Day One: Diamox Talks

After a fitful night of sleep at the Outpost Lodge in Arusha, it was at last time to head for the mountain. I hopped out of bed at 5:00 a.m. to enjoy my last shower for the week only to discover that the only water coming from the tap was ice cold.  Hmmm...not a good start.  I began with a shocking shampoo and prioritized from there - already dreaming of the post-climb shower before we had even left the hotel.  I bid the kids good-bye over Skype and gave them one last glimpse of all of my fingers and toes in the event that any should be missing upon my return.  When the Smurf reported that there was no water at all in his room and begged for a freezing shower in ours, my spirits lifted a little.  Misery loves company.

At 8:30 the Team Kilimanjaro crew arrived with the rest of the freaks.  This was our first meeting, and we were all on our best behavior.  The jury was still out on exactly what kind of group bonding was going to occur on this adventure.  We piled into the "short bus" that was designed to carry far fewer passengers than we squished and stacked onto the available seats.  There were the nine of us (the paying climbers  - or the marshmallows) and about 15-20 more TK staff (the chocolate chips) squeezed in for this smelly adventure.  It was, indeed, quite ripe already, and I could only imagine what that bus was bound to smell like on our return trip.

Eggs in the heat.
Hmmm...E. coli anyone?

The drive to the Rongai Gate, where we would begin our climb, took about five hours with various stops along the way to pick up more staff, food and prescriptions.  We caught some early glimpses of the mountain, and I was pleased to see that the summit was still covered in snow.  We searched and searched for the elusive giraffe that appears on every postcard of Kilimanjaro.  We may as well have been searching for a unicorn.  As we got closer to the mountain, the scenery turned from dusty and brown to tropical with endless banana trees. 

Early glimpse of the mountain

Sun hats? Souvenirs?

Once we reached the gate, we "officially" registered, used the toilets a few times (Howard's foray into the "staff toilet" convinced him that he would not be pooping this week) and ate our first meal of soup and sandwiches together.    This first round of soup tasted great.  By day seven, we would not think so kindly of this dietary option.  However, on day one, the excitement was still running high, and we all wore rose-colored soup glasses.  I believe we may even have marveled at how tasty the tomato and "Medium Fat Spread" sandwiches were.  The super-sized tub of Medium Fat Spread that would grace our meal table for the next week (in various forms ranging from slightly melted to frozen solid)  became a sort of sick fascination (along with the Nido - instant creamer).  Would a product called "Medium Fat Spread" ever sell in the United States?

The porters spent their time at the gate sorting and weighing our equipment, repackaging our backpacks into large "rice bags" which they would carry atop their heads and, no doubt, fighting for the job of carrying the "private potty tent and equipment." Apparently the person who takes on this job (including the cleaning task) gets a hefty chunk of the tips at the end of the climb (as they well should). The porters are paid based on the weight that they carry up the mountain, so I was happy to do my part in bringing along enough layers to keep a sun-seeking iguana warm at the summit.  I do believe there was a small scuffle over who had dibs on my monstrous bag (just after the toilet tent job had been assigned).

Ummm...yeah, I could do that.

The porters took off ahead of us - practically sprinting up the trail - so that they would have our camp set up when we arrived three hours later.  We snapped the last of the shiny, squeaky-clean, smiley photos before setting off up the trail.  The adrenalin was pumping.  At last we were getting started on this adventure that had been looming for so long. Our natural reflex was to run up the mountain.  It seemed flat.  The path was smooth - alternating between green grass and tropical plants and shady pine forest.  This is where we got our first lesson in the TK pace...pole, pole.  With a guide at the front as a human barrier against sprinting, our pace was, at best, a turtle walk.  Having been stuck in a bus all day with the anticipation of the climb ahead of us, the speed restriction was challenging.  But, this would be just the first of many occasions on which it was best to trust the instinct of the guides.

Smiling...

Still squeaky clean!  Sue, where are you?

The three hours we hiked over gradually rising terrain turned into polite socializing time.  We learned more about our Ohio climbing crew and our lone Aussie. When we reached Simba Camp at 5:30, we marveled at the level of pampered-camping we found waiting for us.  Our tents were arranged in two areas...the north cul-de-sac, for the couples' tents, and the south cul-de-sac for the singles (or "the land of the misfits" as I preferred to call ourselves).  Our sleeping pads had been dusted.  Toilet paper, soap and a bowl of hot water for "bathing" was delivered to each of us*.  Our water bottles were picked up for refilling.  There was nothing to do but "bathe" and keep out precious bars of soap safe from the soap-eating ravens we* had been warned about (these flying rodents hovered nearby for the entire week).

Highlights from the trail on Day #1

(Kelly, where's the banana photo?)

The South Cul-de-Sac and the Al Fresco Bath (sounds nicer already)

Home for a week

Bathing in a small bowl of water with a bar of soap, no cloth, no towel and no clean water for rinsing is really a fruitless activity.  At this point on the climb, the water was still arriving warm, so it at least served as a good hand soak for a few minutes.  Baby wipes, however, were really the bathing "tool" of choice.  Fortunately one of the goals of the TK guides was to never let us sweat - another reason for the plodding pace.  At higher elevations and colder temperatures, sweaty clothes would translate into freezing bodies.  Thus, the baby wipe bath was more an exercise in wiping away grime than sweat, because sweating was strictly forbidden.

