18/19th September - Winding down

Just a long, dull day at the hotel. I sorted out my kit, and then just read and dozed all day. Absolutely nothing to do. Just want to go home and be with friends and family.

19th September, 2004
Up at dawn, and after the usual faffing with getting a driver, was away to the airport. This time to aeroplane was just shy of a Dakota transport and gave me the impression that it was the last one in the shop. Still, it had room for my luggage (in the nose) and made it safely to Nairobi so that was fine.

A bit more faffing about and waiting and I was aboard the plane that was going to take me home. Seat 39A (right at the very back by the galley) and I was next to Wilma. She was a very interesting person, full of inner happiness who had just been visiting relatives in Kenya. We talked about a good many subjects – mainly based on spirituality – and the whole trip passed pleasantly.

For a long time every glance out of the window would reveal only endless desert, and I have since come to appreciate just how large the Sahara really is.

At one point we passed over some off structures stuck out there in the midst of nowhere. They looked like large, black hexagons joined to each other like a peculiar game of Blockbusters. I have no idea what they were, but the didn’t look like farms to me.

We landed at Heathrow pretty much on time and I was the door at 7pm to meet Kim. After a very minor faff involving the Departures Hall we were soon in the car and away.

Boy, am I glad to be back. But what an adventure!

17th September - Back to the hotel

The final day. I awoke to find Clemence had already made breakfast and it looked like the porters were getting ready to leave. I rushed around getting my stuff packed and after a quick trip to the Dubious Dunny we were off.

Thankfully, my knees were in much better shape today and I was able to keep up with a large group of experts without a great deal of trouble. I met a couple of interesting people the way and passed the journey chatting and admiring the rainforest. As always the weather was being very generous and the forest was at it’s best. Given the slipperiness of the rocks and trail in general I’m just glad the rain stayed away.

Once we reached the end of the trail we had to queue for our certificates (different depending on how far up you’d made it). Then it was a short walk past the Kili coffee plantation and into the little village full of souvenir shops and desperate hawkers. Jesus, it was total bedlam and sensory overload. I’m glad that I had the guides to look after me. I bought some little souvenirs for people and then climbed into the waiting Jeep (with lovely cushioned seats) and we headed our of there. To be honest I was glad to leave and all I wanted was a few beers and a long hot shower.

Once we made it back to the hotel I sorted out the trips for the guys and decided to be generous. $500 for 2 guides and 4 porters. Some may say it was too much, but I was very well looked after during my stay and I look at it as doing my bit for the local economy. And the Freddy and I sauntered downstairs and I bought a couple of rounds for the boys. One of them, a chap called Solomon, was the person responsible for lugging my kit bag up the hill and down again. Now that kit bag had belonged to my late father, Reg, and I had chosen to bring it along in memory of him. When he was told, Solomon appreciated the significance.

During our beery session, Clemence told me something rather profound. He said, “Gary – you are very strong, and you are very peaceful.”. I was very touched by that. It is one thing to set out upon a spiritual journey, it is quite another to have that undertaking recognised by another.

The beer was running low, and I desperately needed to shower, so I bid the boys farewell and headed upstairs to my room.

Bliss – absolute bliss. The shower from Heaven cleansed me to my soul. Then I tidied up, shaved and went back downstairs for another beer. Amazingly, Clemence and Freddy were still there playing pool. Quickly, I joined in and it became apparent that Freddy and I were both good players trying to let the other win. This went on for a while (to both our amusement) and then I played Clemence who was pretty good. The afternoon passed warmly and then it was time for Clemence and Freddy to go. We hugged, shook hands and departed. I have Clemence’s email address, so I hope to remain in touch.

Later that evening after some quiet time reading I joined a bunch of South Africans who had just completed the summit run as well (along the Marangu route). We went out to the local Moshi nightclub and a good time was had by all.

16th September - The Attempt on the Summit

After a fretful 4 hours lying huddled in my sleeping bag, I was invited to get my gear together by Clemence. Fortunately, I had been doing little else all day so after a quick faff where they checked me over I was given the go-ahead by Freddy. It turned out that it was only myself and Freddy heading up the hill- I imagine Clemence was left behind to keep an eye on the camp.

