Africa, the Ascent of Kilimanjaro / 2013

*“Life begins where the asphalt ends.” And where life, in truth, ends – transpersonal experiences begin –*Natalia Valitskaya.

**Kilimanjaro.**I am standing on its upper plateau – almost outer space. An ultramarine sky, pink snows along the rim of the crater, a lime-green line of the horizon. Later they will ask me: is the sky up there really as blue as in the photos? – Yes,- I will answer- very.

The icebergs of Kilimanjaro glow blue, the stones sparkle with frost. Yes, this is the most beautiful summit of my seven five-thousanders. The seventh: can it really be?! Yes, I have had good teachers: I take off my hat, my bra, I set aside my ice axe and my paddle, in a low bow, or in some other pose;) with tender gratitude to these heroes and amazons – Viktor Olifirov. Edmund Shchebalsky. Sergey Kryzhanovsky. Svetlana Shchuper and Ksenia Vitenberg.

Compared with the other people in the group, I traditionally find walking easy. I think that is a talent. The talent of choosing good teachers. But that is for another article.

The Snows of Kilimanjaro – this phrase is very out of date, there is very little snow. According to rumours, 90% of what there was has melted. I stand, hardly breathing. Breathing is noticeably useless anyway: I take a breath with my whole chest, and it is a blank! Energy is spent on the effort and none comes in – an interesting effect. I had never experienced such an obvious lack of oxygen, not on Elbrus, not on Ararat, not on Kala Patthar. Yes, it is almost six thousand here, and at such altitudes every 100 metres of vertical is very much felt.

My route is called Marangu. There are three trails leading to the summit of Kilimanjaro itself, which is Uhuru Peak. Everyone goes back down by our trail, Marangu.

The first white climbers are already coming towards me – happy, and unreally white-blue-green, their drained faces like masks from lack of oxygen. I can’t even believe that I look the same. I freeze, enchanted. My guide, a young black man, won’t let me linger: camera, photo, friend – let’s go forward – another 5 minutes. He takes my little rucksack from me and is very keen that I should reach the victory sign with the inscription “Congratulations UHURU PEAK – 5895 m.”

At 6:30 on 20 January 2013 I stand beneath the cherished sign. White as an iceberg – where has the African tan of the Serengeti gone? Slowly, on a long in-breath, I take off my mountaineering glasses and, looking into the horizon, I stop on the outside and… deep inside. Time has stopped too…

Two weeks earlier:

Moscow.

8.01.2013

At Vnukovo airport there is an unusual rush at boarding. The flight has been delayed by three hours – it is snowing in Istanbul. The transit passengers are worried: they risk missing their connections. The airline staff are running about nervously: the Turkish Airlines representative – a little blonde with her curls loose down her back – is typing something fast on her computer, her ringlets bouncing, and a man, a colleague, comes up from the side. She says to him:

– Why did Nastya leave, I can’t cope here on my own!-(without lifting her eyes from the keyboard).

He, so relaxed:

– She got hungry, probably.:)

The queue, waiting for departure for the 4th hour, roared with laughter.

The snowfall is getting heavier, snowflakes stick to the window, inviting us to admire their shapes and sizes. We take off beautifully: the pinkest of clouds opens on the far side of the sunset over my wing. Take-off is like sunrise, the beginning of a journey is like spring! I declare the sunset a sunrise! And for a long time we chased the departing sun.

The plane banked, turning and settling onto its course. And the sun – by now hysterically orange – kept surfacing alternately above and below the wing. Flirting, it stretched out a lime-green ray, and the air coming out of the turbine phosphoresced like a “Jedi’s sword”. As a parting gift a scarlet track on the clouds – like ripples on water! – reminded me of Cannes, solemnly and unrealistically beckoning!

The plane finally gave up chasing the departing day, and it went on ahead – to glide, licking the sides of the Earth, leaving us the illusion that it had burnt out.

One of the most beautiful flights of my life – the seventh in the past year – and I can’t stop admiring the beauty of the skies. Yes, a tip – when you fly, at check-in ask them to check you in for a window seat – it can be done! And enjoy:)

We descended into the dark-blue Arabian night with a rainbow braid at the horizon. Diving into the clouds, the wing tilted, reflecting as in a mirror the petrol-like swirls of the narrow coloured horizon, and revealing yellow scatterings of lights and the glowing arteries of Istanbul’s highways. Continuing the turn, we flew low over the water, crossed the dotted line of the lights of the embankment and came in to land. Well? How can people be afraid of flying ?? ( those who are afraid – you must read this post!)

On arrival in Istanbul the passengers almost trotted off to look for their next flights. And there was just enough time to dash onto the plane. We made it! But our luggage didn’t – we would find that out in Dar es Salaam.

The plane is half-empty, it is half the size. Not so many people fly to Tanzania: it is very exotic, very extreme. A 7-hour flight. I stretched out across three seats – thanks to my natural flexibility and yoga – I fitted all the armrests into the landscape of my body, covering myself with the little blanket they hand out for long flights – this is luxury class now – you can dream Africa.

After a sleep, still on the plane, I began to take a look at the passengers and suspected that that group of Russian-speaking good fellows were probably ours. Yes, it was them.

9.01.2013

We landed at 3:25. We were landing into the thick night of the new moon. At once hot and humid Africa breathed on us through the open windows of the airport. Dark and smiling, like the African sky with its sickle of a young moon, the customs officers processed our visas.

Here, this procedure is almost criminal: they took fingerprints and photographed – all but in profile – the tired and sleepy “mzungu” – white people. Calling us by name, they handed out stamped passports (our surnames are simply unpronounceable for them). Afterwards we learned that our luggage – the rucksacks with mountain and beach gear – would arrive in a day. And so – from lack of sleep no longer having the strength to be upset, in mountaineering boots out of season, relaxed and content with the feeling of having arrived at the starting point of adventures, we went to settle into the bungalows.

