Greetings from not-quite-the-top of Kilimanjaro

Hi guys! I lived! Yay! I didn't quite make the top (more on that later), but I'm really not bummed about it. I had an amazing experience! So here's the tale. It's a long story, but it was so amazing, I didn't know what to cut...

Day 1:
The day started with a bit of confusion over what, exactly, constituted our group. I was in with 6 gung-ho Germans and one American volunteer who, like me, was in it for a good time and a little adventure. The Germans, who had an insanely difficult route planned and have spent 3 days on top of Mt. Meru to acclimatize themselves, were worried that we'd be stuck in with them and cramp their style, and John (the other American) and I were terrified that we'd be stuck with them and have to do terrible death-defying things. Mr. Akaro assured us that we were two totally separate groups and there was nothing to worry about, and so much relieved we headed out to the vans.
We arrived at Machame Gate and waited for our turn to head up the mountain. At last, after what seemed like an eternity of excited waiting, we began our ascent. The rainforest was beautiful. I've never seen anything so green in all my life, and I hope that the photos I plan to post when I get a faster connection will do it justice. The Germans set a breakneck pace up the first leg and we finished a 5 hour hike in just over 3.5. I managed to keep up without feeling like I was getting my butt kicked - I was so proud of me! Look at me be physically fit!
We camped that night at Machame camp, which is in the "alpine heather" climate zone. Camp was surprisingly deluxe. We ate in a mess tent, and the food, unlike the outdoorsmanly food I was expecting, was unbelievable. Soup course, main course, and fruit, all delicious. And we ate at a table with for reals plates and silverware...it made me wonder which poor porter had to lug it all up the mountain. The only non-deluxe part of the camp was the latrines, which were basically a shed with a hole in the ground to crouch over. As you can imagine, they got funky really fast, but that's life in the great outdoors, I suppose.
My first sight of the famed snows of Kilimanjaro came unexpectedly. The peak is usually obscured by clouds during the day, and that was the case today, too, but I awoke around midnight and got out of the tent to stretch my legs. The moon was full and bathed everything in a strange blue light - not like the yellow moon of New England. I walked up to the top of camp and to my surprise there was the mountain, fully illuminated in absolutely clear still air. It is hard to describe what it looked like, but it was not forbidding, not welcoming, just beautiful. In the silence of that moment I realized that even if I didn't make the top, that moment would make the whole trip worthwhile.

Day 2:
I paid dearly for my enjoyment of last night's meal. My compadres told me I should force-feed myself even if I wasn't that hungry because altitude reduces your appetite, so I ate until it hurt, and by breakfast I couldn't bear the idea of eating a thing. Choked down a little piece of toast with peanut butter and figured I'd be fine until lunch. Boy was I mistaken. The first two hours were straight up, and for the most part I was able to keep up with the Germans, but by the end of 2 hours with only one break, I was fading fast, and exhausted. Kilimanjaro is funny - it loooks like you're almost to the top, but then hiding behind the top of that ridge is another hidden one, and it gets pretty demoralizing if you don't know what to expect. By lunch time I was way behind and I could barely put one foot in front of the other, and I was feeling like I was ready to hurl. I began to worry that I was no match for the mountain, and in spite of myself I cried a little - yay sunglasses that preserved what was left of my dignity. John convinced me to eat something even if my stomach rebelled, and after a few glucose biscuits I felt a surge of energy - I was a new woman! I finished lunch and suddenly felt ready for anything, so off we went to camp in a big hurry (didn't hurt that the rest of the day's trail was pretty flat).
Shira Camp is on an old volcanic plane with gleaming hunks of obsidian littering the ground. I fire off a couple video pop quizzes for my teacher friends (I'll post those when the connection is better), then settle in for the night. After dinner, we leave the mess tent to see a spectacular sky full of stars so clearn and bright, it hardly looked real. With no city lights or clouds to interfere, it was as if you could see every star in the universe.
This place is a geologist's and astronomer's paradise - my Uncle Rick would love it here. Special message for you, Uncle Rick: you must, must, must do this trip someday. You would go nuts.

