Arusha/Dar es Salaam/Amsterdam/Atlanta

We leave camp early, around 7:30, and make it to Ngorongoro Crater in two hours. We cruise the Japanese road to Arusha, making good time. As we drive through Arusha, the activity on the streets is amazing. Everyone is walking or riding a bike or pulling hand carts the size of truck beds. We pass through the commercial district, streets of old-fashioned shops. A male voice sings out over the loud speaker, above the city's noise, calling the Muslims to prayer. The busy streets soon turn into wide lanes with trees overhead and houses with fences and gates.

We lunch at the Flame Tree Restaurant, enjoying a buffet of Mexican rice, chicken pilau, curry vegetables and chili con carne. We go back to Moiravo Lodge for the day, to shower, relax and eat dinner. Only when we get to Kilimanjaro International airport at 9 p.m. do we hear about the tsunami that hit Asia yesterday. The devastation is simply too overwhelming to watch.

It's a looooong flight from Arusha to Amsterdam via Dar es Salaam. And it's another looooong flight from Amsterdam to Atlanta. My seatmate grew up in Nigeria and he's returning from his father's funeral. His father was 115 years old. Remarkable. We touch down in Atlanta 22 hours after leaving Arusha, and four hours late, but I don't mind.

Serengeti Serenade

It is a gorgeous, sunny morning, our last day at the Serengeti camp, and I've chosen to stay in camp, foregoing the day's drive to the forest. The silence is glorious! Well, the birds are terribly frisky and swoop from tree to tree, serenading the camp. This is the first time in two weeks I've been alone and I've needed this thinking time. I'm sitting in a comfortable chair on our tent porch, facing the mess tent and acacia trees and the plains beyond. Zebra and Wildebeest graze nearby. Ben said he heard lions, hyenas and jackals in camp last night. Ben assures us animals will not enter our tents. The lions mainly like to walk and roar to show how mighty they are, especially after a kill.

As the day heats up, I request a shower and enjoy the view of the sky while bathing. Drying my hair in the sun, I read a novel, "The Name Sake," written by Jhumpa Lahiri, an Indian woman. I cherish this quiet day. Everyone returns at 5 p.m. after nine hours of game viewing. Whew! They saw a pride of lions and not much else. At dinner, we pop another bottle of Champagne and toast the end of a very successful trip. Tomorrow we drive back to Arusha and tomorrow night we all fly home. I'll be back in this region soon, though, ready to live and learn and build a life in Kenya.

Christmas on the Serengeti

"Lion" on the Serengeti

Ole Dorop comes by camp this morning to say goodbye. He gives me his mailing address: Sanguyan Ole Dorop, Ngorongoro, Arusha, Tanzania. We head toward the Serengeti. About 5 km from the Olduvai Gorge, where the Leakey's made their famous archeological finds, a woman in a white British Petroleum Land Rover passes us. We comment on how fast she is driving, especially since the road is dirt and bows up in the center. She passes Bear and Ben in our other car, but mismanages and turns into them, denting Bear's driver side door and wrecking his side mirror. She overcompensates, turning out into the plains, where her car leaps over the loose, piled-up scree bordering the road. We're amazed her car does not roll.

Her husband is an employee at BP and he does not want the company to know his wife was driving and that she had a wreck! He wants to pay us and leave. But Ben and Bear insist the couple follow us to the Olduvai Gorge museum to phone the police, which they do. The police notify the Serengeti border guards, who are told not to let the BP vehicle through if they try to leave. So after two hours, once we've toured the museum and heard the lecture, we're ready to head to our camp in the Serengeti.

Our tents are under acacia trees on the edge of the Serengeti and Zebra and Wildebeest come very close to our camp. We head out toward the river, looking for animals, and find mostly flies. We do see a lion and lioness, but after our four-hour drive, I have my fill of game viewing in the Serengeti.

Mountain Madness and our cook go out of their way to prepare a traditional Christmas dinner. The turkey is beautifully roasted and the best one I've ever had! We also have roasted potatoes, stuffing, mozzarella salad, rolls, carrots and Pumpkin pie. The cook even prepares mince meat tarts and a Christmas cake. We talk about what our families will be doing right now, eight hours behind us. I say my family is beginning to eat their dinner, will be opening presents very soon and probably have the movie "A Christmas Story" playing on TBS. We pop a bottle of Champagne and toast to good health (Afya!), a Merry Christmas, and no one being hurt in the accident today!!

Christmas Eve in Africa

Up close and personal with a Cheetah

Tanzania is beautiful. Paradise. It's hard to believe more people don't come here, or that roads haven't been paved throughout. Mostly there are "traditional roads"-- deeply rutted dirt or red clay lanes. As we enter the crater on the one-way descent road, there is an accident ahead. A group of British tourists, in two cars, have had one car roll. They are obviously shaken but work hard to reassure us. The descent road is steep and their hired driver is inexperienced. An older British woman tells us the ambulance is on its way and we can go forward if we move slowly. We feel guilty as we move into the crater, but they assure us there is nothing we can do for them.

