We climb higher and higher, passing trees with creepers, giant ferns and tree trunks covered in moss. There is a smell of damp earth in the air. No sign of animals. I have no feeling of getting towards the 3,000 meter mark because at this height in Switzerland there are no trees or bushes any more. After a couple of hours it gets lighter as the jungle gradually gives way to low scrub and bushes. Eventually that too gives way to barren heath as we approach our camp after five hours trekking and covering a vertical height difference of 1,160 meters.
I'm surprised to have reached the camp already, but most of my fellow trekkers are exhausted and complain that our guide went far too quickly. Given that we've got another three assistant guides I'm surprised nobody discussed this beforehand. Hans agrees with me. Everybody crawls off into the tents that have already been set up for us next to the few bushes remaining at this height, and lies down to rest. I'm pleased to have a two-man tent to myself, particularly as my luggage fills a third of it. A little later an orange basin with just under a liter of warm water is left out in front of each tent for us to wash. As nobody from our group is being very sociable I start chatting to an American woman who's in a group of just three: herself, her porter and her guide. I never thought of the idea of tackling Kilimanjaro just like that.
It's fun to watch all the bustle around the camp. There are people cooking in some tents. There are a few people sitting on the ground eating and drinking tea. Before long our group is called over to the mess tent. I find it weird that up here we've got a properly laid table with a blue and white striped tablecloth and folding chairs. We're served hot tea or coffee and salted popcorn, as a sort of aperitif. There's another hour to wait before we get the actual meal.
I'm still watching the comings and goings around the camp at six-thirty p.m. when suddenly the clouds lift and the summit of Kilimanjaro becomes visible for the first time. It seems incredibly close. The snow on top reaching down in long fingers towards the valley looks as if someone had emptied a bucket of white paint over the mountain. The vision is only fleeting, like the appearance of a ghost, and then once again the mountain is shrouded in cloud and the encroaching darkness. Our magnificent meal comes out, served on proper china. First of all there's a delicious soup, then the main course and fruit as desert. It feels like being back in colonial times.
The whole thing in fact feels just a little bit absurd to me. After all, I lived with Africans and now here are other Africans carrying tables and chairs around for me as a paying ‘white man’. I realise that many of them are glad to get a temporary job but it still takes some getting used to. By eight o'clock we're all in our tents but I can't sleep, with all the chatter or snoring coming from the other tents. My mind drifts back to our group and I hope we'll get a bit more sociability and camaraderie together tomorrow. Today hardly anyone exchanged a word.
By midnight I still can't get to sleep. Franz and Hans meanwhile are snoring away. I crawl out of my warm sleeping bag to go and empty my bladder. The night is cool and clear, the stars so near I could reach out and touch them and once again Kilimanjaro in its white robe towers above us. But I have to get back into the tent before the cold gets to me. I take a mild sleeping tablet in order to finally enjoy the sleep I have earned.
I'm woken around six a.m. by loud arguing between the father and son who've got damp sleeping bags because they didn't leave a ventilation panel open. It seems they've also nearly frozen and are feeling all stiff from the cold and the hard ground. I don't feel I can complain about anything like that: after all I'm used to sleeping on the ground and in any case I've bought myself a brand-new sleeping bag which is supposed to keep you warm even in extremely cold conditions and also I've got a protective underlay. After we all bid one another good morning I ask them where they got their sleeping bags. It turns out they've never heard of sleeping bag specifications with minimum comfort levels and maximum cold endurance levels and just got their sleeping bags from Aldi. They were very cheap according to Franz, who's a big Aldi fan.
Now however, he reads the small print and finds they're designed for comfort only down to five degrees Celsius and recommend a minimum temperature of minus ten. I can't help wondering how they think they're going to sleep at an altitude of 4,600 meters.
Heading for the toilet my legs suddenly feel like lead for no apparent reason. I'm horrified to find that despite having made provisions in advance my period has started. That's the last thing I need up here on the mountain. It comes as a real blow right now. I gulp down a couple of tablets to suppress the pains.
When I get back to my tent I find my ‘Good Morning Tea’ already laid out. The usual routine is for us to be woken by three people who run around shouting ‘Tea time! Coffee time!’ and we crawl out of our tent to find a tray with hot water, a tea bag and instant coffee. Right royal service! A little later the basins with warm water for washing are brought round and at seven-thirty a.m. we file into the mess tent for a ‘full breakfast’, with scrambled egg, sausages, toast, butter and marmalade, as well as fresh fruit, from mini bananas to pineapple. I doubt any of us have such a superb breakfast at home.
At around nine a.m. we set off for the Shira Plateau, on the high steppes, some 3,850 meters up. At first it's all very pleasant. Gradually the trees and bushes thin out. On the last trees we come across thin shreds of moss hanging like spiders’ webs, making it seem like some fantasy world out of Jurassic Park. Thin wisps of fog only add to the impression. There are also occasional clumps of purple thistles now and shrubs with red and white flowers. But unfortunately the path has started to head steeply uphill and with my leaden legs today it's really exhausting. The others seem fit and rested for a change. The slope is so steep here that I can't even use my walking sticks.
The reward, however, is a magnificent view of Mount Meru, and when I look back down behind us I can see the whole jungle we came through yesterday. But it's hard work pressing on uphill and I'm hugely relieved when we finally stop for lunch just after midday. It's foggy and cool as we sit down behind a rock out of the wind, once again at a properly laid table complete with tablecloth. I pull my hood up against the wind and we settle down to hot tea, bread and cheese and hot pancakes which renew my strength. It might be absurd to be sitting down in comfort like this up here, but I'll never forget it.
Afterwards I feel a little better as we set off again. We reach the Shira Plateau early in the afternoon. It's a huge camp and you can tell from the number of little toilet huts alone that at times it must get really busy. Gradually more and more groups arrive, including the American traveling on her own. Even though we're 3,850 meters up, there are still one or two bushes around so it still doesn't feel to me as if we're that high up. But today I'm really pleased to stop and rest and can hardly wait for my little basin of water to wash. My legs still feel heavy and I've got stomach cramps too.
I try to use my mobile to ring home but there's no reception. I miss my little family and suddenly feel very selfish. Here I am climbing this mountain for God knows what reason while Markus is hard at work and having to look after Napirai at the same time. My morale is at rock bottom. Everyone in our little group seems so self-obsessed that the only time we speak to one another is over meals. I had imagined it would all be a lot jollier and more convivial. Looking out of my tent, however, I can see that some of the other groups are a lot more fun, but in the state I'm in, I can't bring myself to go over and try to talk to people. In any case most of the groups will be heading in different directions tomorrow.