Mt. Kilimanjaro

The air will leave your chest
You'll fade from where you're found,
You're finally standing still
And your fingers all go numb,
Get higher on your hill
So your big black cloud will come

. . .

Your legs walked your heart high
Your whole body is sprawling out.
Major view, wide.

When I received this fellowship in April of 2006, one of the first destinations I included in my itinerary was Mt. Kilimanjaro. Now, in the end of July 2007, it is amazing to realize I have just come down from the mountain. To me, summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro is not just an accomplishment in itself, it also represents how far I have come in this journey, following what were at first just ideas through to actual accomplishments.

Another Bonderman Fellow was recently commiserating with me on the low points one can reach during such long solo travels; she stated something to the effect of feeling the Bonderman committee made her live through difficult experiences. While I fully understand her point, I more often feel that I am making myself live through difficult experiences, when I have the full choice to avoid those experiences. Everything about Kili proved to be difficult, not just the trek.

I had planned, as with most of my activities, to organize my trek upon arriving in Moshi. Though Moshi is a small town, it has a very large tourism industry based around Kilimanjaro treks and Serengeti safaris. I quickly realized that the plethora of companies made arranging a trek more difficult, rather than less. Unfortunately many companies do not pay their guides and porters well and often their porters are under equipped and under fed; however, the people running these companies are not stupid when it comes to business, so they will not willing admit their business practices. In the end, I used the local Porters Assistance Project to set me up with an independent guide and crew. It worked out well for me and I hoped it worked out well for my crew as well. Most importantly, climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro became a learning experience both in setting up the trek and completing the trek.

I could not help but feel a little strange about using a porter, even though it is the norm on Kilimanjaro. I could never work out in my head how adding porters to carry my stuff made any sense, as they would have to carry my equipment and their equipment. I am happy to give people jobs, but do not want to over work them either. My crew assured me that what I gave to my porter to carry weighed about half of what the normal client brought; nevertheless, my porter carried a pack with my things, plus a bag on his head. Our cook also carried a fair share. The park regulates the weight porters are allowed to carry, weighing their packs at the entrance gate. The limit is 25 kgs, which to me is still a huge amount. Further, porters are often loaded up more later in the trek and other porters can be sent down with only partial pay. The one thing that seemed to even things out in my mind a bit is the fact that the porter and the cook do not make the final summit, which is substantially harder than the first three days.

My trek took 5 days and 4 nights up and down the most popular Marangu route. Due to the popularity of this route, I met many people along the way and was not at all lonely. For the first three days, we walked between camps, staying at small huts at each camp. Each day we hiked roughly 5 hours, increasing our elevation by approximately 1000 meters. These hikes were not nearly as difficult as I expected them to be, though I am glad because the energy I saved was most definitely needed for the final summit hike. By the time I reached the top camp, I was feeling pretty good relative to many other tourists. It seemed that at 4,700 meters, many people were already succumbing to altitude sickness, spending most of the evening vomiting in the "toilets", which were actually holes in the floor of a shack perched over a cliff/hole (I didn't look too closely). I felt slightly weird, in a nondescript sort of way -- it could have been from the altitude, but it could also have been from the cold meats, unboiled water or long hikes.

We being our summit attempt at 12:30 am on the fourth day. At first, the hike was going very well. Though my guide and I were two of the last to start, after the first 3 hours, we had passed most of the other groups. Then, at about 5,300 meters, the altitude sickness struck. Altitude sickness affects different people in different ways; the most accurate way I can describe the way I felt is to say that it was like the flu. I had a splitting headache, I felt very nauseous, and I ached all over. Once I made it to Gilliman's Peak, at 5,600 meters, I was on the verge of tears from pain and from happiness for reaching that point. Little did I know I still had and hour and a half to hike before reaching the highest peak. At points I questioned whether I would make it, but I never wanted to stop trying. Finally, at 6:30 am, I reached the summit just in time to see the sun rise. I even managed to stand next to the 5,895 meter sign and smile for a photo with my guide, which was amazing seeing as at that point I actually was crying. My altitude sickness had only become worse and my hands were so cold I began to have delusions about having fingers amputated once I returned to Moshi. I really think I owe it all to my guide for getting me up there. He used just the right combination of encouragement and sympathy to keep me going. Of course, by the time I returned to camp at 4,700 meters I felt just fine again and somewhat ashamed for not being tougher at the top. Then I remembered borrowing someone's pulse oximeter at camp the previous evening and discovering that, at rest, my pulse was 92 and my blood oxygen level was 86%. I suppose my levels had to be even more abysmal another 1000 meters high, therefore I don't feel so bad.