Day 3:
This was a bad day. We discover that our tour operator wasn't exactly leveling with us when he said we were two separate groups. Turns out he had understaffed us and we did not have enough guides to split into two groups as we planned. In order to keep from inconveniencing the crew and our German compadres too much, a new plan was hatched (without much input from me and John, unfortunately).
This is when I learned a new axiom: never hike with Germans. They mean business and will kick your butt.
The old plan was for John and me to continue on the typical tourist route and camp at 3500m at Barranco Camp, a reasonable altitude for the un-acclimatized. The new plan is to go up to Arrow Glacier Camp at nearly 5000 meters, camp there, and then backtrack to Barranco and cover two days' worth of camps in one day to meet the Germans after they traverse the summit on Day 4. John and are trying to be good sports, but the altitude has us going very, very slowly with our guide Romli. We trudge up the hill for what may have been hours, but we weren't sure because altitude sickness has started to hit us and we had no concept of time...just slogging up that hill.
We have dinner, and once we stop moving we realize that it is freezing. We are within 1500 meters of the summit, and the glaciers, while beautiful, are sending off lots of cold air. In retrospect I remember the place being beautiful, but I was so sick that I hadn't the presence of mind to take any pictures of it. Bummer.
That night, John and I notice that our tent is, in fact, a summer tent. Its lightweight fabric can't keep out the wind, and the top of the tent under the rain fly is made out of screen material. My rented sleeping bag is as old as me (I swear! The bag is dated 1979!). We passed a miserable, freezing night, and since I'm unable to sleep, I mentally draft the nasty letter I'm going to send to the tour operator about his sub-standard equipment and endangerment of novice climbers.

Day 4:
John and I wake up unable to feel our fingers and drunk-walking from altitude sickness. We are also understandably quite irritable. We find out later that three porters have also come down with altitude sickness. Thankfully they descended and are ok.
We eat breakfast quickly and hustle down the mountain to get us back to a reasonable altitude. John and I are stumbling and have a hard time with the downhill. I devlop a splitting headache on the way down, which scares me because I am expecting things to get better, not worse. For the second day in a row I indulge in a few tears. I'm such a big baby. It occurs to me at this point that I'm really glad my parents can't know about any of this until it's long over and I'm out of danger. I soon pull my act together and we continue, and I start to become sane again. A little oxygen and warmth do wonders for a girl.
The plan for the day is to descend past Lava Tower Camp, a waypoint we passed yesterday, then pass Barranco Camp, traverse the Barranco Wall, pass Karanga Camp and arrive at Barafu Camp in time to meet the Germans for dinner after they go over the glacier and across the summit. It's 2 days worth of hiking in one, but this should keep us on schedule for a day 5 summit attempt. We also have the bonus of hitting the trails at off times, so we will have the mountain almost exclusively to ourselves with no other groups today, which is wonderful and peaceful.
We arrive at the Barranco Wall after 3 hours of descent from the Glacier Camp. We feel pretty good and stop for an early lunch. We then hit the wall. Its nickname is the "Breakfast Wall," which I think is because most people climb it after breakfast. Turns out I'm wrong - it's called that because people who are scared of hights occasionally lose their breakfast because it's so steep, and occasionally the edge of the cliff is only a couple feet away. And guess who hates heights??? Me!
It's very technical climbing, with a few places where you need to use both hands and feet to get yourself (and your pack!) over the ridges. Even on the less-technical switchbacks (zig-zagging trails to avoid going straight up), one look behind me reminds me how high I am. I white-knuckle the rocks like a fool, even when it's not necessary to hold on, and give myself inane little pep talks, all while trying not to look (can't do it, I gotta see, but it's a bad idea). Romli and John have a good-natured laugh at me, but I don't care. I'm doin' it, man! I finish it with no baby-tears and no freakouts, and feel very fierce. Go me!!
But we aren't done. Today's itinerary is very ambitious, and this becomes even more apparent when John realizes that his asthma, which hasn't given him a moment's difficulty since he was a little kid, is back. On the way to Karanga camp, he begins to wheeze. Unfortunately he did not bring an inhaler because he thought he'd outgrown it. No full-blown attack, thank goodness, but we must stop to rest every 100 yards or so. The trail to Karanga camp is long as it is, and at this rate it takes even longer. We also realize that not having an assistant guide is a safety issue - if John gets really sick it will be up to Romli and totally untrained me to get him to safety. Not smart. I send more bad vibes to the tour operator.
Just when it seems we will never arrive and John is about to give up, we see camp. We make it up the last ascent and find to our joy that camp is warm!!! Sunshine! What bliss! We decide we must scrap the plan to get all the way to Barafu Camp - a 3 hour walk under even the best of circumstances. It feels so luxurious that I take a baby-wipe "shower" and even clean the dirt out of my nails. 5-star accommodations! No mess tent tonight, but we eat a tasty dinner in our tent and happily crash out, ready for an easy hike on day 5. John and I are very proud of having come through a really hard day with our good spirits intact.

