of the way.

If she could climb 1,234m after all of that, I could pop up little Kili.  The other thing that suddenly pops to mind, is that we would often discuss a mutual acquaintance who always had incense burning, and many a late-night WhatsApp conversation began with – I can smell incense.  So, fast forward back to Kili…

Plodding up that hill, in the dark, strings of people in front and behind, look at the person in front moving their feet – right, left, right, left, get into an almost meditational type – aware but asleep, move your feet, plod, plod.  At one point, I stopped, just thought bugger it – no.  Got a waft of weed smoke billowing over.  My brain vaguely comprehended the smell, the recognition, and I remember thinking – odd, who has weed on the hill?  Almost instantly, it switched to incense, and I thought ah ok Margaret, I can’t give up.  If I had got sick and had been sent down the hill, that would have been one thing, but if I had given up, I would never have forgiven myself.  Now, call it thought, call it altitude sickness, call it sleep walking or call it real, but I firmly believe that that smell was more than a little help from a friend – and a kick up the backside.

Plod, plod….  At some point, someone said it was about 4am.  We knew it would take 6 hours ish.  Someone else replied great, we were three quarters of the way there.  I know I spent seconds, minutes, hours, days or weeks of that plod trying to work out how it wasn’t ¾, but, I thought 2/3 but maybe it was ¾ or else it was 2/3 but I couldn’t really work out how to work it out, or how I knew.  Plod, plod, plod, weed smoke and incense, Yes, Alright, I Know, plod, plod, elephant up the hill, plod, plod, ¾ or 2/3?  Plod.  At another point, Rama said it was about an hour and a half to summit.  Ben then came along, saying All OK?  Yes, plod.  He said come on folks, less than an hour to go….  Spent a lot more time trying to decide if Rama was making it seem longer to keep us going, or Ben was saying it was shorter to give us hope.  (I highly suspect the latter, Ben was getting a great rep for his African rubber time…)  It took too much brain power to decide, so I gave up thinking…  Plod, plod, plod, give up?  Smoke, yes OK Margaret, I got the elephant…  Or do you have the elephant?

At one point, I gave up.  Sat down on a rock, and said, I just need a little rest….  Rama came along, gave me a big hug, said don’t worry, it’ll be ok.  Checked my gloves, pulled up my jacket hood, unclipped my back pack and threw it over his shoulder….  No, you can’t carry my pack – just a little while he said, we go together….  And led me up the hill.  Someone had said to me – climbing a mountain is just a case of talking nicely to your 6 year old self – when your 6 year old self gives up, sits down and says I’m not playing anymore, bribe your 6 year old self with a Mars bar, and talk nicely to yourself, don’t fight, just give encouragement.  At that point, my 6 year old self threw in the towel, my neck and shoulders refused to carry the pack, and Rama took my 6 year old self by the arm and led her up the hill, all together.

At some point he must have let go.  Don’t know how or when?  As we approached summit, the porters were yelling (even more), their favourite chant – they yell MAXIMUM, all the hikers (6-year-old plodders) yell back RESPECT….  Now, just below summit –  Maximum…..  Come on guys….  MAXIMUM….  respect (whispered)?  Then a fair few of them starting howling, like wolves at the full moon.  People at the front start to summit, the sun starts to peep over the horizon, the sky starts to turn red, energy picks up….  And suddenly another awesome human being (another of our amazing guides) says welcome to Stella Point and pushes a mug of steaming tea into your frozen fingers.  As you breathe on it, the steam hits your face and wakes you up, and as you swallow it, you start to come back to life…  (On a side note – a lot of teams summited that morning, and who got tea?  Only our group…  How awesome were our porters?  To climb up there with us whinging, whining lot who needed our zips zipped, AND to carry us flasks of hot tea?)

Hugs all round, many tears, Ben tootles past saying right folks, a little walk on to Uhuru, around the volcanic crater, the actual summit with the famous sign.  *sigh* Forget the hot tea, start to plod.  At one point I stopped and thought bugger this – no further.  A different porter from another company was passing, with his one solo climber, and said come on, keep going, grabbed my arm and kept me moving – again, some random dude up a hill, but that little nudge and helping hand, get the feet plodding, OK, we got this…

I won’t say much about the top.  Stunning just doesn’t cut it.  The glaciers, the dawn, the light, the view, being above the clouds.  All just doesn’t describe it.  Magical time, wished I had my proper camera and not just a phone, but really, what can you say?  It was -15, and the instruction of keep your face covered as protection against the dry air floated away with the clouds, but what an epic time.

