Climb of Kilimanjaro (with photos added July 2001 - finally)
With my South African Field Guide course behind me, I got another final look at Johannesburg as my shuttle van whisked me off to the airport. The radio featured a typical 'contemporary' morning show, appropriately titled "Rude Awakening", complete with a search for the morning's 'celebrity darkie' - charming. The election is next week, so campaign ads are also frequent. Everyone knows that the ANC will be re-elected; indeed the Democratic Party platform is based on their slogan: "Fight Back!" While I don't tend to hold strong political views, one thing is clear to me. South Africa brought in the apartheid policy with violence; it was enforced with violence; and eventually overturned with violence. Violence is all that both sides have known for many years. It will be many more years (in my opinion) before such attitudes are dissipated. One need only look at the high walls topped with barbed wire or the elaborate manned entrances to banks to see evidence of this. As for my trip, I had no problems at all. I found all the South Africans that I met (regardless of race) to be friendly and welcoming.
My ranger course, on the other hand, has left me somewhat battered and bruised. I took a flight of stairs in the Johannesburg airport, only to discover some very sore leg muscles. This is not helping my anticipation of climbing Kilimanjaro, the tallest peak in Africa (and in fact, the tallest free-standing mountain in the world).
Nairobi - May 28
Tanzania - May 29
Arusha - May 30
Machame - May 31
Shira Caves - June 1, 2
Lava Tower - June 3
Kilimanjaro
Summit - June 4
Mweke Descent - June 5
Return to Nairobi -
June 6
My first view of Kilimanjaro was actually from above, not below. The flight from Johannesburg, South Africa to Nairobi, Kenya, took me over the mountain, which was relatively free of cloud cover. It is quite strange to see a mountain all on its own with no other mountains around it. My only other peaks have been in mountain ranges. I could clearly see the buildings of Arusha, Tanzania, the town where my Kilimanjaro journey was planned to begin, and the mountain did not seem very imposing from my airplane seat - but then they rarely do. It was just at this time when I started to take note of my rising temperature - malaria or too much sun? At the time I couldn't say for sure.
My first welcome to Nairobi was the same as in any airport the world over: "Taxi? Taxi!"
"No thanks, unless you're going to Tanzania", I joked.
"Okay", says he.
"How much?"
"120 US dollars."
"Forget it", say I, knowing the approximate price of a shuttle from my Lonely Planet guide.
"How much you pay?" Ah yes, the every familiar invitation to the bargaining table.
"25 dollars."
"OK, come to office. I give you deal. 25 dollars."
At this point, some travel instincts cut in. No taxi can match a shuttle price that fast, and never take the deal that means you have to go to the remote office first. And especially not in the town everyone calls "Nairobbery". I ended up at the generic airport reservations desk which still overcharged me a bit, but a premium for the convenience and peace of mind was worth it. They got me a taxi downtown, a night in the hotel I wanted (The Oakwood), and a shuttle to Arusha the next morning. The shuttles tend to run twice a day and I had just missed the 2:30 one.
As my taxi pulled up at the Oakwood Hotel, several of the locals gathered around, suggesting places to eat, safari companies, etc. I ignored most of them and hurried in to get a room. My room was pleasant enough, but best of all, it had a large bath and big luxurious bath towels. I locked all the doors and windows (my usual behaviour upon first arriving in a new country) and then lay in the bath a very long time. Even there I could still here faint sounds of the street traffic. Few people in Nairobi have normal car horns - they all seem to be modified to play some tune or other. They don't seem to use them as frequently as their Asian counterparts, but Tchaikovsky would have been proud. Sadly, I elected to make use of my ear plugs (essential travel gear), and missed the after-dinner portion of the concert.
