Kili Day 2: Hitting the Dusty Trail

We were the first to depart Machame Camp on what would prove to be both the shortest, and in my opinion the crappiest day on the mountain. Kili is like all of Northern Tanzania in the dry season in that dust covers absolutely everything. The hike to Shira Caves took only 4 hours but damn did we eat the dust. The dark dust filled up my nose and made it look like big black ants had died in there.

 

On the way to the second camp we hiked past large chunks of obsidian. Here Walker is demonstrating how to use a piece of wood to flake off sharp slivers.

We arrived at the camp before lunch. I was looking forward to lounging around and playing cards. What I realized though is that the sun, at 12,500 feet, is unrelenting. It turned our tents into sweat lodges. Sitting outside wasn't much of an option though because the dust threatened to bury us alive. Mercifully, we took a short hike away from the exposed camp and out of the wind.

This is the cooking tent and also the tent where five porters slept. Yes, they backpacked up that monstrous canister of gas. We on the other hand had two equally large tents to split between the three of us. 

Every afternoon we had thermos-fuls of freshly made ginger tea. It was awesome and a great way to stay warm and hydrated. The cooking tent in the first picture above came stocked with glass mugs (which made me cringe) and multiple kinds of hot sauce.

At this camp we met a couple from Los Angeles. They had been traveling for a very long time and the woman had a stomach bacterial issue. In a fit of madness generosity, Walker gave all of his antibiotics to this woman, who without them would have been very unlikely to summit. Thanks to Walker's drugs, she made it to the top 2.5 days later.

Spending a lot of time at this camp, I began to feel the altitude. Previously, my highest night was spent at 11,200' at the Hidden Treasure Yurts above Leadville. At 12,500', I just felt lazy. Although I would feel much worse on the summit push, this camp was the low point for me on Kili. Knowing what i know now, i would have blown by Shira Camp altogether and headed either straight to Lava Tower (and then up via the Western Breach) or at a minimum, would have skipped this camp and headed to Barranco Camp, tomorrow's destination.

Day 2: Machame Camp (9,350') to Shira Camp (12,500'). 3 miles + another mile to visit Shira Cave

Kili Day 1: Up All Night To Go Pole Pole

Shortly before we went to bed after our first real day in Tanzania, Walker, my Dad and I popped our first Diamox pill. Interestingly, my dad and Walker's doctors prescribed them twice the pills and double the dose that mine did. Diamox is a drug used for a bunch of things but it has the effect of making one's blood acidic and increasing respiration, allowing the body's blood cells to take in more oxygen. It has the side effect of making one piss all the time. So that night we each took turns getting up to pee. All night long. It was the worst night of sleep I can remember having in a very long time.

I had only briefly thought about whether to use doping Diamox or not on the mountain and I decided that I would. Three reasons: One, I didn't want to get altitude sickness. Two, I knew that this trip cost a ton of money and that I probably wouldn't be in Tanzania again so I might as well give myself the best chance to summit. Three, I honestly thought everyone else was probably taking it so why not keep up with the Joneses. I have no idea how much it helped. I did find the majority of the hiking to be quite easy.

The other side effect, which is buried quite deep in the literature the pharmacist gives you, is that often parts of one's feet tingle and feel as if they are asleep. This is a bit disconcerting when hiking but if you know about it, it's fine.

Kili Day 1. Machame Gate (5,380') to Machame Camp (9,350'). 7 miles. 5.5 hours. 

We left Planet Lodge at 7a and spent the next 4 hours driving to Kili, stopping multiple times for supplies, and then waiting while the porters (as yet unseen) divied our gear. I had and still have very mixed feelings about having someone else carry my pack. On the one hand, I think it's absurd and gross to pay poor people to carry all of their crap and some of my crap in order that I can brag to my friends that I "climbed" a mountain that the porters have been up many times. On the other hand, Tanzania ranks in the bottom 20 in countries in per capita GDP. With shallow soil, deforestation, climate change, rape from colonialism, and staggering national debt, this country is literally dirt poor. Tourism is big business and porters comprise the largest number of jobs on the mountain. It's complicated but I enjoyed having them along and I guarantee they were glad for the work.

Finally, after each porter's pack had been weighed by the Park Rangers to ensure it wasn't heavier than their limit (I think it's 20 kilos), we hit the trail. When I asked our guide about the weight limit he said that in the past, too many porters died on the mountain so now they have a weight limit.

Our guide for the trip was Baraka. If we were to summit, it would be his 206th time atop the highest point in Africa. I liked Baraka immediately. He was confident without being arrogant. He made decisions and it was clear that he was in charge but he wasn't overbearing.