Day three – more of the same.  Spectacular views.  Good company.  Step, pause, step, pause, step, pause.  The need for speed.  Patience.  I have no arms.  Shall someone carry your pack?  No.  It does sound like endless complaining.  I did hate the camping, the cold and the lack of shower.  But, I was never sick – clear headed, breathing easily, no nausea.  The walk was beautiful, incredible views, walking above the clouds.  The company was great.  And watching the people who were sick, I took my hat off to them.  The courage and determination to keep plodding when your head is pounding or you are projectile vomiting is quite something.  The speed did begin to make sense – hurrying caused an oooh, it’s not so easy to catch up on air that doesn’t exist, moment….  Maybe Pole pole, slowly slowly like a chameleon….

Lava tower was the next aim.  At 4,642m it was the first time we were heading into serious altitude, the whole thought plan is that you climb high and sleep low.  Meaning, you climb to a higher point.  Your body goes Oh My, and starts to make a plan (or panic) at which point you then drop right back down again.  12 hours of sleep, your body says hey now we can cope, and next time that you start to climb again, your body is more prepared.   Climbing to Lava Tower, I was – still not sick.  Which started playing with my mind – would I suddenly be sick at the top?  Lava Tower is very cool – originally a lava stopper, or cork if you like, it would have been chucked down the hill, and then, because it is so hard, as the rock around it slowly erodes, it stays as is.  A stroll up, and can you believe, our porters had beaten us there, set up dining tents, kitchen tent, made a hot lunch, boiled water for hand washing, set up the Wi-Fi tents, and were welcoming us with hot tea and our daily popcorn.

I now hit my first snag.  (Other than cold camping.)  You have to go down.  An interesting little side effect of my neck, is that part of the compression issue is a fairly dramatic loss of depth perception due to the compression of the optic nerve.  Which means that when I am putting my foot down, I can’t see how near or far the surface is – I can hit it hard and fast if closer than I gauge, or it can be a long way off….  Who has been around as I dither at the top of a downward escalator, debating the speed and drop of the step?  (Is why I don’t jump horses anymore – where is the jump?)  So, with my neck already coming up with new and interesting twists, coming off a very steep hill with a fair amount of loose shale took some girding of the loins and gnashing of the teeth…  “Would you like a porter to take your day pack?”  No.  Every step was a bit of a lurch into the unknown, but I am here, so clearly survived…

Camp at Barranco, 3,950m.  A beautiful camp, with the mountain behind and around, and a stunning view out and down over Moshi.  You realise just how far up you are, looking out and down, thinking of all those people down there, tucked up in their houses, totally oblivious to you perched up there on the side of a mountain.  The milky way and stars seem incredibly bright and close – whether those few hundred metres actually make a difference or if it is just the lack of light pollution, who knows, but you sit up there feeling very small.  And the other thoughts trespassing through my mind – one, was I going to get really sick all of a sudden, and two, I had to GET BACK DOWN…..  Bugger it, go to bed, count the stones, and think of getting down when it happens…  (Anyone with a helicopter – oh wait, they can’t come that high…)

Now, every walk so far had been reasonably gentle – a stroll along, little bit up, little bit down.  Not so much climbing a mountain as walking up a hill.  Barranco Wall was the first time that there was some climbing, or at least scrambling along.  It is a 257m of very near vertical climb – easier than it looks once you get going, but lots of crawling along on your hands and feet, “kissing the wall” as you go.  There is only one path, so many groups, with many climbers and even more porters, all going up the same path.  A fair amount of hurry up and wait queueing, although Ben had called it exactly right, us being pretty much the first group and so leading the way without many breaks.  For most of our group, this was their favourite day – me?  Not so much.  The whole thing of not being able to see my where my feet are going meant the scrabbling down bits are difficult, and the hauling up and down on my arms, especially with a pack (should someone take your pack? No), meant that my arms and shoulders took more of a hammering (damn bladdy stubborn….)

