Day 5: Barranco to Karanga (4000m)

Slept deeply but not for very long, and for the first time was wide awake and up early before even bed tea. Maybe it was because it was my birthday, or perhaps the acclimatisation, but I felt very bouncy and was chatting away to the guides as I took pictures of the sunrise. I also caught my first glimpse of the famous Barranco Wall towering above the campsite, as it had been too cloudy to see it the previous night when we arrived.

I was actually a little disappointed with the climb up the wall, as I had been expecting it to be much more dramatic and exciting after all the fuss made about it, not just by my companions but by previous trekkers. It turned out to be a very easy scramble and most of the time was spent waiting for the long traffic jams (or as Coleman the kitchen porter told me, "a traffic peanut butter". It took me a while to get the joke -- he knew how much our group liked peanut butter rather than jam on their toast in the morning). The traffic jams were caused by the fact that there were literally hundreds of porters trying to get up the wall, blocked by slow trekkers. Some of those with heavy or wide loads also needed assistance to squeeze through the narrow gaps.

However, the sun was out, I was full of beans and it really was a glorious morning, with a few more hours of climbs and drops, and a bit more scrambling to liven things up. The sun and mist alternated constantly, affording tantalising views of Kili and of the vistas below, which disappeared as soon as you dared to get your camera out. I felt strong today and barely breathless at all, despite the slightly faster pace. However the last push up a steep rocky section of hill really challenged my lungs -- clearly the guides were hungry and keen to get us to the top for lunch!

Another beautiful campsite on a steep and rocky ground this time, I made the schoolboy error of walking up the hill from the mess tent to the loo (about 30 yards) at a normal walking pace and nearly had a heart attack at the top. Thank goodness our loo had a seat and was not a long drop, or I could easily have fallen in! After another hour's rest, we had a second acclimatisation walk. Everyone was in good spirits and we had now reached number 5 in the falling over competition. Still left to fall were me, Dom, Jo and Giulio (probably not coincidental that we were the strongest and fittest!).

After dinner, I got the customary birthday celebration from the guides and chef -- a birthday cake with candles and a present of a Kilimanjaro tshirt. It felt very personal and it seemed that they all really cared about the celebration, which was very touching and made it a really unique birthday. How many people get a birthday cake baked for them on a campsite at 4000m?

Day 4: Shira Two Camp to Barranco (3900m)

Another night of much peeing in freezing conditions, corroborated by ice on the tent in the morning (from the damp, not my pee!), but the sun was out and we could really appreciate the sunrise and wonderful vista. The mess tent was dripping so much that the porters simply picked it up while we were in the middle of breakfast and moved it, leaving us eating alfresco. Although it was only -2 degrees, the sun was so strong even at 7.30am that we were soon toasty warm.


I was still feeling a little sick and my hands and face were so swollen that Abraham prescribed me the dreaded Diamox and I didn't argue. I consequently peed all day, but since everyone else was too, it wasn't a problem! The morning's walk was in brilliant sunshine, as seemed to be the norm, and beautifully warm despite the altitude. George was today's leader, and although quiet, he turned out to be very affable and we soon got chatting about Africa, Swahili and food. Every day I would try to learn a few more words from the guides and to practise them. My repertoire was now extending to making jokes about Abraham the Big Potato (viasi kubwa) and my favourite response to "how are you?" of "ndizi juu" (top banana). It became a standing joke for the rest of the trip with all the guides and many of the porters, embellished with additions such as the small potato assistant guides. In return I taught them English slang expressions with which to regale their next set of clients.

George set a very comfortable pace, but by mid-morning the nausea had returned and even the gentle uphill was a bit of a struggle. After lunch, the fog descended and I soon became chilled, having been lulled into a false sense of security that morning by the warm sunshine and not having put enough layers on. However, the final 45 minute to the top went well and I felt much better again. Meanwhile the fog was descending and lifting in rapid waves, affording us with sudden marvellous glimpses of the sun on the mountain, which lifted our spirits no end. Or at least, they lifted my spirits, but poor Mark behind me was feeling so ill that every time I told him to look up, he grunted and ignored me. A quick photostop at the Lava Tower (pictured) and then a 2 hour descent with some minor scrambling. There was now persistent freezing fog and I was chilled to the bone, not helped by what felt a desperately slow pace (though several people unused to steep descents complained later it had been far too fast for them). I know after my experiences on Toubkal I shouldn't complain about other people being slow, but I feel somewhat justified by the fact that I was slow on Toubkal due to dehydration and altitude effects, rather than just inexperience and lack of fitness. But I forced myself to put it out of my mind as it would serve no useful purpose to feel bitter. It's nice to be the fittest person on the trip, at least. I was immensely looking forward to the following day and the Barranco Wall, which I saw as the second highlight of the trip after the summit.

Day 3: Shira One to Shira Hut Camp (3840m)

Everyone slept much better last night, although as predicted, I accidentally tried to get into Phil's tent on my way back from the loo in the middle of the night. Luckily I heard him cough as I was undoing the zip, and realised my mistake.



