|
February 2004, three weeks after Eat Chocolate - Lose Weight was published, Paul and I tested my theories on chocolate's enhancement of strength, stamina, endurance and personal resolve with a challenging trek from the tropical jungle at its base to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. We were on tour with a group of marathoners intent on doing the Kilimanjaro Marathon and climbing Mt.Kilimanjaro.
A Day in Moshi.....
First day in Tanzania, at liberty in Moshi, we set out for the shopping district. The first sight we saw was a huge piece of machinery rolling down the main road, headed for the commercial area. The contraption was at least 20 feet long and made of hand-hewn logs. There were two men running inside the framework of this device. I have no idea what is was for, but it looked like a huge medieval catapult.
The men running along in the framework were obviously there for braking, and possibly steering, but it was impossible for them to do anything but run along and try to keep up, so as not to be dragged under the wheels, and hope they hit the one traffic light on green and that cars and people scattered out of their way, which they did. This little vignette played itself out so quickly it is like a snapshot in my mind, but I wasn't quick enough to capture it in the camera. Oddly, it is a much more vivid image to me that the ones I was able to capture on film or chip. Another sharp, indelible image from our visit to Moshi was of a tall, elegant, well dressed Tanzanian women standing on a busy, dusty street corner, near the central bus stop. She stood straight and aloof, with arms folded across her chest and with one foot forward as a wiry little man, who was simultaneously tending the herbs & potions displayed for sale on his vending cart, squatted at her feet and proceeded to paint her toe nails bright red. She seemed completely unconcerned with the man doing her pedicure. She could easily have been posing for a Vogue cover. Again, I was too astonished by the sight to get a picture of it. During our touring in Tanzania I was on the lookout for a Cacao Plantation, but only saw one cacao tree, growing in the wild.
Mt. Kilimanjaro.....
There are five routes up Mount Kilimanjaro. The easiest is called the Coca Cola route, because it has cabins and soft drink machines along the way. Our band of seventeen merry trekkers took the Umbwe route, which is on the other end of the scale. No cabins, no cokes. It is the least traveled, most difficult route, but it is also the most beautiful. The entire mountain is a Tanzanian National Park. Access is strictly monitored and controlled. We waited several hours on the first morning of our trek while our guide submitted paper work including identification and passport numbers for each of us. I suppose they need this, in case a person or group goes missing. The evening before we were to start our Kilimanjaro trek, we all gathered in the grass by the pool at the Moshi Keyes Hotel to meet our guide. Elias introduced himself and explained the proper way to pronounce his name, then proceeded to give examples of mispronunciations to which he would cheerfully answer. The result was that none of us was ever sure we had it right. I, for one, pronounced it differently every time I saw him. He had no problem with pronunciation of our names, as the polite, respectful form of address in Tanzania is Mama, for the women, and Papa, for the men. My husband, Paul was the exception. They all called him Bapu. I knew this was the Tanzanian word for grandfather. So, of course, when Paul asked, I him told it means stud-muffin. At the end of our trip, Elias explained that Bapu is also a respectful term for a wise and distinguished older man.
 |
But I've gotten ahead of the story.
Elias started by telling us in his beautifully lyrical Tanzanian accented English that we must tell him if we are having any problems at all; especially health problems.
"You must make suah that youah urine is cleah; not brown. Brown urine is not good."
He enunciated very carefully. Thirteen of our group of 17 trekkers were women, and half a dozen of those were nurses. One of the nurses asked, "Exactly how are we to do that while squatting in the bush?" This was answered by several graphic suggestions from the group of how it might be done. Elias remained politely silent while we puzzled it out for ourselves, but the tone for the trek was set. From then on, almost all conversations centered on bodily functions, hygiene and the challenges encountered meeting the basic needs, like dental hygiene.
The first day, starting at noon, we took our time, as we were told to do. Poli, poli (slowly, slowly) is the mantra on Kilimanjaro. We were climbing on an ever-steepening ridge in dense jungle growth. When any one needed a bathroom stop, we would all stop and wait. We called them lady breaks because the men could step off the trail and tend to personal business, with out so much as shifting their backpacks. We women needed more time and privacy and required that the men go ahead a little way and keep facing forward until the breakee reappeared in full trekking regalia.
In a few minutes, someone else needed a "lady break" and we’d all stop and wait again. This process slowed our progress considerably. We would soon learn to use our time more efficiently, while steadily advancing, poli-poli.
