Mt. Kilimanjaro - to the Roof of Africa

Kili 09 Day Two: African Massage

Day 2: June 11th, 2009

As we exit the plane we are immediately shepherded into what looks like a dilapidated post office. Here we are instructed to complete some entry visas. I say 'instructed' but in reality we are simply following the person in front and hoping for the best. After passing through passport control (where actual money exchanges hands), we are reunited with our luggage as a customs official warns me that the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro is very, very cold. The twinkle in his eye suggests that he's witnessed this sort of nonsense many times before.

And then it finally hits me - I'm in Africa. Who cares if I haven't slept. Who cares if it's a seven hour drive to the nearest bed and a shower. Who cares if my bag is overweight. I'm in bloody Africa!

And then I catch sight of our expedition leader, Karsten. He doesn't look well. In a thick German accent he suggests that it's probably just something he ate, and then he hands out our lunch boxes that contain a cheese sandwich, a slab of sponge cake, a bar of chocolate and a small sugar banana.

Our home for the next seven and a half hours is a small, cramped bus. It comes complete with air-conditioning (i.e. some windows) and the latest in shock absorption technology (i.e. some seats). With our kit bags strapped to the roof and our daysacks littering the aisles, we take off for a long and arduous journey from Nairobi, Kenya to Arusha, Tanzania.

The landscape is utterly mesmerizing. It's everything I'd imagined it would be: cows, goats, the Maasai Mara, shanty towns - but the thick, stifling dust is a surprise. The "roads" vary in quality. One moment you are happily bouncing around on pot-holed tarmac, the next moment the road simply disappears and you are thrown into the most violent rollercoaster ride of your life or, as the locals charmingly refer to it, a spot of "African massage".

And then, just as I'm beginning to dose off to a rather pleasant TJ Hooker anecdote, the van erupts with excitement. In the far distance, almost completely obscured by clouds, is Kilimanjaro. By the time I reach for my camera the moment has passed and she's gone again. But for one thrilling moment she's there. And she's big. Really big. I try not to think about it.

We cross the Tanzanian border after lunch (oh look, more forms) and we arrive at our final destination, the Ilboru Lodge, just as the sun begins to set.

With just enough time for a quick wash and brush-up we head for the dining room where we are subjected to our first mission briefing. Karsten presents us all with a map that details our imminent trek in painstaking detail. On paper it looks so easy. All those measurements about altitude hardly mean anything at all. As the briefing concludes our thoughts quickly return to bag weight and for several hours everyone panics about the number of kilos they are currently packing in their kit bags. A set of scales are dispatched to our rooms and occasionally you can hear the sound of someone tearing their hair out as they realise they are still 3kg over the limit. Eventually, after many deals, compromises and prayers our bags are deemed safe and we head for dinner, which is delicious, even if the meat remains unidentifiable to this day.

That night, snuggled safely under my mosquito net, sleep remains elusive. My mind and my heart are both racing. I look at my watch and realise that tomorrow is already here.

At least Palma doesn't snore.

Altitude: 1254 meters, 4,117 feet

Neil

Kili 09 Day One: The Long Haul

Over the next couple of weeks I will do my best to write up what happened to me during Kili 09. It's going to take some time to process everything that I've experienced - it's been well over a week now and I still haven't acclimatised to life back in the UK...

Day 1: June 10th, 2009

Palma and I arrive at Newcastle airport with plenty of time to spare. The main topic of conversation is - and will be for many hours to come - bag weight. We know that we are strictly limited to 15kg in our main kit bags during our stay on the mountain, and we spent much of yesterday precariously balancing trekking equipment on our bathroom scales in a desperate attempt to creep below this limit, which, if you followed the recommended kit list to the letter, is simply impossible. When we finally check our bags at the BA desk we learn that we have failed: we are both at least a kilo and a half over the magic number. What essentials will we be forced to leave behind, we wonder? What's more important, energy bars or ankle gaiters? How many wet-wipes do you really need at 18,000 feet?

As we sit in a Starbucks and contemplate the long journey ahead of us, I suddenly feel incredibly anxious. I desperately need a cigarette and I curse myself; I haven't been out of the house for more than an hour and yet here I am suffering withdrawal symptoms already. My wife slips into WH Smith to buy a pack of 20 Marlboro Lights which she then stuffs into my daysack. "You'll thank me later," she says. I bet Palma a slap-up meal that I will be the only smoker in our party and I will therefore be too embarrassed to light-up during our climb.

Before we say our final goodbyes I chat with the wife about possible death, altitude sickness, malaria, and the shame I'll have to live with if I fail in this endeavour. My step-daughter tells me that she's proud of me and I have a little cry. Thank heavens for Oakley's sunglasses.

To be honest, my mood isn't particularly great. I am plagued by self-doubt: my back is playing up, I am still on antibiotics, and I'm still smoking. I feel like I need a least another month to prepare for this trip. I just ain't ready. Thankfully, Palma's excitement is infectious and I'm carried along by it.