Note: A bungalow is an ethnic reed-and-palm hut, the size of a tent, standing on the shore. Blown through by the ocean breeze, it is a pleasant alternative to the dubious hotels of Third World countries. The floor is a mat on the sand, and there are little beds under romantic, ultramarine canopies of mosquito nets.

By day we swim in the indecently warm Indian Ocean, and catch up on sleep in the lacy shade –”lounging on mattresses”, waiting for one more participant and the luggage. Breakfast: toast and eggs – English cuisine, African style.

In Tanzania there is no cuisine of its own, except ugali – a porridge made of something. And yet having a cuisine of one’s own is a sign of the development of a culture. Here a lot is as it was at the dawn of humanity, and that is the charm and the extreme of Africa.

The population has the ability to use fire: they can fry and boil. Not very quickly, but they are learning, wishing to tame the tourists. They borrow culinary traditions, as they borrow religions – Islam and Christianity – from their colonisers. As my friend Sasha India put it, presenting the exotica of travel:

“Remember: to a black man a white man is a friend, a comrade and bread”.

In Tanzania any business is run either by Indians or by Europeans, less often by Arabs – after the pogroms of the 90s most of them left. Business is too complicated for the African mind. In the conditions of abundant fruit on the hot continent, with no change of seasons, there are not only no problems – there is no reason for a thinking intellect to form. No tasks – no intellect, and bananas and passion fruit fall on your head anyway.

Tanzanians add two-digit numbers on a calculator, and cannot hold two operations or commands in their heads. A business will exist as long as the European owner is here, and instantly falls apart and gets stolen if he leaves the country. On the other hand, Tanzanians run wonderfully, and have beautiful long bodies. Every evening all the men and youths, in a big (about 100-strong) colourful crowd, play football, of which they are great fans here.

Football is a special passion of the Tanzanians. In the cinemas too they watch not films but old matches, and they probably know everything about football. A little further along the shore there is something even more exotic – women’s football: big African ladies with saddle-shaped bottoms, with bows on their heads, in tight long flowery dresses, playing ball. They leap lightly and sweepingly in the African way – really very funny. The bottoms of African women involuntarily hold the eye, even a woman’s, for longer than is decent;)

Evening – a walk along the shore. Searching among the dark-skinned people for representatives of the branded Maasai tribe, publicised by an American woman, or rather by her much-talked-about book “The White Masai”. And indeed we find one. A young man with round scars on his cheeks, a curious hairstyle with beads and bits of metal woven in. With a spear and a “machete”, in a red check blanket, white anklets and sandals, he gladly shakes hands and is in the mood to chat.

The customs of this tribe seem shocking to our white culture: scarification, female circumcision. But psychologically their culture contains precisely what we white neurotics lack – the mysteries of age Initiations – which inspires respect and arouses our curiosity.

However, modern young Maasai men have difficulty living through their seven-year warrior period. Historically it was prescribed for them at this time:

1. to expropriate other people’s cattle: because, according to tradition, “God gave all the cattle on the planet to the Maasai” – and they are only taking back what is theirs.
2. it would be good to kill a lion – for here it has historically been the main enemy of cattle herders.

And since both are against the law: the government invites the Maasai, as it were, to serve as guards in big cities – as it were to complete their military service. Which, although at first glance it looks like an acceptable political solution, in fact turns “everything upside down”.

In the cities the Maasai becomes like not a warrior of the harsh savannah but a “cool show-boy” with a spear – “a Maasai for an hour”. And he is perceived as part of the show programme for tourists. And we joked that some white girls probably come here to check in with a Maasai. Their courtesy, the little blanket over the shoulder and the spear are very appealing;)

In the evening the guys devour lobsters and fish with their feet dug into the coastal sand. After sunset it gets dark at once – the equatorial effect: we are a few degrees from the equator.

Note: Dawn and sunset at the equator are always at 6 o’clock at any time of year. Here, day lights up instantly, and night falls just as abruptly – there is no twilight.

But for those with tripods and fine lenses there is something to do: the stars here seem simply to lie on your head.

Back at the bungalows, a walk along the shore in anticipation of the ascents and talk about equipment, mountaineering jokes and the charms of extreme – body-and-soul-developing – rest.

And what an interesting, motley group we have put together.

Yuri Biryukov – 37. Belarus. Group leader, guide to exotic countries, an interesting storyteller – an expert on the history and cultural customs of small and large peoples, mountaineer, master of photography, author of his own photography school: looks like a lion.

Irina from Moscow – 41. Russia. With an Asian face – keen on trekking, has been to Nepal on the trek around Annapurna: looks like an antelope.

Albina, an aristocrat from St Petersburg – 29. Russia. Self-sufficient, attentive and caring towards the participants, a traveller – a sensual dark-haired beauty, looks like a puma.

And the “good fellows”, a team of representatives of intellectual sport, namely – sports poker – guys who have made their mark materially in big “grown-up” games.

Alexey – the youngest – 23. Ukraine. Lucky in the game – a tournament winner: purposeful and natural in communication, charming: looks like “Pumbaa”.

Oleg – 32. Lithuania. Also a professional player, claiming leadership: despite heightened criticism he is responsive, with a dramatic health history and a successful recovery – he too has decided to climb Kilimanjaro – which inspires respect: looks like an elephant.

Sasha – 32. Belarus. Minsk. Grown-up and light at the same time – understanding where he has come – open to adventure, humorous, moderately cautious: looks like a giraffe.

Two Igors – the First – 30 years old, Belarus. The initiator of the African adventure for the whole team of guys – reliable and sturdy – keen on triathlon: looks like a buffalo.

The Second Igor – 25. Belarus. A successful poker player, simply brilliant in the world of numbers. An athlete – almost an Apollo: clever, confident, self-determined, graceful in body – looks like a cheetah.

So that is the big African five-and-then-some, eight, in my team. And I, clearly an exotic character for them too, prefer to be in the trees: like one of the local species of predator.

