A Photojournal by Daniel Todd Currie

Introduction

This trip was born on a visit to Berlin in August 2007. I'd stopped in Germany to visit a friend from college and ended up spending a few evenings with her boyfriend, Jan, as well. He spoke eagerly about his upcoming trip to Africa, and how he was planning to climb Mt Kilimanjaro with several friends. I shared with him some of my other climbing and outdoor experiences, and he graciously offered to have me join the group. I was probably too forthcoming, insinuating that I'd like to come, but it's difficult to say whether or not that affected his invitation.

I was initially a bit concerned about my rather loose connection to the group, but I later learned that the group was pretty loose to begin with, and that no person out of the nine of us knew more than about four others. Most of us also planned to stay in Africa for some time after the climb, given Kilimanjaro's proximity to so many extraordinary places. I once again followed Jan's lead and coordinated my travel plans with his, allowing us to see a few other places along with one other friend of his, Jussi.

The trip was actually being organized by a man named Lars, who was living in Tanzania and was personally acquainted with the local area, and with the company that would organize our climb. Jaunting off to Africa is not something that should be taken lightly, and the possibility of doing so with someone who could help make arrangements and provide counsel from the other end made this particular tour much more appealing. If I were to pass this trip up, I would probably never make it to Kilimanjaro on my own initiative.

The trip ended up conflicting with Christmas, which was clearly not ideal. Fortunately my immediate family, with whom I have spent every Christmas since birth, was understanding of the opportunity to go on such an adventure.

2007 December 25, Boston

I departed Boston in the afternoon on Christmas day. This leg of the journey was largely uneventful, save a rather heated argument I had with the security officer at the airport. The man would not let me carry my trekking poles on the plane, which I find rather absurd, since they weigh about 200 grams (8 ounces) each. I argued that the cane that an old man had just carried through security would be far more effective in a fight than my poles, which would surely buckle under any sort of lateral strain. The old man is allowed to carry his cane because it is required for his mobility, I'm told, but this fact doesn't reduce it's effectiveness as a weapon! I'd like a policy with some consistency. Am I wrong?

I ended up having to check the poles separately, which I was sure would result in broken and/or missing poles. Security policy is unfortunately never something that can be implemented both accurately and sympathetically. Given some of the experiences later in my trip, I'm compelled to look favorably on US transportation security.

2007 December 26, London

After a short night of fitful sleep, I arrived in London for a three-hour layover. Things were expensive, even for an airport terminal.

I caught my next flight direct to Nairobi, Kenya and arrived at around 21:00 that evening. Of course it felt like 13:00 from being on US Eastern time, but I was still exhausted. The Nairobi airport was clearly aging, but generally met western standards. There were no huge hiccups getting through immigration, but at the baggage claim I waited for probably an hour while the bags from our flight of some 400 passengers slowly trickled out. The last few bags were delivered, followed by a note crudely written on a scrap sheet of cardboard with a black marker:

bags not on flight:
Johnson
Smith
Currie
Williams

Another hour later I'd successfully logged my baggage request, and had been told that my bags would arrive 24 hours later, on the same flight from London. I wasn't terribly perturbed, however this delay required me to postpone travel from Nairobi to Arusha, Tanzania. If my bags didn't make the next flight, I'd have had to go to Kilimanjaro without any of my checked gear.

I hailed a cab and headed for the Nairobi Hilton, where a couple others from our group were staying that night. On the way into the city, I received a text message from Jan, stating that his flight was overbooked and that he would be flying a day later, and directly into Arusha. This wasn't a big deal then of course, since I'd be diverging from our initial plans anyway. At the hotel, I did meet up with Erick and Paul, with whom I'd only conversed via email to date. They'd be flying from Nairobi to Arusha early the next morning, so they could only offer sympathy for my situation. We chatted for a few minutes and then called it a night.

2007 December 27, Nairobi

I awakened in Nairobi after another night of fitful sleep. The sun was just coming up and the streets were barren. The city was shrouded in a deep mist and flocks of some kind of stork darted between buildings. Erick and Paul would have left by then, so I was all alone in (reportedly) one of the most dangerous cities in the world with no bags and no idea how I'd get out of Nairobi. With nothing to do and no place to go, I dwelt on my situation more than I should have, and started to question the wisdom of having come to Africa in the first place.