The experience, though expensive and at times painful, was one of the highlights of my trip. I feel ready to try my next mountain, so let me know who wants to join me! I am leaving Moshi tomorrow and am not quite sure I'm ready to leave this town. As well as making several good friends in town, I also think that I will miss my guide and crew quite a lot. Making the trek by myself was quite interesting as, though I befriended other tourists in other groups, I spent the majority of my time with my guide. I have a strong sense that I just did something slightly profound and that my guide was a big part of it; however, I suppose he has been with so many groups ascending the mountain that the last five days don't hold nearly the significance for him. Interestingly though, when I went to the Porters' Assistance Project office today I got to see my porter again; further, Philip, who runs the office, told me that my crew very much appreciated my tips and enjoyed working with me as they felt I was their "sister" rather than a client. I will take that for whatever it is worth -- it meant a lot to me.

So who is up for Kilimanjaro 2008?! Machame route over at least 7 days this time. And it will be the "Carry Your Own Damn Pack" trip. You have been warned.

Into Africa

There will be bigotry and there will be open minds
There will be days of peace you'll never have the time

Upon arriving in Africa, I was excited but also apprehensive, as it seemed to me I was beginning a whole new trip without actually going home or having a break. Now it is hard to believe that I have been here for a month already and been in three countries within that time.

Except for a short overnight in Johannesburg, I began in Uganda. Uganda seemed to me to be most different from my own country, or at least most different from what I am accustomed. Now, however, looking back Uganda does not seem so different or uncomfortable. I think that my combined seven months in South America within the last three years, as well as various trips to Mexico, have given me at least a vague sense of fluidity and continuity across the Americas. That, and I am formulating a theory that many travelers develop a life long love for the first country they spend any substantial amount of time in. For me, that country was Argentina and grew to include South America in general. I found myself leaving South America and already missing Buenos Aires like fat kids miss empanadas.

On that note, Uganda had a lot to compete with; however, I am grateful that I had Uganda, or more importantly the people of Uganda, as my introduction to Africa. I was lucky to hosted by Alex, the cousin of an old high school friend of mine. For once, I got to arrive in a town and not worry about where I was going to sleep or how I was going to get there. I found Kampala to be a very nice, easy and friendly city (though that is at least partial due, I am sure, to Alex helping me with anything I needed to get done) but I most enjoyed seeing some of the smaller towns.

I spent a week in Tororo, on the Kenyan boarder, observing a locally run NGO that works for women's rights. I really felt that I got a much better understanding of the culture in Uganda through my time in Tororo, though each new piece of information led to more questions and often sleepless nights (perhaps I am now just more confused, regardless of being better informed). I spoke with many women who came to the legal aid centers, most of whom had very tragic stories of abuse and neglect. Though I knew about the dowry institution in many parts of Africa before coming here, it is completely different to witness some of the negative consequences first-hand. To overly simplify a very complicated situation, dowry is a longstanding cultural institution which, historically, was used to thank families for raising a daughter, but is now used as an economic incentive and often traps women in abusive relationships. I have my own personal opinions about the dowry, though perhaps more importantly, I have realized that I cannot be too quick to pass judgement within a culture I am not part of and do not fully understand. Currently, the Mufumi Project is working to make the dowry a non-refundable, optional gift so that women may leave bad marriages even if their fathers cannot return the dowry to the husband.

There were pretty much no other travelers in Tororo, so I was a bit of a spectacleand attracted a lot of attention. I had some interesting conversations with local people regarding the differences between the culture in Uganda and the culture in the States. In particular, it was interesting to learn how important tribal affiliation is in Ugandan culture. I was asked whether there were tribes in the United States. That was the most difficult question about the United States I have tried to answer. I began by trying to explain that there are some remaining native tribes but that most people in the U.S. did not have a tribal affiliation. That answer led to the question, "Then how do you know who is higher or lower than you?" I began to try to answer that, theoretically, no one is inherently "higher" or "lower" in the U.S., but that in practice this is not usually the case. Trying to explain to someone who has never experienced a culture like the U.S. the various ways people may be prejudice or not in the U.S. is pretty much impossible. It is almost as difficult as explaining to a Ugandan that you are an atheist. My, at times brutal, honesty often made conversations more interesting and, luckily for me, I don't think I made any serious enemies through it. Overall, I had a good time in Uganda; my only regret is that I did not go rafting at the source of the Nile -- that might be reason enough alone to plan a return trip.

Next, I flew down to South Africa to meet my friend Sharlee, who was helping some other veterinarians in Hoedspruit. I wasn't quite sure what I had agreed to, but I was happy to have someone else doing the planing for a little while. We ended up staying with Andre, who works in game capture for various game farms outside of Kruger Park. The whole concept of game farming was totally foreign to me, though it occurs in some parts of the States as well. Basically, Andre's job is to help farmers manage their animals by chemically immobilizing them so they can be moved safely within and between farms. The veterinarians were not as much interested in the game farming, but rather the opportunities to collect data on animals still living in their (more or less) natural environments. This situation provided me with an opportunity to learn a bit about anesthesia monitoring in large wild animals, as my previous experience is limited to cats, dogs, birds and elephant seals. The main reason the veterinarians were there was to collect data on wild giraffe, so that they might better understand how to manage captive giraffe. Unfortunately, we did not get our hands on a single giraffe the whole time we were there. Hopefully the other two veterinarians had better luck later.