A couple of hours later and we are in Heathrow airport, bonding over our shared hatred of mayonnaise as we negotiate its labyrinthine terminal structure, before ambling comfortably to the Charity Challenge meeting point. Suddenly, we are surrounded by a group of strange people wearing Berghaus and Craghoppers who look vaguely familiar to us thanks to Facebook. This feels very odd indeed. Even odder is the fact that many of them are completely au fait with the contents of my luggage, having watched my YouTube packing video just a few hours ago.

After checking our bags Palma and I decide to have a bite to eat at a branch of Garfunkels, where we are attended to by a French waiter who seems to think that he's employed by the Savoy. As we scoff down our hamburgers (our last taste of Western decadence) we chat with Al Pepper, a man who exudes confidence and years of practical experience. I am immediately impressed by his tales of life in the armed forces, while Palma is drawn to the fact that his boots look brand new.

When we reach the departure gate we are reunited with Paul Albert who we originally met during the Snowdon Training Weekend in March. It's great to see him again and it doesn't take very long for him to reduce me to fits of hysterical laughter. Which is perfectly fine at this altitude. Then I introduce myself to at least a dozen of the climbers in our party by demanding quick, unrehearsed soundbites from them as I ram my camcorder into their faces. I must have looked like a right prick and they will hate me even more when they learn that the resultant footage is, in the main, unusable. In the case of Paul's on-camera revelations about his chosen charity this is probably for the best.

But as cliched as it may sound, I was immediately impressed by everyone I met in the departure lounge that night. They all seemed so self-assured and ready for anything. I have no doubts that every single one of them will make it.

Sadly, I don't travel well. Long haul flights just sap my will to live, no matter how much valium I've managed to purloin. This particular flight is a mixed bag: my in-flight entertainment system doesn't work (I am forced to watch a Kate Hudson TV Movie about weddings on an endless loop while everyone else enjoys Valkyrie or Frost/Nixon), and our take-off is delayed by more than an hour (I discover much later that this is due to some of our party being firmly ensconced in the bar) but it's also a very empty flight so at least I have a whole row of seats to myself. This means I can stretch out with William Shatner's autobiography as I curse my inability to sleep as everyone else snores around me. As I lie there, deafened by the drone of the plane's engines, I notice that my stomach is making a funny noise. And for eight solid hours I worry.

And then, as if by magic, we're in Nairobi...

Altitude: 1,661 M

Neil

Kili 09 Trailer

We Made It!

In the early hours of Thursday June 18th, 2009, we conquered Kilimanjaro in support of UNICEF.

Text, photos and video footage will tell the full story as soon as I manage to recover. In the meantime you can still give to our charity here.

Thanks!

Neil and Palma

K-Minus 1 Day

Well, this is it.

The last five months have flown by.  It feels like only yesterday that I tried walking to work in the snow that time, almost killing myself in the process. Since then I've climbed Snowdon, the peaks in the Lake District, Roseberry Topping several times, and I've made the 14 mile round trip to Thorpe Thewles via the Castle Eden Walkway more times than I care to remember. I must have walked over 100 miles in the gym on the highest hill setting, and I've swam countless lengths of the pool.

But is it enough? Have I got what it takes? I guess I'll find out soon enough.

Later today, Palma and I will be on our way to Nairobi. On Thursday we have a 6-8 hour drive across the border into Tanzania to look forward to. On Friday morning we will begin our walk in the rain forest and very early Thursday morning, June 18th, we will make our attempt on the summit (download the full itinerary if you want to follow our pain).

If AMS doesn't clobber us you can be sure that we'll do our very best to reach the top. But even if we don't make it (Neil Armstrong had to turn back, apparently!) we'll have a bloody good time trying.

Phone coverage is supposedly available on the summit and if I manage to get any messages back home they'll be posted on my Twitter feed.

It just leaves me to thank you for the support you have given to us. The kindness and generosity of friends, family, work colleagues and complete strangers alike has raised over £3800 (over £4,500 with gift aid!) for UNICEF. That's brilliant.

Just before I go, here's a final video blog that shows in detail what I have to take with me on this trip. It's just a shame I didn't film the ensuing fight with the kit bag where I desperately attempt to make it dimensionally transcendental...

I'll see you on the other side...

Neil

Video Blog #2

I spent a fantastic Saturday on Red Pike mountain near Buttermere Lake with Palma and her friends Amanda, Dawn, Jackie and her husband Emlyn, who also acted as our guide. Brilliantly, he decided to inject some jeopardy into the day by taking us off the beaten track and into a fairly challenging descent that really tested my equipment, not to mention my knees.

I had a great time - the weather was incredible and the scenery was stunning (pictures available here) - and it also gave me a chance to play with my camera settings, because who reads the manual?. Unfortunately, most of the footage that I shot in the morning ended up being completely unusable, but, as luck would have it, as soon as we got "lost" I stumbled upon the optimal settings and what follows is a little taste of our day:

The unorthodox descent resulted in some invaluable training and it was great fun clambering over the rocks, heather and scree. It's given me a big confidence boost too - especially when I woke up on Sunday and discovered that the 8 hour trek didn't destroy my ability to walk straight. You know, I think I might actually be ready to do this now...

Neil