Tanzania - May 29
I awoke still concerned about the possibility of malaria. I had a slight fever and widespread joint/muscle pain, but that could easily be explained by the trials in South Africa. The other symptoms (chills, sweating, cramps, stomach upset) were all absent, and I only vaguely recalled one 'possible' mosquito bite - but then again, you only need one. I decided to proceed on the assumption that I could be tested in Arusha. Mind you, even if I had not received that dreaded kiss from a buzzing female Anopheles, the muscle injuries could not be ignored. This morning I also discovered some kind of groin pull(?) which had produced a palpable lump the size of a grape just below the skin. My left wrist was also inexplicably very sore. Yep, I'm in fine shape for a six day climb.
The shuttle company picked me up at the Stanley Hotel across the street, taking me to another shuttle which then drove me to the Norfolk Hotel where I got onto the third and final shuttle, and we set off for the Tanzanian border about 90 minutes to the south. These 12-seater shuttles are called 'matatu's, and can hold significantly more than 12 locals - and usually do. The drive down was on a road that defies description. On the outskirts of Nairobi, the police often have semi-permanent road blocks that check for the frequently unlicensed or unregistered vehicles. The road blocks often include a row of large spikes that may be pulled across the road to encourage the drivers to actually stop and chat with the friendly, well-armed policeman. As it turns out, I don't think that driving over those spikes could have made the ride any less comfortable. Potholes are one thing - this road simply disappeared in places, forcing some incredible maneuvers from the driver (usually at a relatively high speed, of course). We quickly learned that a dirt road is better than a paved road, since a washed out dirt road does not leave small paved sections that remain 10" above the new equilibrium of the dirt portion.
I had a nasty incident at the Tanzanian border, which I suppose could have been much worse. My shuttle pulled up into a crowd of hucksters and travelers - mainly Masai women (in rough shape) selling necklaces and trinkets. One man in particular came over and greeted the driver - they seemed to know each other. A younger woman (presumably with the shuttle company) told me (in a fast, accented voice) that I must go get my passport stamped and then return to the bus. As I headed towards the immigration office, the first man (also presumably with the shuttle company) was showing me where to go and telling me to please hurry as they were late. Given the lineup inside, there was no 'hurrying' possible, but I eventually got all the papers stamped and pushed my way back outside, where the man met me once more.
"Hurry. We must get money now. You need 5000 TSh (Tanzanian shillings) to cross the border."
I had not heard of this before, but regulations are constantly changing in Africa, and before I could give it any more thought, I was ushered into a stall near the shuttle and surrounded by several of the man's 'associates'. Reality was following quickly behind. The man wanted $50 US for the 5000 TSh (which I later learned were trading at about 600 TSh/1 US$). I guessed that I was in a rip-off situation and claimed to have no money on my person. He grew insistent, until I showed him my wallet with only 500 KSh (Kenyan shillings) in it (worth a little over $8 US). I wisely travel with any 'real' money secreted elsewhere on my person for just such occurrences. I told him that I would gladly get my US funds from my luggage in the shuttle (in order to get out of there), but he was not keen to see me leave. He took my 500 KSh and gave me 200 TSh for them. I had no idea what the exchange rate was at the time, but it was clear that I was going to have to lose something in order to get out in one piece, so I let it go and bailed back to the shuttle. Naturally, the woman with the company chastised me for not listening to her instructions properly, although I get the feeling that they get a cut of the action. In hindsight, for that particular lesson, my tuition was at bargain rates.
Another hour and a half of bouncing brought us to Arusha, the larger of two common starting points for a Kilimanjaro trek. If I thought there was an abundance of hustlers and safari salesman in Nairobi, I quickly learned that Arusha is in a class of its own. If you so much as glance at these guys (and often not even that), they are yours for the duration. Their mantra: "Excuse me! Excuse me! My friend! My friend!" is never-ending. Safari pushers will follow you everywhere - even to the offices of the competition - especially there! They try to be helpful by telling you where everything is, and insist on walking you there. I was finding this totally unbearable, but fortunately I ran into Paul and Maria (a young English couple from San Francisco), and we quickly joined forces against the onslaught. I also found that my strategy of telling them that my safari was already booked seemed to lessen the pressure a bit - of course they want to know who you booked with, so pick a good company that they'll be hard pressed to beat!