We spend most of the morning standing in our seats, peering out of the jeep top to view animals. And they are everywhere. We see every animal on our list, including the two hardest to locate; cheetahs and leopards. We eat lunch next to a pond filled with hippos and sit in the jeeps to eat so the birds won't swoop down and peck our hands away with our food. We spend the afternoon at the lake watching Flamingoes, then in the forest where we spot the leopard. He is standing by the path as we round a bend, but he runs quickly into the bush before I can make a photo. We wait a few minutes and see him surface again, but a large, male Water Buck immediately chases the leopard deeper into the bush until all we see is his tail. Ben is convinced no one else in the crater saw the leopard today. But in my mind's eye, I can still see the leopard's tail poking up above the bush and curled forward, stark black spots on the stark white fur. Lovely.

On the way back to camp, we're in desperate need of a little civilization, so we stop by the Serena Lodge and have a Coca-Cola Light in the bar. We shop in the gift shop and begin to feel human again. As we drive to camp, Ben plays a cassette tape of Christmas music, some in English, some in Kiswahili and some in both languages. We drive through the Masai area where donkeys, goats and sheep roam the pastures and stand by the roadside, watched over by a Masai in red. No one is talking, though Ben and Bear, our driver, sing. The sun is getting low in the sky and the Christmas music is soothing. The Masai dotting the fields do not know it is Christmas Eve. For them it's just another day. I want it to be just another day for me, too, so I don't miss home.

Ben said his family does not exchange gifts and Santa Claus does not visit his children. Christmas for Ben and his family is about getting together and eating traditional food such as coconut rice with banana stew. Sounds like Thanksgiving in the U. S., a relatively stress-free holiday. Driving down the red dirt road, the sun lowering, the animals grazing, the music sweet, I feel such peace.

Ole Dorop dines with us in our mess tent decorated with strands of silver bells. I watch as each dish is passed to him and he puts one food directly on top of the previous. We have Chicken curry with rice, sauteed zucchini and carrot salad. Ole Dorop has been to New York and San Francisco, so he's familiar with western culture and specifically the U.S. At my request, Ole Dorop explains how they bleed their larger cows and bulls, to mix the blood with milk as a traditional Masai dish. Being nomadic and pastoral, they eat mainly meat. Ole Dorop says my name in Ma means "red soil." This pleases me greatly since I grew up on Georgia red clay. We say good night to Ole Dorop and he walks home under the guidance of the full moon.

Masai Express

Ole Dorop, me and a wife with baby

We head to our Safari camp near Ngorongoro Crater. The Italians built the road headed out of Arusha and it's somewhat rough and pockmarked, so there's no way to write and ride. We stop at the Cultural heritage center, which is really a Super Gift Shop with drummers and a ritual dancer welcoming us. We continue on the Italian road, then turn onto a highway being built by the Japanese. Spectacularly smooth. Here we see heavy machinery and even a machine painting the yellow and white lines. When were driving from Kili to Arusha yesterday, men were in the road painting the white line. They used two strands of string to mark the line and held the string in place with rocks placed every nine inches or so. A man, bent over, was sweeping a paint brush onto the asphalt between the strings. The Japanese have done a phenomenal job building the road all the way to the crater gate. Well, they still have about two miles to go with a deadline of Dec. 31.

We travel through Masai country and see them herding their donkeys (teasingly called the "Masai Express") and cattle and little goats. Young men who have been circumcised this year (they only circumcise every seven years) are dressed in black robes with their faces painted white and they stand in groups by the road. The Masai dig large holes to capture water. Since it rained last week, the holes are full and we see young and old Masai men swimming naked, diving playfully and drinking from the water holes.

The crater is gorgeous, and we stop for photos before continuing around a small mountain to reach our private camp. On the way to camp, though, we stop by Ole Dorop's boma (home compound) for a tour. Ole Dorop, chief of the local Masai tribe, has four wives, though he claims only two. He opens his boma to us and explains how they live, sheltering their larger animals in an enclosure at night to protect them from lions. The sun begins to set so the smaller boys run to collect the little goats and heard them into their smaller protective corral for the evening.

Ken and Licia brought a polaroid camera so they take photos of all the children and give the photos to the children. There is a great flurry of activity and polaroid shaking, waiting for the pics to develop. Ole Dorop takes us into one of his homes. They keep the houses very dark to keep the flies out, so it is a little disconcerting to be led into the darkness. But once inside, our eyes adjust and we find ourselves around their cooking fire. Their houses are built with cow dung walls and thatched roofs, though Ole Dorop has sold some cattle recently to build a brick house in his compound. A new brick school sits across the path from Ole Dorop's boma.

Four Masai men are around the fire at our camp when we arrive; one is a warrior. Only the warriors wear their hair long, in tiny braids, with lovely ornamental jewel woven in. All other Masai men and women shave their heads or wear it very, very short. The warriors also carry spears. Warriors are trained specifically to defend their bomas against predators, like lions. Historically, the rite of passage for a young Masai man was to hunt and kill a lion. I stop by the fire and attempt to talk to the men, who are very open and friendly. We share Kiswahili words and they then tell me how to say each word in Ma, their language. We use gestures and pointing as much a words to communicate, which causes us to laugh throughout our "conversation." But if we stand in one place too long, fire ants climb up and bite our butts, so I move into the mess tent on the large floor mat. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and we'll safari in the crater.