I found South Africa to be quite a bit different than Uganda (as expected). To me, the country seems very much fresh out of apartheid -- like everyone is still recovering and figuring out how to move forward. I definitely noticed a bit of what would obviously be described as racism in the U.S. from some of the white population; though it seemed to me to be much a product of circumstance rather than intentional bigotry. Like the U.S. and many other countries, there is also an obvious economic disparity that will take a long time to work through. That said, I visited Soweto, a well known township outside of Johannesburg and was impressed by the progress being made there and about my misconception of all townships being full of crime and poverty. I have been really glad to start out in Uganda and South Africa. Uganda has given me a cultural immersion, though I did not visit as many of the parks as I would have liked and South Africa gave me a bit of a crash course on many wildlife management issues, but came up a bit short as far as giving me a good idea of the interacting cultures.

The Last of South America, But Not For The Last Time

Headed down south
Firewater steps, firewater feet
The South was such a blast
With firewater mind, firewater soul
Where am I?
Well this won't be the last time

As with the rest of Brazil, Rio far exceeded my expectations and became, perhaps, my favorite city I have visited thus far. I will not claim that Rio is any sort of perfect city, far from it in fact, with major pollution problems, crime problems, and sub-standard housing problems. That said, it is still a city that charmed and excited me and made me want to do something about the problems, rather than abandon the city because of them. It gives Seattle a run for its money when it comes to being a perfect city for the outdoor enthusiast, with rock climbing, hiking and surfing right in the city and scuba diving nearby. I took advantage of the climbing and climbed the well known Sugar Loaf overlooking the city and the ocean. I stayed in the best hostel I have stayed in, made a suprising number of new friends and went out to just enjoy myself a bit more, all of which probably added to my love of Rio.

A small group of us went on a tour of one of the flavelas, guided by Bernardo, who works at the hostel. Bernardo explained that the hostel had decided not to use the usual guided tours because the people who worked at the hostel did not feel that life in flavelas was accurately portrayed through these tours. Instead of pointing out the lack of infrastructure and support from the city, the tours tend to highlight that utilities are not paid for and police do not interfere with the drug trade. They tend to glamorize life in flavelas, rather than point out the huge number of challenges people face when dealing with substandard housing. While outside (U.S.) perceptions of flavelas usually revolves around drug dealing, in reality, life goes on in many more or less normal ways: children play and go to school, women run small food stalls, old men sit and chat around beers. Obvious problems arise when children begin working for drug dealers, wanting money so that they can acquire the material possessions they see while attending public schools in wealthier neighborhoods. It was a very eye opening experience; though I cannot expect to have a full appreciation of complicated relationships and inner workings of the flavelas, I certainly have a better, more informed picture of them now.

I left Rio earlier than I would have liked, though it was probably not a bad thing, as I could see myself getting stuck there for quite some time. I also ran out of time to visit any other towns in the south, with the exception of Foz de Igacu. The falls were beautiful, as expect. While there, I stayed at a large hostel outside of town, where I met the craziest traveler I have meet so far. And I have met some pretty crazy people on this trip. I was eating dinner with my extremely friendly and talkative French roommate and she invited a British kid to sit with us. At first he seemed normal enough, though a bit difficult to understand – I couldn’t exactly figure out whether this was due solely to his accent, or perhaps a slight speech impediment. As talk among travelers in Brazil often does, our conversation turned to crime in Brazil. This is were things got weird. Really weird and really uncomfortable. The British guy pretty much totally lost it and started ranting the Brazil is a horrible country and he thinks everyone in Brazil is worthless and should be imprisoned, if not killed. He eventually dropped the bomb of claiming that, in some ways, he thought that Hitler was right -- I saw that comment coming from a mile away, but nonetheless, could not brace myself for it. Seeing as I was talking to a raving lunatic, I didn't attempt to argue with him much, but instead excused myself as soon as possible. The poor French woman was trying to maintain her cheerful demeanor through the whole thing. When I ran into the the guy the next morning, he could see the look of fear and extreme dislike I gave him. He asked me if I was ok. I mumbled something unintelligible and hurried out the door. What I really wanted to ask him was why the hell he is in Brazil if he thinks it is such a horrible place? I doubt I would have received any sort of satisfying answer.

I made it to Buenos Aires on schedule, though I had canceled seeing more of Argentina in favor of seeing more of the countries I had not been to before. I had studied in Argentina a year and a half earlier and had been able to visit several places. B.A. was the first (and only) place I visited that I have some familiarity with and I felt a sense of relief to be coming into a city where I had some previous knowledge of how to navigate the city. As I walked out into the bus station, I saw all the quintessential portenos -- the boys with their scenester haircuts and fashionable scarves and the ridiculously thin girls. Somehow I felt slightly at home, through recognition, rather than actually looking like I belonged in B.A.

I wish I could tell you about all the cool things I saw and did, but mostly I just enjoyed a break with old and new friends. I drank too much and ate to much, but enjoyed it fully. Thanks to Nicolas, his roommates, Christina and Matias for the much needed break!