Around noon, I did get out and wandered around in the couple of blocks near the hotel. I wasn't at all prepared for how it would feel to be the only white person in sight, and there were indeed hundreds of people on the streets at that time. I'm accustomed to not fitting in, but this was quite another story, and profoundly eerie. I stopped to talk with a school teacher from rural Kenya. He taught English in school and was visiting for the elections. He asked some questions about the electoral process in America, and I did my best to share with him what politics is like in the US. Then he told me about how he was there with a number of people from his school and how they were starving and he begged me to buy him a bag of rice. It immediately became apparent that he was not really all that interested in politics in the US, but rather in establishing some sort of rapport with me before trying to squeeze whatever he could out of me. I genuinely felt bad and considered helping him, but I was also not at all comfortable following him to some unknown store and buying him a bag of rice while untold bystanders, who are in no better financial or dietary condition, looked on. I tried to explain that I couldn't help him, and began walking straight back to the hotel, but he was persistent and followed me for roughly a hundred meters before trailing off.

That evening I took another cab to the airport, and was quite pleased to find my bags among the first off the plane. I found another cab to take me back to the hotel (this was getting expensive!), and discussed with the driver how he felt about Nairobi. He described Nairobi as a "cool" place, because it's very quiet at night. Indeed, after the sun set there were police officers on every street corner, and there were simply no pedestrians and only a couple cabs on the streets. It was amazing to me that a city with so many people could be so reserved.

Upon returning to the hotel, I discussed traveling to Arusha with a clerk, and she set me up with an early morning shuttle. Things were falling into place and I felt much more comfortable with my situation. I also pondered for a moment how fortunate I was to be able to travel without trying to keep a tight budget. The additional night at the hotel, cabs to the airport, extra meals in the hotel, etc. all cost me around $250. This was indeed a waste of money, but I refused to make a big deal out of it.

2007 December 28, Nairobi

I packed up my bags early and grabbed another cab over to the shuttle stop. The shuttle only costed about $8 for the 250 km (150 mile) trip to Arusha--finally I got to experience some of these low third-world prices! Despite the low price, the shuttle's passengers were almost entirely tourists. I was surprised to see a group of Japanese 20-somethings, and a good mix of Europeans.

The shuttle was nothing fancy, but it offered a nice opportunity to see the African countryside. We traveled through a number of agrarian towns and saw numerous nomadic herdsmen tending their livestock along the road. The traditional nomadic lifestyle doesn't mesh well with the modern day of land ownership. In many of the arid climates of Kenya and Tanzania, herdsmen fed their livestock by moving from place to place, since one single plot of land could not sustain a herd of animals. However now the only widespread public land is in the 20 meters or so between the highway and the fence designating private property. We drove by dozens of these herds of lambs, goats, and cattle on the trip to Arusha.

We made our border crossing in Namanga, Kenya. This was the first time I've ever gone through customs and immigration by land. (Canada doesn't count.) It was surprising to me that one could just drive across the border without anyone noticing, though I guess the need for border security is a bit less when you don't have the same level of illegal immigration that the US faces. We stopped at the immigration office, which was a small one-story stucco building somewhat resembling a small post office. There were throngs of tourists there, all of them grappling to get their passports in quickly to get on their way, as the temperature was rising in the late morning. There was no formal process, we simply passed off a stack of passports and the clerks took them back to an unseen room to register some information and perhaps do a quick background check. US citizens paid $100 for their visa; all others paid $50.

The trip from the border to Arusha was relatively uneventful, though we did pass one point in the highway where a mudflow had covered the road and dried into a hard dusty brick. Villagers from the surrounding farmlands had assembled here with whatever tools they could find and were shoveling and sweeping the dirt off the road. I couldn't help but think that the people here must have a much stronger sense of community when they are forced to collect their manpower to accomplish big projects such as this. In the US, on the contrary, we would probably just pay someone with a bulldozer and be done with it, but all sense of shared responsibility is gone since we don't directly interact with the other members of the community. Modern society is indeed stifling the traditional sense of community, though I suppose it opens new communities from a broader point of view with the internet and electronic communications.

I arrived in Arusha at around 13:00 and was elated when a car full of familiar people (familiar names, at least) came around to collect me and whisk me away to my hotel. Jan was among the passengers and we greeted each other warmly. We dumped my gear at our hotel and headed out to find a meal. We wound up at a hole in the wall with plastic patio furniture and an enormous grill. We were served a variety of grilled meats with fries, plantains, and ugali. We had more food than we could possibly finish, and paid about $3 per person, which included a large bottle of beer. The food was not as good as it looks, but no one complained.