Bath Day - Rub a Dub Dub

Impatiens Kilimanjaro

Up at 6 a.m., on the trail by 8 with three hours of walking to the gate of the national park, where we'll take a car to the lodge. My legs are killing me, so I go slowly with Neal and Joann. Ben hangs back with us. We quickly enter the forest, but it is hard to look at the beautiful scenery when trying to walk. Noel soon joins us and we have a great time walking, talking and photographing the giant ferns and Impatiens Kilimanjaro, the tiny red flower that grows no where else on Earth. We make it to the gate, but we are way late. Lunch is ready, so we sign in with the park officials for the last time and then eat.

While we head to Moiravo Lodge in Arusha, our porters head to their homes in Arusha. It is bittersweet saying goodbye. The drive takes us through more temporary villages sitting on cliff edges and through small towns with lively markets and outdoor cafes. We pass stick houses and mud houses and cement block houses and palaces. Coffee and Banana plants grow everywhere. People are riding bikes or pushing bikes heavy with water and milk jugs. They are pulling carts loaded with straw or red potatoes. Most are simply walking with bundles on their heads, all trying to share the road without mishap. It takes about 1.5 hours to get to the lodge, which sits on a deeply rutted road just off the main highway in Arusha. The lodge cheers us up immediately, especially when the manager meets us at the door with glasses of watermelon juice. We are dirty, our boots and gaiters coated in dust. None of us has showered in five days.

The gardens, with paths, are remarkable. A deep verandah overlooks the gardens, including the pool. Many people staying at the lodge are on safari, though a few folks walking through have obviously just gotten off the mountain (it's hard not to giggle when we recognize their pained walking). Christina, Licia and Ken sit in the lodge bar drinking beer while I shower. Ahhh, how wonderful to shave! I take my time conditioning my hair, then brush my teeth and put on make-up. In the bar, I order a Tusker beer, but sip it slowly. We move to the verandah and also have dinner there. After dinner, we move to the sofas on the other end of the verandah and chat with Ben and Noel, playing word games and tic/tac/toe. Our room has mosquito nets over the bed, which are fun. The mattress is firm foam and feels great. Clean linens!! Our first night indoors in more than a week! Sleep is glorious.

Summit Day!!!

On the Roof of Africa!
Mike, Ken, Licia, Joann, Neal and me.

Last evening, I force down a couple of spoonfuls of soup and two swallows of Chai. Then I go to the tent and take Pepto Bismal, pain relievers, anti-malaria and Diamox. I zip myself into the sleeping bag with the hot water bottle at my feet, feeling a little nauseous. Just in case, I place the yellow plastic bag that normally holds my tennis shoes next to the sleeping bag. Within 30 minutes, I become sick and grab the plastic bag in time. I immediately feel better and fall asleep. An hour later, I wake up and take more Pepto Bismal, trying to breathe to keep the medicine down. It is around 15 degrees Fahrenheit amd impossible to get warm. Again, I am sick, then prepare to go to the toilet by putting on my head lamp and sneakers.

The toilet faces the glacier and the night sky is clear with bright, bright stars. We are nearly halfway through the earth's atmosphere, and the stars seem touchable, even pluckable. Nauseous, headachey, no energy. That's how Ben finds me at 5 a.m. this morning. He says, "Come to the mess tent and have a little tea. You'll be fine." He should know. Absolutely no appetite. After two swallows of tea, we put on our boots and gaiters and follow Jerome up the final face of the mountain, about 800 feet to the summit. The trail is a switchback and mostly over snow. My resting heart rate throughout the night had been 115/minute and it is still elevated. So we take a step and breath in and out before taking a second, tiny step. At the top of the ascent, we walk about .2 miles to the summit. It is 8:05 a.m. and we make our way to a sign announcing Uhuru Peak as the highest point in Africa. Ben says they have to replace the sign every six months because storms and snow often destroy it.

The sky is beautiful with clouds spreading out below. We are 3.5 miles up, looking down on clouds. The glaciers on all sides are fantastic--huge and surreal--and gorgeous. We take photos of varying groups with the porters and guides next to the sign. I stand in one spot and pivot, taking photos in a panorama. The guides and porters are so happy for us, giving us hugs and saying "congratulations." We stay at the summit about 20 minutes, then begin the descent. It is a steep, treacherous decline over deep, dark sand. If we can manage a skiing motion, it is easier to descend and we're less likely to end up on our butts. We end up on our butts occasaionally anyway. We want to be at Baranco Camp for lunch by 11 a.m., but don't arrive until after 1 p.m. Still no appetite, but breathing is so much easier at 15,000 feet.

It snows as we eat lunch; the same small drops of ice we'd seen before. It doesn't snow long, but at one point it is really coming down and making lots of noise as the droplets hit every surface. We continue our trek down through the Alpine desert, but it is hard going down when the muscles are used to going up, especially on the thighs and knees. As we walk slowly, Mike and I compare dirty nails and hair. Plants begin to appear, a little flower here and there, then Heather. It warms up a bit. I must think about each step down, especially in the rough spots. My thighs are shot and each movement is excruciating. It rains for about 30 minutes; a soft, cooling rain in the Heath Zone. The Protea bush is gorgeous with small, tight crimson buds that grow tall before opening to reveal a stand of slim, white petals. I regret not photographing the flowers, but descending is painful and requires concentration. As usual, Lingarevo and the other porters meet us about 20 minutes from camp to carry our packs! Then, as we near camp, Noel and Christina meet us. She is energetic and happy for us. She arrived at camp earlier today.