Paul and I scouted out some trekking firms while Maria stayed at the hotel nursing a twisted ankle (acquired from one of the many, many potholes while attempting to walk on an Arusha 'street' after dark). In the evening the three of us joined Lucy and Fiona, a delightful pair of dentists from England, and we managed to find a half decent restaurant. Our meal was eaten largely in the dark, since we were in the middle of one of the town's regular power cuts - reminds me a lot of Kathmandu. Our hotel (the Naaz Hotel) had it's own generator, which was handy. I recommend the Naaz as good value for the rooms, but eat elsewhere.
Arusha - May 30
Today I continued my search for an expedition company that can add me to a team doing a Kilimanjaro summit attempt on a decent route. The two most popular routes are the Marangu (known as the Coca-Cola route) and the Machame (known as the whisky route). The Machame is widely regarded as a more scenic but difficult route, while the Marangu has more amenities (such as huts with electricity, etc.). I was not interested in the Marangu at all, but I had only 9 days in which to fit a 6-day climb before I was expected in Kenya. Also, one thing that I did not want to do was climb with just myself and a guide; I wanted to join a group of people. I eventually signed up with Equatorial Safaris, whose manager said that he had two other clients interested in leaving on the same day as me. The cost would be $600 US (about $370 in park fees alone).
I discovered another ailment today to add to my long list: what I had originally taken for a bruise on the outside of my left ankle bone was beginning to itch. On closer (rather difficult) inspection, I discovered that it was more like a bite of some kind - a small central blister surrounded by inflammation. I treated it as best as I could and decided to adopt yet another wait-and-see policy.
Arusha is such a crazy town. There are Masai in traditional red cloth garb, mingling with Nike-capped youths wearing Jack Fraser suit jackets. Coca-Cola (and Pepsi) signs are everywhere - even the highway and street signs are sponsored. Many schools throughout Kenya and Tanzania seem to have been targeted by Close-up toothpaste - their signs have the school name in the lower half, and the Close-up ad up above. After I had booked my trek, the rest of the day was spent with Lucy and Fiona battling the merchants in the local crafts and souvenir stalls. When you work as a well coordinated team, that kind of shopping becomes quite fun. Lucy was our chief negotiator, and she did a fantastic job. Lucy's function was to dislike everything Fiona liked - always expressing the opposite of what she really thought, and I got peace to look around more by telling the sellers that I was not buying, I was just along for the ride. Whenever more than one stall was selling the kind of item we were looking at, the final price was usually lower than the first quote by a factor of ten or more. One curious thing about many stall vendors in Africa is if you don't see exactly what you are looking for but you have been talking to them for a while, they will start to sell you things from other people's stalls. The other vendors don't seem to mind this - after all, they still get the money, but the first vendor likely gets a little something for his efforts.
In the evening, Paul, Maria, Lucy, Fiona, myself, and two Dutch girls (Carola and Ninka) decided to try out a bizarre Muslim restaurant on the other side of town that doubled as an auto body repair shop during the day! Just before we set off, the power went out - quite typical for Arusha. As we passed the police station, the police chief himself came out and advised against walking to that part of town with no electricity. Fiona (cheeky as ever) suggested that he should walk with us. He said he was too busy for that, but no sooner had we resumed our journey than a sergeant was dispatched to join us.
Machame - May 31
I awoke this morning to an upset stomach and the sound of pelting rain - is there any better way to begin a climb of Kilimanjaro? At 8 am a LandCruiser filled with various 'staff'(?) came to pick me up and drive me to Machame gate, but first had several stops to make to get food and other supplies - 3 hours worth. The butcher shop caught my eye. Naturally, the meat simply hangs in the window - no surprise there, but the price of 1000 TSh/kg was painted on the wall by the door, implying that a) the price never changes, and b) all parts of the cow cost the same. "Shop early for best selection", I guess!