Wandering around Arusha was a unique experience for me. The streets in the downtown area were as busy as pretty much any street in New York, yet the city is 20 times smaller. It's truly a pedestrian city, which forces some degree of urban density. I also felt strangely safe here; the people appeared to be good-natured and genuine, though I admit I might have felt differently if I had been alone here, as in Nairobi. We met later that afternoon with the director of the tour group that would guide us up Kilimanjaro the following day. We discussed equipment, safety policies, etc. We had an early and long day ahead of us, so we promptly returned to our hotels to organize our equipment and get as much rest as possible.

2007 December 29, Arusha

A bus came around that morning to pick everyone up and head off to Kilimanjaro. The forested foothills of Mt Meru surround Arusha, but once we got into the plains we eagerly watched out the window for a glimpse of the summit of Africa. Even this early in the trip, we began to learn just how densely clouded Kilimanjaro tends to be, and we were only teased with a couple of brief glimpses of the mountain, which somehow seemed significant at the time.

We arrived at Machame gate at mid-morning, allowed the support staff to organize all the equipment for the climb and waited for what seemed like hours while we were registered with the park. One of the drawbacks to tourism in third world countries became evident, as crowds of locals called to us from beyond the park gate, trying to sell random climbing equipment, or just to beg for help. We finally got the go-ahead, and started walking up the steady incline of the foothills of Kilimanjaro.

Most of the day was spent going through rather humid rainforest. Progress would have been unbearably slow, were it not for the well-maintained trail. It wasn't until about 16:00 that afternoon that the trees started to thin a bit and we started to get some nice vistas of the mountainside and the lands below. We were fortunate to only get a few drops of rain that afternoon.

We arrived in Machame Camp to the singing of our Maasai support crew. In what became a daily routine, they departed base camp after us, passed us during the morning to set up lunch, broke lunch camp after our return to the trail, and passed us again to have our tents waiting for us when we arrived that evening. All of this with bags of equipment weighing up to 40 kilograms (88 pounds), they still had the energy to dance and sing and clap and smile for us.

As the sun set, the air cooled significantly and the clouds started to dissipate. We got our first full view of the summit, still quite far away despite being at 3000 meters (9800 feet) above sea level.

2007 December 30, Machame Camp

Morning came too soon, but I was eager to get out of my wet tent. The nighttime air was cool enough that the moisture from our breath condensed on everything. My sleeping bag smelled of wet down, an odor I will not soon forget. On future nights, our gear inside the tent even had a thin layer of ice on it.

After a hot breakfast and a cup of coffee, we made our way back to the trail again. Despite being very moist, the elevation here allowed only a hardier vegetation that is quite reminiscent of the more arid climates back in the US. The thinning of the trees also made for some fantastic views, and we began to realize how high we were (and how high we'd be going).

Warmer temperatures later that morning caused clouds to start forming all around us, and by lunch we were completely surrounded. We had a short break for lunch, but kept moving to stay warm and to still have some sunlight when we got to our camp for the evening. The afternoon trail became somewhat hazardous, as we were forced to scramble over smooth rocks, wet from numerous small streams, precipitation, and the constant traffic of mud-caked boots. Clouds became more and more dense--at their peak, we could only see about 20 meters (60 feet) in any direction.

We stayed that night at Shira Camp, elevation 3840 meters (12,600 feet). The atmosphere was quiet and very bleak. Everything was damp, vegetation was largely gray and brown and brittle. I have never been to the Scottish Highlands, but this is somewhat how I imagine them. It was very peaceful, but also rather depressing--I felt like I'd been locked in a room all day due to our limited visibility, plus I was developing some sort of digestive condition that was making me feel pretty lousy and had completely killed my appetite. Perhaps this was simply the elevation getting to me. That night, I slept intermittently and had no fewer than four quick dashes across icy grasses to the nearby outhouse. Everything was cold and wet and I was quite miserable.

2007 December 31, Shira Camp

Just seeing the sun and some clear skies does a lot for one's constitution. Nonetheless, I still felt awful that morning. I couldn't bear to choke down more than a cup of tea, and I was exhausted from a near sleepless night. It felt good to be moving around though, so I was still anxious to get back to the trail. Our guides told us this would be a long day.

Clouds set in early and offered few opportunities for photos. We continued to trudge onward to lunch, and by the time we reached our stopping point, it was past 13:00. We were now at 4500 meters (14,800 feet), the highest we'd been yet. Everyone was hungry but me, and I was starting to lose faith that I would make it to the summit.