Ben and the porters often offered hands to help – when you are trying to reach across a little ravine or find a foot hold, an extra hand can be what is needed.  Awesome.  And at times excruciating when they would put a little more upward pull pressure on an arm than my neck approved of – I think they thought I was ignoring help at some moments, where in reality I was having to focus on breathing and not either passing out or sitting and crying with a little jolt passing through.  Shall someone take your pack – No.  I took on a challenge, my body would damn well play ball…  (Crash through a boundary?  Me?  Never.)  A couple of hours though, and you are clear and have the most spectacular views, somewhere where there is a lot more air than at the top, so lots of photos opportunities.  Hmmm, will admit that my world was mainly in black and white at that point, or shades of grey.  Alex chatted about taking a moment to stop and think about why we were all there in the first place – rather an emotional place it turned out to be…  Hmm, don’t dwell too long there…

Camp at Karanga, 3,960m.  A short walk after the big wall, only taking the rest of the morning, and so allowing time to chill in your tent (counting the rocks under your sleeping mat), potter, chat, soak up the scenery, look at the mountain and mentally prepare for the next day.  A spectacular view again, down towards town, but, for a lot of the day, only cloud behind.  Suddenly, at about dinner time, the clouds blew clear, and there was our little hill, much clearer and more detailed than before.  Still a long way to go, but suddenly seeing the route and what and where we were going to tackle made it more doable than the big hunk of rock in the distance.  Again, an amazing moon and a sky that reminded me of a field full of wild flowers – just so many stars that were so close.  Really felt that if you just reached your hand a little further, you could pick one.  Because we were actually closer?  The air was thinner?  We were oxygen deprived?  Stunning.  And cold.  And, did I mention that I don’t do camping?  I think that about this point I started popping Dr Kate’s little helping painkillers.  Took the edge off, but still rather, um….  Interesting….  Still no sign of altitude sickness either, which was playing a bit at the back of my mind – with no understanding of what it would feel like, what if it suddenly raised its head?

Next morning, the start of another short – long day.  Confused?  So were we.  A short walk, only a few hours in the morning, followed by lunch, sleep, dinner, sleep, but then we’d be moving out in the middle of the night.  Generally, the base camp is at Barafu camp 4,645m.  However, on the leaving side of Barafu is an almost vertical bit of rock which is really not very user friendly – except to our guides who scampered up like it was a wide, smooth flight of stairs.  If you camp at Barafu, then you have an extra 1 – 1.5 hours on your night time summit push, which is even less user friendly.   So, the UK organising company had put in a special request for permission to camp at Kosovo (or Beirut as it became known) instead.  This is a little higher 4,800m, which meant better acclimatization, and that tricky bit was done in daylight.  The main drawback was that there was now no water supply – every last drop was carried by our porters, so no water for wasting on such things as hand washing.  Make full use of the anti-bacterial hand gel, wet wipes and Dettol wipes.  Plenty of water for our 6 litres of sippy sippy and our two, three-course meals with gallons of soup though.  Amazing porters.  Final summit briefing – what to expect, what may or may not happen.  Our lofty plans of being a 100% successful group came crashing down on us, when our youngest (and fittest???) member suddenly got really sick really fast and was whisked away at speed, ending up in hospital in a very short time, where one of our assistant guides stayed with her for a couple of nights until she recovered enough for discharge.  Really can’t say enough about how good the guides were, as well as how amazing Kate and Ben were at picking it up, making the decision and getting her out.

Finally, summit night.  We had – as planned – hit camp at lunchtime, so it was afternoon sleep, get up at 5 for dinner, go back to bed.  For the first time, rather than being a team, we were split into 2 groups, one group having dinner at 10.30pm and leaving at 11pm, the rest of us eating at 11.30 and leaving at midnight.  The plan being we would catch up half way.  Do you know how hard it is, trying to cat nap knowing that time is limited and just what is coming up? 11.30, finally time, trying to force down pasta with veg sauce, feeling vaguely sick with nerves and excited and terrified (where is that altitude sickness???), and very much like a snowman with all the clothes you own bundled on at the same time…

The final putting on of fluorescent safety vests, two pairs of gloves, shoving one of your water bottles inside your coat (your water bladder in the back pack, with a long flexi straw freezes as you summit, meaning no water.  So, by keeping an insulated bottle inside your jacket, you keep it liquid, in theory).  The dawning that it is very hard to zip you jacket up over a water bottle.  And how the hell do you get two pairs of gloves on, when they are thick and bulky, and then manage to hold walking poles as well?  Slowly pull out, very much in single file – pole pole – head lamps on, shining on the pair of boots in front of you, Lead on MacDuff, one foot, pause, one foot pause.  That night – I am not sure how to describe.  If you told me that it took 10 minutes, I would believe you.  And, if you told me that it took 24 hours, I would believe you too…  It actually took 6.20 – we left at 12 midnight and summited at 6.20am.

