Upon touchdown in Tanzania three months prior, we really believed we would climb Kilimanjaro, bag Africa’s highest peak, bask in the bragging rights and, coupled with the Serengeti, we’d do Tanzania right. We did do Serengeti, though we kinda went in the backdoor. But we never thought we’d be on the summit of the other mountain, staring across at the snows in Hemingway’s yarns.

Then again, nothing in Tanzania went the way we expected. And it was all for the best.

After three months in Tanzania we’d learned that the more you planned, the less you saw. Preconceived notions will prove you a fool and only by walking slowly with eyes wide open do you start to really see Africa.

Our climb was cheaper, more aesthetic, and less crowded unless you count the giraffe and buffalo. Our traveling companion surprised us with a rare form of HAD, high altitude diarrhea, “guys, I had to use rocks.”  Our mandatory armed ranger came down with malaria and had to be evacuated, leaving us to follow the fresh buffalo tracks on our own. These were circumstances out of our control, but our social faux pas came in the process of tipping, an extravagant affair in full documented view of our entire staff, which consisted of a main guide, an assistant guide, six porters, a cook, and our aforementioned armed guard. A ridiculous affair but so full of inexplicable decision making that one can only describe it as consistent.

Thats Africa. Consistently unexpected, except in expecting the unexpected for all sorts of reasons that we’d never come up with on our own but ultimately boil down to flawed simplicity. And in the end, I smile knowing that no other country I’ve ever visited has challenged my place in the world quite like this east African nation.

Life, In a Nutshell from Elephant Cloud on Vimeo.

waterfalls

waterfalls

marco staying loose

the forest

the trail

early, early morning

coming off the summit

heading to first camp

do you know these people

titus, our armed gaurd

the forest

guard, guide, and a darlin

titus, looking healthy still

first camp

first camp

kili, named after the beer

meru

flower

trail

trail

second camp

little meru, warmup

little meru warmup

meru with second camp down low

little meru hippity hop

us again

crater and summit

darlin on the summit

coming down

returning to high camp

cone

looking in the crater

cone and summit

cone

darlin

dreamy cloud

trees

fig tree

]]> http://elephantcloud.net/2010/02/mount-meru/feed/ 4 http://elephantcloud.net/2009/10/the-high-atlas/ http://elephantcloud.net/2009/10/the-high-atlas/#comments Mon, 12 Oct 2009 11:38:43 +0000 Darlene Nastansky http://elephantcloud.net/?p=495

Tipping back the last of their red wine, eyes gazing from the window on Portland’s drizzle, she whispered, “Would you climb the highest peak in Northern Africa with me?” The apartment already barren, furnishings gone, their belongings bursting from two backpacks, “Should we sacrifice a goat first?” he smiled.

Months later, her bag filled with tent, sleeping bags, canned tuna, packaged cheese and fresh dates, she counted the cairns as they trekked across the Tizi n Tamatert pass, 2279m, on to Tachddirt. Barefoot children herding cattle and sheep in for the night, they were invited to sleep in the mud house of an eldered, toothless berber, his daughter steamed a plate of couscous.

Trekking over wild and harsh terrain, into lush river valleys, overgrown fig, apple and pomegranate trees share terraced groves with olives and nuts, the boy was in heaven. Heading for the “huge old walnut tree.… then follow the path pasts the village houses” she led him right off the topo map into Setti Fatma where they nursed blistered feet and weak knees.

Days later, they pass the weathered shrine of Sidi Chamhrouc, heading towards Djebel Tobkal, 4167m, the highest peak in Northern Africa.  At 04:30 from the Tubkal Refuge, his headlamp wakes her, “Ready for the summit…” She layers for warmth and sets off into the bitter cold morning. Trudging up bolder fields and scree, dawn greets their steady pace and at 8:27 with a panoramic view of Morocco, he whispers in her ear, “Where are we going next?”

trek

mountain pass

berber woman carrying hay

Tachddirt

Our room in Tachddirt

Tachddirt

villiage

cloud-1537

atlas mtns

goats

berber window

room for the night

view

mule track

trek

villiage

cactus

villiage

villiage

cloud-1604

friend

cloud-1621

summit

mtn

mtn

refuge

On the second descent day we nursed our ailments from the previous day’s twelve hour hike with dal baat and chang (the rice wine).

We drank a lot of chang that morning.

Back in Lukla, we were greeted with chocolate cake, wine and showers which our tight budget on the ascent excluded. We never skimped on ever-present Nepalese popcorn, an indulgence at every teahouse.

Our descent was so aggressive, we arrived a day early, but so did the rains and it wasn’t possible to fly back just yet. The next day was quite cloudy, but we were on the first flight so if any plane came in, we’d be on it when it returned. So we waited and one came.

It was a little twenty seater and mine was right behind the pilot. Our little plane bounced along the runway, down the hill, and toward the cliff we flew off.

The pilots window was down and I could feel the fresh breeze on my face, though it didn’t change the fact that my clothes still smell like smoked yak dung.

Nine days later, visiting the lodges and familiar with the trails the books expeditions took, we marched into Everest Base Camp. We stood at 17,400 feet in a city of tents. It’s Everest’s welcome mat and we rang the doorbell.

It’s a place of dreams and all their varied outcomes.

I first intended to go to India a few years ago, but instead fell hard for a remarkable woman and cut my trip short. But it wasn’t meant to be and two strong personalitie soon found themselves frustrating one another. One year later I was again dreaming of India.

In the Khumbu Himalaya of Nepal, prayer flags, prayer wheels, and mani walls line the paths I trek. As is the Buddhist custom, they are always passed on the left and as I encounter the wheels, I give them a spin, and for each one think of a loved one, past or present, in the winds of the Himalaya.

In Tengboche, I visit a monastery and spend an afternoon in the cold room at twelve thousand feet, open doors, monks bowed and chanting, accompanied by occasional music. I watch from the dark as streams of light silhouette the rhythmically gyrating saffron robes and the air is thick with incense and frosted breath.

It is peaceful, the chanting, and I close my eyes, sitting cross-legged on the carpets in the corner and wish I could lie down and fall asleep here; for it to never stop.

Acclimitization days we hike packless, generally climbing 1200 feet or so, then return, eat, sleep, and wait for the next days climb. After each rest, dahl baht and tomato egg drop soup, we are all psyched for another day of climbing; to take the next step.

Aside from that anticipation, it’s barren. From the menu, to the accommodations, to the landscape. It’s cold, windy, and colorless. But the mountains are tremendous, this place is big. It’s a place of dreams, when sleep comes and even a midnight bathroom trip is a heart racer.