Christina gives me some private time in the tent to wash. All my clothes are dirty and stink. The camp is public and occupied by lots of folks, all coming down from the summit, though a few people didn't make it all the way up. Dinner is relaxing because we feel we have made it over the hardest part; summitting and descending 9,000 feet in one day. They serve Talapia from Lake Victoria, but I simply do not have an appetite. As we wait for dessert, I hear the guys gathering behind the mess tent, then they start singing and move to the tent door, with Balthazar in the lead carrying a homemade birthday cake that reads "Happy Birthday Christina, 38 years." We laugh to see her age on the cake.

Ben says most Tanzanians do not traditionally celebrate birthdays, nor do they have a birthday song. But he and his wife now celebrate his children's birthdays. Christina is overwhelmed by the gesture as the guys keep singing--harmonizing beautifully. Four candles surround the cake and as Christina blows them out, the guys sing "Happy Birthday" in English. Then they sing a song in Kiswahili celebrating the cake. I want to listen to them harmonize all night.

Up the Western Breach!

Glacier at Crater Camp

What a mind and body-blowing day. It's a good thing Ben, Jerome and Noel did not explain today's route, which gained 2,700 feet and took us 8.5 hours, was vertical and then more vertical. It took every ounce of energy to get to camp. When we started out, we'd only gone about 30 minutes and Christina stopped to let everyone go ahead. I think she is resting, but they radio Noel and say Christina's heart is racing and she is dizzy, that he should go back to her in case she needs to go down the mountain. They decide Christina should not continue and send her down the mountain with Noel, Lemetu, two other porters and an assistant cook. They'll meet us at the base camp when we descend tomorrow.

As we climb, we stop occasionally to drink water or use a nearby rock. Sometimes the sun shines, sometimes a cold, cold cloud moves in dropping snow pellets on us. As we sit on rocks around the luncheon spread, ice droplets come down. Today is so intense. After taking a particularly vertical set of steps, I stop to allow my heart rate to slow. The Western Breach is supposedly the hardest climb of the entire trek. I know why. The lava formed and was broken in vertical and horizontal pieces. It's quite beautiful to look at. And the way the pieces broke up over the millennia creates steps of varying heights. So we tackle the ascent by zigzagging when possible.

A group of hikers who camped near us last night got up at Midnight to begin their ascent up the breach. They hoped to arrive at the summit by 9 or 10 a.m. That must be so hard, climbing in the dark and cold. We are about 100 feet from the crater rim when our porters arrive, climbing down to take our day packs and assist us the final 30 minutes to camp. It is heartwarming to see Lingarevo and it helps sooooo much when he takes my pack. Otherwise, it will take 1.5 hours to go this last bit. Ben does not want us to go straight to our tents and instead encourages us to walk around and photograph the glacier. This massive ice structure is the first thing we see when we ascend the crater rim. The glacier has straight up sides and is beautiful.

There is dark gray sand on this part of the mountain, resembling a beach. So Neal brings out a Frisbee and umbrella and sits against the glacier for a photo. He ends up with glacier on his tacos (butt). He then talks Mike into filming a scene of us playing Frisbee on Kilimanjaro. We only throw the Frisbee three times, but it wears me out. My legs and butt muscles are tight from over-working and my shoulders are sore from the pack. Tomorrow we will wake up at 5 and head for the summit at 6. The water we drink in camp tonight and tomorrow comes from the glacier. The porters keep trekking across the sand to ax pick the ice into their 5-gallon buckets, then they bring it to camp for boiling. It's hard work just walking across the sand, navigating around rocks. How do they carry the weight? These men are amazing and we're all in awe of them. Noel has made the climb 87 times, Ben 120. Nazareth, who is working to be an assistant guide like Noel, has gone up 12 times. They don't take Diamox, nor do they always wear hats and gloves when we do. They want us to think they are used to the low levels of oxygen and cold temperatures. I don't know.

Dinner is being served now but I'm not hungry. And everything I eat goes straight through. But I'll continue to eat and make trips to the frozen toilet to keep my energy up. I'm so glad I didn't know exactly how strenuous/difficult this climb is. It's cold here and will drop below 15 degrees Fahrenheit tonight. Only 15 more hours of cold then we'll return to warmth. Just one more extremely cold night in a tent and using a frozen toilet seat and waking fully dressed. I'll never climb Kili again, so I hope the photos turn out beautifully!

Arrow Camp - What Day is It?

Lingarevo, Me and Lemetu at Arrow Camp

Amazing how we take it day by day. We've been together for seven days now, no privacy or alone time, and it's okay. The guides and porters take excellent care of us. They set up and break down camp, cook and brew tea--all so we can solely concentrate on acclimating, staying warm and making it to the summit! Neal had a raging headache and stomach problems yesterday, but he was photographing on the hike today, which is a good sign his health is improving. Today was short. We ate breakfast and left camp at 9:30. It was a steady climb with an occasional descent to cross a creek. The snow from last week is still on the ground and ice forms in the creek in spots.

We made it to camp in 2.5 hours. Again, we went pole pole, breathing in and out with each alternate step. We're now at 15,700 feet. Tomorrow we'll leave camp at 6 a.m. and expect to hike pole pole for up to 10 hours, all vertical. That will take us to Crater Camp where we'll sleep on the rim of the crater. We expect the coldest weather tomorrow, so we're putting on lots of layers and will sleep in the clothes we'll wear tomorrow. We haven't bathed for three days--too cold. There is no meat at meals because the ice to refrigerate it melts by day three up the mountain. Our meals are good, though, and we have grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches with thick vegetable soup for lunch.