Anyway, my fears of an icy wall of rock proved groundless – the sky was absolutely clear revealing an astounding number of stars. The Milky Way, the Seven Sisters, Orion you name it, and it was there. The rocks had lost their watery coating (it being a high altitude desert and all) so the only problem remaining was bumbling blindly in the dark with only my 0.01W Maglite to help. In comparison to some of the gear that others were packing I felt positively Dark Ages. (Excuse the pun). With a fresh pair of batteries in the torch I strode forth with Freddy and promptly joined a queue.

The entire camp, less porters, was going up the hill at the same time. Roughly 60 experienced walkers, all wearing full on cold weather gear, were forming a torch lit procession in honour of Kilimanjaro. It was quite beautiful to see, actually, were it not for the fact that they were all going at a much slower pace than me. Now it’s all well and good saying “Slowly, slowly” but these guys were preventing me from getting into the necessary rhythm which needed a higher pace. Fortunately, Freddy (who also felt that the pace was too slow) spied a secondary parallel track and we were able to “speed” away. To give you some idea of the pace, imagine walking as slowly as you ca while still making progress. That’s about 1-2mph and it is tedious in the extreme. Or rather it would be if it were physically possible to go faster than that without keeling over from lack of oxygen.

So there I was carefully plodding up the hill, feeling a bit anxious about: not seeing the trail clearly; overheating in my 3-4 layer setup and keeping a close eye for the effects of altitude sickness. And then it struck me – I was going to be doing this for 6 hours. How does one occupy one’s mind in the darkness plodding up a mountain? I’ll tell you – you stare at the ground and watch where you’re placing your feet. That’s it. No deep philosophical thoughts, no bright insights into spirituality – just an endless series of rocks to clamber over, or shuffle past. And it’s at this point when your mind is numbed that the altitude starts to make itself known. The most obvious symptom is the lack of breath.

No big deal, we’ve all been out of breath at some point in our lives. But not for 6 hours. In order to keep in breath, you have to develop rigid breathing patterns. The one that worked well for me was the Hiawatha Cadence. Breathe in on the first two syllables, breathe out on the second two. Easy enough to start with and if the terrain is constant, but then everything changes. Instead of a gently inclining series of S-bends, suddenly you’re faced with a head-on “line of steepest slope” assault on scree. Forget Hi-a-fucking-watha now all that comes is a series of gasps. Then comes the dizziness, you trip over a rock, slip sideways, desperately stick out a pole and, having saved yourself from a nasty fall, try to get your breath back. And then the batteries in your headlamp fail. Yes folks Ever Ready Super Duracell Turbo Ultra Powor (for Men) batteries give 1 hour of life at 5000m at –4C.

Fortunately, Freddy had a couple of torches and I was able to follow along behind snatching occasional glimpses of the terrain. He did his best but having your torch is a must. I did have some spare batteries but I wasn’t confident about their life so I decided to wait until the final push before breaking them out. That, and the finger numbing cold.

I have no idea how long we were walking for but Freddy pointed out a little white sign: the halfway point. At this stage I was exhausted, cold at the toes and fingers and seriously worried about these dizzy spells. The fact that we were only halfway nearly finished me off. Luckily, I had a large bag of Kendall Mint Cake to hand and we chomped great chunks of it down. The amount I ate would have lifted me to the top of Ben Nevis with nary a deep breath, here it gave us enough energy to make the next 150m. I cannot emphasise enough just how deep the fatigue is that grips you on this isolated trail. Far above is the enticing pile of rocks that is Stella Point, the gateway to Kilimanjaro Crater and Uhuru Point – the highest point in Africa. Every step you take leads you closer to that magical place.

Only problem was that they never got any closer.

Far above us we could see the twinkling lights of a strong group, but they never seemed to get closer either. I’d like to say that as the sky lightened in the East that Stella Point revealed herself and we strode mightily onto the path that encircles the Crater. What actually happened was a long trudge up a sand and shale bank in total darkness. Then Freddy announced “Welcome to Stella Point” and fished out some tea.

As far as I was concerned I had climbed Kilimanjaro and there was the mere formality of setting boot on rock at Uhuru Point, a level easy stroll a few hundred metres away. Not quite. Nothing is easy at 5800m and Kilimanjaro has a nasty habit of presenting hills and then opening these hills into more and higher ones until you’re forced to simply accept that any hill is going to be 3 times higher and further away than advertised.

So I strolled, with Freddy, down the path to Uhuru Point. Well it wasn’t the first hill, or the second or event the third. By the time I finally saw Uhuru Point (obvious given the number of walkers milling about on it) I was at breaking point. As I made the final approach I whispered the mantra that I had recited every day since arriving on the mountain:

“Kilimanjaro, I humble myself before you,
Grant me permission to proceed.”