It seems that I will have a staff of no less than three to accompany me. My guide (Abeli S. Bello, introduced simply as Bello) I was expecting, since park regulations require a guide. I was also expecting the porter, Samuel, since that's the way climbs are done around here. Solomon, the cook, and clearly of veteran of many, many of these excursions, seemed a bit excessive to me, but I guess that's also the way things are done around here. I later learned that some groups assign two porters per person! Everyone calls Solomon 'the Professor' - apparently he is very well read and is even consulted by the locals on traditional medical and legal issues. At Machame village, my entourage went off to get lunch, while I was given a bunch of small but ripe bananas. Am I supposed to eat all of these? Who knows.
Speaking of bananas, the land at the base of the mountain is very fertile, as evidenced by the common combination of banana trees and coffee bushes growing together along the dirt track. The drive up to the park entrance was a terrific testament to both our driver's skill and the incredible capabilities of our 4WD LandCruiser. I have never seen anyone attempt to navigate such ditches and mud, and I certainly would never have believed that we could have made it through without having to get out and push or winch.
At Machame gate, we filled out various registers and paid the fees to the ranger on duty. Then we tried to organize the gear. Anticipating the porter, I had packed a daypack for myself and a relatively small summit pack for the remainder of my gear. I did not want to bring a lot of stuff, and also I needed my main pack to hold all my other things back at the hotel. This turned out to be a mistake. The first thing Solomon wanted to do was tie two tents and most of the food to my summit pack - a job it is hardly suited for. However we didn't have much choice, and when I realized that that was what he was attempting with various bits of discarded string, I dug out some extra straps for him - (ever the boy scout). Eventually the gear was ready and Bello told Samuel, Solomon and I to start up the track - he would catch up shortly. So off we went, with Samuel carrying a large sack on his head. (This appears to be the preferable way to carry large loads with many porters. I even saw porters carrying trekker's backpacks with great suspension systems on their heads instead of their backs.) I am not used to porters carrying anything for me, and watching Solomon struggle up the steep path, I was constantly finding excuses to take things out of my summit pack and transfer them to my own day pack. The first part of the hike reminded me a lot of the New Zealand rainforest, and true to its name, the rain eventually returned. We got very wet, and the last two-thirds of the 7 hour hike was a real mudfest. Just before the Machame hut (our campsite for the first night), the surroundings abruptly changed to alpine moorland - it was like walking through a door. Bello did not catch up with us until I was in my tent for the night. There were a few other groups also camped there, but the weather did not encourage us to meet much, and the ones I did meet seemed to prefer keeping to themselves.
As mentioned earlier, the last thing that I wanted to do was climb on my own for 6 days. A staff of three who kept to themselves and spoke limited English did not alter that. I quickly discovered another unexpected drawback of the solo trek: Solomon seemed incapable of cooking for one. That first night, as I hid from the rain in my tent, Samuel brought over peanut butter, jam, four slices of bread, and tea. (The tea was great and took me back to my Nepal climbing.) Assuming this to be a light meal, I was generous with the peanut butter and finished all four slices. Then a serving bowl of soup of soup arrived, followed by a similarly large bowl of spaghetti, another of potatoes, a slightly smaller bowl of meat and vegetable stew, and then more bananas. Mountaineering demands a lot of energy, but this was ridiculous. I forced down as much as I could without becoming entirely ill, and sent the rest back. The tea and altitude made sleep difficult, and I realized that this was going to be a long, tough, and lonely climb.
Shira Caves - June 1, 2
This morning Bello borrowed my copy of the Lonely Planet's "Trekking in East Africa" - a great book on the trail but practically useless in town. (I hope he isn't looking for a map.) Breakfast was similar in size to last night's dinner, which might explain why we were the last to set off from the site. Just after breakfast, Bello came up to me while I was stretching in preparation for the day:
"Andrew."
"Yes?"
"Do you have a pain killer?"
