Constant Readers,
Many of you have written inquiring about my trip to Africa to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. And, while I don't usually write entirely personal posts, I am making an exception here because I don't have the energy to repeat the whole story to everyone who asks, and so people who are just trying to be polite don't have to read an email and think of a response. Back to regularly-scheduled programming tomorrow.
"Rock City"...
...it said in big, rainbow letters on the back window of our van - a once-white contraption apparently assembled before the invention of shocks. Despite its name, this mode of transport only played Dolly Parton duets for the entire trip from Moshi (where Shannon and I had stayed in a hotel after arriving in Tanzania the night before) to the Mount Kilimanjaro base camp.
I didn't know it when we signed up for the trip, but Shannon and I were the only two people in our tour "group" climbing the mountain. So there we were: ambling along in the "Rock City"-mobile, singing "Islands in the Stream" surrounded by 9 people hired to help us with the endeavor.
Mariah Carey, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Ivana Trump are collectively not as high-maintenance as this, I thought. There was a tour guide, an assistant tour guide, a cook, four porters (one each to carry our bags - though we carried day packs - and two to carry food and stuff), the van driver (who did not accompany us on the climb) and what appeared to be an 8-year-old. Whose presence was never fully explained. Perhaps the sassy comic relief in the movie made about this trip?
Shannon and I stared out the windows studying the scenery and the people on the sides of the road. Many of who stared back - equally curious about us. Either that or they were also wondering where Rock City is. ("Is it near Funkytown?," I asked our guide, Remmy.)
There were so many people standing around seemingly doing nothing. Maybe I was missing something. In an effort to be culturally sensitive, I asked the guide,"What are they doing?" "Nothing!" he replied as if I had asked him to identify those white, fluffy things in the sky. Hey man! We're from Georgia! Where I'm pretty sure "doing nothing" was invented. I immediately felt connected to the poverty we were witnessing. (Though not the subject of this post, it was pretty serious, y'all.)
Day One
We finally arrived at the base of the mountain and began our hike. The first leg of the trip is a rainforest. This was supposed to be the "easy" day because we were "only" hiking for five hours. (I immediately hated our guide for saying this to us.) The real challenge was staying mentally focused for so long. Beautiful as the scenery was, I really wanted to change the channel after about two hours. Maybe see what's on the Volcano Network...
We passed the time by listening to our iPods, catching up on gossip and doing goofy things like playing "I Spy." Which, in a rainforest, just goes like this:
"I spy something with my little eye and it is...green!"
"Lemmie guess," Shannon would say wryly, "that tree we just passed?"
"Dammit! How do you always know which tree!?!?"
When finally got to the first camp, we ate dinner in the mess hall and attempted to make friends with our fellow travelers. "Did you see the chameleons on the hike today?," asked a guy from Norway. "Of course not," I deadpanned. "What self-respecting chameleon would let that happen?" When Shannon and I giggled, he just looked at us quizzically and sipped his tea. I pulled out my journal: Note to self, lose the chameleon bit on the Norway stop of comedy tour. Righty. Time for bed. The first of several shower-free days was over.
Day Two
I have read that there are at least five distinct ecological regions on Kilimanjaro. It is a big part of the reason I always wanted to do this climb. After the rainforest is perhaps the most interesting of all the zones. Tucked in between the extremely moist atmosphere of the forest and a cold desert - this area is home to all sorts of fascinating and unique plant life. We hiked for 6 hours, and I was slackjawed the entire time.
[Note: I am having some difficulty with the video for day two. I'll update tonight and have it up tomorrow.]
When we arrived at the second camp at the end of the day, we chatted in the mess hall with a couple of med students from Minnesota, C and M. As M pointed out that he and C are not a "couple," I got a kick from Shannon under the table. After 20 years of friendship, I knew what that kick meant: He's single and attractive and fixin' to be a doctor. Do something.
Honestly, adorable as he was, I was in no mood. No makeup. Cold. Tired. Cranky. Nervous about getting to the summit. And while I've never actually sniffed a wet yak, in my menagerie of imaginary odors, that is exactly what I was sure I smelled like.
"Ow!," I yelled, hoping to embarrass Shannon. Who stared at me, undeterred.
Okay, new plan.
I turned to Dr. M and thrust my hands in front of his face: "Why do my fingers look like sausages?!," I demanded. (Sidenote: my cuticles were inexplicably peeling back, every third nail or so had remnants of pink nail polish on it and there was dirt under each nail that created a sort of reverse french manicure effect. And my fingers were huge. Could have sported a Superbowl ring on each one.)
Doctor M looked down at my bedraggled breakfast meat hands and said, "Well, you are at a high altitude. There isn't as much oxygen here and your body is still adjusting."
"Am I going to die?!"
"No, it should go down in a little while. If it doesn't, ask C about it. She's a better doctor than me." And with that, he walked away.
Shannon laughed, "Nice, Melissa. It's just great how you make an ass of yourself to prove a point. Fine. I'll leave it alone." My work was done. It was time for bed.
Day Three
There was so much anxiety in the air on the third day of the hike, as the time to summit grew near we stared at the peak in the distance wondering how in hell we were ever going to get there. And hoping we would. The hike from Horombo to Kibo is cold and dry and the landscape is barren for as far as the eye can see. Shannon and I sang old Camp Toccoa songs and chatted with the tour guide about his family. All the while, we passed people returning from their attempts to summit. Did they make it? If that guy can do it, surely...