And then I stood on Uhuru Point and watched the sun rise on my 35th birthday.

There wasn’t much time for hanging about up there. Freddy was overjoyed that I had made it (much kudos for him with the other guides I expect) and pointed out a few of the spectacular sights. Glaciers glittering in the first light of day, Mount Meru moving out through a sea of clouds, the enormous Crater Bowl. Outstanding.

So there I was at the top – I’d made it. The culmination of a long series of months preparing for this moment. To be honest I was too tired to feel anything. Well, certainly relief that I had made it but nothing more.

And then it was time to make the descent. At this point I was drained both physically and mentally (no longer a cliche for me) and now I had to reverse that whole climb. Fortunately, Freddy had a handy route for rapid descent: a 1.2 vertical kilometre (vkm) continuous scree run. Let me tell you, scree-running is fun. It’s a bit like skiing, and up until now my scree-runs had been limited to about 200m. Now I was about to embark on a 1200m vertical descent over tiny stones, at altitude, and not at 100%. Needless to say, I fell over a few times, had to rest a few times and generally didn’t make the most of it. After dropping the height, my legs were knackered, particularly my knees. Freddy lead me back into camp, but on the way I was so dog-tired that I slipped on some gravel and cut my hand. Fortunately, Freddy was on hand to guide me over the rocks once he realised how tired I was.

At camp I just sipped by blackcurrant juice, the flaked out in my tent, still wearing all my gear from the night before. An hour or so later Clemence woke me up with a bowl of soup and the instructions that we were to break camp in half an hour and begin the descent to Mweka Camp from Barafu. Mweka is at about 3100m, Barafu at 4600m. So another descent of 1.5vkm came about.

By this stage my knees where shot, even with a support bandage. Add to this my 2 hours sleep and you can pretty much guarantee that I didn’t savour the walk in the manner it which it should have been. Both Clemence and Freddy showed great patience and understanding as I griped my way down the route. And it was all downhill. Every step caused my knees to hurt and soon I was getting worried that the right one would give out completely. Thankfully, my poles came to the rescue and it is only thanks to them that I made it to the camp instead of a mountain rescue hut.

Once at camp I just mooched about fiddling with my kit until it got dark and then I just flaked out.

15th September - Barafu Camp

Another day of acclimatisation. I know it’s important, necessary in fact, but it’s still tedious. Well, that’s not quite right. Although there is nothing to do in camp, there is plenty to see. The views at each camp have been stunning and some do not need the imposing backdrop of Kilimanjaro to give them authority.

At present, I am sitting in my Eureka Scorpion tent writing my journal and waiting for Freddy to take me out on another short but steep walk. To get here I had to ascend from 4200m (Karanga) to 4600m (Barafu). The road up was steep, rocky and dusty. We only stopped 3 times and by the end of it my head was swimming. Fortunately, my headaches seem to be behind me, but the I still get bouts of nausea.

Every so often I take a look up at the towering rocks about me and I realise just how far up Uhuru Point is. At midnight tonight I start off for the summit. Yes, I’m feeling a bit anxious but only because of the fact that I’ll be walking at night over difficult rocky terrain.

Mid-afternoon I went for a little stroll up the summit path with Clemence. On the way I felt my breath going and a touch of dizziness but as always they passed. However, I met up with Jodie and Pete of the South Africa bunch. It turned out that they were on the 6 day hike (I’m on the 7 day), so they shot past Karanga camp and made straight for Barafu yesterday. They would have arrived about 4pm after a hard climb only to be woken at midnight for the final ascent. During the time we were together Pete had similar symptoms to myself and it turned out that he had problems on the summit. A quick hooch from the oxygen bottle and he was fine, but he had to go down carefully which is how I met them. We’ve agreed to exchange email addresses back at the hotel. They are going to leave theirs in the visitors book.

I’ve sent off a few text messages, and read some more of my book, but all I can do is wait. I’ve arranged all my equipment based on what the others told me: thermal layer, woolly tracksuit bottoms, 2 thin and 1 thick pair of socks, T-shirt, optional thermal sweater, fleece and windproof jacket. Oh – and my trusty beanie that is nearly as good as my green fleece for keeping me warm. In order to keep my Camelback from freezing I’ve been told to wrap it up, and to avoid keeping water in the tube.