Such people – curious in their philosophy, style and experience – each with their own drama and manner of expressing themselves. So I recommend travelling “in a grown-up way”, if only for the sake of such an unexpected – company – it really does broaden your outlook, contemplating someone else’s way of life and thought, especially from above)

10.01.2013

We set out / cross by ferry to Dar es Salaam – the former capital of Tanzania. It is a good place to buy a local SIM card with internet already on it and adaptors for charging in hotels; be aware that the sockets here are a different standard.

We look at the city – it is a little reminiscent of South India, only cleaner – of course, Kanyakumari – the southernmost point of India and the whole Indian state of Kerala sent their ships here across the Indian Ocean for several hundred years.

The scorching sun, we walk on the shady side of the street. The central hotel – I recommend going up, if only for the wonderful views from the observation deck. We go into a pharmacy for malaria tablets /for anyone who hasn’t insured themselves with pharmacology yet/, and for sun creams – here you need a protection factor of no less than 50, otherwise by evening you will be competing with the lobsters. And it is also good to buy a wide-brimmed hat here. A cap, with the stooped posture typical of European men, will guarantee a burnt neck, ears and nose. Open yourselves to a new style, it will be appropriate here.

On the way back, boarding the ferry, we watch a cruel scene: a security guard convincingly, if not effectively – with a blow to the chest – turned away an importunate beggar – a ragged youth with an outstretched hand, a sacrificial face and a “running line across his forehead”: “ – White man, what have you done for Africa!” addressed to our fine fellows with enormous lenses over their shoulders. After the policeman’s second blow, to the head, with bloodied lips he goes on, already bent over, holding his hand out to our white lads, and is lost in the crowd on the quay.

Evening. Again we study the length of Tanzanian minutes: while waiting for dinner on the coast, 10 minutes equal 1 hour. The bill greatly amuses the guys: all the dishes lined up in a column add up at the bottom to a doubled figure. Albina notices and says, perhaps not – the African waitress with a firm bottom agrees and the bill is easily cut by 100 bucks. Bitten by mosquitoes and cheered by the staff’s cheek, we set off for the bungalows.

On the way back we fend off our guide Yura from the importunate friendship of an active native. It really is outrageous that every dark-skinned person tries to charge a tax for photographing: huts, hens or boats on the shore, with the words – “I’m for mutual respect – this is my village’s boat – give me money, my friend”

The day ends with a game of Chinese poker with a deck of Kilimanjaro cards and the beer of the same name. After all, we have “playing people” in our team, and this should give them back a feeling of “home”. And I, by now thoroughly deformed by my profession – a psychologist – do not deny myself the pleasure of observing the players, considering that no other pleasures are on offer for the time being)

11.01.13

In the morning jellyfish sting those they hadn’t yet managed to get in the evening – an initiation by Africa – for another two weeks there will be scratched-looking stripes on the body, as from whips.

We leave for the airport. An African cockroach, running along the bread tray in the Duty Free, poses, wiggling its whiskers, which greatly amuses the guys. A quick flight, jeeps meet us with a joyful greeting from a dark-skinned safari guide, we check into a spartan hotel: the “good fellows” are in shock.

12.01.2013.

Ngorongoro. Safari – Day One. A crater 12 kilometres in diameter – naturally walled in by mountain ridges – a paradise for animals. In the centre of it is an alkaline lake with a pink, long-legged cloud of flamingos.

The lake is poisonous to such a degree that no grass grows on its shores. It has dissolved in itself the consequences of lava activity, and swimming there is out of the question. No creature swims in the waters of the lake, except for one local alga. And the only creature that eats this alga is the flamingo, which is why it is pink.

Here the animals are represented in all their African variety. And on the first day we saw all those listed below. To our amazement, they had absolutely no thought of fearing us and hiding. A person in a tin can like a jeep is not read by predators as edible, but getting out, or climbing onto the roof, is strictly forbidden – one swipe of a paw and they will bite you in two. Drivers who indulge tourists in these rules risk losing their licence. So we played at being hunters with them, under cover of the jeep’s raised roof, poking out our photo-guns and clicking at everything that moved.

The guys with their showy lenses bagged: “The Big African Five” that is – elephant, lion, buffalo, rhinoceros and leopard, as well as several kinds of gazelle, wildebeest, zebras, cheetah, ostriches, hyenas, jackal, hippo and the funny warthog – “Pumbaa”.

“Pumbaa”, like “Simba”, are words of the Swahili language, and they are the names of animals. So if you have watched the cartoon “Madagascar” you already know a little Swahili: “jambo” – hello, and “hakuna matata” – no problem!

On the way back to the camp, on the wooded rim of the crater, a herd of elephants blocked our road. “Danger-danger, said the driver – don’t hurry to socialise with them, it’s dangerous!

In the evening a long table awaited us, as at a wedding. And, set up under a great African fairy-tale tree, two-person tents with little mattresses inside – “good” service.

Animals are so emotional, such an atmosphere of childhood in the soul. Everything pure, touchingly infantile rises up, and faces simply begin to glow. Only the serious cameras oblige you to put back on a serious expression, proportionate to the size of the lens.

At night the guys photograph the sky and the huge, hospitable “our” tree, lit by the stars of the Milky Way. If you turn round around the perimeter of the camp with a torch on your forehead, you can catch the light in several pairs of animal eyes at different heights. Hyenas prowl, buffalo come and noisily crop the grass around the tents – the Maasai guards are asleep.

Note: Buffalo kill more people in Africa than any other animal, they are big animals with horns fused across the forehead, they lull your vigilance with their herbivorousness, and are able to speed up and gore you to death.

I assist Yura with the shooting, chasing people with torches so they don’t ruin the picture, for which he, in his delight, pours “Kilimanjaro” beer over me. There is no moon. A sky in diamonds, diamonds in aureoles – an African fairy tale.

13.01.2013.

Up before dawn. A glow on the horizon, blue rays in a peach haze. In the morning an elephant came into the camp and, like an enormous spirit of the mountain, unhurriedly ate the bushes, flapping its ears. It allowed the paparazzi to come close.