We started up through wonderfully lush jungle. In the distance I could see large black and white furry Colobus Monkees. They sort of look like the Shetland Ponies of the monkey
world. Initially Baraka walked incredibly slowly. He said that if anyone passed him they would have to carry his pack. He made us walk so slowly that I seriously considered it for the first mile. After the first mile he mercifully picked up the pace.  No mizungus caught us on the way to our first campsite, Machame Camp

I could spend hours talking about this but we were waited on hand and foot while on this mountain. It was a new experience and definitely a complicated one as it was both incredibly nice and at the same time very uncomfortable. Example A: After the porters carried our packs up to camp, they set up our tents and heated water for us to wash our hands. Then they served us hot popcorn while we played cards until dinner. Awfully nice but damn it felt a lot like slavery.

Day 1: Machame Gate ( 5,380') to Machame Camp (9,350'). 7 very easy miles. 

Boys Will Be Boys

After roughly 32 hours in airports and airplanes, Amanda, my parents and I walked into the warm night air outside Kilimanjaro International Airport. We cleared "customs" and met our driver from Tanzanian tour company Good Earth Tours. This company was great. More about them later.

For the record I think there is an inverse relationship between the low per capita income of a country and the number, size, and intricacy of the required passport stamp. If passport stamps could have epaulettes Tanzania would require them.

Our driver loaded all of our crap into the van. A random guy picked up one of the bags and handed it to our driver. He then turned to me for a tip. Pretty out of it, I turned to my Dad, who gave this guy a dollar. We'd been in the country all of 15 minutes and the expected tipping for "services" and all of the complications that come from that had begun.

As we drove off into the darkness (something Lonely Planet Tanzania strictly forbids), I looked out through a fog of jet lag and excitement and naivete and hoped a lion would cross our path.

After a sketchy shortcut down a rough dirt road and through a random village, we arrived at Planet Lodge, a very upscale if somewhat out of the way cluster of bungalows tourists going to or coming from the airport.

 There are tons of different kinds of bananas in Tanzania. Even small ones

The next morning Amanda and my mother headed out to begin their trip to Zanzibar, an island on the Indian Ocean. My brother, my dad and I were on a recommended rest day before beginning our attempt on Kilimanjaro. We decided to go into Arusha, a town of 1.2 Millionish people (Fun fact, less than 16% of Tanzanian births are officially recorded so no one really knows how many people live anywhere. Hakuna Matata).

After a quick self guided tour through Arusha we hired three dudes with motorcycle taxis called boda bodas and headed up a dusty ass road to investigate a waterfall. This was incredibly fun and super dirty. There was so much dust on the "road" that our drivers had to be very careful not to sink into the fine sand pits on both sides of the road. Incidentally no one stops for pedestrians. I often saw cars thoroughly dust down a group of school children waiting to cross the street. We saw a waterfall and a really cool Colobus Monkey and then returned to Planet Lodge in preparation for tomorrow's departure to Kilimanjaro.

Planzania

Sometime in 2012, my brother started mentioning that he'd really like to climb Kilimanjaro next year. I murmured the sort of vague assent that I often make when I really want to say yes to something but know I probably won't be able to deliver. "Hmmm sounds really exciting," I said without really committing myself. I spent the next 8 or so months working, wedding planning, and then getting hitched and going on a honeymoon.

A few months ago, Walker said, "I'm seriously going to climb Kili in October. Dad's coming, you should come." Then my Dad started working on me. "I'm not getting any younger," he said. "How many epic trips do you really think I have left in me?" I said I thought he had a lot of time and that I couldn't afford to fly to Africa anyway.

My maternal grandparents are deceased but they were big travelers in their day. My parents once gave them a map of the world and some pins to place in the countries they'd seen. By the time my grandfather died, one couldn't see their map for all the pin heads. In short, my parents invited Amanda and I on a two-week all expenses paid trip to Tanzania! This trip would be a tribute to my mom's parents and their love for travel. The loosely conceived plan: My brother, my father, and I would attempt Kilimanjaro while my mother and Amanda would visit the beaches of Zanzibar. Then we'd all reconvene for a week-long safari through the Serengeti. Amanda and I said yes and my parents promptly purchased non refundable airfare.

Parts of the planning process made me want to kill myself and everyone else involved. It seemed that my mother wanted to see every village in Africa. Meanwhile my wife and I had major concerns about we as tourists recreating harmful colonial experiences, and other issues surrounding ethical travel. I was caught between wanting to avoid taking part in "native" performances put on for rich Mizungus while respecting my parents desire to have the trip of their lifetime. After all, they were paying for it.