The morning's walk was fairly easy, followed by a short climb and a mini-scramble up to Shira Cathedral where we had some pretty good views.

You can see me with the guide Nicholas at the top, just as the weather started closing in. We then traversed the ridge and down to what looked like the crater of the moon, passing the emergency helipad.

We also noticed a stretcher ready for fetching any casualties, which was a little disconcerting. The final stretch up to Shira Two Camp was tough on everyone, but I started for the first time to feel desperately sick, faint, exhausted and uncoordinated. Luckily it wasn't far to go. As I arrived in the camp, my tent porter grabbed my bag and poles and helped me into the tent where I fell onto my mat with my boots still on, poking out of the doorway. He left me to it and I managed to stagger back out to lunch a little later. After another hour's rest, we had an optional acclimatisation walk. Although I still felt pretty bad, I decided to make the effort to go, as after all, the point of an acclimatisation walk is to acclimatise, and I clearly needed to! Thankfully I gradually felt better and was rewarded yet again with some stunning views.

I was so relieved that the altitude effects were only short-lived, as I had got quite worried just before lunch, and wondered if I'd ever make it to the top!

Day 2: Lemosho Forest Camp to Shira One Camp (3550m)

"Bed tea" is the best thing about trekking! Our morning routine is to be woken up by one of the guides at 6.30am with "bed tea" served in our tents, followed by a bowl of hot washing water in our tents at 7am and breakfast in the mess tent at 7.30am. I could get used to such luxuries! The disadvantage of living on your own is that you have to make your own tea in bed. As on other treks, this ritual, aside from being very welcome, is an important part of the day as it enables the guides to check on how you're feeling, in the privacy of your own tent.

The day's walking wasn't hard, although for the first half hour I felt my heart hammering and the breathlessness started. But experience has taught me how to control my breathing at altitude, and I was soon fine. Interestingly, everyone else began to struggle today -- I think the altitude hit them all for the first time, and for most of them, it was their first experience of it so a little unsettling. The pace for me was perfect as it was so much slower than I'm used to walking at home, so I had no problems at all with the steep climbs, although it turned out that many of the others were finding it difficult.

Today I realised my astonishingly stupid camera mistake. After having taken only half a dozen pictures, my camera had run out of memory. How was this possible? Usually I can fit about 150 pictures on it! I finally discovered the problem  -- I had actually forgotten to insert the SD card before leaving home! What a complete idiot! I was crestfallen at the thought that I'd have no photos, and despite the others promising to send me theirs, I knew it was not the same, especially as photos are so personal and because I like to take quirky ones particularly. Thankfully Annie came to my rescue that evening and dug out a spare SD card to lend me.

After reaching the Shira Ridge, we turned a corner and caught our first glimpse of Kilimanjaro in all its glory. The summit was just under cloud but we could clearly see the snow-capped peak. Suddenly the realisation hit me that we were really here. This was it! Mixed emotions rolled over me for the next hour as the mountain towered in the distance. My first thought was "it doesn's actually look that high, surely this is easily achievable?" Of course this is only semi-true: what makes it difficult is the altitude. Next came a tremor of excitement about being finally so close to our destination, closely followed by an almost anti-climactic sense of regret that I'll never experience this moment again in my life. Even if I return, it won't be the same as my first sighting. I'm sure this is nothing compared with the enormity of actually reaching the summit, when I am sure a mixture of emotions will flood the senses: relief, excitement, a sense of history, and of course utter exhaustion.

The campsite lay beneath the foot of the mountain, which afforded us stunning views from even within the tents. Everyone was shattered tonight, and after an early dinner we were all in bed by 8pm, which pretty much set the pattern for the rest of the trek. It was freezing in the mess tent, even with several layers of clothing on, and we debated who would be the first to crack and put their down jacket on during the trip!

Day 1: Londorossi Gate to Lemosho Forest Camp (2650m)

We were all eager to get going this morning. I was wide awake at 5am, and shortly after, the rain started hammering down, but by breakfast at 7am it had thankfully stopped. The bags were weighed (some with a set of scales, others by the scientific method of "this feels light enough") and there was a frantic bit of repacking by some who were over the regulation 15kgs. Packs of cereal bars were hastily distributed amongst those with lighter bags. I felt a little smug that mine came in at 13.5kgs, given all the medical equipment I had to carry! Then came a two-hour drive along typical African "roads" (bumpy dirt tracks), more bag weighing and registration at the checkpoint, and then a short drive to the starting point.

We set off at midday and the pace seemed agaonisingly slow, but after a couple of hours when we stopped for lunch, it had already become very natural. The afternoon became a little more challenging with some steep, muddy and slippery inclines, and those who were not used to walking struggled. By 4pm a mild headache had set in, although I had drunk 2 litres of water in the afternoon and 2 in the morning. I started feeling odd waves of nausea and a horrible dread seized me, but they seemed to be short-lived. Oddly, I seemed to be the only one suffering. It's hard not to let such thoughts consume your every waking move. I decided to concentrate on the analogy someone had once told me about pretending to be an elephant squashing pieces of cardboard and stamping out negative thoughts. I know, it sounds weird, but it made sense, and what better place to pretend to be an elephant than in East Africa?