Day 5:
I wake up feeling the fittest I've ever felt in my life and ready to kick some tail. Alas, a supposedly easy day was made long and difficult by John's asthma. The 3 hour hike took almost 5. I wasn't too bummed about it because despite my awesome feeling, I don't know how much faster I would have gone without him. I was itching to go a little bit faster, but he gave me a good excuse to take frequent breaks, so it was easy not to get too impatient.
I find that I really enjoy ascending, but am equally not enjoying any downhill stuff. The volcanic ash and loose gravel gets very slippery, and I'm always afraid I'm going to fall. Who knew the more physically tiring option would be my favorite? I've mislaid my sunglasses so I have to use my prescription glasses, but apparently having depth perception is helpful in scary footing..duh.
The hike is beautiful. There are amazing panoramic views of Africa - the horizon is so high, and the continent looks so vast, it's unlike anything a New Englander can imagine without seeing it. I've never seen anything so big, and Kilimanjaro seems like it could be a country all of its own. More geological paradise as I get to see all kinds of cool rocks. It's also kind of sad, because we walk through huge valleys that were obviously once filled by glaciers, and while I'm super proud that I remember my 8th grade earth science enough to identify signs of glacier activity, it's a shame that global warming has taken the ice from the mountain.
We arrive at Barafu to find four of the 6 Germans waiting for us. This is a surprise to us because they were supposed to have gone back up to the summit to camp in the crater overnight, but all but the two most gung-ho were feeling some altitude sickness and decided not to overdo it. They showed us their awesome pictures of their Western Breach traverse, complete with close-ups of glaciers and told us their adventure stories.
It is very cold at this camp, and I am finding I'm kind of over hiking all day and freezing all night, but I'm still looking forward to the summit attempt tonight. I eat a ton at lunch and take a nap. I wake up nauseous, and can't eat a thing at dinner, but I'm not worried. I brought special high-protein oatmeal with me for right before the summit attempt, and it's my favorite breakfast back home. I have no worries about being able to eat it and kick some mountain butt.