Tick tock, tick tock...

Cold, so cold. Have put on thermal gear. Heard a woman crying – she didn’t make the summit. I’m trying not to feel anxious but the rain has started so that means sub-zero temperatures and therefore lots of icy rocks to climb.

I’m confident that I have all the right equipment. I have kept myself hydrated with at least 3 litres per day, with 4+ being more likely. I don’t have any symptoms of altitude sickness (except for a minor case of the shits). All in all there is no foreseeable reason
why I should fail to make the summit.
Darkness is falling. Wish me luck.

14th September - Karanga Camp

Well, the beard is growing nicely and since the only thing resembling a mirror is the front of my mobile I can only assume that I look like Stig of the Dump. I awoke this morning after a fitful nights sleep with a huge feeling of nausea and I knew – I was going to throw up. Naturally I tried breathing hard. Nope. Perhaps some of Clemence’s sweet tea? Nope. Perhaps a quick boot faff, followed by a dash to some rocks and then some hefty stomach exercises? Oh, yeah. That did the trick. Headache and nausea vanished to be replaced with a vague feeling of shock.

Naturally, Clemence and Freddy were concerned but once I reassured them that I felt much better (and ate a hearty breakfast) then they relaxed.

The first stage of the walk today was up a near vertical cliff. The trail wound up and up seeming to cling precariously to the rocks. In several places poles were replaced by hands and I could see why they had taken us up Lava Tower. Without that experience of rock scrambling and finding tricky handholds this ascent would have been far more daunting. As it happened I had no significant problems making the ascent. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Freddy took some steeper routes since he could see I was OK and we made the top ahead of some groups. Not that going fast is the right approach. It’s not. Slowly, slowly, pole, pole is the mantra and it makes all the difference. There is nothing to do in camp so why rush to get there? Far better to dawdle along, swigging water and taking photos.

I have to say that I have been most impressed with my little Casio Exilim digital camera. Battery life should be enough for the rest of the trip and the memory capacity means that I have no limits on the number of shots I can take. My only worry is how well it will perform once I get above 5000m when it will get really cold.

After a short break we headed on to Karanga camp and had to tackle Karanga Valley. It’s a V-shaped valley and as part of the acclimatisation it was necessary to drop down one side (very steep) and then (dear God, the horror still haunts me) ascend the other. Pace was extremely slow but that did nothing to stop me gasping for breath and just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I had visions of finding my own personal Hell where I would spend all of eternity ascending Karanga valley. But the worst of it was watching the porters coming back down to fill the water barrels and go back up a second time!

And now I’m sitting in Karanga Camp at 4200m, feeling full after eating chicken and chips with soup and fruit salad. I’ve managed to catch up on my journal entries and now I’m off into my tent to read a book. Even with the stunning backdrop of Kilimanjaro towering above I still feel tired, cold and sleepy so that’s that.
I did manage to get my lazy, slack body out of the tent for one last stroll up the path. While I was there, I gathered up some rocks and spelled out my name, Gary, in a clearing beside the path. For anyone following in my footsteps, it’s about 150m up the path from Karanga Camp on the left hand side. I wonder how long it will remain there?

13th September - Barranco Camp

So I’ve reach the end of day 3 and boy was it tiring. I awoke with a mild headache which quickly vanished and breakfasted on the usual porridge and omelette. Had a fruit salad thrown in too, so I was fully fuelled for the journey ahead. The night/afternoon before I had done some scouting and met a woman called Stephanie. She was German and we had a good time chatting as we wandered some of the trails around camp. We crossed some of these of the way to Lava Tower which stands at 4800m. On the way the party had to withstand continuously changing weather: hard winds, instant clouds, brilliant sunshine. It seemed that out lives had become continuous hill and continuous changes of clothing.

I started to feel a bit breathless during this stage and developed the technique of breathing a lot harder than the physical exertion required. It worked. So long as I kept breathing deeply, my headache was kept at bay. And then nausea struck and I began to wonder what I was doing here. I looked up and saw the towering peak that was Kilimanjaro lofting above me and I knew that I was here to make the summit. I loosened my hip clasp and immediately felt better. It’s the little things that make all the difference.

Being absolutely fastidious about hygiene is essential. Dust and dirt get everywhere so it’s imperative that hands are kept clean or it’s going to end in diarrhoea. And, believe me, the last thing you need out here is a continuous pressing need to visit the long drops. A quick description of the lavatorial facilities is called for:-

A black shack standing alone,
A place where only spiders call home,
A great heaving smell,
Reminds one of Hell.