This seemed a bit odd, but I did in fact have one, and I gave it to him as we set off. The Machame route is supposedly more scenic than the Marangu route, and sure enough, as we climbed we could easily see where the stunning view would have been if the mist was not there - except that it was. Perhaps climbing near the end of the rainy season is not the best time to go. Still, we did get a brief glimpse of the Kibo summit, and for the first time it actually looked like we were on a mountain instead of stuck in a greenhouse where some thick smoke fire had set off the sprinkler system.
We passed everyone else on the way up, arriving at the Shira caves (3900m up) around 12:30. The caves are really a collection of large rocks, some of which have overhangs that provide shelter for cooking, etc. Speaking of cooking, my forehead was heating up again - a combination of the intermittent sun, the altitude, and whatever I had before we left. There was a lot of rubbish at Shira Caves that I felt obligated to collect, much to the uncomprehending wonder of my entourage. There are also two or three toilets, all of which are missing doors and random wall planks. This puzzled me until I realized that the porters simply burn such things. There is precious little wood at that altitude, but they still grab whatever they can and use it for cooking fires. Worse yet, another group was going through wood at an alarming rate, just to have a fire going. I guess they were as bored as I was. I decided to do some bouldering to keep myself active. The rain started up again as I settled down to another meal. Fortunately, I had asked for a bit less food and it was only twice as much as I could possibly eat.
The next day started around 1 am when, unable to sleep, I slipped out of the tent for a brief walk. For the first time, the sky was absolutely clear, and once again I was transported back to nights in the Annapurna base camps. A light frost covered the ground, and by morning the ice was thick enough to lift off the tent in sheets. After breakfast, Bello approached again:
"Andrew."
"Yes?"
"Do you have another pain killer?"
"I think so. Is you medical kit all out?"
"Uh, I forgot my kit."
(Or perhaps you never had one...) Just as well that I decided to bring my mine. The weather was still clear enough that both Kibo summit and the Serengeti plain were visible, but no sooner had I noted this than the cloud began to move in. In ten seconds (literally), the plain was gone again. Mount Meru, the only other protuberance in the area, was still visible but fading fast. There were quite a few fat little songbirds hopping around here amongst the vegetation, which is primarily alpine scrub brush. Bello had decided to alter our itinerary and spend an extra day acclimatizing at Shira caves, so we trekked up to 4250m and then returned to camp. I felt great going up, with the cloud following behind, but going down is always harder for me. Bello went down faster than I'd care to do it, so I let him wait for me a few times. I'd like my knees to last a lifetime, thanks very much. My new wineskin developed a leak, which was most annoying. I prefer them to water bottles since they are easier to pack and you can keep them warm and accessible in very cold weather.
I was again kept active by doing some more bouldering and collecting more trash. I had a rather severe headache this afternoon - probably a combination of the sun and altitude again. Dinner was the same old same old, except that the soup was extremely salty. Despite the rain we've had, the air is still very dry, and when the sun disappears, the temperature plummets. As I crawl into my down sleeping bag, shivering madly, I ask myself again why I am doing this. Only two reasons come to me: To say I've done it, and to give myself something to do between South Africa and Kenya. I was not brought up to be a human being - I was brought up to be a human doing, and there lies the essential driving force of my lifestyle.
Lava Tower - June 3
Last night was the best sleep I've had in days. The climbing today was also excellent. Bello calls me duma, which is Swahili for cheetah, because he says I climb very fast. That's all very well when we are going up - I'm certain he will change his nickname for me on the descent. We went straight for the Lava Tower today, rather than swinging by the Shira Plateau as others were doing. The Lava Tower, as the name implies, is a large column of volcanic rock rising up on one side of the slope. We arrived at the base of the Tower around noon, where we set up camp. I still had lots of energy, so I decided to climb it and see what I could see. The rock was reasonably challenging, and high enough that when I reached the top I was able to make my first snowball of the trip. I no sooner descend than the rain once again buckets down.
The other climbers have pushed on to Arrow Glacier, but Bello has decided that we will make our summit bid from here, leaving around midnight. I carefully prepare my pack for the long day ahead, and then head for my tent around 7pm to get some sleep.
