Kilimanjaro

(Don't skip to the end - to keep the suspense and stuff!)


Nairobi, Kenya

Nairobi is the largest city in Kenya, if not the largest city in Eastern Africa. All tourist literature we've read suggest that it's not a premier tourist destination; and the USA government websites we've visited give it a 5/5 for crime... and 5 is bad. he only other 5 we could find is Baghdad. In the words of "Airplane": it's worse than Detroit.

Our hotel suggests not leaving the premises with jewelry or valuables, and strongly recommends to "take special care" between 18:00 an 06:00.

So why are we here? Good question. Our Kilimanjaro trek an safari both depart from this city, from the very hotel we're patronizing. So... room service and card games it is!


Moshi, Tanzania

After several hours on buses (listening to some friends' mixes, TV on the Radio, and Steven Wright stand-up) we crossed the Tanzanian border and arrived in the town of Moshi, via Arusha. The trip would have been faster, but our bus stopped several times for cattle stampedes crossing the dirt road, and for border patrol passport checks.

We spent the night at a hotel near the base of Kilimanjaro, where we met our guide, received our briefing, and rented additional equipment (sleeping bags, hiking poles).

At the loge, we made two friends: Czar, an RN from Southern California, and Charlie, an accountant from Canada. Czar signed up for a different Kilimanjaro route (his afforded him an extra day) and Charlie will climb with us an share our guide.

Our guide is "Johnnie" - a young man from a Mozambique tribe with a calm countenance and a winning smile. We'll set off in the morning; our group consists of three tourists and several attendants (guide, cook, and porters to carry the food and some of our spare clothing).


Ascent Day 1: to Mandara (2750m alt.)

Today we hiked about five hours uphill, mostly through rainforest terrain on a clay path - the weather permitted us to wear shorts and t-shirts.

The porters and cook set off ahead of us, carrying most of the supplies in tarps balanced on their heads.

We paused or jaunt only for carb-heavy snack breaks and to learn about indigenous flowers.

Oh yes. We also paused to gaze at the ants. Big ants. Big ants crawling into our socks, leaving itching welts on our ankles. Each of us sustained tens of bites on both feet; however, walking subtly scratched our bites, which yielded a satisfying motivation to climb faster.

Also present on the hike was the Tanzanian flag bandanna we purchased at the mountain base. the wearer is granted the wisdom of Tanzania's greatest national park. Plus, it makes you look like Rambo - or perhaps, "Tanzaniambo."


Ascent Day 2: to Horombo (3750m alt.)

Godliza, our cook, boiled seven liters of water for the two of us to carry on our backs for the day's hike - Johnnie suggests that we drink the entire quantity within the day to prevent dehydration.

Today we wore rain pants and fleeces; the weather looked ominous initially, then the clouds broke an we were left with a chilly-yet-sunny day... and third-degree sunburn.

By 10:00 we left rainforest terrain an entered "Moorland" altitude - short, coarse, bushes with "hot poker" flowers and weedy grass. No more monkeys, unfortunately - just lizards and huge birds that threatened to snatch our lunch. Nobody messes with lunch.

We hiked 200m altitude past our sleeping point before returning for dinner - overshooting your altitude is just what the doctor ordered for healthy acclimation. Climb high, sleep low, yo.


Ascent Day 3: to Kibo (4703m alt)

We slept well - better than we could have asked. Yet, that didn't make the day any less tasking.

We donned our fleece pants, long underwear tops, winter hats, ski mittens, and balaclavas (the facial windguard, not the tasty Mediterranean dessert). We didn't want to add windburn to our growing list of ailments.

By nine this morning, the Moorlands disappeared and we trekked across an expansive alpine desert. For the most part, no foliage can survive here, and the fauna disappeared as well. The wind tears across the dusty ground - and it's not warm.

The itinerary for the rest of our climb is daunting, at best. Here's what's on the platter:

• 4:30PM: Dinner
• 5:00PM: Sleep for the "night"
• 11:30PM: Wake up, eat "breakfast," and begin the hike to the summit, so we get there and back before the sun melts the frozen gravel an the path gets slippery.
• 3:00PM (next day): Arrive at our encampment downhill for the night.

That's right - 15 consecutive hours of altitude-defying, joint-burning, lung-gurgling, hiking.

Stretch out on a couch for us.

Day 4: Catching the Night Train to Uhuru (5895m alt.)

"Ridin' the night train - never coming doooooown!"

- Guns 'N Roses, Appetite for Destruction - "Night Train"

...So that's similar to our nighttime summit - except that "going down" is on the itinerary. Also dissimilar, GNR uses a train as a metaphor for their hard-living, "loaded" lifestyle - and we're climbing an African mountain.