In no particular order, the five of us researched tour companies, changed budgets and itineraries, and got drugs for Hep C, Yellow Fever, Typhoid Fever, Malaria, Altitude Sickness, and The Shits. I also loaded up on allergy meds because, as it turns out, I sometimes have really scary allergic reactions that require stabbing an epi pen into my thigh. Walker, the only one who had traveled in sub Saharan Africa before, wisely decided to remove himself from the planning process. Veteran move. At one point I had to take a stand as my mother was insisting on taking public transportation everywhere in Tanzania. (Here's why this is bad). I always worry before doing things I've never done before. I worried that I wouldn't make it up Kili. I worried that my Dad wouldn't make it either. I worried that I'd get sick over there. I even worried that the five of us would create National Lampoon's Safari Vacation or something much more tragic.

Eventually, worried or not, with everything booked it was time to go.

Scattered Thoughts on My Relationship With Dancing

courtesty of http://www.benbradleyphotography.com/

1. The annual swing dance weekend Lindy on the Rocks happens in Denver soon. I had a very small role in the creation of this event in that I pushed the organizers as hard as I knew how to host a dance event in Denver that featured classes AND competitions. The inaugural LOTR was a big success and the event is now in its 9th year. I haven't attended in years and am nervous to go, but every year I really regret not going. I know I will be rusty and will almost certainly never reach the level of dance that I once held myself to, but I miss the dance, I miss the friends I made there, and most of all, I miss the music and the energy.

2. My facebook feed still leans heavily dance. Most days, my dance friends' posts make me smile. Unfortunately this one made me cringe.

This photo comes not from an anti pointe website but from the Pacific Northwest Ballet's facebook fan page. Dance owes much to ballet. Ballet was one of the first dance forms that allowed at least a few dancers to make their living as dancers. But ballet's legacy is also one of pain, especially for women. Even properly done, dancing "en pointe" leads to lifelong foot damage. This photo does not make me long to see ballerinas en pointe, beautiful though they may be. It makes me absolutely positive that if I have a daughter, that I'll expose her to every dance form except ballet.

For a long time I kept this quote on my computer:

“Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.” ― Rumi

I always thought of it metaphorically. Photos such as the one above make me reconsider.

3. A few nights ago while volunteering at a screening of Girl Rising at the Denver Pavillions movie theater, a woman I didn't know recognized me and said, "Truman, you are a dancer!" She complimented my dancing and then went inside to watch the movie. As she walked away I was tempted to say, "You know I'm not really a dancer anymore," but as I stood there basking in my annual D rate celebrity recognition, I realized that even though I almost never dance these days, I will always view life through the lens of a dancer.

The Daybreakers

It's been 15 months since I've written anything here. A few small things have happened since then (I got engaged, bought a house, had some work changes, etc) in that time. Perhaps I'll catch readers up at some point down the road.

Last night Amanda and I checked out Black and Read, a used music, book, and board game store in Arvada that is so overrun with geek memorabilia, it might soon appear on the tv show Hoarders.

As I walked down dusty aisles overflowing with books stacked behind boxes of more books, I came across a row of Louis L'Amour novels and was instantly transported back to my Grandma Margaret Turnbull's house in Kingsport, Tennessee, where as a child I read and reread the entire L'Amour catalog. These were some of the first adult books I remember discovering and although I wonder now if they would read as cliched as their covers appear, growing up I loved getting lost amidst high mesas and desperate situations.

To adolescent me, L'Amour's books were about heroes, hard men who were quick on the draw and even quicker to defend the honor of any man woman or child along the way. One of my favorites was Flint, about a dying man who moves back west to live out his last days in peace---until he gets caught up defending a beautiful rancher from land grabbers and assassins.

Discovering these books in my Grandma's basement was one of the first bonds I remember feeling with her. A stern seeming woman of few words, Grandma was my least favorite grandparent. Now she is the one I identify with the most. My father more than once said that Grandma was born too early, that had she been born in another time, she would have run a company rather than just served as bookkeeper for one. The older I get, the more I wish I could go back and build a stronger relationship with her; to know her as an adult. She has been dead nearly eight years so there's not much chance of that. These days I find myself thinking back to those few days each year in Tennessee, laying in bed in the near darkness before dawn, waiting for Grandma to walk down the hall and start a pot of coffee--the signal that another day could start. I'd creep downstairs too then, and with the rest of the family still abed, the two of us would sit in the kitchen reading westerns.

The annual Christmas list

What'd I'd really like is for our dog to stop eating the couch. Not sure they had any Black Friday specials on that...So I'm 30 now and honestly I have everything I need. I have just enough sweaters to fit into an awesome new (for us) armoire that Amanda and I refinished. That said, several people have asked me for a christmas list. Here are a few things that make me drool.

Matching fitted dress shirts (button down collar please) and ties or just ties to match the shirts I already own. I'm a size 15.5 34/35

A six to eight inch chopping knife. 