Attention Fashion Police!  Smurf's footware at the end of the day closely
resembles Crocs (hmmm...this is the boy who claims that Crocs are indeed
the Devil's gift to fashion).  But no, it's actually worse!  These are not Crocs.
They are Frocs (fraudulent Crocs - decorated in nothing less than a faux
wood-paneling a la 1970's pattern).  Ooooh...the standards are dropping quickly.

In addition to "bathing." we had a few minutes to compare the "long-drop" permanent toilets with the private portable potties that had been carried up the mountain. The long drops smelled awful, but there was a certain sense of anonymity in pooping where thousands before you had done the same. The same can not be said for the private potty. In a group of nine, you are always going to know where the contents that greet your arrival in the potty tent came from. This is the point at which Howard informed us that he would not be using the private potty tent because he did not want to touch the same zipper that all of us had unzipped and zipped on our way in and out of the tent each time. Apparently the "long-drop" was a less germy option because he could kick the door open and closed. Can I just say, eeeeeew?

The offending zipper and accompanying toilet

Once everyone had spread out their sleeping bags, bathed with wipes and explored the restroom facilities, we reconvened in the "dining tent" for our first dinner together.  This is where the polite social banter began to breakdown, the potty talk began, and the real bonding commenced.  For starters, another steadfast TK rule (after "pole, pole," and NO SWEATING) was 4X4 - referring to the need to drink at least four liters of water everyday before 4:00 p.m.  This would not be a collective four liters of water for the group, but four liters per person before 4:00.  This presented a serious challenge for me.  I am a camel by nature.  I don't typically drink 1/2 glass of water in a day - never mind four liters.  I will run an entire marathon without drinking.  I don't really like water.  What's a girl to do?

Romantic candlelit dinner with a bunch of trash-talking teenagers

Well, slightly petrified about the threat of altitude sickness, I drank my heart out.  I started sucking on that Camelback first thing in the morning and didn't stop until it had been drained twice.  Ugh.  Naturally this unusually high rate of water consumption lead to an unusually high frequency of trail side pit stops for everyone in the group.  Nothing like repeatedly stopping to pee behind a tree (which only got more amusing as we climbed above the tree line and were reduced to a wild pack of peeing dogs intent on laying claim to the largest rocks we could find) with a group of people you barely know.

Naturally, the conversation quickly became potty talk.  How many liters did you drink?  How many times did you pee? Are you taking Diamox (a prescription drug that is supposed to help alleviate symptoms of altitude sickness that also, you guessed it, makes you pee)?  If so, did you drink the recommended five liters of water?  Are you tingling?

Tingling?  Yes.  One of the side effects of Diamox is the Diamox tingle - an odd numb-tingling sensation that feels a little like part of your body has gone to sleep, and it's going through a warm tingle to wake up again.  Many of us were taking Diamox, and we would be struck with tingles at any time during the day.  Toes, heels, fingers, lips...you name it, it tingled.  Apparently Chris got the full-tongue tingle on this first day.  He started talking at dinner, and we couldn't shut him up.  He babbled in off-color commentary for a good part of the meal.  Kelly shook her head in disbelief.  "Chris doesn't talk. I'm not sure what is going on."  We all decided it was the Diamox talking.  Kelly made a note to herself for future frustrations with lack of "spousal communication:" Administer one tablet of Diamox and wait for talking to begin.  Unfortunately we did not figure out how to shut him up.

Over our dinner of tilapia, potatoes and cabbage, we discussed the camping arrangements and all of the "accessories" that had been delivered to our tents prior to dinner.  *Howard looked confused.  "What toilet paper? You got water?  Soap?  They refilled your water bottles?  Are you guys kidding me?"  Apparently Howard's tent was a little too well hidden in the land of the misfits, and he had been forgotten in the "accessory delivery process."  Poor Howard. We all had a good laugh at his expense, and the teasing began in earnest.  As Howard forked bread on to his plate (rather than taking a piece with his hands), he took the first round of grief about his germaphobia as we all speculated about how he would possibly survive the week (and then proceeded to come up with as many possible ways to gross him out as possible).

Gayle was conspicuously absent from our dinner-time social hour (unfortunately for Howard, because she might have provided some badly needed support as he drowned in Diamox-induced banter).  Gayle was suffering the first signs of altitude trouble and was attempting to sleep it off and get it out of her system.  I think we all sobered up a bit and realised that this hike was likely to get tougher - not easier as the days progressed. 

Our fearless (and quite likely permanently traumatized by
our middle-school behavior) leader, John.

John, or "Wazi" (Open One) as everyone on the mountain seemed to know him, arrived after dinner to brief us on the next day's plan.  This would be the first of many pre-hike briefings that John would deliver - all memorable for the sheer speed at which they were delivered and the number of times in which the same information was repeated in a variety of different ways.  John spoke in the manner in which he wanted us to walk...pole, pole.  He thought through every word, breathed deeply (often mid sentence) and very, very slowly got his point across.  If anyone ventured a question, John repeated the answer in four or five different ways to make sure we understood.  Toward the end of the week, questions were strictly banned by the group just so we wouldn't have to endure the answer session.  There's nothing like having to desperately pee (remember how much we were drinking) when you are trapped at a table in a tent listening to suggestions for minor blister treatment being rephrased over and over again.

With day one behind us we all returned to our tents and crawled into our warm water beds (except for Howard, who apparently missed that memo and was stuck sleeping on a thin camp mattress for the entire week).