"Piece of cake!," Remmy would smile and say whenever we asked him whether he thought we'd make it. (Avg. 23 times per day.)
We arrived at Kibo camp and observed our accommodations. 5 bunk beds. 7 men. 3 women. And while a grown woman should not have to change clothes in a sleeping bag, I was happy to do it because it was freezing.
Right above my face on the top bunk where I slept, someone had carved, "get ready for the longest night of your life." Nice. Many thanks to the douchebag who was concerned that I was not nervous enough. At dinner, we shoveled in as much spaghetti as possible, which would have been fun if I weren't suffering from a loss of appetite due to the altitude (not to mention freaking out about summiting). Bed at 5:30 pm.
Awake at 11:00 pm. I put on every article of clothing I had, filled my camelpak with warm water, set my iPod to a playlist that was about 8 hours long and off we went...
Summiting
Midnight. Pitch black except for the stars and the 60 or so headlamps dotting the mountainside. Everyone has a personal guide in case they have to turn back. Mine was Gaston. And here's what they don't tell you: the first 4.5 hours of the climb from Kibo to the summit is in sand. Yep. Effing sand!
After climbing the wall of sand, but before the snowy summit? Boulders. "Good lord!," I thought, "where's the swinging wooden ball with blades sticking out of it?"
Getting to the summit is really spectacular, because you're just walking through semi-frozen snow and hating life, paranoid about altitude sickness, hoping you are not stricken with the urge to pee and wondering for the billionth time whyintheworlddidIdothis? and you round this boulder and There. It. Is.
I'm not gonna lie to y'all. I cried a little bit. I wanted to hug that dang mountaintop.
The cold air did something to my camera so it did not pick up sound. Instead, I have put the video to the song that I happened to be listening to when I rounded the boulder and saw the most beautiful sight in my life: "Life Without You," by Stevie Ray Vaughn. Hope you enjoy it.
Final Note
I don't really know what I was expecting to gain from climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. There is so much that has happened in the last few years that I wanted to leave there, or understand more for having been there. A cleansing. Lifting. Baptism.
But that didn't happen. I'm still the same person with the same ghosts. But I do feel like I took something from that summit. Like there's a new marble in the bag of anxieties, memories and emotions that clangs around inside me. I imagine this new one is small and red with purple swirls. And if you look closely you can see the writing on the side:
2008 - climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. Hell Yeah.
Love,
Melissa
PS - We passed Dr. M on the way down the mountain. He asked for my number.
Oh Em Gee, I cried watching it!!!
I'm so, so, so proud of you!
Posted by: Beth Spotswood | July 21, 2008 at 11:11
Who needs politics when you can read an epic story like that?
I'm proud of you.
Posted by: vansmack | July 21, 2008 at 11:22
I think you have now officially earned the title - "One of my Coolest Friends EVER!" And i think i hate you a bit for it. Truly an amazing journey and i LOVE that you made it happen! Congrats on climbing (and surviving) one of Earth's great majesties!
I can't wait for the follow-up to find out what happened with Dr. M (b/c yes that's what I took away from this story)!
Posted by: Laura K. | July 21, 2008 at 12:00
Aw, thanks!! I love you guys!!! I'm so glad you liked the story.
@Laura - Absolutely nothing happened with Dr. M. I was just terribly amused that he asked me in my sweaty, tired, dirty (but elated!) state. (And after I had made such an ass of myself.) Hope I still get to keep my title, though!
Posted by: Sweet Melissa | July 21, 2008 at 12:45
You are a beautiful writer.
Posted by: Be_Devine | July 21, 2008 at 12:47
Wow, that is a great story. I am so glad you decided to share with everyone (and not just the people you actually know). I love that you went to forget an ex and the song that was playing when you reached the top was called "Life without you." Really nicely written. Thank you.
Posted by: Seana | July 21, 2008 at 13:02
What a fun story! Thanks for sharing....it made my afternoon that much more pleasant.
Posted by: Greg | July 21, 2008 at 13:55
You Rock! I'm proud of you...really! And here I was, when I heard of your planned trip, wondering WTF you were thinking, considering your commitment to fitness and personal training?! Awesome!!!! We should all be so inspired...
Posted by: L'Italiana | July 21, 2008 at 15:26
Thanks for sharing your story and photos. Glad you made it and had the presence of mind to take video. Didn't the bunk room at Kibo remind you of a Gulag? And you should be very proud of your accomplishment because you did it without much altitude acclimitazation and in the shortest amount of time possible!
Posted by: Marilyn | July 21, 2008 at 18:12
So this was, like, the first installment, right? The teaser? A preview? Because your amazing post made me so ready for the full-length feature film. The trilogy even. When does it open?
Posted by: Andre Pineda | July 22, 2008 at 00:50
Laura Kutch shared your story and photos with me---LOVED, LOVED, LOVED IT!!! And my heartiest congratulations...you're inspiring, you write beautifully, you're funny and you made it to the top!!!! woo-hoo!!!!
Posted by: cheryl ward | July 22, 2008 at 10:54
Damn fine writing. Bravo.
Posted by: Clemens | July 22, 2008 at 12:55
I'm with Beth. This made me weepy.
Posted by: brittney | July 23, 2008 at 15:00
Ok so i thought since your marrying my sister i would come over and check out your blog and read about your trip. Well shit Melissa! (imagine little emoticon clapping guy here) That was amazing! Your like a female Jon Krakauer!
Posted by: Alex | August 06, 2008 at 11:32