"Andrew."
"Yes?"
"Do you have a watch?"
Sigh. "Yes, Bello. I'll wake you at midnight."
"Okay. Thanks."
Shortly after 9:30, I am awakened by a call from the other tent.
"Andrew."
"Yes?"
"What time is it?"
Another sigh. "9:30, Bello. I'll wake you at midnight."
"Ah."
An hour passes.
"Andrew."
"10:30, Bello."
"10:30?"
"Yes."
"Ah."
I decided to write off any real sleep for me that night.
Kilimanjaro Summit - June 4
A shot of tea and some dry biscuits and we're off for Uhuru Peak. The sky is clear and the moon is bright enough that a flashlight is not required. The going is fairly easy, being mainly scree and rock, but Bello loses the path a couple of times. Logic would suggest that this section of the trail should be well marked with cairns, since it is a section usually done at night, but that level of thinking seems beyond the park authorities. After an hour or two we catch site of another group of three Canadians with their guide and one porter, heading up a very steep slope of icehard snow. Now it's my turn to look for equipment:
"Bello."
"Yes?"
"Do you have an iceaxe?"
"No."
"No!?"
"I think they might have one."
When we got to the others, we saw that indeed their guide, Thomas, did have an iceaxe, which he was using to cut small steps into the glacial slope. At this point our ascent grinds to a halt. We all balance precariously with each foot in one of the carved steps, watching the one guide labouriously cutting new ones further up. Bello has now joined him, but when he gets tired, they both sit down and have a cigarette. Meanwhile, the wind is picking up and the temperature continues to drop. I'm not sure that the others were prepared for this, as complaints of cold feet and hands begin to pass up and down the line. My offer to cut steps was ignored, as was my suggestion to get off the ice and on to the line of rock 20' to our right. Bello's only contribution was a repeated warning to "Be careful people - remember where you are", whatever that meant. I kept busy trying to determine if my Nepalese walking stick could be used to self-arrest a fall on the slope - I think it could if held upside-down, but I never got a chance to try it out. Several hours later the sun was coming up and we were still an hour or two from the crater ridge - way behind schedule. Finally, our guides agreed to cut over to the breach wall and we were able to proceed on rock.
Our traveling companions were eager to sit down and have a rest now that the day was beginning to warm up, but I chose to push on. The next section consisted of a climb over large pieces of broken up rock. For some reason, it looked to me like a 'vandalized library' - the cubical rock looked like great bookshelves and books that had been pushed over. We moved very quickly and the others were soon far behind. At 9 am we came over the crater ridge - long after the planned sun rise viewing. Given the late hour, I decided not to go the huge ash pit that makes up most of the top of Kilimanjaro - the summit was still at least an hour away. Still, the view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking, as were the massive ice curtains stretching over the glaciers in long narrow arcs, as if the snow had been cut away to reveal an icicle support structure. After a brief rest, I was determined to put this summit to bed (so to speak), and as I approached the grey crumbling scree that made up the final section I switched to complete auto-pilot: left foot, right foot forward and a fraction higher, left foot forward and a fraction higher, etc. Ultimately the scree becomes snow and the relatively flat summit appears about 100m away. For some reason the actual summit area is an island of rocky ground in the midst of the snow. The top of Africa - 19,000'. Made it. Now for the descent.
Why is it that a guide will match your pace going up, even suggesting frequent rest stops, but will insist on going down at top speed, regardless of whether you can or choose to keep up? After ascending the Machame route, it is common practice to descend via the Mweke route, which is what we had decided to do. However Bello got so far ahead that he often disappeared from sight completely, leaving me to find the new path on my own. The trek down to Mweke Hut turned out to be a ridiculously long slog that would be better done in two days rather than right after the summit. We started out by jumping and sliding through the barren alpine region, past Barafu Hut, and on to an interminably long walk through the ever-increasing vegetation of the montane region. Six hours after the summit and sixteen hours after leaving my tent, I collapse into it again at 4:40 (Solomon and Samuel had moved camp instead of going up to the peak). I never thought that the others would have made it, but I later learned that they arrived back at 9:30 pm, having trudged up to the top and down again in 22 hours!
