Day 4: June 13th, 2009
Palma and I are woken at 6:30am by an assistant guide called Florence who kindly offers to furnish us both with a hot drink. I think I managed two hours of sleep. After the sounds of giggling and vomiting had subsided at around 1am, we were subsequently entertained by what I am later told were two competing monkey factions. These warring apes (Charlton Heston eat your heart out) sounded to me like they were revving up some motorcycles. They certainly didn't sound like any animal I'd ever heard before. My mind was already addled by the altitude and I honestly believed that our tent was going to be ripped apart by an alien predator. I'm blaming William Shatner's autobiography.
Sleep was also kept at bay by the fact that our tent had been constructed on a small incline. This was either to help keep the blood from rushing to our heads as we slept at altitude, or the porters were taking the piss. Either way, we spent most of the night sliding inexorably towards the bottom of our tent and Palma's water spillage.
As I sip on some hot, sweet tea inside my ridiculously comfy sleeping bag, I realise that I'm tingling all over, especially in my nose and gums. This was bloody hilarious late last night but this morning it feels like I'm having a stroke. Even more annoying is the fact that I can't complete sentences anymore; I find myself trailing off constantly. It feels weird and a little bit scary. Like Shatner... but only... worse.
We are instructed to pack away our kits bags and congregate in the mess tent for breakfast. But not before the 'washy washy' ritual plays itself out. Great, now I have to leave the tent and clean myself, even though it's the act of leaving the tent in the first place that covers you in filth and dust. Thank heavens for dry wash and silk knickers.
Packing my kit bag away is a nightmare. In fact, I would like to go on record and declare that the hardest thing about climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro isn't the summit night at all, it's trying to roll your thermarest up in a tent that kills you. But this is still the first morning and the thrill of being in a strange and exotic land manages to dilute my fury as I discover that the stupid pop-up deodorant the wife forced me to pack has violently exploded, covering my wash kit with a foul smelling gloop that will continue to haunt me for days.
Palma plies me with drugs (painkillers, antibiotics, anti-malaria tablets and, of course, diamox) and then we head for breakfast. Thankfully, we have decided to abandon our plans to add iodine to our water. We've been told that it's completely unnecessary (everything is boiled) and the rigmarole of adding neutralizing agents is happily tossed aside as well. I quickly decide that a spot of diarrhea is preferable to yet more arsing about in the morning.
Breakfast is quite remarkable: steaming porridge, fresh mango and pineapples, toast, bacon and scrambled eggs. How on earth do they manage to produce food of this caliber all the way out here? The cooks even have to cope with vegetarians, vegans and someone with a wheat allergy in our group. Simply put, it's amazing. Now if only I had an appetite...
Palma inexplicably manages to attract her second splinter in two days, and as the doctor operates on her finger I learn that the person I heard being sick last night was Sian, a young and very bubbly participant who was the very picture of health the last time I saw her. There's some debate as to whether she has a stomach bug or the dreaded AMS but they decide that she will have to walk some way behind us today, with the doctor and Karsten by her side. I can't imagine how she must be feeling as I puff on a crafty tab.
Today's walk has been advertised as a good 6-8 hours in length. This will be a proper test of our abilities; yesterday's trek was a gentle warm-up by comparison. I'm feeling anxious but I'm buoyed by Paul's good humour and enthusiasm. And then, just after 8am, we're off.
Once again, I settle at the back of the pack with Paul and Palma. I feel like I'm playing it extra safe by lagging behind and besides, it makes going to the toilet (which I now wish to do with alarming regularity) a whole lot easier. When you are at the back you can simply pop behind a tree or rock and the guides will fall behind and wait for you. And it'll be a pretty long wait, too. You can read a novella in the time it takes to relieve yourself.
Paul is in great form for the first part of today's walk. His rendition of 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' will probably stay with me forever and his 'look-a-like' game was literally hours of fun. I'm pretty sure that I won though, spotting Pat Cash, Sacha Baron Cohen, Lou from Neighbours, Cher, that bloke out of The Quantum of Solace who says "we have people everywhere" and Gerry Anderson. Sadly, no one knows who Gerry Anderson is so I lose valuable points.
To be honest, I'm struggling. About two hours in and my head is already killing me. I try to wave the pain away as a symptom of my tiredness but this is not a good sign, no matter how I try to slice it. When we eventually take a snack break at 11am I feel downhearted and more than a little worried. This is harder than I ever imagined it would be, especially in these very early stages, and paranoia is already beginning to take hold. I swallow half a packet of Dextrose and hope for the best.
As we exit the rain forest and enter a seemingly endless landscape of rock and heather I realise that I'm not enjoying this as much as I should be. I should be embracing every moment of this potentially life-changing adventure instead of just mindlessly counting down the hours until we reach the next camp. This is not good at all. Even Paul is flagging now, his constant stream of jokes have become an intermittent series of staccato punchlines and sighs.
Even that incredible sensation you get when you suddenly realise that you are literally walking through the clouds couldn't shake me out of my reverie. The landscape looked eerie and menacing. Not to mention relentless.
A few hours later and I'm trying to entertain myself by filming Paul. He tells me to turn around and there she is. Kili. In all her glory. There's snow on the top and everything. I actually yelp with surprise and it feels as if someone has suddenly switched all the lights back on.
The rest of the walk feels pretty easy to me. I finally get used to the endlessly undulating path and when I finally spot our camp, Shira One, a few kilometers away in the distance I feel almost disappointed that today's hike is about to come to an end. It really was a day of ups and downs.
And it's amazing how quickly you can fall into a routine. Boots off, foot powder on. Head torch attached, fingers scrubbed, water bottles emptied and carried to the porters. Thermarest inflated and sleeping bags deployed. There. Easy. Right, what's for dinner?
Once again the food is amazing - soup, a casserole, roast potatoes, fresh fruit. And this time I'm bloody famished so I happily tuck in. Karsten's briefing tells us to expect a nice short day tomorrow (approximately four hours of walking). We're also promised some stunning views at the nearby Shira Cathedral and we retire to bed feeling confident and excited.
And then Palma starts sneezing...
Shira One Altitude: 3,500m, 11,500ft
Neil
I'm gonna miss these so much. I'm just looking forward to hearing about the easy walk and stunning views tomorrow. Good night Mr Scorsese.
Posted by: Paul | July 02, 2009 at 10:14 PM