Our route up the mountain was planned such that we climbed high every day, and then camped at a lower altitude. This was supposedly good for altitude training. The main trail would go another 130 meters (430 feet) higher today, but those of us who were struggling were offered a choice to take a shorter path down to our campsite. I and two others accepted the offer and broke from lunch quickly.

Despite not climbing as high, our alternate route was surely as much work as any other. We were continuously climbing up and over sandy ridges, and we wound up going through a 20-minute hailstorm, to boot. It took every bit of energy in my body to simply put one foot in front of the other. Our guides continually pushed us and frankly lied to us about how much further we had to go. We had to descend roughly 600 meters (2000 feet) to get to our camp for the night, and it ended up taking us almost four hours. The constant jarring on my knees was almost more than I could bear and I was completely demoralized. I now know what it feels like to be a zombie, for all I could do was just stumble down the trail, fixated on the path in front of me.

I arrived in Barranco Camp at around 18:00 that evening. I gave up on the more mild treatments I'd been using all day, and headed straight for a friend's Cipro®. This was really a last hope for me, since if I didn't regain my appetite to some extent, I'd have to turn back. Our guide tried to get me to eat some soup, but I had no interest--after one sip I left the bowl outside my tent. I climbed into bed and promptly fall asleep.

2008 January 1, Barranco Camp

I awakened at midnight (presumably) to the sound of a hundred people cheering and beating on pans. For a moment, I'd forgotten where I was and what day it was, but it didn't take long to catch on. It was almost magical to be up here for New Years, but I had little patience for the racket that ensued. I was fast asleep again moments later.

I continued to sleep until about 7:00. I can't recall the last time I slept for 13 hours in one night--perhaps I haven't ever. I felt refreshed and optimistic, though my body was slow to respond and I could sense my weakness even in pulling on my boots. I did feel hungry though, for the first time since dinner two days prior. Whatever had been ailing me, I have to believe was bacterial in nature, given the radical turn in my condition. I opted for one of my energy bars rather than the standard breakfast, knowing that I would need some significant calories if I was to keep up that day. Fortunately, our guides had taken what would normally be a long day that day and broken it into two half days. I'm not the only one who benefited from this more leisurely schedule.

Knowing that we had a bit more time, we got a later start out of camp, and could see the long trail of people ahead of us, threading their way up the treacherous path to the top of Barranco Wall. This was probably the most technically difficult part of the whole climb, which really just meant more scrambling over rocks, nothing requiring ropes or other such gear.

At the top of the wall we had another break and then a gentle descent back down to Karanga Camp, amid more clouds and moisture. That afternoon we relaxed. Between bouts of sleep, I read about an Italian man who ascended Kilimanjaro in 5 hours and 38 minutes.

2008 January 2, Karanga Camp

The climb from Karanga to Barafu was much more pleasant, perhaps because of general improvements in my health, but also because over the last few ridges we'd come into a far more arid section of the mountain, and the sun was bright and shining all day now. Barafu would be the highest point we'd reached so far, and was the highest camp on the mountain as well, unless you're one of those madmen that camps at the summit.

The ascent to Barafu opened up the whole eastern portion of the mountain, giving us our first view of Mawenzi summit, which is the eastern peak of Mt Kilimanjaro. We wouldn't go anywhere near it; that summit is very unstable and dangerous, according to our guide. On this side of the mountain, we also had a much better view out over the clouds in the valley below. I was amazed at just how difficult it is to do anything at this altitude. There were a couple of spots near Barafu where you have to step over large boulders just to get to the outhouse. A few quick and large steps left you absolutely winded and you'd have to stop and catch your breath.

We'd be leaving Barafu at 23:30 that night for our summit attempt. This was done because it is much easier to ascend when the trail is frozen hard than when it is soft and dusty, and so we could see the sunrise from the summit. We all attempted to get as much sleep as possible before beginning our summit attempt.

2008 January 3, Above Barafu Camp

On this portion of the climb, I was reminded of 5:00 formations at boot camp. We would tumble out of the barracks and fall into formations to march out to the flag pole for morning reveille and raising of the colors. Flashlights in hand, it was otherwise quite dark, and the beams of light danced around the path while our flight leader would call out marching commands.