Breakfast, contact improvisation with Albina in the clearing. Sasha was too shy to join us, saying, looking at our acrobatics, that he was dear to himself just as he is.

9:00 We set off for the Serengeti.

We descend from the crater through light woodland. Here the first giraffes appear – as long as telegraph poles, bending their necks and nibbling the low trees. We drive past Maasai villages with their colourful inhabitants. In the Serengeti valley we watch the great migration of animals. Clouds of herbivores.

Travelling across the expanses of Africa after the green grass, the herbivores. Very big herds on the flat plain, where all mixed together are: zebras and the horned, bearded wildebeest, the little orange Thomson’s gazelle, and also ostriches – the females grey and the males black – and warthog-Pumbaas dash across the road. Hyenas are met less often, and the lion is altogether the most desired trophy. We saw lionesses by the road, they were licking each other and lazily swaying. Erotic and relaxed cats, living among such clouds of herbivores – obviously – they plainly have no intention of dying out, and feel superb!

A cobra – the driver points out, right by the road, and it is simply a photographer’s talent to manage to click in time – and Yura managed. And the driver simply astounds with his ability to spot living creatures from any distance.

By lunch, or rather at lunchtime, we arrive at the appropriate base where tourists are allowed to get out. A stop with coloured lizards, iguanas and little birds begging for food.

Then the deserted steppes and wooded foothills delighted us with giraffes by the road, very close, ten paces from the jeep. Herds of elephants of all ages – since the ban on ivory there are a lot more of them here. And the hit of the whole safari is a leopardess with two cubs.

Coming out of the thick grass, she walked along the road, pursued by the jeeps. She walked a long time along the road, sometimes hissing, but turning off into the savannah, she lost the cubs in the thick grass, they mewed comically and jumped, flashing their thin tails. The spotted mother led them back onto the road. Six jeeps after her, overtaking each other in turn, hunted with cameras.

Tanzanian drivers show great solidarity – they pass on by Motorola radio to each other where a predator has been spotted – which means that all the tourists in the area will soon converge on the “tasty” spectacle. The jeeps very carefully give way to each other for access to the animals. If a vehicle stands for a long time, the lions may decide to make use of a good source of shade and lie down right under the jeep. The drivers set off slowly, trying not to run over tails and paws.

We spend the night again in a tented camp, now on the plain in the depths of the Serengeti, fenced with barbed wire. Here Yuri Biryukov will take photos of the most stunning Milky Way. And an African hare too.

At night the valley is full of prehistoric sounds and smells.

14.01.2013.

Dawn in the savannah is on our plan. An early rise, in pitch darkness. Flasks of tea await in the covered dining room, and then we set off at once.

The huge African sun and a horizon of acacias. It rises quickly and it gets light at once. The dawn catch – a female cheetah and three half-grown cubs, she leapt across the road in one big bound and the proud cubs with white manes after her. They are scanning for a herd of antelopes.

Returning to the camp, very close to the entrance – lions. Oh, so it was they who were loudly eating someone last night! A pride with two young males.

Note: The age of male lions can be told by the mane. In the young it is short and pale; with age, when the male matures, the mane grows and darkens.

We no longer even remark on roe deer and zebras and warthogs, as seasoned hunters spoilt by spectacles.

A transfer to the volcano. Lunch – the by now familiar square little box with its invariable set: juice, egg, cake, banana, samosa, a leg of tough African chicken and a sandwich.

A stop in the place set aside for it. I hunt an iguana – a beauty, blue and red, with rough fish-like scales, caught with quick reaction and a scarf – which protects against poisonous bites. Her tail reveals that someone has already hunted her. In the photo with her in my hands I have big eyes – well, of course, I am afraid of her)

One jeep, briefly and at the right moment, breaks down in a very beautiful place with a view of Lake Natron and the volcano Ol Doinyo Lengai, wonderful! We document the views, and drive on – now to a real village of the Maasai tribe at the foot of their sacred volcano, where according to local legends a god lives. And it is to visit him that we will go tonight.

Yes, our programme includes the ascent of the active volcano Ol Doinyo Lengai, which erupted in 2009. Here the ground has not yet grown over with grass, there are many faults and cracks with a white – soda – coating, along which the unique alkaline lava flowed. It really is a unique volcano – a soda one, not a silicon one like all the others in the world. On the approach to the summit, sulphur fumes of the living mountain – the Great Rift Valley – will meet us.

Note: In a few thousand years, Africa will split into two: West and East. This will be a consequence of the natural movements of the tectonic plates.

But for now this great division is still in progress, and the Great Valley has not yet been flooded by the Indian Ocean. The ginger Serengeti with the poisonous Lake Natron, ringed by mountain ridges, breathing volcanoes, heated from below by lava, celebrates its manifestation of life on Earth.

Note: The Serengeti is not only the greatest zoo on the planet, but also, according to the latest research, our cradle – the cradle of humanity. It was here, with the disappearance of the dense forests in the valley, that the humanoid apes were forced to master stable upright walking, and their hands were freed for further humanisation.

In the village we are met by Maasai girls and children, jumping through something like a skipping rope. In the camp, white beaded ornaments laid out on the grass and very black Maasai women with white collars, with flocks of children twittering like birds in hanging “knitted” nests, beneath which our tents are pitched.

And now to sleep, for at midnight we climb the volcano Ol Doinyo Lengai.

“Hardcore”, as Oleg would put it later, but we would find that out in a few hours.

15.01.2013

The 24 hours of 15 January began: we took trekking poles, and for those who had none they brought wooden ones, loaded into the jeeps and drove to the foot of the volcano. The local guides – and there were three with us – repeated several times:

– If anyone really finds it hard, don’t keep quiet, say so, and one of us will take you back.

We had assumed that at dawn we would all be at the top to greet the “sunrise”. The group, full of enthusiasm, all decide to go up.