On arrival at the campsite we were served tea and popcorn in the mess tent and I started feeling much better. I made sure I drank 3 cups of tea and took plenty of water to bed that night. We were all in bed immediately after dinner, at 9pm,  though none of us slept well. Terrified still by thoughts of altitude sickness, I drank a litre of water in the night and consequently had to get up to pee 4 times. You begin to wonder what the point of drinking at all is, when it seems to come straight back out again.

Arrival in Tanzania

So there are 9 of us on the trek: a trio of friends, a father and son, and the rest of us singles, totalling 5 men and 4 women ranging in age from 19 to 60. All British except for Giulio the Italian. The first night we spent in a beautiful lodge in the middle of a coffee plantation, in typical African style individual huts. A couple of hours relaxing in the sun by the pool, and a wander around the grounds, followed by a long briefing from Abraham, our guide, who seems lovely -- competent but very friendly. I had a word about my medical conditions and he reassured me that I'd be fine and that in his capable hands there would be no problems. There are two ways of saying this: one is where the person doesn't care or doesn't appreciate the significance of it, and the other where the person is fully understanding of the issues, but is quite used to dealing with them. I could tell instantly that the latter applied. My only concern was that -- and some of my friends will find this highly amusing -- he had me down as being allergic to wheat instead of yeast. I hoped this wasn't going to be a problem, but I sensed he didn't really understand when I explained the mistake. Otherwise, the usual advice was given about drinking lots of water and walking slowly. The group started to gel over dinner and the toilet discussions started (best to get any embarrassment over quickly, in my opinion!). An early night at 10pm after repacking the bags yet again! I didn't sleep very well due to excitement, or maybe sheer terror at what I'd let myself in for, plus having to use a mosquito net which I hate.

Departure day

Having finalised my packing at the weekend, it remained only to charge my electronic devices and pack the last bits of hand luggage on Wednesday morning. As I clipped my walking poles to my daypack, an uneasy feeling rose from the pit of my stomach. Walking poles have spiky ends, even if they are encased in rubber tips -- hmm, this might make those nervous chaps in airport security a little concerned. A quick Google search confirmed my fears. The problem was that the poles didn't fit in my suitcase and I'd definitely need them on trek. Only one thing for it, repack everything back into the Exodus kitbag. I knew they'd fit, but previous experience had shown that lugging a 17kg kitbag through the streets of Sheffield, St Pancras and the tube is not for the faint-hearted (or weak-bicepped). Ah well, I'd just have to hope that all those gym sessions had paid off, or failing that, treat it as the final piece of fitness training. It seemed that as usual, half my luggage was diabetes-related: glucose tablets, jelly babies and cereal bars in case of low blood sugar, spare blood sugar meter, plenty of insulin, test strips, infusion sets and other pump-related paraphernalia, emergency syringes, spare batteries for all the electronic stuff, plus cool bags and thermal bags to keep everything at the right temperature. Just think of all the luxuries I'd have room for if I didn't have diabetes! Best not to think about it. The other minor snag with no suitcase was that I'd have nothing to store my spare kit at the hotel during the trek. Oh well, a strong plastic bag should do (actually it fell apart later, but that's another story).

When I got on the Tube to Heathrow, I clocked a few fellow travellers wearing walking boots and clutching heavy-looking rucksacks, and idly wondered if any of them would be on my trek. What a ridiculous notion! The chances of that would be pretty slim -- millions of people travel through Heathrow every day. But once at the checkin desk, I thought I'd be bound to spot a few fellow intrepid Exodus explorers. A bleach blonde 40-something from Essex with a huge rucksack was blathering into her phone about what a terrible ordeal she'd just had going through airport security. The worst part of her ordeal? That she had had to remove her trainers. My heart sank. She was bound to be on my trip, and I'd find it hard not to kill her after 5 minutes, let alone 10 days! I had her type pinned to a T: recently divorced, looking for a new challenge, didn't have a clue about the realities of slumming it on a gruelling trek, without washing for more than a week. No doubt she'd be applying her inch-thick mascara every morning before breakfast and eyeing up the virile young Africans. Thank goodness I'd decided to opt for a single tent, so at least I wouldn't be sharing with her!

The plane turned out to be only half full, mostly of people with rucksacks and walking boots, but who oddly all seemed to know each other. I mentioned this to the young Ghanian chap seated next to me, and he explained that they were all part of a VSO group going off to work in various parts of Sudan. Thank goodness!

Oddly, having been full of excitement in the last couple of days about my impending doom (trip, I mean), by the time I got on the plane the excitement had been replaced by frustration and tiredness. Probably due to the fact that I'd only slept about 3 hours the previous night. Given my inability to sleep on flights, and the short  time I'd get to sleep on the plane anyway, this did not bode well. But years of insomnia have taught me to go with the flow, so I eagerly embraced the disgusting red wine for medicinal reasons, trying not to make comparisons about the last supper before the gallows. Since we wouldn't have any alcohol on trek, I felt I should celebrate the start of my journey somehow at least!