This cell phone case

A tie tack such as this

A sandcast turquoise Belt Buckle such as this

Rolling carry-on Luggage (22 x 16 x 9). Please not black (or at least let it be patterned).

Massages

T-Shirts like this or this or this

Your favorite cds or any of these: The Gossip Music For Men, Muse The Resistance Ceremonials by Florence & The Machine
Striped or argyle socks (I'm a size 10)

Oh yeah, I remember nights like this

Stay tuned for a post about this badass artist

The past 18 months have absolutely flown by. I moved to Denver (with my girlfriend!), jumped into a startup business in Colorado's most ridiculous industry, turned the bottom line from red to black, finished my MBA, and adopted an insane dog. Amanda finished law school and then took and passed the heinous bar exam. Since then we've crammed as much fun into the summer and fall as possible. It's been fun but recently I've been feeling worn out.

For the past two nights, Amanda's been gone and I've taken the opportunity to be lazy. Tonight I put game 7 of the World Series on, listened to new music, and trolled the interwebs, just as I used to do before grad school. God it feels good to do nothing sometimes.

Tonight I discovered the song 1 by Joy Zipper while listening to some commercial. Honestly it makes a better ad ditty than a stand alone song but right now it's serving as the perfect soundtrack to a nice laid back  evening with Lance Berkman and the puppies.

Review of A Dance With Dragons

Posted also on Goodreads.

Many will not like A Dance With Dragons. I and others are still bitter that books 4 and 5 were split based on worlds--at this point clearly a failure that jars the reader. Obviously Dragons continues along these longitudinal lines.

More importantly though, in Dragons George R.R. Martin departs from a number of themes established in past Ice & Fire books. But did you really want to read another tome detailing yet another war party raid along the trident? Past books had shown a tendency toward devolving into rape, murder, and heads on stakes, which is all well and good but we are over 3000 pages into the series. Mindless violence groweth stale.

Enter Dragons, set in a largely new land for us readers. For the first time in the series, Martin introduces quest themes. He also spends more time letting us read our heroes' thoughts, and not just watching their actions. At this point we have seen them defined by actions and we want more: More depth and more character development. Dragons delivers. Here too, are just enough new characters to bolster the favorites we longed for in A Feast for Crows. There are also underpinnings of romance, something alluded to but rarely explored in books 1-4. As for specific stories, Jon Snow's is great and Arya's is one of the best yet. You'll still get plenty of the violence, intrigue, and insane plot twists that you've come to expect. Just as you didn't like the outcome of every confrontation in Book 1, you may not like what you read here. Isn't that what drew you in though?

The book is flawed, as are most of this length. Daenerys's tale wallows, as it has now for some time. Dorne is still relegated to a bench warming position, and the book spends almost too much time in the distant past. But make no mistake this book is great. It is a rambling epic that brings us into a world increasingly different from reality in ways that delight the mind. The magic is inventive, the twists epic, and the writing is quite nice too.

Dragons injects life into a series that frankly needed it. To be a success, book six will have to put the pressure cooker on, leading to the epic climax in the final book that we've all been waiting for. Although as any fan of the series knows, at George's age and pace, it might just be a success if book six gets written. I for one will enjoy reading Dragons half a hundred times more while I wait.

Dog

A while ago, Amanda and I adopted what turned out to be a neurotic rescue dog from the German Shorthaired Pointer Rescue in Penrose, CO.

For the first time since getting Emmy the dog, Amanda and i are going to leave her as we embark on a five day four night vacation tour of Colorado. Our friend Fernando has quixotically agreed to housesit. This may go horribly.

Weekend Odds:
Fernando says never again: 33%
Emmy pees inside: 60%
Olivia bites Fernando: 70%
Fernando teaches Emmy to stay: 15%
Fernando can figure out Roxy's cat feeder: 66%
Olivia eats anything in the first 36 hours we are gone: 25%

It's 3:30am and omg the interwebs are awesome.

I really am serious that I would not choose another time period to be born in than this. Humanity has jumped the shark. Thanks Awkardfamilypetphotos.

(Slow) Dancing with Dragons

After a 5 year hiatus George R.R. Martin finally finished writing A Dance With Dragons, book five of seven in the Fire and Ice series. The interwebs are all a-twitter with fantasy lovers shelling out $19 for advance hardback copies. I have been anxiously awaiting this book since a friend turned me on to the series about four years ago.

I've actually decided to wait a bit longer on the book.

1. I'm rereading the series (again) and still have Feast For Crows remaining. 
2. I often read in bed and hardback books are cumbersome and uncomfortable to rest on my chest.
3. I'm cheap and would rather pay $7-$10 for a used copy than the $18 for a new one.
4. I quixotically believe that I can keep the spoiler blinders on for another three months.