It's important we eat enough to stay warm. We must eat even when we're not hungry. There is hot soup and chai and milk to keep us hydrated. Tomorrow the filter pump will freeze, but we'll have hot water to drink at breaks and lunch and dinner. The water in our bottles is so cold, it's easy to get brain freeze. Neal took a photo of my bottle, to capture the thick ice on top of the water. When we arrived at camp today, and Lingarevo and Lemetu met us to take our packs, it was sleeting. It sleeted steady for about an hour, tiny, white ice balls bouncing off our tent and sounding like rain.

To stay warm, I'm wearing two long underwear tops and a tank top as a shell. On bottom, I have tights, long underwear and fleece wind pants. Tomorrow I'll add the rain gear and gloves (liners, thermal and shell). I've worn this wool hat for three days and nights and will not take it off until we reach the lodge and I can shower. I haven't looked at myself in three days and can only imagine how horrid my hair must be. Last night we camped at Lava Tower, which was created when ancient glaciers carried away everything, leaving the free standing tower.

Our guides give such consideration to going pole pole. They know better than we how the high altitude can take our breath away. I re-learn daily that I cannot just pop out of the tent and walk at my usual rate. When I do, I only get 10 feet and start to breath heavily. It's difficult to recover. So we walk slowly and take short steps slowly. Over time the steps add up. Mike says the last 20 minutes of today's climb are really hard for him. Mike describes himself as a food minimalist, so it's difficult for him to eat lots of food on this trip. He's also a runner and slim. He stays cold all the time and promises to nibble on snacks up the trail tomorrow. Ken, on the other hand, loves to eat. Even though his wife, Licia, is a personal trainer, Ken is overweight. He has two helpings of soup at every meal. Instead of health food snacks, Ken brought candy bars for the climb: Snickers, Kit Kat, Twix. Today, Ken commented that his candy bars are frozen and so much more interesting to eat now!

Lava Tower Camp

We start hiking at 8 a.m. and reach camp at 12:20 p.m. Lingarevo and Lemetu meet Christina and me, taking our packs and showing us to our tents. Sometimes when I'm really tired, Lingarevo will unsnap my pack and lift it from my back. While it seems like a very personal thing for Lingarevo to do, I'm always extremely grateful. Fatigue makes simple things like unhooking a backpack very difficult. Because we're in camp early today, we have time to acclimate at 14,500 feet. Clouds followed us on the climb. We crossed the moors covered with giant Heather and will soon be in the Alpine desert zone. We gained 2,000 feet, but walked pole pole and rested frequently. Even at such a slow pace, I could feel the four hours of climbing in my thighs. Our 3-sided toilets are totally exposed, facing away from camp.

I'm sitting on a lava rock, facing camp and Kili--though the mountain is covered by clouds. Two porters just went to a nearby stream for water. They're returning with the five-gallon jugs. Everyone else is in their tents. Neal is not feeling well--his stomach is upset. Neal is a 49-year-old engineer and his wife, Joanne, is a 44-year-old tax attorney for an insurance company in Connecticut. They are both extremely nice.

The porters and cooks stay busy in camp, playing cards in the mess tent, listening to the radio, filtering water, washing dishes. Some of them are relaxing on huge boulders, sitting 20 and 30 feet up. I fell asleep after lunch for about 20 minutes--but time doesn't matter and I'm not wearing a watch. It looks like a moonscape here. Rocks of all sizes, from boulders to pebbles. Rocks everywhere, so we must be careful when walking. Every step is well thought out, due to rocks and breathing. Clouds roll in with a cold breeze from both directions and cover camp. There is snow near the camp, perhaps 500 feet up Kili. We'll certainly be walking in snow tomorrow.

Fischer Camp

Senecio at Fischer Camp

Noel tells me his given name is Mchili, the name given to chiefs. His great-grandfather was a chief of the Pare tribe of the Pare Mountains near Kilimanjaro. Noel's mother is a Masai and loves to talk. They all love to talk, Noel says, and Masai will talk for hours, asking each other about their little spotted cows and crops and distant relatives. Benhadad (Ben), our top guide, whistles again today as we hike. The trail is very easy, only slightly inclined as we cross the Shira Plateau. Our route is the least traveled, but we'll soon connect with the trails of other hikers (Machame--aka The Coca-Cola trail). We walk pole pole (slowly) today because the effects of the altitude are already evident.

They really do say "Hakuna Matata," for "no worries," so I sing a little of the song from the Lion King movie. Noel's favorite movie is Mary Poppins so we sing "Chim Chiminey," "Spoonful of sugar," and "supercalifragilistic...." I had nearly 12 hours of sleep last night while everyone is getting around 4 hours each night. They resent me for being able to sleep so well. Last night, I had two very violently graphic nightmares ; effects of the anti-malarial drugs. Once rested in camp today, we hike 100 yards or so to a plaque inset into a rock, in honor of Scott Fischer, one of the founders of Mountain Madness. Shira Camp is also called Fischer Camp since Scott and a partner started the Shira Trail in the 80s. Scott died on Everest in 1996.