Again – those porters.  Start climbing – I’m too hot, pulled down the zips on my rain coat and down jacket, as we had been told.  At some point I vaguely remember saying  “I’m so cold” but by then, in a weird, sleep walking, whingeing child type of place, the “I’m too cold” comes out as a temper tantrum since you are not able to organise yourself, and the nearest porter patiently comes along and zips up jackets….  Stop, sippy sippy, walk (twendy?).

Day two saw a steep start, and the first of the altitude sickness with a couple of happy campers not so happily walking with horrendous headaches and nausea.  It began to dawn on the group (well, maybe only me, the one who was winging it, having missed the webinar and not read the notes) that this was slightly more than a walk in the park.  The speed still got to me – the step, pause, step, pause was not cool, all I wanted was to power past and get it done.  Now, again, those who know me well, will know that I can quietly go along, doing my own thing, listening to conversations, gently daydreaming, letting my mind float.  The group dynamic was awesome – there was such a range from people who play with ponies (cough cough), nurse, rugby team manager, rare book and record dealer, lawyer, guest house owner, marketing exec, IT etc, and everyone bumbled along, chatting to whoever was walking alongside, changing conversations, switching people, commiserating about altitude sickness and having to find bushes, blisters and snack packs.   I happily chatted to whoever was next to me, but even more happily switched off the brain, shut up, potter along.

A few times, especially those first few days, Julio, the main guide, would link arms with me and say, don’t worry, it’ll be ok.  I would reply, of course, everything was wonderful.  So what was wrong, he would ask.  Nothing – look – the sun is shining, the sky is blue, look at that big black bird, feel how the air is changing, notice how the rock is changing under your toes.  Feel, your body is alive, you can move your feet, you can walk, you can breathe.  He would look at me as if checking  that I was sober (that bladdy whiskey), pat me on the back, say you really are ok aren’t you? And be on his way.  That is the talent of the guides – they check in on who they think is struggling, help, bully, cajole and when they see that you aren’t a victim of the thin air, they leave you to your daydreams and your thoughts about why you are strolling this hill in the first place.  The walk was gentle, the breeze was soft, we had invisible friends again.  For the first time, out of the forest, we had views.  The moment that I looked over my shoulder and noticed that we were above the clouds – again, just a little bit of magic.  The sleepless, cold, gloopily sliding, rock filled, zipping night was all worth it.

(I think Emirates are the only airline with internal stars along the ceiling – it’s really rather cool).

The amazing thing about this journey – at the time, (at least for me) I had a job to do.  It’s only now as I describe it, that it is dawning on me just how special the whole thing was.

A few things that will remain with me – sippy sippy.  Every hour or so, we would stop, have a little rest.   Wait for the tail to catch up.  Check in everyone is ok.  And the guides – sippy sippy guys, sippy sippy.  Which, translated meant drink your water, – don’t get sick, we need to remind you over whelmed, sleep deprived, forgetful tourists, sippy sippy.  Very special people.  Jackson was the ambulance man.  On a trek like that, so many people in a very organised manner, there is a doctor, and Kate was awesome, having endless patience – please put a plaster on my big toe, Kate.  Her side kick for the week was Jackson.  Now, there was the big hospital bag, carrying everything from plasters to oxygen, headache pills to emergency wee-wah stuff.  And one porter is nominated as the ambulance man, balancing this massive case on his head, and sticking like glue to Dr Kate at the back, ready to dispense whatever she needs.  Do you have any idea how heavy that bag is, and how steep the path when carrying that on your head?  But, Jackson smiled from start to finish, and not only that, but he was Kate’s personal Swahili coach, by the end of the week, she could count to 100, say the days of the week, yesterday, day before, tomorrow, day after, hello, good bye, and most importantly, Every one eats Chicken, Slowly slowly (pole pole) like a chameleon and cool like a banana in the freezer.  To keep smiling while carrying the mobile clinic and being the language professor takes quite a skill.  (And me, tootling along within earshot of most the lessons?  I can say hello…  Jambo…)

Anyone reading this probably thought I would be describing the view more than the internal landscape of my brain.  Or the food – seriously good food.  (There was roast chicken and chips one night – which poor guy got to carry two chickens and 10kg of potatoes up the hill?)  But that is what climbing a hill does to you – you start to examine the landscape in your brain….   So.  This may be news to you, but I am bladdy minded, stubborn, pig headed and (possibly) dangerously independent.  And I was going to climb that little hill even if I had to do it dragging myself up, pulling out my fingernails as I went.  That elephant was getting up that hill.  I know that.  I think maybe you know that too.  But, these were 100 strangers.  And, the more sore I am, the more the world must **** off, because if my body puts its hands in the air and cries mercy, then my brain will drag my body, kicking and screaming where it needs to go.  As Margaret, one of the reasons for this walk, would say – most people find a boundary and stop, I find a boundary and see how hard I can crash through it.