At first we walked a long time through tall grass, then, jumping over cracks, over frozen lava sprinkled with volcanic sand. Footwear slips, the surface is unreliable. Further on, when after 4 hours of climbing the slope became really steep, we were already going on all fours, slipping in the sand and clutching at the rocks with our hands. There, while we were still walking through grass, the lads were still trying to play “guess the person”, the rest marvelled and silently waited for them to figure out how to shut up – it’s easier to walk that way, for everyone.

Later the guides suggested splitting the group, as the pace of the participants was clearly different. And we went in two groups. I go with the men; the guide of my group is a tall, scarred Maasai warrior in modern boots, evidently donated by tourists; the other guides are in homemade sandals made from car tyres. At stops we joke, putting forward theories about Maasai culture and the secrets of our black guides. Sasha about how the Maasai shamans, having read the entrails of a sheep, decided our fate. And here the guide turns round and says, reproachfully:

– No need to mention the word “Maasai” and laugh.

A short pause hangs. We begin to justify ourselves in chorus: Maasai “is very good”. Sasha says, I won’t translate for him what we’re saying here, but they’re a warlike people, we need to be more tactful.

The Maasai begins to walk faster, which looks like revenge on the whites.

Walking behind him, in soft slippers, slipping more and more, I recall sadly my mountaineering boots left in Arusha. At some point I decide to stop, and though the summit is already close, I say to the lads:

– I will stay here until dawn. I’m scared in my soft slippers. I’m not a boy, to go barging ahead at all costs. When I am really scared – I don’t do it.

I let the heroes go ahead: Sasha, the Igors, Alexey and Yura confidently pass me and scramble upwards. I am glad that I am finally letting the men feel superior, because ever since we met at the airport, after I said that Kilimanjaro is my 7th five-thousander, I had felt embarrassed. And because of how Sasha looks at the way I swing a 20-kilogram rucksack onto one shoulder, and quotes the classic: – Yes, there are women in Russian villages.

After them I say, guys, it will be even steeper further on, I looked this mountain over on the way here, good luck, take a photo of the dawn for me!

The others: Oleg, Albina and Ira are in the second group and have fallen far behind – so I will wait for them.

After about 20 minutes, torches appear below, and we can now call to each other. Albina shouts: Ira’s guide has been taken ill, he fell down and she can’t wake him, we have to go down and rescue him.

– Rescue whom? Strange, the guide is ill, not Ira?! I feel that everything is fine with the guide. Come up, I shout: I have chosen a place here for the dawn.

About 40 minutes later Oleg, Albina and their guide came up to me: pleased by the thought that they could stay here, and displeased that my torch was not yet the summit.

In pitch darkness, we settle tightly on a ledge. Warm and cosy, we hug and settle down to wait for the dawn – an altitude of 2450 – that is a lot. We climbed up here from almost zero. The volcano’s height is 2700. Two more torches appear – Oh! It’s Ira and the third guide – well, good, all in order! I understand that I did stay here on the ledge, for them too. I remembered mountaineering stories: where for lack of a woman in the group, fine lads perished. They are tough, and even when things are really bad, nobody dares to turn back first – everyone waits for someone else to give in, and they hold on literally to death.

And here comes Ira. It turns out her guide had simply lain down for a sleep, because she was going too slowly for him. He slept and they went on.

While a white climber ascends, a black one has time to sleep.

The guys noted afterwards what helped the black men to keep going:

1. they were chewing something all the time.
2. when they stopped, they fell into a short, lethargic sleep.

Curious, says Oleg: we should adopt that, we still have Kilimanjaro ahead of us.

The sky is turning grey, everything is in cloud, and at the point where we are meditating we can see the velvety, folded ridge of the Great Rift and a lava river whitening like a frozen mountain stream.

An hour of meditation on the cloudy dawn. The guide, waking up, funnily sings: Tanzania, Tanzania – with the stress on the last syllable. A couple more minutes – I want to breathe my fill of sulphur fumes, in memory of the sacred mountain, and then we begin the descent. The descent is hard, now we see where we have climbed to, and marvel at our feat. First with pride and happiness, afterwards almost swearing.

A descent that never ends. It lasts 5 hours. The group of leaders: Yura, Alexey, the two Igors and Sasha are still at the top, and the distances are so huge that we can’t even make them out. Only the guide, with his practised eye, points somewhere up, below the summit, which is wrapped in mist. A white flower on the left beyond a crack, 10 metres across – a soda mini-crater – beautiful!

Yes, we are walking on the body of a unique volcano – the only one in the world that is soda, unlike all the other such geological formations, which are silicon.

– There was a fountain of lava here, the guide tells me – the one who got his sleep while accompanying Irina – now I am walking ahead with him. A good lad. I ask, he tells me: his father is Maasai, his mother is not Maasai – Oh! So marriages between tribes are possible here. I stop, because it is beautiful, to – remember it.

I climb without a camera. It is useless to compete with Yuri Biryukov – he is a photographer with a world name and his own school of photography in the city of Gomel. So I don’t even take a camera on journeys with him. All the photos of journeys on my site are by him.

We return to the base tented camp.

Yes, a climb does not suit everyone as a rest, and not everyone has energy left to admire the beautiful views from the summit: Oleg is finally confirmed in his view that he is a city person and dreams aloud of a good hotel with a hot bath. I announce that I prefer waterfalls, not yet knowing that within a couple of hours I will be splashing in one of the most wonderful. Oleg doesn’t stop: “well, I’m an intelligent man! How did I end up here?!” At the same time, he very responsibly and carefully belays Albina on the descent, is attentive – for which she, it seems, is very grateful. We recall Sasha’s night joke “ – Up a volcano, in Africa, at night? – Of course, YES!” As for me, I like all this very much, and I admire the views and the emotionally engaged people.

Irina says indignantly: this isn’t Kilimanjaro, this is too steep – it’s irresponsible. Yes, steep literally, we were sometimes on all fours – a good warm-up before a five-thousander. Well, Kilimanjaro, she agrees, my group – that I understand. I keep quiet to myself and think: – what do you understand about Kilimanjaro, I don’t know, we’ll see on Kilimanjaro.