Nazareth and Hamisi escort us to the plaque. Nazareth is tall and handsome and his English is good. He begins to call me "Dada" (sister), so I call him Kaka (brother). Lunch is Oxtail soup, guacamole, tunafish salad, bread and fresh fruits. The pineapple is heaven. Balthazar, our cook, is tall and skinny at 51 years. The guys tease him about his age, but he carries a huge pack up the mountain (with a radio attached). Ben whistles a Celine Dion song today. Diamox makes us more sensitive to the sun and because I was not wearing sunscreen yesterday, my hands and forearms, as well as the back of my knees, are sunburnt. I didn't realize it until this morning. We can see the glaciers on Kili from camp and marvel that we will be up there in a few days.

On Our Way to Shira Plateau Camp

The Snows of Kilimanjaro

Christina is my tentmate. She's turning 38 the day we summit Kilimanjaro. Christina is a lobbyist in Washington, D.C., though she doesn't tell people right away. We meet our porters. Lingarevo is carrying my stuff and Lemetu is carrying Christina's. They are extremely kind and speak a little English. After breakfast, we head out of camp, passing a hiker from Greece who is the sole person in his party. He has four porters cooking and taking care of him. We walk at a very slow pace behind Noel, which is good because the trail is a constant grade up. The scenery is stunning as we move out of the forest zone and get closer to being above the tree line. We climb, then descend, then climb, then descend. The forest falls behind and trees become stunted.

We stop for lunch at the top of a ridge: salami, egg salad, fruit, cheese, bread. After lunch, Jerome Bonaventure, the logistics manager for the porters, leads us and walks more quickly than Noel or Ben. We hike straight up and it is hard at Jerome's pace, climbing up the ridge that takes us to Shira Plateau Camp. Just when I think I can't continue, others ask for water and a "pressure check" break. We women have a system where two or three of us go together to find a private spot. With vegetation growing shorter, it is a challenge.

We follow the ridge for an hour, then see our camp at the base of Kili as the mountain rises and rises into the clouds, proudly displaying its snow cap. We discuss making it to the top, because we all worry about altitude sickness. To prevent altitude, or acute mountain sickness, everyone in the group, except Christina, is taking Diamox. Christina is allergic to sulfur-based medicines, so she's taking Viagra. Lots of jokes about that, especially since I'm her tentmate. Another tactic for curbing altitude sickness is to drink lots of fluids. We're instructed to drink six liters a day. Breathing is difficult for the body at high altitudes and 40 percent of our energy output can be devoted to it. It's possible we expel several liters of water a day through our lungs alone.

The best way to avoid altitude sickness is to climb slowly, so your body can acclimatize. When facing chronic oxygen deprivation, our body's response is for the bone marrow to produce millions and millions of extra oxygen-bearing red blood cells. Physical fitness and conditioning do not guarantee you'll make it to the summit, and there's no way to know beforehand if you'll be susceptible to high altitude. Even climbers who have never had a problem may develop either high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) -- lungs fill with water and cause death unless you go down the mountain immediately-- or high altitude cerebral edema (HACE) -- the brain swells and may lead to coma. So it's easy to see why we worry.

We're camping at 11,300 feet with Kili before us. The porters have been tremendous. As we enter camp, they come to greet us and congratulate us, take our coats and backpacks and show us to our tents. A river, running 50 feet from our camp, has little waterfalls and pools. We wash up as usual with heated, filtered water, have tea and popcorn in the mess tent and rest up until dinner. While we dine, the porters congregate in their tents to play cards and sing.

Every Journey Begins with One Step

Dinner Time!
Noel, Christina, Joann, Neal, Mike, Ken, Licia and me.

Wake-up call at 6:30, breakfast at 7:00: French toasts, yoghurt (mango, banana and guava, passion fruit), fruit salad and bacon. We leave camp and drive through forest, then through the valley for three hours with the trailhead as our destination. It's hard to describe the beautiful scenes, the forests, the red dirt roads leading through villages with cement block houses and fields of corn, potatoes and tomatoes. Sisal grows as natural fences between yards and looks like giant Aloe plants. Children squeal with delight when we pass by, waving. All of this with Kilimanjaro rising in the background. The villagers in the valley can't drink the stream water because it contains minerals that cause malformed bones in children. So the villagers trek farther up river where the water runs clear and they bring it home in brightly colored buckets balanced on their heads. Some use donkeys or bicycles, but most carry the water on their heads, adults and children alike.

In one village, near the gate of the national park, children ride wooden bicycles. The entire bike has been roughly hewn from wood and probably works best going downhill. Three boys on wooden bikes, about 8-12 years old, do not want me to photograph their bikes. In the shadows of Kili, we pass the "Hatari" Hotel. Hatari means danger in Kiswahili and was the title of a John Wayne Movie. In the movie, they have baby elephants on their ranch. And the buildings used to film the movie are now Hatari Hotel. Part of the movie was shot in a hotel and store in downtown Arusha. Our driver, Exaud, says the store and hotel look exactly as they did in the late 50s when the movie was made. I've seen that movie! Hollywood comes to Arusha and nothing much has changed in 50 years since.