(Now we have Rachel Platten – if your wings are broken, please take mine so that yours can open too – anyone need to borrow my wings?  If you can’t find heaven, I’ll walk through hell with you, all very apt, talking about these guides, they could put Red Bull out of business)

Dr Kate and I had discussed my broken neck at the hotel, and as we walked, I admit that my neck began to swear at me in new and spectacular ways.  (Did you know that your right hand can go as numb as the left, and it can feel as if you have no arms – interesting experience…)  And, several times those first few days, Kate would say, I think a guide needs to carry your pack, and I would say…  NO.  And keep walking.  At half speed.   Swearing at the damn bladdy hill, swearing at the damn bladdy pace and swearing at my damn bladdy neck.  Kate is one of those exceptional people who can light up a room by arriving.  Some people she pushed up the hill by telling them she would give them a kick up the backside.  Most people she got up the hill with the power of hugs.  Me, she read very quickly, let me get on with the job.  Ben was very much the same.  He lives for adventure and nature, one of those special people who becomes more animated the more he is at home in his environment.  I adore finding the subject or question that makes the spark in people come to life – you can see them shine.  Ask them a question about something that is their passion and just watch.  See how it all adds fuel to their fire.  The mountain does that to Ben, and his talent from that is to make each and every person in camp feel good and positive about their stroll.  As people would file past him, he would encourage, push, help, and to me – would say Ashleigh, doing what she does.  Yup.  My comrade marathon running friend said she learnt to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  But, I would already keep walking if it kills me – I think my lesson number two was let people help.  (I can do it myself, now go away and let me swear at my body to keep moving).

The camp of day two was at Shira Camp, 3,840m.  Bleak would be a good word.  Moonscape would be another.  We had the sing and party.  We had an exceptional dinner – seriously, these two chefs can put more together in a tent with a fire than I can in a kitchen.  And then, we had the most incredible sunset above the clouds.  I can’t describe it, so won’t try.  If you want the best sunset, climb the hill…  And then, the wind picked up. By about 7.30 every night we were mostly tucked up in bed.  Some people because they were exhausted.  Some were sick.  Me – I was so freezing cold, with goose bumps and shivering uncontrollably and the more cold I get the more sore I get, and I admit, those evenings when the sun dropped and I couldn’t soak in a hot shower – miserable.  Did I mention that I don’t camp?  (No green eggs and ham…)  So, we are lying in bed.  The one thing I didn’t pack was a book, so counting the stones under the sleeping mat…  And the wind is howling, and there is crash bang.  Next thing, there are torches flashing around camp, and a torch parks by your head on the other side of the canvas, and hammer, hammer, hammer, some poor guy is out there in a howling gale, double checking that our tents are hammered into the ground so that we don’t take off over the edge of the world where we are perched.  It turned out that one of the dining tents had blown up and away in the wind and the guys had had to catch it and fix it, as well as making sure we survived.  Personally, I think with the amount of food we were eating, plus the 6 litres of sippy sippy, a hurricane couldn’t have blown us down the hill….

We all discovered that at night there is heavy frost.  Which freezes the outside of your tent.  When you gloop downhill and double joint your ankles against the side of your frozen tent, do you know what happens?  Your toes freeze too.  And in your semi-insomniac state, you figure your feet are cold, so you wriggle uphill again, try get your head against the top of the tent (bearing in mind, at almost 6 foot, I only have a couple of inches clearance at either end) and then you try to sleep again.  With the rock in your left butt cheek.  Oh my.  Did I mention, I don’t camp?  We’d been told, we had to drink 6 litres of water a day to try prevent altitude sickness.  You know what happens when you drink 6 litres?  You pee about 26 litres.  So, you are lying there, and you hear an internal tent zip, zip.  Then the tent’s external zip, zip.  The happy camper gets out, zips the internal zip closed, zips the external zip, zip.  Walks to the highly welcome and much appreciated “Wi-Fi” tents, otherwise known as chemical loo tents, which were in camp every night, avoiding night time trips to find a rock.  This happy camper zips open the zip, zips close the zip.  Seconds / minutes later, they open the “Wi-Fi” zip.  Close the zip.  Stomp to tent.  Open the external zip, zip.  Open the internal zip, zip.  Close the external zip, zip.  Close the internal zip, zip.  Chat to tent mate.  Then, the tent mates goes, zip, open the internal zip….  And so it goes.  22 people.  6 litres each.  The record was 7 Wi-Fi trips in a night.  Guess how many zips, zipped?  (There is a prize).  Did I mention that I don’t do camping?