A little slotty for the potty,
An awkward squeeze,
And that’s your lotty,
In a place that’s bad for your botty.

(I’m not a poet)

Once we reached Lava Tower we were all feeling a lot better. The headaches had mostly subsided and I had discovered an addiction for Kendall Mint Cake. Also known as Rocket Fuel. Fair dues, it got me out of a lot of sticky patches.

So we climbed the tower – straightforward rock scrambling – and took lots of piccies at the top. But we had ascended very slowly and we were the last of the people still walking that day so Freddy set a fast pace downhill. After 2 hours of near continuous steep descent my knees were starting to complain. The cloudbase had rolled in and everything looked very spooky and isolated. The headache was still being kept at bay, but only just, and it was only through sheer grit and determination that I made camp. I was shattered, right at the end of my line and all I wanted to do was crawl into my sleeping bad and sleep. But first I had to have supper.

Clemence made a lovely soup, meat with two veg. and a fruit salad to finish up. With great effort I managed to eat most of the meat, soup and fruit but then I had to call it a day. I had taken on loads of fluid throughout the day so I braced myself for the inevitable Midnight Dunny Run. There’s something special about waking up with a pressing need and having to extricate oneself from the cosy sleeping bad; fumble for boots and finally step out into the sub-zero inky blackness. Only problem is: I can’t see it. A bloody pain the arse is what it is. And the worst thing is trying to find the tent where are no clear paths and there is no depth perception because you’re still half asleep.

Still, it’s all part of the Kilimanjaro experience.

12th September - Shira Camp

Day 2 complete. We ascended from the Machame campe to the Shira camp by going 800m straight up, then 200m gently down. Now that doesn’t sound like much, but trekking the best part of a vertical kilometre in 3 hours is no easy task. The trail reminded me a lot of the start of the Tongariro Crossing in NZ. Lots of lava rocks, barren tundra and a dusty trail to follow. Fortunately, our guide kept our pace low so I didn’t even start to breathe hard. However, a few times I felt a bit light-headed and had a small twinge of a pain behind the eyes. These are the main symptoms of altitude sickness, but the key to survival is to go slowly, very slowly and drink loads. I felt that I was swigging from my Camelback at every opportunity, but I still had a litre left. The guides recommend 3-4 litres every day to have the best chance of acclimatization so I’m slurping tea, oranges, melons, water you name it.



Before starting out I had to crack open the tent flat which had frozen solid in the night. All around the ground was coated in a thin layer of hoar frost lending the tropical rain forest a rather surreal look. The moment the sun rose (for it was 6am when I surfaced) the frost vanished, steam rose in great white vents from everything and the temperature soared.

Because of the risk of malaria, I been taking Malarone and one of the side effects is particularly vivid dreams. It may be psychological, but I am inclined to believe that I am getting this side effect. Once darkness falls there is absolutely nothing to do in camp – especially if you’re on your own. So from 7pm to 6am I was left to lie in darkness. Sometimes I slept, often I just dozed, but I had some odd dreams. Nothing frightening, just quite striking. For example, in one dream I became aware that I was dreaming. I was sitting on a bench on a street in St.Austell when I had to the thought “Tomorrow I’ll be climbing Kilimanjaro.” At that point, I had the realisation that I must be dreaming and I was able to take control of the dream and take flight. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long and I found myself drifting through a long series of odd scenarios with various people I knew popping up in curious contexts.

And then came the headache and nausea. Lying there praying to the Lord God Almighty to please spare me this suffering. Just a mere pain behind the eyes and that’s me begging for relief. Still, it didn’t take long before I flaked out and when I awoke the headache was gone.

11th September - First day

Awoke at 6:30 feeling fairly bright and sparky. I had organised all my gear the night before (with my usual packing and repacking) so the morning faff was kept to a minimum. Eventually (Africa time again) the bus came to pick me up and I found myself in the company of another group. They were all South African and were friendly enough and I spent the next few days with them. The trip from Moshi to the Machame Gate took about an hour and involved going along a bumpy dirt track for much of it. As we passed by, the children would wave and call out “Jambo” – “Hello” in Swahili.