Anyway, note that yesterday we expected to sleep from 5-11:3PM. Nay. One million times nay. Not a wink of sleep - mainly due to other tourists in our miniature barracks speaking inconsiderate German, Swahili, and French (the anxiety probably had something to do with it as well).

O' pity us, fair reader! Fifteen hours of subzero summit-hiking on no sleep!

Okay, enough with the excuses - here's now it went down:

• 11:40 PM: Begin tedious zig-zag "switchback" hike up Kibo volcano with headlamps, three layers of pants, three layers of jackets, hats, balaclavas, ski mittens, an two layers of heavy-duty socks.
• 11:50 PM: "Hey, this isn't so bad"
• 1:00 AM: "Why am I traversing the loose gravel of this desolate lunar landscape in the dark, foot after numb foot? I paid for this? I'm a moron."
• 4:40 AM: Arrive at "Gillman's Point" (5861m alt.), where many people end their climb. It's situated on the rim of the volcano, so it's a great place to do a high-five an start your trek back down. However, if you're more daring (or perhaps, more "dangling") you can continue to Uhuru Peak, the topmost point on Kilimanjaro and all of Africa - "Africa's Ceiling."
• 5:00 AM: Depart westward for Uhuru, treading through the snow on the rim of the volcano's crater - this is all before sunrise, so only the snow is visible.
• 6:00 AM: Altitude sickness (cerebral edema) further closes its icy grasp. Begin frequent anti-nausea breathing breaks.
• 6:20 AM: The three of us made it! We pose by the official Uhuru Peak sign for a quick snapshot. Excited by the fulfillment of our longtime goal, we sigh relief and start back Eastward.
• 6:30 AM: Sunrise. We're able to discern our surroundings, and are imbued with newfound energy. We run through the icy slopes of the volcanic rim and are captured by the expansiveness of the glaciers on the rim and crater of the volcano, and by the landscape of clouds below. We repeatedly risk frostbiting our fingers by snapping photos of the scenery. Our guide suggests climbing down before the sun melts the icy rim into a hazardous terrain.
• 7:00 AM: Look down at the newly-lit, steep, zig-zag path we traversed in darkness for five hours up the volcano. Cue ominous music.
• 7:10 AM: Learn "shortcut" technique of surfing down the gravel in our boots. Much more fun, and much faster.
• 8:00 AM: Arrive back at Kibo encampment. Brief meal and relaxation.
  
• 10:00 AM-4:00 PM: Trek down to our final encampment. Soak our feet, hallucinate from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Good times.
  

Hopefully, a good night's sleep will cure nausea, headache, delirium, third-degree sunburn, and fire-ant welts. Well, we can hope.

Kilimanjaro Afterthoughts

Time well-spent. And not just the mountainside experience - the training, too (thanks for letting us use your skyrise, Jen).

It was great to have Charlie with us on our trek. He resolved early-on to avoid decisions and just concentrate on "putting one foot in front of the other" and enjoying the scenery. "Resolute indecisiveness" would be the most fitting oxymoron. He also maintained the most reasonable and constant pace, which abides by the Swahili saying "pole pole" (pronounced "polay-polay"), for "slow-slow". Charlie, if you're reading this, it was great having you mountainside.

We're currently at our Moshi, Tanzania hotel - at the pool sampling some local lagers. Our feet have nowhere else to take us right now, which is nice - because we can ask of them no more favors.

Interlude

We're currently stealing high-speed Internet in a first-class lounge (and we're flying economy - sticking it to the man).

Just wanted to say "Thanks" to everybody who's reading and leaving comments - it's fun and motivating to see that people are tuning in.

Gotta go - they have free food here, too!

Match.

Match! Match, match, match.

For those of you who aren't acquainted with the medical residency match process (and how could you be, if you've hung out with us for any length of time?), all medical students learn where they'll be living for the next 3-4 years on March 15 at a midday envelope-opening ceremony.

We and the Axners tried to recreate a similarly formal atmosphere by wearing clean(er) clothes and underwear. AS we were twelve hours ahead, this meant recreating the event around midnight.

Our official match evening commenced with a late dinner, a trip to the Haagen-Dazs cafe, and hopping three Thai pubs.

On our way to the third pub (around 11 PM) we received the call from Minnesota - one whole hour before we expected it!

[Drum roll...]
Northwestern University in Chicago, Illinois!
[Drum hit]

Throw the confetti - the future has been spoken, and it is good! We spent the next two hours celebrating and, well, breathing.

If you're looking for us this Summer, we'll be in Chicago (Sara: medical residency program at Northwestern / Scott: computer science PhD and research at Northwestern). Anybody on the North Side want two clean houseguests for the next four years?