On Kilimanjaro, we each had head-mounted torches and we formed an enormous line that snaked up the mountain. There were perhaps two hundred people attempting to summit that morning, and when you looked up and down the mountain, all you could see were beams of light flashing as they swept out the path in front of the climbers. Our guides were more vocal than before, trying to keep us from dwelling too deeply on how much it sucked. Some of them sang chants and others offered words of encouragement. Far off, one could barely make out the city lights of nearby Moshi.

Progress was painfully slow. The fastest one could reasonably bear to go was to take a six-inch step every second. Anything faster than that and you'd quickly wind up out of breath. Despite generally feeling better, I was still malnourished from a general lack of appetite, and it became evident that my body was not doing as well as the others' at keeping warm. A couple of us started to trail off behind the main group, which was fine at first, since there were about six guides for the nine of us.

However a few hours later, we'd become more divided still, and I realized that the group I'd been following was not my own. This was not a huge problem, since we were all going to the same place, of course. As we continued up the mountain, the path became less and less defined and different groups seemed to be taking slightly different paths. I began to worry about where I'd end up. It was freezing cold, winds were now in excess of 60 kilometers per hour (40 miles per hour), my hands were icicles, and the darkness seemed as though it would never end. In retrospect, I was obviously not thinking clearly at such altitude. I started to panic and seriously considered just sitting down and waiting--but I was also just lucid enough to know that I was far better off moving forward than sitting still.

Another hour passed, and I had no idea how much progress I'd made. My water bladder had frozen solid and I was becoming thirsty. Then, as I was about to break down, I caught up to one other straggler from our group, Sven, and two guides that were with him. Just hearing a couple of familiar voices made my eyes water with relief. We rested a moment, and then continued forward again--"Pole, pole", our guides said (meaning "step by step").

Another hour or two passed, but it was bearable, knowing that Sven and I were going through this together. The sky slowly started to lighten, and we could soon see that we had maybe only 100 meters (300 feet) to go until we got to Stella Point at the mountain rim. We found new strength in this discovery, and we pressed firmly onward to the rim, where we sat and had our first significant break. Slowly the sun peeked over the horizon, burning in the most beautiful shade of pink/orange as the light faded to deep blue across the sky. Later, Sven and I kicked ourselves for not attempting to photograph this event, but the cold and wind were so great that I honestly believed at the time that I would lose a few fingers to frostbite if I did so much as remove them from my pockets and gloves.

Much to my dismay, the climb was not over. Stella Point is at 5756 meters (18,885 feet) above sea level, so we still had about 140 meters (460 feet) to go. The rim of Kilimanjaro sloped up and down much like great sand dunes. The rim itself was completely barren rock and gravel; the glaciers that Kilimanjaro is famous for were actually resting on the slope down the mountain or inside the rim. Once more we set to climbing, though it was much less steep now and less intimidating in the sunlight.

It took me roughly an hour to get from Stella Point to Uhuru Peak. Others passed me by hastily, but I was doing everything I could just to keep moving. My back and shoulders were sore from hunching over to bury my nose in my scarf for the last six hours. Other climbers around me were laughing and shedding layers down to their t-shirts, but I was in "zombie mode" once again. I finally made it to the summit and was frustrated beyond belief at the throngs of tourists. Much of this frustration was, to be sure, the result of my general state of mind and obstructed thought processes at 5895 meters (19,340 feet). There were at least eight different parties up here, all waiting in line to have their photo taken. But they couldn't just take one photo--they needed to have every possible combination of people with each camera... One pair and their guide took about a dozen pictures, and I'd had enough. I squeezed in front of everyone, handed my camera to a stranger and insisted that I get one quick photo before the waiting group of 15 tied up the sign again for another ten minutes. I was really quite rude, which I somewhat regret, though I couldn't have been any more civil given the circumstances.

I was surprised at how easy it was to descend. It took a significant amount of effort to go downhill as well, but somehow I was able to get enough oxygen. Just going back down a hundred meters or so made me feel instantly rejuvenated. I started shedding layers immediately and had a few sips of water, and I felt well enough to run straight down the mountain. In the deep sand/gravel, there were few enough obstacles that you could really go down quite quickly--the motion of your legs was almost like a cross between cycling and skiing. In the span of an hour, I'd probably descended about 600 meters (2000 feet).

I rolled back into Barafu Camp at around 11:00. We had lunch and a short rest. At about 13:00, we broke camp for good and started out down the mountain. Much of the trail in this area was very smooth and not too steep, so we began at a near-jog. We descended 1500 meters (4900 feet) in about four hours, to arrive in Mweka Camp shortly before sundown. In all, we had descended 2800 meters (9200 feet) since the summit that morning. Our legs were completely exhausted from the repeated impact of stepping down over boulders and root-covered stream beds.