As we scrambled over tree roots and rocks, it began to rain. As dusk set in, we started whimpering, "Are we there yet?" It got gradually, but persistently darker.
By and by, we were brought to an abrupt halt by the light-absorbing darkness of darkest Africa.
We waited, all queued up in a tight little line, while one of the porters made his way to camp to get a flashlight. All of us had head lamps packed in our gear, but hadn't expected to need them so soon. There was no choice but to stay in close touch with those in front and behind on the trail. The man behind me, who had made the trek up one of the easier routes several years before, was panicked, hyperventilating and uttering the F word, with every spare breath. Occasionally, he exclaimed, "This is ten times harder than the last time." One of the women, politely announced that we could all continue to wait, if we liked, but that she really needed to get on to camp, so if we'd all just step aside, she would move along. There was a reason we were in single file. To "step aside" in either direction would have meant a long tumble down a steep cliff. Not to brag, but I was, more or less, okay with the situation, realizing as I did from the experience, years before, of being lost in a Colorado wilderness, that standing in the dark in the rain would not kill us. Even if no help arrived, dawn would eventually come again. I was right. We were wet and uncomfortable, but all survived to hike again. And we didn't have to wait for dawn. Porters eventually arrived with a couple of flashlights. We inched along as the guides held the lights on the trail providing enough light for two or three of us to make two or three steps. Then the light would be passed along for the next two or three to advance a few steps. It was sort of the Mother May I approach to hiking. In the morning the man who had stood behind me, hyperventilating, having had enough; graciously thanked those who had been so kind and supportive to him during the trip, and then hiked back to the Umbwe Gate and caught a plane for home.
 |
Arrived at base camp (16,000') around 4 in the afternoon of the fourth day, unpacked, arranged our sleeping bags in tents, then had supper.
Camp had been set up in the rain, and in the dark, so it took us a while to find our bags. Everything was wet and muddy. At least it wasn't cold, as it would be higher up and there was, miraculously a delicious hot supper waiting for us.
After that night spent hiking in the dark and rain, the rest of the trip seemed only moderately arduous and not scary at all. We had learned a valuable lesson about rest stops, though. When someone announced the need for a lady stop, we all squatted at once, to save time.
Chocolate sustained me during the entire trip. I had brought various mixes of dried fruit, nuts and chocolate. One of the most effective combinations was candied ginger covered with dark chocolate (in this instance it was Lindt Excellence 85%). Hiking day after day, at very high altitudes burns up an astonishing number of calories and can make your muscles and joints sore. The catch is that for many, the altitude causes loss of appetite. Chocolate is the most nourishing single food you can eat, and it is relatively portable. Ginger settles the stomach and reduces inflammation. So the chocolate kept me energized, and the ginger kept that queasiness at bay.
Besides chocolate, what kept us going, as we hiked in the most finely engineered clothing and equipment, from our high tech boots to sun/rain protective hats, our ergonomic day packs and Camelbacks strapped in place? As we strode along, poli-poli, we were intermittently passed by porters carrying all our food, our tents, our extra clothes and sleeping bags, some of them wearing flip-flops, T-shirts and cut-offs. They’d pass us, carrying our stuff up to the next camp, and then go back down for another load before setting up our tents for us and preparing our evening meal. All before we arrived in camp ready to be fed. I noticed one lean, wiry porter carrying a huge sack of beans or rice balanced on his head and a large pack on his back. The total weight he was carrying must have nearly equaled his own body weight. He strode along, passing us, without ever having to reach up to steady the (40-60 lb?) sack on his head. What insufferable wimps we would be to fail in sight of such examples!
On the third evening, our guide, Elias, came to the dining tent at the end of the meal, as he did every evening, to tell us what we could expect the next day and to encourage us to eat more. By then, there were already some who had had to give up the idea of making it to the summit. One of the older men had been struggling the whole way with a bad hip. His wife decided to stay at base camp with him. A few of the others were sidelined by stomach distress.
One of the women, in her 60's, was having knee trouble and a worsening bout with asthma. Elias had been giving her oxygen once or twice a day. He had been testing her blood oxygen level in her tent; but this evening, he brought the oxygen detector into the dining tent and proceeded to apply the equipment to her in front of the rest of us. Now, this test only consists of putting a small clip on the index finger and waiting a few moments for the pulse and blood oxygen readings to appear on the apparatus. Even so, I wondered if this wasn't an unnecessary breach of her privacy and an embarrassment for her. However, within a few minutes, it was obvious what Elias had in mind, as first one of us, then all the others in turn demanded to have our own blood oxygen levels checked. It was his way of assessing who might make it to the summit and who might not.
