Even at nine p.m. in the evening we're hit by thirty-degree Celsius heat on landing at Kilimanjaro airport. It feels magnificent although I don't get the same feeling I had thirteen years earlier of ‘arriving home’. We drive to a nearby lodge where we're to spend the first night. I wake up at five a.m. with diarrhea which I immediately treat with a large dose of Imodium. We meet up at breakfast and cautiously get to know one another.
The first lot are talking about the highest mountain treks they've covered: the Breithorn, Grossglockner, Mont Blanc and all. Good grief, I've hiked as high as 3,000 meters and taken the train up the inside of the Jungfrau but that's as much as I have to compare. When I then hear that one of the two older men has just come back from a two-week skiing expedition across glaciers to get fit for this expedition I start to have my first doubts. But first of all there's the safari to look forward to.
We drive for nearly five hours to get to the Tarangire National Park. On the journey I notice lots of herds of cows being looked after by Masai or their children. I wonder what Napirai would think and feel if she were here. I'm astonished to see warriors in traditional dress, with jewelery, war paint and spears, riding along on bicycles. That I find really weird. It all comes across as very different to before and somehow alien. I try to search deep inside myself to bring back memories I've forgotten, but I just can't. Instead I find myself missing Markus and my daughter.
When we reach the national park we're driven straight to our tent lodgings for lunch. While we're eating we get a fantastic view of a herd of elephants down by the river below. Now and then some of the animals trumpet loudly. In the afternoon we go out across the hot savannah looking for wildlife. We're in luck, and come across giraffes, gazelles, apes, zebras and buffalos. Seeing all these animals again starts to strike a chord in me that brings back my old fascination with Africa. By evening we've seen everything but lions. There's still tomorrow, however. We all retire to our tents to freshen up for dinner. The buffet is delicious and I tuck in heartily because who knows what we'll get up on the mountain.
Just before ten p.m. I leave the group as the conversation's going nowhere. There's no real atmosphere amongst the group yet. There's not much light on the way to my tent with just an oil lamp hanging outside each. When I get to the entrance I see some fifty beetles, locusts and insects of every size clinging to the illuminated wall of the tent. It doesn't exactly look very inviting. I try to work out how I'm going to get in there while keeping the insects out. First of all I turn the lamp out and shake the tent wall, then I use my torch to check, and slip as quickly as I can into the tent and lie down to go to sleep so that I don't notice any more of them.
By now the young couple have arrived back at their tent. I can see them through my little window and watch to see how they react to the insects. The two of them stand a good five minutes outside it wondering what to do. I have to keep myself from laughing. Finally the man takes a couple of steps back as the braver woman starts kicking at the tent wall to knock the creatures off. Eventually they get in and start checking out the tent in the light. Suddenly I hear two half stifled screams. Now I simply can't control myself any more and burst out laughing, but at the same time call out to ask them if everything's all right. They don't seem to find it very funny. I fall asleep listening to the chirping cicadas.
The next morning I'm woken early by something banging continuously against my tent. I crawl out in the gray light of dawn and see four dikdiks, dwarf antelopes, bounding around between the tents. They're so fast and elegant that it's fun to watch them. At the same time I hear the trumpeting of elephants getting closer. Gradually both human beings and animals waken to the new day and we're off again on our expedition. This time we come across vast numbers of elephants of all sizes. This morning there are whole tribes of apes and a couple of wild boar down by the river. We photograph everything.
Shortly after lunch it's time to make our way back to the first lodge. The driver asks us if we want to take a look at a Masai village. I'm thrilled, and can hardly imagine how it would feel to crawl into a manyatta again. I'd be curious to know just how I'd react. But my traveling companions are not in the slightest interested, saying they're here to see the animals not some humans. I don't want to be recognized and so I let the experience pass.
When we get to the lodge we sort out our kit, ready to begin the ascent next morning. Anything we won't need on the mountain we leave here. I'm amazed to see some of the men drinking beer. I've hardly drunk any alcohol since Christmas. There's a lot of talk about how it's every man for himself on the mountain. Whoever feels fit enough keeps going even if his partner is too tired. That obviously only applies to those in pairs, the young couple and the father and son. I chip in that I wouldn't leave my partner alone in a difficult situation, only to be rewarded with mocking looks and the line: ‘You obviously don't know the rules of the mountain.’ Each and every one of the party dreams of reaching the summit and all the others come second best. I suppose I'm no different myself.
The next morning we set off at eight o'clock. At first the bus trundles along a good metaled road heading towards Moshi and then takes a sharp left at a signpost reading Machame. The road suddenly starts to get bumpier and reminds me of the state of the roads in Kenya. We can see huge banana plantations on either side, along with coffee plants and some small allotments. Everything is green and luscious. We pass some simple little huts but also, set back from the road, one or two magnificent houses. The people here obviously do a lot better than those in other areas. Apart from anything else there are shops with freshly slaughtered meat hanging from hooks, even if it is swarming with the usual hordes of flies. It would appear the people also have the money to buy meat. When I point out some of these ‘butchers’ shops’ to my companions a couple of them are nearly sick.
It's still before noon when we get to the Machame Gate, 1,840 meters above sea level. We're not the only group about to set out on this route. There's complete chaos. All the groups have to register, hire porters and pick up their packages of food. I'm looking forward to the start of the trek. Because I'd been out walking for several hours every day at home I've missed the exercise after sitting three days on our fat behinds. At last everything is sorted out. For our group of six we have twenty-four porters, a local guide and three assistant guides. It's madness to see the vast baggage train heading off here, with every porter carrying between twenty and twenty-five kilos of pack on his head.
We set off at a slow pace. It's hot but extraordinarily dry for such a magnificent rain forest. The path is dry red clay covered with stones and tree roots. It must be really difficult in wet weather. I'm enchanted with the abundant vegetation and soon start taking pictures. Every now and then I stop and ask my companion to take a picture of me. But after a bit I stop, as I can't shake off the impression that I'm annoying the rest of the group. I follow the leader happily but have to force myself to slow down to the average group speed which is not as fast as I'm used to in the Swiss Alps. My new water bottle with built-in drinking straw comes in really useful. It means I can drink while walking along and so make sure I'm keeping my fluid intake up.