Mweka Camp was relatively developed, with organized camp sites and a number of vendors selling food and drinks. This was our last night on the mountain. We bought a few beers from a park vendor, passed around some snacks that we'd brought, and discussed how we would tip the support crew. I climbed into bed earlier than most.

2008 January 4, Mweka Camp

We broke camp for the final time this morning, after a short group assembly with everyone in the support crew. They had apparently been very good at staying out of the way on the mountain, as we were a bit surprised to see all 39 of them standing together. We thanked them, told them what their tip would be, and as we departed they came by to shake our hands individually. We would not see them at the bottom, since we would directly load onto our bus back to Arusha.

One night wasn't nearly enough time for my legs to fully recover from the previous day, so I walked rather gingerly that morning. We still had 1300 meters (4300 feet) to descend to Mweka Gate--while it was only be a half day, this was not a trivial effort. It felt incredibly free to be so close to the end, and as the morning warmed up, we all shed layers and reveled in the warmth. Just before we got to the park gate, we encountered a family of Colobus Monkeys, unfortunately not eager to be photographed.

We arrived at Mweka Gate at about 12:00, but it took at least an hour to get through the crowds of people and register our departure from the park. It was now getting rather hot, we were all exhausted, and we still had a two-hour bus ride ahead of us. Upon arriving back in Arusha, we stopped at our tour coordinator's office to make arrangements for a few days of safari around the local wildlife refuges, and then flights to and from Zanzibar. This took a couple hours to agree on what we would do, payment, etc., and I didn't get to my hotel and a shower until around 17:00.

We headed out that night to a local restaurant that caters to Westerners. I was excited to have some familiar food and drink--in particular they had a South African milk stout that was noteworthy. Some of our group would be departing for home as early as the next day; others would do some short safaris and such. The group that I would be traveling with the following day was only four people, so this may have been the last time I see the other six. We had gotten to know each other well the last week, and fondly said goodbye.

2008 January 5, Arusha

From this point forward, we didn't have the comfort of a pre-paid itinerary, so we were constantly dependent on cash and bartering. Credit cards were not at all common in this part of the world, so we had to pay cash for everything. I only had enough cash to pay for about 40% of the travel costs incurred at the tour office the previous day, so I would need to make several cash withdrawals over the next several days to pay off the remaining $400 debt. This seemingly small obstacle became a significant complication, thematic for the rest of our trip. There were only a few ATM's, even in Arusha, and of course there were none once we got out to the wilderness. Considering the maximum withdrawal standards set by my financial institution, I had a very tight schedule for repayment of this debt before we left Arusha behind for good, on our way to Zanzibar. I managed to withdraw $300 on the 5th, but I also needed some discretional funds as well, so I only paid half of my remaining debt. I was thankful that the tour office was willing to book my arrangements on credit.

For the next three days we traveled around in a large land rover, venturing daily into various Tanzanian parks. We went directly from Arusha to the Ngorongoro Crater, which is one of the most prominent wildlife refuges in Tanzania, especially for some of the smaller animals. We arrived at the Ngorongoro Crater rim at about noon, and were immediately in awe at the size of the crater. It is truly it's own little ecosystem--while most animals are able to easily get in and out, the environment in the crater is very hospitable so few likely migrate from here. Sven likened the scenery to a vast Lego® lawn with little animals plugged onto the pegs. After driving all morning and seeing very little that was out of the ordinary, Ngorongoro Crater that afternoon was truly a magical experience.

We saw many things of note, but the pictures at right mostly speak for themselves. That day, I did have one rather alarming exposure to the viciousness of nature. At lunch, we stopped near a lake to eat, and were encouraged to sit on the grass to enjoy our meal. Park rangers keep an eye on the predatory animals at all times to ensure that humans are never in any danger, however the birds cannot be monitored so carefully. Midway through a rather tasty beef pastry, I was shocked to find the pastry had vanished from my hand. It happened so quickly that even as I watched it in my hand it completely disappeared without any idea of where it went. I looked up to see some sort of hawk perhaps 50 meters up already, carrying my delicious snack off for his own. Our guide told me that I was very fortunate to have not lost a finger in the bird's sharp talons, but I don't know if this was truly a serious risk. We ate the rest of our meal inside the car.