My pulse is normally around 60, but at that altitude, most of us, including me, had a pulse rate in the low 80's and blood oxygen in the high 80's, which Elias said was fine. Paul, who has the heart and lungs of a racehorse, had a pulse of 68 and blood oxygen reading of 91.
(I'm certain all the porters had more than a passing interest in this information, too. As we later learned that the porter’s primary entertainment during the trek is speculating on which of these pampered flat-landers might make it to 19,381 feet and which of us might not; and enthusiastically wagering on the outcome. There were those who, to their sorrow, cast their wagers with one of the younger men to make it to the summit, rather than Paul. This was the cause of much merriment on the way back down.)
After supper, we ambled off to our tents for a couple of hours rest. Too excited and anxious to sleep, we huddled in our sleeping bags shifting hot water bottles (cheerfully supplied by the porters) around to try to get everything warm. At 10:30pm we started putting on all our layers of clothes for the midnight hike up to the rim of the volcano, and on to the summit.
Once we were bundled into a half dozen layers of clothes each, we headed to the dining tent for a cup of tea before starting the final ascent. Paul mentioned on the way that his stomach was hurting, but he soldiered on. Once we got into the tent, and removed Camelbacks, hats, headlamps, gloves and one or two outer layers, we were able to wedge ourselves onto the little campstools around the table. Paul tried the tea, but after a few moments, stood up and said, "My stomach hurts too bad to go on. Here's my walking stick and Camelback, you go ahead." I was stunned. We had agreed, months before, that if one of us were unable to make it all the way to the top, the other would go on. So I started gathering all our stuff and contemplating this final, rugged ascent in the dark. It was snowing. I realized that I wouldn't get far with the knowledge in the center of my mind that Paul, tougher than woodpecker lips and much more physically and mentally capable of making it to the summit than I was/am, was back in camp. I might trudge along for an hour or two, but eventually the fact that Paul was back in base camp unable to make it, would dissolve my resolve. So, I decided to follow him to the tent and tell him I'd stay behind with him. I pulled back the tent flap, and there he stood. "My stomach's better” he said. “Lets go."
Off we went. Single file. Following the leader. Poli-poli.
9 Summiteers
One surprising by product of hiking at high altitude; you get sleepy. One woman insisted that if we'd just let her lie down for a short nap, she would be fine. The guides kept her on her feet and moving and ultimately, she made it to the summit. It was a very strange and surreal feeling to be nodding off and having to jerk your self to wakefulness while hiking at night in a snowstorm, above 17,000 feet.
Kilimanjaro is a volcanic mountain, the highest freestanding mountain in the world. We reached the rim of the volcano (18,000 feet) at around 7:00 a.m. As we approached the rim I was thinking; "If I have to take one more step, I'll die." One of our group, Raoul, had turned back just below the rim due to altitude headache. He was the youngest male (fortyish?) of the group, and the one given the surest odds by some of the guides of making it to the summit.
Just then, we met a group coming back down from the summit. One of the women greeted us, enthusiastically congratulated us on having made it that far, and assured us that from there on to the summit was much less challenging. She was a gift from heaven.
Her encouragement dispelled my whiny self-doubt and allowed me to continue.
Our group of trekkers was down to 9 by then. My husband, Paul, was the oldest one and the only male in our group to reach the summit that day. Two of the women, Peggy and Mary Jo, who were about my age, had run the entire Kilimanjaro Marathon the day before we started our trek. We reached Uhuru Peak at around 9:30a.m. All of us were giddy, laughing and taking pictures. We no longer felt the effects of high altitude. But, our fingernails had all turned blue from the shortage of oxygen. It was time to head back down to breathable air.
Return to base camp is much faster than the ascent, but on arriving we had to break camp and continue down to the next camp, as there were other trekkers waiting for the base camp site. Descending, you feel better with each step, the richer oxygen levels adding to the exhilaration of having made it to the summit. However, the descent, over rugged terrain, is very hard on the knees and thighs.
We descended 10,000 feet that day, finally arriving in camp just in time for another wonderful hot supper prepared, as usual by the guides and porters who had carried all our stuff up and back down. It was the best night's sleep we had had the whole trip, lulled by the cheerful, melodious voices of the porters discussing the outcome of the trek in Tanzanian. The only parts we could understand were Bapu and Raoul; followed by riotous laughter.
|