Now, I’m trying to tell you how tough camping is…  At 5.45am, you hear Jambo, Jambo, wake up, and there are two guys shivering in their thin sweat shirts outside your (zipped) doors, with a flask of hot water, a pot of coffee, box of tea bags and tin of milo – what would you like for your tent drink?  I mean really – us tough Bear Grylls impersonators getting waiter service for our coffee-in-bed morning wake up calls.  (Bet Bear Grylls gets it too…)  Great guys, those two, can I take one with me?  You roll up your sleeping bags, (how do they get those big fluffy sleeping bags into those tiny little holder bags?) pack you kit bag, leave for breakfast (3 courses again), stumble out to clean your teeth, and camp has been dismantled around you.  Doesn’t exist anymore (except that welcome Wi-Fi tent).  Your water bottles are checked, someone pats you on the head as your bumble to the path, wind up the clockwork toy, start to plod.  Within an hour, your porters have jogged past, yelling Jambo on the way, leaving you in the dust as they carry 24kg of tourist kit bags as well as their own kit, the mess tents, the Wi-Fi tents, the sleeping tents, the food, the entire camp.  And we – Plod.  (I have to admit, on day two it was still driving me a little insane, I had not found patience yet. Come on Zen, hurry up already, we need to get this done).

Now, I have left out something very special.  There were 19 of us on the challenge.  Plus Alex from Macmillan, Dr Kate and Ben from the UK company who was babysitting us all.  So 22 of us foreigners.  To get the 22 of us up there, took 70 Tanzanians.  Almost 100 people on the mountain, plus hotel staff, office staff, drivers, camp rangers etc, so that 19 of us could tick Kili off our list, and remember, celebrate and dreadfully miss special people who inspired the whole trip.  And these 70 exceptional mountain people love and are very proud of their mountain.  As Rama said, this was his 141^st time, and he loved his mountain, not from the top of his heart, but from the very bottom, and all of his heart.  It’s in their blood, it feeds them, employs them, dominates their life and the skyline.  So, when going up their mountain, they celebrate – a few times before dinner, they would start to sing and dance, normally starting with the song saying Jambo, Jambo, welcome to Kilimanjaro, Hakuna Matata, listing the camps we would be going to and how the mountain was special, pole pole (slowly slowly) like a chameleon, stay cool like a banana in the freezer, grabbing tourist hands, getting everyone dancing, smiling, laughing, all really rather magical.  Or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen.  I rather prefer to think it was the magic.  And I swear, as well as in the toughest times, at those times of the laughing, singing, celebrating, there were very many more souls on the side of that little hill then the naked eye could see.  Special times.     (Or maybe it’s the two double whiskeys?)

Bright and early the next morning (after that vital last shower) we shipped out, fortunately driving up, up, up the hill, knocking off the first few hundred metres.  About half way through the drive, we stopped for a Kili photo opportunity – when suddenly the hill lost her shroud of cloud, the sun shone – and a couple of our intrepid little group had a few tears….  Do you have any idea just how big that damn bladdy hill is????  When you drive into the park, pass through the famous peaked gate house, see all of the porters queueing up to have bags weighed, packed into waterproof sacks and divided out, hear the shouting, smell the dust, have an eye on the hill, feel the electricity and nervous crackle, it suddenly gets very real.  The seasoned guides sit quietly and wait, pass times with their kaka’s (brothers, many not seen since the last trip) while some of the porters look like they should still be in school uniform, and have the same nervous giggle and bouncy, twitchy vibe that the tourists have, big grins, carrying their just – inherited – too – big jackets and not really knowing what they had let themselves in for.  (We had three main guides, Julio, Rama and Ernest – Julio had been up so often he couldn’t count, 3 / 4 times a month for about 15 years, Rama told us this was his 141^st summit and Ernest I’m sure had probably done the same.  And then, our three assistant guides, would have done it dozens of times too).

(OK, at this point, since the airline don’t have an actual meal for me (the veggie order worked for my next flight – hopefully – but not his one) they brought me an extra, double whiskey instead – please forgive me if I start to slur…..  *Hic* Maybe I should leave Fred in charge for a while….)

