By now the ice sheets of Kilimanjaro can be seen peeking out to tease us. Am I really going to make it all the way up there? Right now I'm not so sure. Eventually dinnertime comes around and there's a magnificent spread laid out again, but all I can manage is the soup. Our guide isn't impressed and tries to encourage me to eat more. I try to persuade him I'll be feeling better tomorrow.
I wake the next morning to our third day on the mountain. Even in my sleeping bag now it's starting to feel cool. I wonder how the father and son are coping. When I crawl out of my tent I find that the ground and even my tent ropes are frozen. As usual morning tea arrives, then water to wash and then we're served the full breakfast. Unfortunately once again I can't manage to eat much. Franz and Hans nearly froze during the night despite sleeping in all the clothes they could wear. They can't go on like this!
We're off almost immediately but Franz, the father, isn't in a good state especially as he's now got diarrhea. Our program for the day is the South Circuit, a detour to enable us to get acclimatised to the altitude. We're going to ascend 750 meters to the Lava Tower, 4,500 meters above sea level, and then come back down to 3,950 meters. Initially the route is so very gentle that it hardly feels as if we're going uphill at all. We can still see the peak of Kilimanjaro, but then suddenly the fog comes up behind us and it gets really cold. We had set out wearing just T-shirts but now we all pull our jackets on. The last little clumps of shrubbery are behind us now and the only vegetation is patches of lichen on the otherwise dark volcanic rock. We stop for lunch just before one o'clock. I'm glad of the rest as I can now really feel that we're 4,500 meters up.
There's also a cold wind blowing so we find a sheltered spot before sitting down to the table we now know so well. But suddenly a hailstorm hits us and the guides say we have to get a move on as the weather up here can change very quickly and already our visibility has been limited by the fog. I'm feeling pretty exhausted but not bad for the altitude we're at. Franz is feeling worse and worse. Both he and his son have got bad headaches. The guide asks if we want to press on up to the Lava Tower or take the shorter route back down to our next camp. Franz opts for the shortcut and I'm wondering if I should go with him, when the young couple who seem full of energy announce that they're heading on up and I make up my mind to go with them.
As it turns out the weather gets better as we press on and before long the strange great mass of the Lava Tower is looming up in front of us. The guide congratulates us all on having reached 4,600 meters. I'm starting to feel better at last and almost euphoric although only too well aware that we're still aiming to reach the summit. We stop for a few photographs and then head downhill again. At this altitude it's three times faster going downhill. Before long we're once again walking among giant lobelia and senecia. These plants grow up to several meters in height almost like cacti among the rocks and seem weirdly out of place here. Sometimes in the distance they can look like an oasis of palm trees. The lower we get the more we see little silver-white plants dotted among the stones.
Jut before four p.m. we catch sight of our camp laid out beneath us. It's easy to tell the different groups apart by the color of the tents. There are two other groups besides us camped here at 3,950 meters, just below the southern Kilimanjaro glacier. It's really quite cold. In the kitchen tent it's all go already; they always have everything prepared by the time we reach our camp. We each have our own tent and our luggage is already inside. We meet up again with Franz who's not feeling any better. He's got a temperature and is wondering if he might have contracted malaria while we were on the safari, because he hadn't taken any prophylactic drugs. But his symptoms don't match my experiences with malaria, which is something of a relief. Our rapid descent has given Hans an even worse headache but he won't take anything for it.
Once again I turn on my mobile and discover to my delight that I've got a signal. Immediately I call my loved ones back home and am thrilled to hear Markus's voice again. When he asks, with concern in his voice, how I've been up to now, I burst into tears. My reaction to hearing his voice comes as a shock and I manage to assure him I'm physically fine but don't feel as if I'm fitting in. I'm not used to traveling in a group and thought it would all be different somehow. Also I'm not sure if I'm fit enough. Markus does his best to boost my spirits and it relieves me at least to hear that all's well with Napirai. I then have a chat with her myself and she says matter-of-factly: ‘Oh, Mama, don't worry about anything. You'll manage it all right and everything here is just fine.’ My heart just melts at the sound of her voice, and I realise with a sudden intensity that these two people are the most important things in my life.
I feel really buoyed up by the phone call and can at long last laugh again. Even our guide notices that I seem a lot happier with myself. I'm not used to having long periods of feeling down and depressed, and I'm not really sure what caused it: the altitude, the period pills, the malaria pills or just the whole funny situation with the group. I still can't get my appetite back for dinner however, even though I'm amazed at what the chefs have conjured up for us: from a delicious tomato soup to pasta with fresh vegetables and a magnificent meat curry with rice.
The only thing I really feel like is raw carrots, and they conjure these up too, on a plate decorated with slices of orange. Over dinner Franz tells us that if he's not feeling better in the morning he's considering giving up. He's noticed his legs beginning to give up on him and this morning he stumbled over several stones. We'd all be sorry because he and his son have always been a source of some amusement.
After a brief visit to the toilets, the young couple declare they'll never get used to them. The pensioner spends more time writing in his diary than he does talking to anyone. I've managed to glean however that he's a retired dentist. I wonder if that's why he doesn't seem to like me: he can smell a former dental equipment sales representative.
One of our assistant guides mentions that there is a shortcut we could take that might increase our chances of getting to the summit. It would mean, however, that the day after tomorrow we would head for the Barafu Camp rather than the Kibo hut. It would be less tiring and we could spend the afternoon resting. The downside would be that we would miss out on Gilman's Point which is quite a climb. If we wanted to get our certificate and photograph on reaching the summit then we would have to take the direct route to Peak Uhuru.
Everyone agrees to this except me. I certainly want my photograph and certificate but I also think I'd manage Gilman's Point, though I'm not absolutely sure if I would then make it the rest of the way. We talk it back and forth and in the end decide that for the moment at least we'll stick to the route we've booked. Tomorrow night will be our last chance to change our minds. I need time to think it over. We all crawl into our tents and wait for longed-for sleep.
I'm up before six a.m. It's clear weather and the summit of Kilimanjaro seems near enough to touch. We're immediately below it. Once again it looks to me as if someone has poured milk or paint over it. It looks completely different to the snow and ice on our Swiss mountains. It must be because it's a volcano. I'm feeling strong and well-rested this morning and eager to trek on. It's another acclimatisation day and we'll be going up and down a couple of small valleys. At breakfast Franz tells us that he's made up his mind and he and one of the assistant guides will turn around and head down. He's realised that he's not going to reach the summit and doesn't want to take any more risks. He'll go back to the lodge we started out from and might book himself on a safari to Ngongorongo Crater. That means his son Hans at least has the advantage of having two sleeping bags which will help him get through the nights more comfortably. Before we set off we have one last photograph taken of the whole group, particularly as one of the guides is now leaving with Franz.