Tasty food in the camp – the happiness of taking off your boots. The happiness of having reached the top: the guide showed on a bottle, a little more remained, up to the neck. The happiness of having come down – a mountaineer’s happiness.

In the village afterwards, after a refreshing shower, I couldn’t sleep. My body sings with the abundance of sensations: my legs vibrate from overexertion and there is a lightness as if there were wings behind my back! I remember my friend Ksenia Vitenberg:

Когда умрет аккумулятор у веков И опустеет Времени Сосуд – Мы крылья вытащим из рюкзаков, И пусть нам вечные ветра несут!

I go to the Maasai women.

They are jumping, you won’t believe it, hopscotch, drawn with a stick in the sand. They invite me to jump with them, I agree, which amuses them greatly, and soon they are dressing me in a beaded collar and a little cap; everyone is in a very playful mood.

Two hours later the group of leaders of the climb arrives: Sasha, Alexey and Igor – looked into the crater and I congratulate them on it. Igor, showing the photos on his phone to the local boys, produced in them reverent horror and unfeigned respect. It becomes clear how great is the temptation of the natives to call white people gods.

Those still alive set off on a walk to the valley of waterfalls. It turns out that it is only I, Yura and Ira, who didn’t realise that it was far to walk through a gorge, albeit one of incredible beauty. Waterfalls worthy of the best Hollywood fantasy, and at the end, indeed – a natural temple of water – “yes, the Creator has never been surpassed!” Of course, a swim! Although nobody but me dares. I go behind the curtain of water and am rooted to the spot: several overhanging arches ahead, and a column of falling water into a window of light. Reverently I lower myself into the foam and swim closer, the waterfall is so powerful that you can’t dive into it, only touch it. You can’t get here with a camera, I memorise it with my eyes and body. Magical, well, aren’t I Aphrodite.

Back again, we pile into the jeeps and return to Arusha. Crossing the valley of rainbows, we skirt the now “our” volcano Ol Doinyo Lengai, and say goodbye to this wonder of nature with mixed feelings. And in the evening we land in a luxurious hotel. Our group leader Yura, after the wild Serengeti, decided to pamper the participants, and this time he even manages to satisfy them.

16.01.2013

Rest in a hotel luxurious “by African standards”. Buying food and equipment, final preparations. The body aches, going down the stairs is especially impressive with its vivid sensations – a good thing that for the next 4 days we are only going up!

We meet a representative of the agency – Jamil, an interesting, lively Tanzanian with an intellectual face.

Information – We are taking the Marangu route: there, in the base camps, there are wooden huts for 4–6 people, don’t count on a shower, there are sockets.

17.01.2013

In the morning we set off for the route.

A Big bus arrived. The porters load the rucksacks onto the roof: part of our things have been left at the hotel, we take only what is needed for the climb. The Big bus is completely full – our group of 9 people will be accompanied by 25 local assistants: four guides, a cook, a waiter, porters – carriers who will carry up not only our rucksacks but also food, water and crockery.

We drive for about three hours from the town of Arusha through Moshi to the start of the route, at an altitude of 2200.

We arrived at a big parking ground, where there are already such buses. We unload – from here on foot. Registration is under way.

And meanwhile we settled in a clearing and were handed lunch boxes again. Big Kilimanjaro birds – a cross between a vulture and a crow – are very keen on it. One of them came up and, from a girl who had turned away, yanked the box with a beak the size of a matchbox. You’re in the risk zone, says Sasha – yes, the edge of the table is a risk zone. We eat, laugh, stretch, and at last we are given the start.

We write ourselves into the register in our own hand: name, country, profession, age … and stepping through the portal we find ourselves on a ginger trail in the tropical forest. A pleasant, well-trodden “client trail” with channels for the runoff of rainwater. The forest, as a tropical one should be, is green, impenetrable, picturesque: mystically entwined with lianas, decorated with hanging lime-green mosses.

An African boy on the trail with a chameleon on a stick – “give money, chocolate”. Walking is quite easy for me and somehow even indecent, without a big rucksack for the climb.

Fruits falling from above, shaped like buffalo eggs, tasting “a la passion fruit”. Rivers with little bridges thrown across them, waterfalls with big red flowers. It begins to rain. And we arrive at the camp completely wet. We arrive as the first three in 2:50 instead of the prescribed 5–6 hours. 12 km covered. Our altitude 2700 camping. The next camp – altitude 3700, 11 km on the way

We register at “reception”. We settle in wooden birdhouse-cabins on stilts with two-tier bunks with little mattresses and a pillow. There is light, no sockets. Dry, clean, optimal. We change and go to sleep. We are woken for supper – they bring little bowls of warm water for washing. We wash on the steps of the cabin, and stomp to the dining hut. The food – soup, vegetables, pasta… And back to sleep.

18.01.2013

Wake-up at 7:00. Breakfast and at 7:30 departure for the next camp. I decide to take my own rucksack – to load up and prepare optimally for the climb. There is a side effect to this gesture: so as not to run on too far ahead, not to upset the boys: competing with them simply by the fact of my existence. Though it turned out the opposite, now I have finally earned the reputation of a “crazy woman” – now in the ranks of the porters too.

Yura told a wonderful joke that fits the occasion:

“Two Chukchi are walking through the taiga: one with a telephone box on his back, the other with a log. One says to the other: what for!?

– Ah, a Chukchi is no fool: if wolves attack, I’ll hide in the box, and you?

– Ah, I’m a Chukchi too – no fool. If wolves attack, I’ll run. I’ll run and run, and then I’ll throw down the log and off I go!”

Well, yes. Yura, I am like the second Chukchi – you’ve guessed my tactic;)

On the way we make a small detour to a little volcano – an observation point. Yes, from here, for the first time, you can see clearly! the dome of the snowy summit of Kilimanjaro. In fact this peak is called Kibo …. And Kilimanjaro is the name of the whole mountain massif.