After completing our international "Midnight Match," we believe our system to be superior than that put on by American medical schools. Our system may be more perfect - informal, colorful, celebratory, and with the optional assistance of dirt-cheap alcohol. (Of course, we have no basis for comparison.)

We have some gentle planning and sighs of relief ahead of us - we'll have plenty of time for the former (probably not the latter) on our next endeavor... A six-day climb to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro! (dum, dum, dum!)

We leave for Nairobi today - we'll try to be in touch before we start our ascent.

To all of our Minnesota med-friends: congratulations on your excellent matches. We wish we could be there with you, as long as we could return here without any time elapsing. Due to the physical implausibility of this, we send you an electronic high-five.

[Smack]

Hot damn.

The Northern Thai Trek

We'd have been fools not to partake in Northern Thailand's top visitor attraction: trekking. We signed up for a private four-person, three-day two-night trek with the Axners and a designated guide.

Pan, our gentle, all-knowing Shirpa (playable by a young Pete Postlethwaite) picked us up from our hotel and drove us to the elephant training grounds (read: elephant school). They begin education at age six, reach their peak education at age eighteen, and retire to the tropical woodlands at age sixty-five - much like us humans. They have an abundance of free roaming space and live richer lives than many humans (so don't feel bad when you see the video we captured of the elephants doing their little dance). We rode on elephant-back for an hour through varying terrain, then we began our trek.

The first day was a three-hour uphill trek to a small village where we stayed the night in a "farang" (white foreigner) cabin. Pan cooked us a feast of soup, chili paste, and stir-fry, and we crashed after several hands of rummy.

• 1:00 AM: Cock-a-doodle-doooooo! Cock-a-doo! ...a chorus of roosters perform a medley of varying lyrics, intonations, and gusto. Interesting to witness.
• 1:05 AM: We lose interest.
• 1:30 AM: Ahh, silence. Sleep at last.
• 1:50 AM: Chorus begins next verse. Repeat every twenty minutes until 7:00 AM.
• 7:30 AM: Breakfast, discuss beheading the village roosters.
  

The next day held a seven-hour trek, mostly uphill, through varying terrain - woodlands (reminiscent of Northern Minnesota), rainforest with parasitic strangle-vines and orchids, meadows of green tea bushes, and a sprawling bamboo forest. Wild banana trees were scattered throughout - if you opt to peel and eat one of their fruits, mind the seeds). Pan mentioned the possibility of sampling some authentic Thai moonshine (fermented from corn) at the destination village.

By 4 PM we arrived at our next accommodation, Baan Pha Daeng - a tiny Lahu village. We slept and ate in a charming bamboo and thatch hut on stilts with a private porch, adjacent to similar cabins. If you view it from the front, you can see a half-obstructed view of the landscape behind it; though the bamboo paneling represents privacy, frosted bathroom glass would suppress more sights and sounds.

We ate another of Pan's tasty Thai candlelight suppers, and he made good on the moonshine - it was warming, reminiscent of sake, and could probably fuel a small go-cart.

We turned in for bed two hours after sunset and lied on our backs on the floor of the bamboo hut, under our mosquito nets. At the risk of sounding pedantic and overly-sentimental, this is our account:

We could hear through the bamboo panels to the adjacent huts, and we could share in their evening episodes with our eyes closed: a teenage mother frustrated because her crying infant wouldn't feed, a nylon-stringed classical guitar strumming basic, open chords, a woman pouring used dishwater from her stilted porch onto a family of chicks, Pan speaking quiet Thai with a Lahu village elder.

The village finally fell silent for the night, the stray and wild dogs of Northern Thailand held a brief forum of howls, and then all that remained was the ring of the cicadas, phasing in and out of unison.

Hours later, the dogs and roosters reminded us that they, in fact, owned the morning, and we were merely members of their captive audience.

In recounting our other Southeast Asia experiences and sharing in Baan Pha Daeng's humanity, we had acquired a colorful, albeit rudimentary, understanding of life and culture in this corner of the world.

Though we suffered a nigh-sleepless night with a morning hike ahead of us, we were already comforted by the memories we'd created on this leg of our trip, and we regretted nothing.

We ended our trek yawning under the sun on a bamboo raft.

Eat some snow for us.

Chiang Mai, Thai

Chiang Mai is in Northern Thailand, close to the Burmese border. It attracts tourists for two reasons: authentic cuisine and rustic excursions. We've partaken in both.

We attended a culinary class at the Chiang Mai Thai Cookery School, the first Thai cooking school established in Chiang Mai. Historically, we cooked "Thai" stir-fry a few times a week in our household, mostly from macro-ingredients. Having attended the class, we're now armed with an arsenal of curry-paste cunning and culinary techniques. Perhaps you, fair reader, shall someday witness the fruits of our classwork.