That evening, we stayed at the Kirurumu Tented Lodge. Though the rooms had no walls, they did have ample facilities, showers, toilets, etc., and the surrounding grounds were immaculately cared for. Stone walkways went between all the common areas and tents, and lanterns illuminated all the paths after dark. The bar and restaurant were open to the gentle evening breeze, sounds of crickets chirping, and a phenomenal view of the valley below.

2008 January 6, Kirurumu

On the 6th we set out for Lake Manyara. Lake Manyara offered a more traditional savannah environment than what we saw in Ngorongoro Crater. Lake Manyara is completely open, so there are many more animals just passing through. Once again, the photos speak for themselves. We stayed the night again that night at Kirurumu.

2008 January 7, Kirurumu

The final day of our safari was spent at Tangire National Park. Tangire is mostly a network and streams and lakes that cut through the savannah. It was very hot that day and most of the animals had hidden away in the shade. We were also roasting, and growing increasingly tired of riding around in a hot truck on very unrefined roads. Shortly after lunch we made our way back to Arusha.

Back in Arusha, our top priority was once again to find some cash, since I still owed money on our safari. We went to a couple of banks only to find that my credit card had been locked out. Visa had logged a couple of maximum withdrawals from Africa and assumed the card had been stolen. I wondered about the likelihood of a stolen card showing up some 10,000 kilometers (6000 miles) away from home. After a tense call to my bank (this costed me $5 per minute), I got everything straightened out and pulled out a bunch more cash.

We met up with a couple people from the travel office that evening to have dinner, and to explore the Arusha nightlife a bit. I couldn't see how any businesses succeed there--everything is tucked away and hidden from potential customers. We went into a bar that was basically an enormous tent. This was much like any bar in the US, with overpriced drinks and loud music, but there was also a prostitute making her rounds. I chatted a bit with a Turkish fellow, but was otherwise tired and a bit bored.

2008 January 8, Arusha

We had a little free time on the 8th to explore Arusha on our own, and get ready to leave for Zanzibar that afternoon. We made the usual rounds to the ATM's, pulling out another maximum withdrawal which would need to get us through the entire trip to Zanzibar, hotels and everything, since there would be no ATM's and no credit cards accepted where we were going. Unfortunately I'd spent all the cash I had, so my $300 withdrawal wouldn't likely be enough.

Our flight to Zanzibar was uneventful. We arrived at about 17:00, and hailed a cab for the lengthy drive up to Nungwi Beach. Zanzibar was apparently divided into several zones by police barricades at various points in the highway. Being in a cab, we coasted through most of these checkpoints, though our driver appeared to be paying a few bribes at some of them. The purpose of these barricades was highly non-obvious.

We arrived at Nungwi Beach as the sun was setting, and we now had to find a resort with space that met our needs. Being a group of three, we struggled with finding a room that would accommodate all of us--we didn't want to split into two rooms, to be fair to all. Our driver appeared to be taking us to rather specific places (probably on commission), and we eventually had to insist that he take us to one of the resorts we had been recommended. We finally ended up at Kendwa Rocks, and it was completely dark as we shuffled across the sand to our cabin.

2008 January 9 - 11, Zanzibar

I've lumped these three days together because they were mostly a blur. We spent our days lying on sun-bleached hammocks, sipping passionfruit juice, reading, and pondering civilization. In the evenings, we went to any of several bars on the beach and ate seafood. One of these days, we also chartered a boat to take us out snorkeling on a nearby reef. The reef was full of marine life and we saw a great variety of fish and corals.

As expected, our funds ran out on 11 January, and it turned out that I was the only one of the three of us whose account was accessible from Zanzibar. We found a little beach trinket store that accepted credit cards (the only one for miles) and pulled out another max withdrawal at an exorbitant fee. From that point onward, I was financially supporting all three of us.

2008 January 12, Zanzibar

The 12th was our last day at Nungwi Beach, and I was not at all disappointed to leave the beach behind. I've realized that while I can enjoy a few days doing essentially nothing, I am soon eager to move on to other things. It had also been a difficult three weeks, and I was perhaps just growing tired of the transient life I'd been living. Jan and Jussi put off travel preparations to get every bit of recreation out of the resort that they could. I, on the other hand, spent most of the morning organizing my belongings for the long journey ahead of me, and taking a few photos of the area.