A lot of the houses had large red X’s painted on them which turned out to mean that they were schedule for demolition. Considering that about 95% of the houses had this mark there had to be a reason for it. Apparently, they were too close to the road. Any house closer than 25m to the road gets taken down under Tanzanian law since it officially on government land. Given that this road was in the middle of nowhere it seems a to be a complete waste of time, money and effort.

After signing in, our bags were weighed, porters allocated and Clemence (the assistant guide) took us up the hill. Almost immediately, I felt my familiar knee twinge, but it wasn’t serious and after I had warmed up it all went away. The walk was on a well maintained dirt road, which ended at a good track with lots of steps carved into it. While we were walking along the road section we met some children cutting ferns for their livestock to eat. They decided to walk with us up the track singing lots of songs in English:

“If you’re happy and ze know et clap se hands.”
“Ay bee cee dee ee eff gee...”

Living in abject poverty, but as happy as children anywhere.

Time passed and the trail went ever upwards. Since we were in a tropical rainforest it wasn’t long before the rain started and I rummaged in my bag for my poncho. Marvellous piece of kit. It completely covered me and my backpack, but I did end up looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame dressed in a bin liner. Kept me dry, though.

And still the trail went ever upwards, until finally we reach camp. We were among the first to get there having leap-frogged many porters on the way. Those guys (no women allowed) were amazing. Carrying enormous bags on their heads AND a backpack with their own gear. Most of the time they were in shorts and T-shirts – no raincoats.

It turned out that I have a little tent all to myself which suits me. I’m writing this about 3000m up Kilimanjaro at 5pm. All around I can hear the sounds of various groups preparing their meals and having a laugh. I was split up from my group and I may not be able to find them given the size of the camp. I’ve wandered around armed with a mug of tea courtesy of Clemence, but am finding it hard to find a pal. Climbing this hill is definitely better suited to a group rather than making the ascent solo. Still there’s the mess tent which may prove fruitful...

10th September - The Journey Begins

10th September, 2004
Weeks of hectic running around making final preparations have finally come to a head. The day of the flight has come, and everything that can be done has been done. Kim took me to the airport and it was only twenty minutes after I left her to go to the departure lounge that I was boarding the plane.

As usual, the plane flight was just being cramped and uncomfortable for the better part of 8 hours. I sat next to a guy called Steve, an American who along with some friends was embarking on some missionary work in Nairobi and the Congo. I was a bit worried this at first – fearing 8 hours of relentless preaching – but he was laid back kind of guy and the trip passed smoothly. At the end of the flight he said a prayer for me which I felt was touching.

The flight had another good moment: seeing enormous thunderheads rising from a near flat cloudbase to a height of 33,000ft. Each was lit up from within by a series of massive lightning strikes and the African pre-dawn sky made a breathtaking backdrop. Stunning – and a great image to start the journey on.

After some faffing at Nairobi I caught the connecting flight to Kilimanjaro and had my first glimpse of the hill. It’s big, very big. The tallest free-standing mountain in the world. Our plane was at it’s cruising altitude of 11,000ft and I was looking up at the summit. As I said – it’s a big hill.

Typical Africa. There was no driver to transfer me to the hotel and I had a brief altercation with one of the taxi drivers who wanted to charge me $40 for the ride into Moshi. Instead, I gave him $1 for the use of his mobile. Should’ve used my own really.

Eventually the driver from the Keys Hotel turned up and I began my trip through the Tanzanian countryside. The poverty is striking. Everywhere there are little brick houses – two rooms at most – most of which appear derelict. The land is flat, dry and brown. The locals (Masai) are nomadic so they tend to frequent an area for a few weeks, feeding the goats and cattle before moving on deeper into the plains. All along the great straight roads are people walking or cycling. There were very few private cards on the roads, but Toyotas and VW vans were everywhere.

The hotel was quiet. The staff and locals very friendly, but no sign of any other travellers at all. Late in the afternoon I met my guide Freddy and his assistant Clemence. They seem friendly and willing so I just have to trust that they won’t turn nasty at the top of the hill. Doing my research for this trip lead me to read many horror stories about travellers getting threatened along the route. All being well, this shouldn’t happen to me (being with a respected tour operator and all) but it’s easy to offend someone when you’re not up to speed with their customs. We’ve agreed that they’ll teach me some Swahili and I’ll try to learn.

Some travellers did turn up later in the afternoon along with 10 jeeps and 100 loudly chattering porters and guides. I didn’t manage to make contact since they were in a large group and all speaking Afrikaans. So, tomorrow the climb begins at Machame Gate.