I arrive at the camp in 4 hours instead of 5–6, even though I have a rucksack: a good omen! Alina and the two Igors arrived first, so even earlier! We register, settle into the cabins. Now we have a nice Italian neighbour from Ibiza – I stick plasters on his bloodied feet. Evidently not experienced.

Note: Experienced mountaineers know that you must put a plaster on your feet at the slightest hint of chafing. Or straight away on those places on the foot that may be vulnerable. And/or go in two pairs of socks – which also protects against chafing.

With Alina we go to a picturesque stream, in a hollow with “wizard oaks” – giant groundsel, a plant of mystical appearance that grows only here and nowhere else in the world. Like trimmed lawns on the banks. I bathe – do press-ups in the shallow water, cool my feet; after heavy boots it is bliss. Yes, it is still much better than what they call a shower here.

We sleep. We go to supper.

I meet three Russians: two mature men and a girl with very heavily made-up eyelashes: how uncomfortable that must be, here – poor thing! One of them, in answer to my questions about big mountains, gives me the personal phone number of A. Kovalev – the leader of the Vertical group, with the words “mention Andryukha, meaning me, and he will take you even to Everest. He has already hauled plenty of people up there;)

We rejoice at Russian speech. We drink tea/cocoa and I slip away for a little acclimatisation walk. With pleasure I retreat into the twilight mist.

I love breaking away from the group. Having had my fill of socialising, to be quiet, staring at some beauty. I find a big boulder and meditate with my player, on the “wizard oaks” in the mist and the flowery shrubs.

I return to the camp. And here all the clouds have gone down, a soft underlay lit by the setting sun, hiding the tropical forest beneath them. The summit has opened up, and the whole camp poured out to photograph the sunset and the snowy dome.

Afterwards, to bed. Tomorrow the way is 9 km, but it is higher and harder and already across a stone desert. The next camp is at 4700 m. – the last acclimatisation one before the assault on the summit. We will set out for it at midnight. So we need not just to reach the next stopping place in a day, but also to live there properly, to get some sleep, otherwise going to the summit will be impossible.

19.01.2013

We set out at 7:30 A sign confirms the walk – 9.26 km, six hours planned. On this trail “the greenery ends completely”. A Martian desert – the road without changes of height, gently sloping, scorching sun and very hot – those who understood this at once undress along the way– here you already need “the right glasses” and a really good sun cream.

Note: In the mountains it is very important. When it is hot, take off the extra at once. When it is cold, dress at once. When it rains, cover up at once, if you have anything to cover up with – otherwise the climb will be no joy to you.

The mountains teach you to feel yourself, and if you have difficulties with that, there it will only get worse. And that is the turning point. That is good! There is a chance that at last a person will gain a connection with the real self, and become more alive and strong, and grander in soul. Or not.

I arrived in 3:45 hours. Cutting across the desert. The camp site was obvious. It was interesting to walk at least part of the way not on the beaten track but through the primeval landscape. “Crazy woman” the porters shouted after me, but I was already far away. The guys replied: – that’s how she is, and quietly rejoiced for their – white women. Indeed, in all 5 days of the journey we met an African woman only once.

Having taken a couple of stones from the “Martian desert” and registered, I climbed up a big rock overhanging the camp. From here there was a magnificent view of the trail and of Merra Peak – 5100. Yes, the altitude is already felt – every movement upward costs effort. Waving, I invited up Yura and Sasha. They scrambled up, then it dawned on us:

– How about a cup of tea? said Yura. The porters had already brought flasks to the hut.

– And who will go? Of course, me! As the youngest?!

Warm. Hidden from the wind behind an outcrop, we recline on the warm stones. We sip tea… We photograph the little birds – African crows. It is only noon. A wild thought slips in: what if we went to the top right now? It is so nice lying here and the day is still long. And the distance treacherously seems trifling. But at the first attempts to move we agree that it is better to keep to the plan.

Still, it is good to get some sleep – the climb is at midnight. We go down to the hut. They have arrived: Alexey, Oleg, Alina, Ira – their condition is not great. I give Alina a massage: it is pleasant to give pleasure – it means there is strength, someone is feeding her pills. Indeed everyone is taking acclimatisation pills, except me and Yura.

Irina is asleep. Oleg and Alexey don’t talk at all – they rest, recovering. The prognosis is not yet known, it isn’t obvious that they will go on. Yes, it’s hard, five-thousanders are always hard. Not hard all the time, but at some moment, a different one for each – but very hard. And under this word – “hard” – each means something of their own. And with this “hard” everyone is almost alone – and looks for a way to get through it. Sometimes they don’t find one – then hysterics. And if there is simply a lot of talk – it means the person is not yet in difficulty. When it is really hard, people fall silent and in the silence clearly hear each other’s thoughts.

20.01.2013

At midnight we set out. Of the group of 9, 6 decide to go to the summit, and one of them will turn back to the camp at the 5000 mark. A string of torches; in our group there are 3 guides, so that if anyone feels unwell and cannot go on, there is someone to take them down. An endless, steep ascent.

The first hour of climbing goes by. I glance upward – the lights of the climbers mix with the stars, it seems that just a little more, and in an hour – just a little more, and in 3 – hope vanishes altogether, – and now there is not a single thought in my head, not even about “just a little more”. When the head goes empty, the unnecessary tension leaves – walking becomes simpler and easier. Now the body does not resist, does not look for “alibis” and consolations about “just a little more”. It surrenders to its “master”, understanding that there is no “descent” in sight – relaxes and moves carefully, enjoying the unusual sensations.

Here you can feel well that pain, like fatigue, is just sensations and nothing more. Sensations make me alive – this is the experience of certain volumes, movements and gravitational flows inside, in the worlds beneath the skin – these are very honest, “unmade-up” inner events about my real limits. When I have the courage to reach these borders, and begin to “live” on their edge, they – my borders – wonderfully widen.