Our flight didn't leave Zanzibar until late that night, but we had to check out early enough in the day that it was necessary to spend some time wandering around Zanzibar City. The heart of Zanzibar City is an area referred to as Stone Town. Stone Town is a densely populated relic of European colonialism, but with an influence of Western tourism. There are dozens of little shops celebrating Zanzibar commerce and culture, as well as a bustling port that supplies imported goods to the entire island.

We dropped our bags off at a hotel restaurant, and took a couple hours to see the city and do a little shopping. I bought a few odds and ends for friends and family, but spent most of my time wandering about the crowds of local people, trying to soak up what their daily life may be like. Like many developing populations, the residents of Zanzibar enjoy a number of modern conveniences, but have not yet grown to appreciate their impact on the environment. At the harbor, a large group of kids took turns jumping off an industrial pier into water that was littered with rubbish, and had a luminescent glaze of oil or gas. Other piers had fishermen reeling in anything that would catch on their hook. The Stone Town plaza was full of street vendors, but there was not a waste disposal system to speak of, so trash collected on the walkways and in the ditches.

That evening, we flew to Dar es Salaam, in order to catch our transcontinental flight home the following morning. Airport security in Zanzibar was the scarcest I'd seen yet. Upon arrival, we took our checked bags to the security drop to be scanned. A woman there stated that the scanner was broken and that they'd need to look in our bags. As I began to go through the bags, she scolded me and another passenger explained to me that she really just wanted a bribe. I gave her $10 and she thanked me and loaded the bags on the belt to be processed. We then made our way to the concourse and went through gate security as well. The man behind the scanner was eating a sandwich, but waved to us to load our bags. He made a point of looking in the general direction of the scanner monitor, but was clearly not paying close attention. I later realized that I had forgotten to place my pocket knife in my checked bag, and successfully carried it on the plane.

We arrived in Dar es Salaam at around 22:00, and were forced to trust a local cab driver to find us a hotel. "Anything with air conditioning", we told him, hopeful that air conditioning would be symptomatic of accommodations otherwise acceptable. Driving on the dirt city streets of Dar es Salaam, we passed dozens of shady figures socializing on street corners, and later passed through what felt like a checkpoint bolstered with flaming tires. I got the impression that we were being watched and that other vehicles may not have been allowed to pass; however, this may simply have been my imagination at work. This much was clear: I wouldn't want to be on foot. We were successful in finding a room at the second hotel we tried, and were content to find an adequate space with a clean bathroom and ample air conditioning. At this point, I said goodbye to Jan and his friend, Jussi. Their flight the next day was much earlier than mine, so this would be the last I see of them.

2008 January 13, Dar es Salaam

I arrived at the Dar es Salaam airport well ahead of my 9:00 departure time. Despite being just after sunrise, it was already growing quite hot and humid. The scene outside the airport was one of mass confusion. Contrary to the lack of security in Zanzibar, the airport at Dar es Salaam required going through a metal detector and baggage scan prior to even entering the building and approaching the ticket counter. There were hundreds of people outside with carts full of bags, all waiting to get through a single gate that was admitting about five people per minute. There was no line, just a mob of frustrated people. At least a half hour passed before I even got inside the building.

Once inside, I was overjoyed by the sight in front of me: A British Airways ticket counter! I was surprised at just how much I missed the familiar world back home. No more bribing officials, no more bartering over expenses... The ticket attendant was a native English speaker, and had a familiar process for issuing me my ticket and sending me through immigration and security! After paying the cab driver, I had $2 left--just enough to buy a bottle of water in the airport, but this would be my last expense before I got back to the Western world. I was going to make it home!

The flight was long and uninteresting, save a memorable parting glance at Mt Kilimanjaro out my window. I arrived in Boston at about 21:30, though the day had been 32 hours long due to the change in time zones. I had just enough time to get some sleep before starting work Monday morning.

Epilogue

I titled this journal "Mists of Kilimanjaro" not only for the environment on our climb, but also as a metaphor for the whole trip being a journey into the unknown. I've learned that personal growth is best achieved by stepping outside of my comfort zone, and attempting things that I am naturally hesitant to do. This trip has been a great influence to that effect, and I have become much more at ease with travel and in engaging people of other cultures.

We're at an interesting point in human history, in which global mobility is available but not widely utilized. This allows for a world where there are still numerous adventures to be had by the adventurous, whereas such mobility in the past was harder to come by or was reserved for the privileged, and in the future may be so commonplace that international culture becomes homogenized. I feel fortunate for such opportunities as this, and only months later, am already yearning for my next big adventure.