Finally, after fond farewell visit to the last real loo, a boot tying lesson, a pole walking (luckily not dancing) lesson, a back pack (or *uck pack) carrying lesson, another visit to the loo, a last minute poncho shopping trip, another last trip to the loo….  We eventually walked out of camp, mid-morning on a bright sunny Sunday.  Ready for our big “expotition”.  Machame gate at 1,790m through to Machame Camp at 3,010m.  The first day is walking through forest – massive old trees, really massive, trunks that must have been 8 metres around and dripping with fern, lots of blue monkeys watching the next bunch of lunatics passing through, a gentle climb, lots of trees to hide behind when you need to find a bush.    I had been told – we would be walking slowly, accept the slow, and be 100m behind the last in the group.  I have to admit, at several points that first day (well, the whole day if I am honest) the thought going through my head was what the hell had I signed up for, because if I had to walk that slowly for a week I would be ready to throw myself off the top.  Those who know me, know that when I am going somewhere, I go there.  Head down, back into it, power.  The number of times, in normal life, that I have to slow down for the person walking with me, and even then it drives me mad, so…  A friend of mine recently ran Comrades marathon in SA, which is 90 odd kilometres up and down 1,000 hills.  Insane.  She told me that she did it to learn perseverance.  I figured I would probably learn the same lesson, but what I didn’t realise, was that Lesson Number One was going to be patience.  Stop and smell the roses (or monkey poo).  Breathe.  Listen to the small talk of 22 strangers trying to figure out herd dynamics, getting a sense of who is who, all seeing which of these strange new people was going to be their person.   Dr Kate was the back stop, so I tried to stick just in front of her.  Now, the rule is, if porters come flying past, the person at the back yells RAFIKI and everyone moves to the right hand side of the path, to allow them to power past.  Those first couple of days, Kate would yell Rafiki, I would duck into the side, and then without thinking join the tail of the rafiki and start to WALK instead of tootle, and I would hear Kate – “Ashleigh – SLOW DOWN…”  Oops.

Camp on day one was Machame Camp.  Welcome to camp.  Now.  I do not camp.  Not under any circumstances.

(Do you like
green eggs and ham
I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.
Would you like them
Here or there?
I would not like them
here or there.
I would not like them
anywhere.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.
I do not like them,
Sam-I-am)

(The effect of camping at altitude – all I could do was think in Dr Seuss… – I do not like camping here, there or anywhere, I do not like camping…)

It was bad enough staying in a mobile home horse truck at competitions way back in Ireland, but I DO NOT camp.  So.  Welcome to camp.  Paired up with our original room buddy (Luckily Ellie and I got along great – at least from my point of view) pick a tent.  We got number 3, so every day when we arrived in camp, we looked for tent 3 and our mountain kit bags had already found their way there – clever bags.  Again, I had been warned.  Your tent is pitched on the side of a mountain – the tent guys try to pitch it as flat as possible, but hello, you are on the edge of a cliff.  So you put your head at the high end, feet at the bottom end.  Inflate your little camping mat, spread out your sleeping bag, insert your sleeping liner and gratefully lie down….  To find the rock digging into your spine.  Wriggle.  Ahh, there is the next one in your left buttock.  Wriggle.  Yup, now it’s in your right buttock.  Wriggle, ahh, bliss its back in your spine.  (Try to get it right into the middle of that spasm – awesome) And somehow, your feet are now scrunched up against the bottom of the tent.  Wriggle back up, find your rock, slowly gloop your way down until your ankle joints have double jointed up against the tent wall.  Wriggle up, find the rock.  And so it goes.  Dinner.  I have to say, the food was exceptional all week.  Every dinner started with steaming hot soup, followed by mains, followed by fruit or (on two occasions), birthday cake.  And cupcakes, biscuits, chocolate bars.  Briefing of what is on tomorrow (more walking).    And, ahh bliss – a wet wipe wash.  Hmmm.  Did I mention, I don’t camp?  Ever.