We can't drive all the way to the trailhead because of the road, so we must hike an additional few miles. We get to the spot where we'll begin hiking and about 30 men are gathered, waiting to carry our belongings. Local people are tending their nearby potato fields and their children, only boys, are lingering near us, watching and smiling. One boy has a toy cell phone that rings and he keeps pretending to take a call, saying "hello" and "goodbye" in English, which causes the other boys to giggle. The boy with the phone seems to have high status in the group.

We hike up a red dirt road, past temporary houses (because it's a national park, no one is allowed to live here. The people who work for the park must build only temporary houses out of wood slats and tree branches). It's a steady incline, so we look down to keep our footing. I hear a child cry out for his mother, saying "Maaama, Mama," and look up. We are approaching three men sitting on a bench next to the road. They have a boy of about 4 years with them and the boy has an infant strapped to his back. This 4-year-old is openly crying and talking, tears running down his face. The infant cries as well. The men half smile. Ben talks to the men and the boy in Kiswahili as we continue to walk slowly past. I'm dismayed to see the child's anguish and ask Ben what the trouble is. He says the boy has never seen white people and is frightened. And while he cries, he asks us to forgive him for his fright. But don't you come by here on every climb with other white people?, I ask Ben. Yes, Ben answers, but normally they're driving by, not walking slowly. Poor child.

We soon enter the forest with its steep, muddy steps and we all slip occasionally. As we approach the lunch site, one porter yells up to another, who yells up to another that we're arriving. Lunch is spread out on tables with African print clothes. They provide a chlorine-based cleanser, mixed with water, to wash our hands and warn us not to sling the water on our clothes. While eating, we balance on three-legged stools with tiny cloth seats. What we do not eat is eaten by the crew when we begin hiking again.

Two more hours of hiking and we're in camp by 2 p.m. The porters bring us hot water to wash with and they prepare tea and popcorn in the mess tent (eating popcorn and drinking tea mid-day is a tradition among many African tribes). There are two, 3-sided toilets for the seven of us. The ladies claim the one closest to the tents--we don't want the men walking up on us in the wee hours of the morning. Dinner is peanut chicken stew with coconut rice, sauteed beans and mushrooms, and avocado and tomato salad. Most of us are asleep by 8 p.m.

A Day of Rest

We spend the day in camp, getting a briefing from Ben and Noel where they show us our route on a topographical map of Kili. At breakfast, Ernest takes our egg orders as we pile Mango preserves and peanut butter onto toasts, and enjoy bacon and tiny bananas (mdizi) and pineapple. Lunch is soup, pizza with mushrooms and a fantastic salad with avocado, cucumber and onion. After lunch, we hike to a nearby waterfall, following Cobra, an officer of the national park who carries a rifle. We climb upward to the falls and hear the Colobus monkeys barking in the trees. We see Hornbill birds. When the wind moves through the tree tops, it sounds like an overflowing river, a rich rustling.

A plane crashed on this mountain in the 60s, and someone has used metal panels from the plane to build a 3-sided toilet in the forest near the waterfalls. When we return to camp, they've placed seven chairs by a fire, lined up with a view of Mt. Mehru. Gregory, the chef, has built a barbecue and is cooking thick pork chops, lamb kabobs and chicken. We are starved and eat much of the fruit salad and mozzarella salad. What a magnificent meal, made even better with a Kilimanjaro beer. "It's Kili Time!," as the bottle says. To make it up the mountain, we must eat well and drink six quarts of water each day (which they keep filtered and ready for us in large amounts). That's all we need to do. The staff takes care of everything else.

As a group, we've discussed how we feel segregated from the staff. They keep to their own tents and only come to the mess tent to serve us. Ben and Noel, however, eat every meal with us. While there are only seven us in the group, we'll require about 70 porters and cooks to go up the mountain. We're each struck by the absurdity of it and console our consciences by saying we provide much-need employment. But it's humbling to have 70 men at our service. Humbling, indeed.

Amsterdam to Arusha, Tanzania

From Amsterdam, we head south to Tanzania, crossing the Austrian Alps, following Italy down across the Mediterranean, continuing over Egypt and the glowing Sahara--a vast void. There are interesting young people on this flight, most traveling to Kili on holiday. One guy from Birmingham, England has been to Kili many times. The man in front of me (in his early 30s) is originally from Holland but now lives in Arusha where he trains dogs to sniff out land mines all over the world.

I'm seeing my first African sunset from the right side of the plane. It is a beautiful series of colored stripes rising against the black outline of the Earth. The strips climb and grow lighter, turning blue, and above them hangs a sliver of the moon glowing into the clouds around it. The monitor says we're about to fly over Addis Ababa. Michelle Strong, a fellow VSO volunteer, will be in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, for a year. One day I'll visit Michelle in that city below us. And she'll visit Kisumu, Kenya. But for now we keep flying south over Kenya, on to Arusha's Kilimanjaro International airport.

We exit the 747 onto the tarmac and enter customs at the Kilimanjaro International airport, where the wood floor shows wear and fans turn overhead. It is 10:00 p.m. The officer stamps my passport and customs card and without further delay I grab my bags from the carousel and walk outside, looking for our guide holding a "Mountain Madness" sign. Ben and Noel are there, along with two drivers. There are seven Americans in our group and we load into two green Range Rovers and head to camp at the base of Mt. Mehru.