When it gets really hard – I stop and listen to this “hard”. This time I made myself a rule of “three breaths”. If I need personal time, and above five thousand I usually need short “lethargic” stops, I stop. I take three breaths in and out – here they turn out infinitely long and slowed – as though there were no breathing at all, and time at these altitudes flows in such a way that I manage to get some sleep, and get a second and third wind, and be surprised that I want/can go on.

We are already in the 5th hour in pitch darkness it is impossible to judge the distance to the ridge. The speed is not high. The altitude is felt more and more – the body cools, everyone’s feet are freezing – it is very cold. It is quite impossible to stop, the risk of freezing completely, we go – the body obeys, anticipating – with the dawn warmth will come.

After five hours of scrambling up, at last the first summit, 5700 – for this point they already give certificates – those who are content can go down – But to the real summit there are still two hours along the ridge.

Pitch darkness, an hour still to dawn. It is so cold that in my plastic bottle a lump of ice is now floating. To stand and wait for dawn is impossible. I put on the remaining things from my rucksack, and we go on.

The first snow on the inner rim of the crater. The crater is huge – so we will walk along its edge as along a ridge, skirting icebergs and rocky outcrops, all the way to its biggest tooth – Uhuru Peak.

A transpersonal state – the twilight colours kindle the sunrise as in a lucid dream. Now there is also some nausea, and when it is like that I prefer to be sick – it gets easier. Mountains cleanse. Of what? Of something) It grows light in the body, and it grows light in the sky.

The men have gone ahead, I am with an African guide – what is his name? I remember asking. To remember – I forget – yes, mountain sickness, probably. There are no thoughts – they need oxygen – and there is little of it. Full Zen.

On the way cheerful climbers actively congratulate me, have their photos taken with me, shake hands, drink kukuri straight from the bottle – who are they? – I don’t know. Well, of course it doesn’t matter. People, who else? Solidarity is bubbling over and fills me with more strength than the air here.

– Where is your camera? the guide asks. No? How come? We must go to our friends. Yes, yes, to the summit it is 5 minutes.

– Well, yes, Tanzanian ones. After 20, Yura scoops me up in his arms and ruffles me like a father:

– You made it.

– Well, of course. Where else would I be!?

A photo? Yes, fine, though a little indifferent – you can see it in the pictures. Well, let it be, fine. Yes, fine. It is good as it is, calm – no euphoria at all. Easy and bright inside – this is probably what I am here for…

The descent, at first, doesn’t look like a descent. We simply stroll along the ridge, but even after losing a little height a surge of strength is felt. Yes, stones from the summit – for friends, of course. I always come back from climbs with a trophy. From Elbrus I brought 3 kg – now more modest – we’re growing up:)

Then downhill, a big freeride on the moraine – I remembered how in February 2011 in the Carpathians I was very frightened to go down a steep slope. Sergey Kryzhanovsky, the guide, took me by the hand and we ran in snowshoes in big leaps through fresh snow, leaving a long track behind us – vivid sensations! Now I took the African guide and we flew down the scree in Vibrams, leaving a long cloud of dust behind us. Now it was the guide who was afraid, until he got carried away.

Coming out near the camp, a breather. I take out a can of cola. Yes! and it is still, indeed, with ice in it! We celebrated the ascent. Strange, but this drink of doubtful benefit – Coca-Cola – goes down very well at high altitudes – though not in Kyiv.

The young man – whose name I “don’t remember” – wanted to be useful. He offered: vodka, a smoke, and was very surprised that I was Russian and didn’t take part in this.

Note: Ukrainians, like Belarusians, in these countries are Russians.

And here I am in the hut. I flop onto the little bed with my arms flung wide, and don’t want to move, let alone take off my boots. My body sings like a Tibetan bowl!

My head aches slightly – I float in this sensation. We will sleep for an hour and go down. On the table are flasks, tea, coffee, cocoa, a jar of “Nutrilon” baby food, food. The cooks try hard: potatoes and sweet potato in sauce, pancakes – where else does this happen at such an altitude?! The tastiest food of a climb – you couldn’t think of better, if only someone would carry it?

At 13:20 we leave, going down from the 4700 hut to the 3700 hut. In these 24 hours five of us covered record distances! Ascent of 1200 m. Descent of 2200 m. – that is in height: from 5895 to 3700. And the distance more than 30 km. And all of it at such altitudes – this is not the Crimea in summer. But a little lower, at 4000, such speed and cheerfulness that you want to jump and dance and turn somersaults or something else:)

You want to live. And the air is now felt as a value. You can, simply by breathing, feel yourself rich – happiness!

21.01.2013

Morning. The sky is azure, clear, with a white streak of cloud. Yura takes wonderful pictures of the open summit. We walk briskly, stopping where we like, weather for photo shoots.

Fellow travellers, a couple of young Austrians – smiley sweethearts like brother and sister, we chat, pay them a compliment, Yura photographs them, we exchange contacts. Again we go up the viewing volcanic cone, the clay underfoot is red: I gather some, for ceramic work – red ochre from Kilimanjaro.

Next comes the tropical forest, and here there are monkeys: black-and-white colobus monkeys, we found them by the sounds. They sit in the trees like big Persian cats. Their fur is very long, flutters in the wind, needs grooming – they have something to do all day. They used to be hunted very much, and the colobus skin was a coveted trophy. A garment was made from it for chiefs and shamans.

And here is the first base camp, but we will not stay here. Lunch, and a shower! Yes, I take part. I come out fresh, wet, barefoot onto the grass, to my legendary boots. An Austrian comes towards me, there seem to be more of them here than others. I remember him, especially, before the climb I admired him – a mature man and such a beautiful body, and above all posture and way of moving, I feel how I react to it. Oh, how few such people there are. He says:

– It’s OK summit very nice!

– It’s very:) very nice!

We exchange greetings. And down. Into the bright green forest with streams, waterfalls, bright flowers and chameleons. So much strength and inspiration. Crossing a bridge over a little lake, I announce that I am going to swim.

……More to follow. The journey through Africa lasted from 8 to 30 January 2013.