So, I guess you have to start any adventure at the beginning…  Flying from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro airport on Precision Air was an adventure in itself – you know these little (50 seaters) with two propellers’ and a staircase that folds away inside the door.  You have to duck your head as you go through the doorway, and walk crabwise down the aisle so that you don’t decapitate your fellow passengers with your handbag…  Sitting near the back gave me the chance to people watch (what else do you do on flights?) and I figured two other passengers were also strolling up the hill.  They were a couple of rows ahead of me, on the opposite side of the aisle.  From Nairobi, it’s a 45 minute flight, basically up Kili on the Kenya side and down on the Tanzania side.  All is good as they throw coffee and a packet of mixed nuts at you, until the pilot happily announces that if you look out of the windows NOW, you will see that you are passing between the two peaks of Kili.    I almost choked on my honey roasted cashew – suddenly the stroll up a hill looked very big and very scary.  One look at the other two confirmed my thoughts – they had gone from Bear Grylls on Tour (we, mighty climbers, so cool and confident in our shiny new zip off short trousers) to Boy Scouts going to camp for the first time….  (Pale, clammy, sweaty and knock kneed)  In fairness, they pulled out cameras and took photos, while I slid down the back of my seat and concentrated on my macadamias…

Arrived at Kili International, plane screeched on brakes the doors sprang open, pilot says Kili passengers get out, we are in a hurry for the next stop, you have 5 minutes, GO, GO, GO, a breeze through customs, visa, immigration (Jambo, why are you here?  Kili….  Next desk…  Jambo, why are you here?  Kili….  Next desk…  Jambo, why are you here?  Kili….  Next desk…  Jambo, why are you here?  Kili….  Next desk… They must get so bored asking that question) and a couple of hours contemplating that bladdy big hill while I waited for the others to fly in from London.

(I’m writing this on a flight, Nairobi to Malaysia via Dubai.  Was just thinking how these puffy little clouds outside look like angels and good ol’ Meatloaf suddenly switches from Bat out of Hell, to telling me that Heaven can Wait and A Band of Angels Wrapped In My Heart Will Take Me Through The Lonely Night – eerie that…) Do you know, you get weird looks on a plane when you dance in your seat, and even weirder looks when you sing along?

I wasn’t sure if I was at an advantage or disadvantage by this point – all the other 18 climbers, plus our intrepid leader, Ben, and the Macmillan rep, Alex, had met up at Heathrow the night before and travelled together, giving them a head start in the “I’m so and so” stakes.  But, my advantage – I was acclimatized, non jet lagged, used to the heat, had been in jo’burg and Nairobi which are both fairly high cities, and hadn’t had an overnight flight passing through the delights of Addis airport.  So, I think I came out on top.  After an amble to the local “restaurant” (I use the term loosely, although their bakes and chai tea out of a flask into my plastic kids beaker, were very good) and killing a few hours, I headed back to arrivals, and hanging out (no, I don’t need a taxi, NO, I really don’t need a taxi, NO, I DO NOT NEED A TAXI, GO AWAY) was joined by a very enthusiastic, bouncy, happy, Africa-loving lady also waiting for a flight – I’m waiting for the Ethiopia flight – Me too.  I’m waiting for an English group – Me too.  I’m waiting for a Kili climbing group – Me too.  I’m waiting for a charity Kili climbing group – uhhhh, me too?  Macmillan?  Yup.  Turns out Kate was our wonderful Dr, who had been off exploring Tanzania on her own and had also drifted in unaccompanied and unaccounted for, just like me…  (And no, she didn’t need a taxi either)

OK, fast forward, the group of weary travellers arrived, all a bit brain dead and semi over whelmed (or under whelmed) by Africa, all got counted, recounted, recounted, found lost bags, recounted, onto buses, recounted, moved through Moshi to a hotel close to Machame gate, where our little walk in the park would start.  Lunch, assigned room buddies, time to unpack, repack, get over the wide eyed shock, unpack, repack, briefings, dinner, whirlwind of activity.  We had been told to pack everything into three bags – our disco gear (according to Ben) which was the stuff staying at the hotel and not going up the hill.  A mountain bag with sleeping bags, liners, bed rolls, spare clothes, wash kit, spare snacks etc and a day pack with sunglasses, water bottles, rain coat, snacks, hats, (Fred), don’t forget the whistle, toilet roll, nappy sacks and our friend the antibacterial hand wash, which was joined to us at the hip for the entire week.  (I did regret at this point, missing the webinar, not reading the book or the emails, not watching the YouTube video and, I suspected, slacking off on the fitness training – I know I tend to wing it, but really….) Anyway, it turns out they are really strict about the mountain kit bag weighing less than 12kg, since your new best friend, the porters, or Rafiki, will be carrying two kit bags,  balanced on their necks / heads, as they jog up the hill, waving at you as you struggle along in their dust.   When I had spilt my luggage three ways and dutifully took my kit bag to Ben to be weighed, it weighed… uhhh, 9kg.  At which point, I REALLY regretted skipping all the info – what had I not packed????  (Turns out I had more than enough – what do other people fill the last 3kg with?)

You can see more photos from Kili in the Gallery.