Because the class spanned eight hours and seven dishes, we were stuffed to the brim with our own concoctions. We were almost too full to eat the last dish, but it was sticky rice pudding with cane sugar and coconut milk - so clearly, we made room and went back for seconds.

The Night Bazaar (open nightly) and Sunday Night Market with stretches through the old city, offered some good souvenir opportunities and great street food (still diarrhea free, by the way). There we encountered the "Rock N Roll Power Bracelet" (at left) which we had to purchase. It shall serve us well for the remainder of our travels.

Laos: Deux

We drifted the Mekong with the Axners and ducked into several caves that were packed solid with Buddha figurines - gifts from worshipers. Most of the figures were "prayer for rain" (Buddha gesturing downward) and "stop arguing" (Buddha standing with hands out, in a double "talk-to-the-hand" gesture) poses, indicative of drought and war/genocide at the time of past worship.

While the Axners visited the waterfall (Kuangsi Falls [at left] - we visited them on our hillside trek) that afternoon, we walked a few miles of Mekong shoreline. We brought the iPod (along with our quintessential headphone splitter, so we could share the same aural experience). We listened to some experimental rock - a selection from Tortoise's TNT, some Four Tet, and a little Boards of Canada.

The instrumental, experimental tracks melded well with the colorful markets and expansive Mekong riverbed; as much as we wanted to hear Tom Waits' new box-set "Orphans...," his raspy narratives about hard living just don't cut it on this continent.

We'll catch up with you when we're back across the pond, Tom.

We ended the night with card games on the balcony over several 640ML bottles of Beer Lao, so as not to break the national curfew. We've been in bed at 10PM every night - it probably has something to do with the heat, the walking, and the rich dinner curries.

And now, without further ado - Unexpected Transportation Headache #1:

Our Thai Airways tickets from Laos to Chiang Mai, Thailand indicated a 11AM departure, so imagine our displeasure when we arrived at the LPQ airport at 10AM to find that the departure had been changed to 6:10PM. Instead of shaking our fists at the system (or at ourselves for not checking the departure schedule the night before), the four of us got a free ride back to town and treated ourselves to a classy lunch and traditional Khmu massages -60 minutes for $3.00!

You could certainly make the case that our massage frequency is getting out-of-hand, but we consider participating in massage as an authentic cultural experience, or something like that... but most importantly, the Axners had more massages than us in Laos!

The food here, aside from being dirt cheap, is delicious, and should be eaten with your bare hands with the aid of highland sticky rice (like Indian "naan"). The local beer (Beer Lao) has surpassed the other local lagers we've drank across Southeast Asia - most other Asian lagers have been under-hopped and poorly bottle-conditioned.

Luang Prabang

We found it. The town that most accurately and most peacefully speaks "Southeast Asia" to us is Luang Prabang, Laos. The town is at the juncture of the Mekong and Nam Chan rivers, and is considered the best-preserved town in the four-country region.

Its unfortunate 20th-century history affords it some intrigue as well; from '64-'73, the USA dropped over 2 million tons of bombs on the country, since the Ho Chi Minh trail (Northern Vietnam supply route) ran through Laos - making it the most heavily-bombed country per capita in the history of warfare.

Historically, the USA has had a negative or skewed impression of Laos - amidst the war in Vietnam, Secretary of State Dean Rusk stated that the country is merely "the wart on the hog of Vietnam." Today, it's not often considered as a tourist destination, and it's rarely worthy of mention in the news or in classrooms.

Well, we love it here. We've hiked to neighboring Khmu and Hmong hilltribes and waterfalls, we've roamed the markets, and we've visited a handful of temples, two of which were in caves.

We expected to hike through woods or forests on our excursion, but we found ourselves in the middle of a rainformest - tortuous vines, giant figs, banana trees, and bugs - lots of bugs. We didn't notice them until we sat down at a stream for lunch. Sara sustained some small bites on her sternum, but we're not medically concerned.

The hilltribe villagers were very polite - their children kept stalking us with caution, then when we smiled and waved, they'd laugh and disperse behind wells and baskets only to stalk again when we turned our backs. We were pleased with our guide's policy with the tribal visits: pay a small "tribute" to the official preservation fund for the tribes, but do not give or accept anything while in the village - this could encourage begging in the children (see: Cambodia).

The sky and sunsets here area bit hazy - we're told it's because of the dry season; farmers in the hilltribes burn their rice fields and there's no rain to bring the hazy particles back to the ground. However, it yields a campfire smell along the small villages - kinda nostalgic.