Never ones to miss the opportunity of putting food in front of me, I was awakened around 6:30 for a dinner of surprisingly good fried chicken. Bello then approached the tent with porter and cook in tow to ask whether or not I had decided on their tips. Tipping your entourage is very much expected when trekking in Africa. Seeing as my trek was not yet over, I told Bello that the tips would come when we had returned to Arusha. He felt that would be acceptable, but also suggested that I refer to my Lonely Planet guide if I needed suggestions on how much to tip. Apparently, he had read the section on tipping when I lent him the book on day 2, and approved of their generous recommendations!
Mweke Descent - June 5
I awoke to the sound of the worst rain yet. Even with me rushing through my packing, I am not fast enough for my devoted crew who begin to take down my tent while I am still in it. Great way to earn your tip, guys... I crammed my gear together and, in my annoyance, set off at a brisk pace in front. It turned out to be one of the most miserable walks of my experience. The Mweke trail quickly became an appalling shithole of mud and running water. It is very upsetting to me that every trekker pays over $360 (!) US in park fees, and not one cent has been spent to divert the water or improve the trail. The thick vegetation means that one has no choice but to walk through the V-shaped canyon of mud which is both the trail and the river. Getting thoroughly soaked is one thing, wading through knee-deep mud is another, but to have even the porters regularly have their feet fly out from under them, landing on their back with packs and gear dumped into the worst of it - well, I was disgusted. In all my walks, from the third world up, I have never seen a national park so poorly maintained, and I have never paid such astronomical fees to be there. The Tanzanian government should be thoroughly ashamed.
Through a combination of luck and practice with a great walking stick, I managed to at least remain upright for the entire descent, even carrying my now sizable bag of trash. (They had earlier offered to bury it for me. I declined.) Eventually we slopped down to Mweke Gate, where the LandCruiser was already waiting to take us back to Arusha. Bello filled out a certificate at the ranger station, putting our summit time as 8:30 instead of 10:30. He must of been embarrassed by the delayed ascent. I corrected the time in front of him and the ranger on duty, just to make a point. By this time I was in a pretty foul mood, and the drive back was quiet. We stopped off at the currency exchange where another $90 US was turned into tip money, and then to the Naaz, where I began the long process of removing the mud and filth from every fibre of my being.
As I removed my clothing from the bucket where I had washed it, and spread it around the room to dry, my dentist friends, Lucy and Fiona, dropped around. They had just returned from their own safari, complete with impressive wildebeest migrations and mating lions. However, they were not so keen with the wildlife that had gotten into their van with them, including swarms of tsetse flies and vervet monkeys. Anyway, we decided to head out for pizza, and then check out the local bar scene. It turns out that Arusha has quite a substantial number of expatriates - mostly associated with the UN's International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which is headquartered here. The clubs gradually increased in size until we ended up at a slick, upscale, three-floor bar/disco/rooftop patio place. It was 2:30am before I got back to the hotel, and another hour and a half before I was finally packed for my 8am shuttle to Nairobi.
Return to Nairobi - June 6
Three hours sleep and here I am waiting for a shuttle that will never arrive. The ever efficient Equatorial Safaris put the wrong date on my shuttle voucher. It will be six hours before the next one arrives. The real joke is that an Equatorial representative continues to follow me around with a recommendation book that he would like me to fill out. Somehow, I doubt that my response is one they would care to have in their book. I spend most of the morning curbside, watching the commuters come and go in their packed matatus (which always seem to have someone hanging off the side. Even a dumptruck can carry 50 people in the back (I barely managed to count 10 down the side, and 5 across the back before it was gone from sight.) I can't wait to be outta here.
<Proceed with the chronological Trip Journal.>
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