I'm riding with Mike from Los Angeles and Ken and Licia from Manhattan. Mike is an economist, Ken is a bonds broker and Licia is an actor. We turn off the main paved road and drive for a while over rough spots. Then, amazingly, we come up on two giraffes standing in the road. They are huge and both appear to be male. Our driver says they may be preparing to fight, called Necking, because they will stand belly-to-belly and knock necks. When the second vehicle in our group pulls up, the giraffes step off the road, gracefully awkward. The night sky is covered in stars, as Nigel had predicted. They are as numerous and bright as Nigel had prophesied. Though it is late, there are occasionally women walking on the side of the road, and young boys running as they hold hands, and a small child, perhaps 4 years, standing on the left.

We drive for a couple hours over "traditional" roads, which are unpaved and usually deeply rutted. We drive through forest, to the foot of Mehru, into camp. Mehru will be our companion until we leave Kilimanjaro National Park next week, because we'll be able to see it as we ascend and descend Kili. We pull into camp and tour our luxury tents. They contain cots with thick, foam mattresses and rugs and battery-powered lights overhead. We have a toilet and shower in each tent! The crew has prepared food for our late arrival and we all stumble into the mess tent, a little jet-lagged, and marvel at the feast set out: Spinach soup, quiche, baked potatoes, a fruit salad and gingerbread. Coffee (Kahawa), tea (Chai), Cokes, milk (mazewa) and beer: Kilimanjaro and Safari brands. What a lovely way to enter Tanzania; giraffes, western-style toilets and beer!

Home Sweet Home

The house had been on the market for eight weeks. It's the only thing pinning me to Atlanta and it must sell for me to leave the country. To help things along, I use the "write it down, make it happen" method; a documentation of visualizing the house selling. I write in my journal on Saturday, Nov. 13th, about how the perfect buyer shows up, falls in love with the sweet little cottage and the sale goes through smoothly. As written, the buyers arrive the next day, on Sunday afternoon. They are a young couple, newly married, and they love the house, the woodburning stove, the hardwood floors, the sunroom and the massive woods in back.

After the plumber installed a main water cutoff valve and the electrician fixed a dead outlet, we close the deal without incident and I take the proceeds to the bank. No mortgage. No debt of any kind. I can go anywhere in the world, as long as I have my sleeping bag and journal--and a friendly place to crash. Seems my life path is backward than most people who tour the world, or the country or Europe, with a knapsack and a sleeping bag while in their teens or 20s. I'm a 41-year-old hippie.

Jaime asked if I miss the house. Of course. I miss the Hydrangea bush and the Milk and Honey Lillies and that wild patch of Rose-of-Sharons growing in the semi-woods. Oh, and the giant Crepe Myrtles lining the back!! But I don't miss the mortgage or the cleaning or the deck that needs sealing yet again. Jaime said we only lived there four years, but the house means a lot to her--she was a senior in high school when we moved in. Jaime and I both hope the new owners have many years of bliss while living in the house. We sure did!

I'm Outta' Here

Today is our company Christmas party and I've chosen this day to let my boss, Gail, know I'll be leaving Experian-Scorex. My last day will be Monday, Jan. 10th. Gail is thrilled about my plans, but sad to see me go, she says. Her comments are very generous and at the party, at the Five Seasons, news of my pending departure spreads. Because I'm leaving for Tanzania on vacation and won't be back until late December, I want to give Gail extra time to decide how she'll transition my duties. Today I prepare to leave my job, tomorrow I say goodbye to my sweet house.

The Road Not Taken

Julia, Richard, Jennifer and Sam on Kennesaw Mt.

Jennifer Miller, the biggest-hearted person in the world (along with Louise Mell, Richelle McPherson and a host of others in the broker group at Experian), wrote a beautiful letter, saying my journey sounds like the poem by Robert Frost. I couldn't make this journey without the love and support of family and friends like Jennifer. We hiked Kennesaw Mountain one crisp, fall morning and the imagery of the poem reminds me of that climb. Jennifer is right about the poem, it sings to me:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and
I-- I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Liquidating

Everything goes! Bedroom suites, floor lamps, photo frames and kitchen towels. Kourtney Bryant helped me plan a party, held yesterday evening, where everyone came to the house, drank a little beer or wine, and toured the house, buying whatever struck their fancy. Even though it was very cold, Julia put the top down on her car and carried away an antique school desk originally made in Holland. I've packed away all the precious, handmade objects Jaime and James made me over the years. I've set aside everything once belonging to my maternal grandmother, Janet Mimms Bohannon. Family heirlooms will go into storage and everything else will go; sold or donated or moved to Jaime's apartment. We've worked nights and weekends to bag, box and haul away. I donated the 1964 Ford Fairlane to the March of Dimes and made sure the new headliner and window felt kits were in the trunk, along with two original sets of hubcaps.

And everything did go. Kelly Griffin bought the bar armoire and hired movers because the pine armoire weighs nearly 500 pounds. The movers managed to knock the phoneline from the house as they backed into the drive, but no worries. The phone company repaired the line that day. Jennifer Miller bought the antique mahogany buffet and mirror as well as the desk/vanity from the "feminine" bedroom suite, Gail Joyner bought the Art Deco 4-poster bedroom suite and half the rattan set. Larry Thiesen bought the rest of the rattan set. Syd and Therm, twin friends of James' (my son), bought the entertainment center. The house slowly emptied as the trees became bare. I hope everyone loves their new, old furniture. Kourtney is an angel, making all things possible through her considerate and considerable help!!