Day 6:
Today actually begins at midnight. Romli and the porter Emmanuel, who has stepped up to be our assistant guide, wake us up. I am loathe to get out of my warm-ish sleeping bag into guaranteed freezingness, but John reminds me I'll hate myself if I get this far and don't even try. He's right of course so I get out of bed feeling pretty good. Then I try to eat my oatmeal. It tastes like getting hit in the face with a cinnamon stick, and I can only eat 2 bites before I hand it over to John. My stomach is lurching and I can't even take a cup of tea. Hmmm...
We start up the mountain and I'm feeling good in spite of the lack of food, but about an hour in, I start to fade. With no food in my system for energy and warmth, I'm getting really chilled and starting to feel very weak. But I'm determined to get further, so I try to eat a cookie for a quick energy burst. No dice - dry heaves kick in, so no food for me. Romli is really great and encourages me to walk for another 20 minutes, so I do, but I am hating it.
We were less than halfway to Stella Point, the lowest "summit" point that is still 1.5 hours from the real top. I realized I was torturing myself for something I didn't care that much about. I was never there to reach the summit. I had seen a beautiful mountain, spent several days hiking through 5 amazing climate zones, challenged myself and overcome difficulties, and had a real adventure. The idea of struggling to the top and then all the way down again just seemed like it would leave me remembering a bad experience. Plus anyone who has ever met me knows how I handle being cold. I decide I've had it and head back down to my sleeping bag and some rest, feeling good about my decision and surprised that I haven't the slightest feeling of punking out.
I awake around 8AM to find John returning, demolished. He made it to 1/2 hour from Stella point, but was hallucinating and just couldn't go any further. We couldn't let him sleep for fear of altitude sickness, so we grab a quick breakfast and head down the mountain to Mweka Camp. I feel rested and awesome, and am so excited to be done and clean again (I have never been so dirty and stinky in all my life - 1 week without a shower!!). The three hour hike takes 5+ hours, and poor John is dead on his feet. He is nearly asleep and drunk-walking from fatigue. I do my best to encourage him, but he doesn't even know where he is any more. We arrive at Mweka camp just in time - he's about to pass out.
Dinner that night is in the tent and delish - they're using up all the ingredients they have left, so our chicken stew is more veggies and chicken than "stew." It tastes so good, I don't even know what to do with myself. Food paradise! After than we crash and I dream of the world's longest shower, where I scrub a week's worth of volcanic ash out of my skin, wash my hair, and smell pretty again. Heaven.

Day 7:
I awake feeling wonderful. I'm ready to roll! We have a tasty breakfast in the tent, then pack up to head out. We tipped our staff at Mweka Camp and threw in some extra presents for the porters. We gave each porter a power bar and some hand warmers - left overs from our supplies, but luxuries they can ill afford that will make their difficult jobs easier next time. I present our guide Romli, who has been amazing through all the drama, with my hiking poles (the compass and lights on which have fascinated him the whole trip), and my gloves, which he appreciates a great deal because it turns out that in all his years of working in sub-zero weather, he doesn't own any!! I'm glad to be able to hook him up, because dang, man, that's just not right.
We had a beautiful hike through the rainforest to the bottom gate, and saw a bunch of colobus monkeys on the way. So cool! I had a lovely time chatting with Emmanuel, the porter who helped me down the mountain after I quit the summit attempt. We talk about a little of everything, and he tells me he hopes that someday Tanzania can gain some of the benefits of western society without losing the culture he loves and values so much. I tell him I hope to bring a little of Tanzania back with me to share with America as well, and he's glad to hear an American is impressed by his country.
The drive back to Moshi was beautiful as we drove past coffee and plantain plantations. We pick up our stuff at the tour office (I have a few choice words for the proprietor about safety and equipment), and check into the Hotel Kindoroko, which feels like heaven.
The place has private showers with hot water (neither is always guaranteed in Africa), and a balcony. The decoration is Afro-print everything. And did I mention the private hot shower??? I was in heaven. I spend several hours on grooming. Hooray shampoo - takes 3 lather-rinse-repeats to get a week of funk out of my grea-ea-easy hair. Hooray soap! Hooray scrub brush! Hooray washed face! Hooray clean clothes I haven't been sweating in for a week! And for the love of god, hooray deodorant!!
Reveling in the simple luxury of being clean, I head out to the internet cafe, and here I am! You are now up to date!

I'll post pictures another day. For now I have to score some dinner, get some laundry done, and investigate a safari!

Love you guys and loved that mountain! What an experience! A big hug to the amazing mountain staff who made it possible.