Vacation (PART 5)

10/17/05

Tonight is the full moon. I hope it's as spectacular as it was last night.

When I finally got out of bed, out of my two warm sleeping bags, it was cold, very cold. But I put on my jeans and my sweatshirt and my gloves and my beanie, I put on my shoes and I went out, and it was beautiful. No sun yet, but it was light, and the mist that was twisting through those distant mountains were already licked with color by the invisible sun. And I walked around, crunching through the frozen dew, and I stretched before I sat down to write, and as I sat here, as I sat on this rock and started to write, the camp came alive and the sun came out from behind the summit and now it's getting hot, it's going to be hot today.

Great Barranco, Camp 3. I picked a good trek company. I paid far less than everyone else, but the guys are great, the equipment fine. The only difference is that all the other groups get mess tents resplendent with chairs and tables, and I sit on a rock or in my tent, but is that worth the extra $500? I think no.

I am tired. It was a seven hour hike today, and at lunch, at Lava Tour, which is a huge rock formation, reaching up 300 feet in the air (made, presumably, by lava), as I ate my glucose biscuits and stared up at the giant rock tower, stared up and wondered if I could climb it, all of a sudden there was a guy's head peaking over. "Holy shit!" Nico laughed, I waved at the guy and he waved back. Nico asked if I wanted to climb it (in a way that implied, 'I've been up there, I don't really want to go, but I'm your guide and I want a good tip so if you want to go I'll take you.) "Fuck yeah!" It was relatively easy; there were only a few scary spots ("Jump from where to where?") At the top, the fog parted just for a minute or two and I could glimpse the summit, and in the other direction the tops of the white clouds that we were so far above. The elevation was over 14,000 feet and it was cold and the wind whipped the fog back through. It was a bit disconcerting, as the visibility dropped and dropped, and getting back down was even more exciting than getting up. And at the bottom, there's Perrine and her friend, one of her friends, and they were watching. They want to go up too, but their guide wont go, and they don't want to go alone, and I want to escort them up there but I am starting to sniffle and feel a little funny in the head and I don't want to run into problems tomorrow because I exerted too much energy climbing up the 300 foot Lava Tour a second time, all to impress some girl, even if she is pretty and French. Nico was eating lunch and they sat nearby and I sat near and we talked about last night's moon rise, and soon Nico was done and I couldn't think of much else to say (just how do you flirt with a girl at 14,000 plus feet elevation, in front of her friends and the guides?) So Nico and I left, and I said I would find her at camp, but Barranco is spread out, even more spread out than Shira, so I don't even know if it's possible. At Lava Tour, when Nico and I first arrived, well before the others, there was an Irish couple there, they were at day four and were going to attempt the Western Breach, go right for the summit from Lava Tour. And their guide was around the corner, chasing a joint with a cigarette, and there are cigarette butts all over Barranco Camp, though I haven't seen any cell phones today.

The hike today, except for all the excitement at Lava Tour, was in almost complete silence, which I appreciated immensely.

Flying down a tarmac road on the mid-east coast of Zanzibar, hitting big speed bumps like they were nothing, like they weren't even there, passing dhalla dhallas, enjoying the sun and the wind and the ocean and the power… the engine seized. The road was empty, I found neutral, turned off the ignition, turned it back on, checked the kill switch, pulled the clutch, popped it into second, throttled it as I let the clutch out… nothing. I slid to a stop. I put it back in neutral and walked it to the sandy shoulder. I had petrol, so the bike was either overheated or something was seriously fucked, which would mean I was seriously fucked, because not only was I out in the middle of nowhere, but I had signed a contract saying I would return the bike in working order or pay for damages. I tried to start it but the kick wouldn't catch anywhere, let alone top dead center. I tried a couple of times to just kick it soft, to no avail. I was hungry and it was hot, I wanted to get lunch and a coke, let it cool down, try again. I rolled it across the street; there was a driveway for one of the hundreds of beachfront restaurants that dot the shoreline. As I started to roll the bike down the long driveway, I saw a handwritten notice on a paper plate stapled to the signpost that said, "Dinner Only: Ramadani" Fuck. There was nothing else as far as the eye could see. The sun was directly overhead and hot, so hot, burning me alive. I sat on the bike, hungry, tired. I kicked it once more in frustration. It turned over. I guess it was just overheated. Who knew that air-cooled bikes overheat?

Perrine's friend went missing and then was found by a porter search party. He left Lava Tour early, the girls found a guide to take them to the top of the rock, he left and when he was coming down he must've made a wrong turn and when the girls got to camp, he wasn't here. She came and told me and I didn't know what to say, I felt like an idiot, I offered to go out and look for him, she told me the porters had already gone. I saw him walk into camp, half an hour later, and he looked a little frazzled. Getting lost day three has got to be frightening.

People are still filing in to camp. Nico and I really hauled.

I was thinking, as I walked in silence today, how I haven't been taking advantage of California's natural beauty. I was thinking about taking more hikes, more camping trips, beach days. Why do I need to be three days into Kilimanjaro National Park to have these thoughts? I was remembering Desolation Valley with my dad. We hiked to the top of a huge mountain; it took most of the day. I didn't want to walk back down (I just wanted to fly back.) The mountain was above a lake, which emptied into a stream, which rolled down a rock face right by our tents. To get up that mountain we had to walk all the way around it, ascending slowly. I went to the edge of the mountain, I looked over the edge, it was a 70 or 80-degree grade, all gravel, and led to the shore of the lake. But it was straight and clear. 'Can we jump?' He came to the edge, he looked over, he picked up a little rock and threw it over the edge, watched it tumble down, watched the other rocks slide. 'I think so.' We jumped… We would fly through the air and when we landed we would slide, 10, 20 feet with the rocks, and then we would jump again, again and again. It was possibly the most fun I had ever had. What took us most of the day to walk up only took us 15 minutes, 15 minutes of pure and unadulterated ten year old bliss, to get down. I took Kyra camping last summer, up near Goose Lake, we hiked up to the highest point there, a watch tower, and the whole way down I was looking for a mountain side we could rock surf down.

Okay, there's a cell phone ringing.

I just had an experience I never need to duplicate. That long drop is full, nearly full to the brim (rim?) The drop was maybe a foot, probably less. Not long at all.

So I am in my sleeping bag, warm against the cold. My stomach is feeling better and my eyelids are heavy, they have been so heavy on this expedition, I don't know if it's the altitude or the dust or the sun or D. All Of The Above. I don't think there is going to be much of a sunset tonight (though I have been wrong before, but) it looks like the sun will fall behind that ridge in just an hour or two. Then it will be cold, but I will keep warm.

I remember standing on the roof of a small dhow floating off the white shores of Nungwi, the sun hanging low in the sky, the water inviting and turquoise ten feet below me… Then I am diving through the air, my heart caught in my throat, wondering if the water is deep enough… And then I am submerged, my vision gone, my hearing distorted, no taste or smell, all that remains is the feel. The feel of the warm waters swirling around me. And for that moment, I am suspended in time, I am nowhere and everywhere, I am back in the womb, I am already dead, I am lost in eternity. But then there is the feel of movement towards the surface, what I hope is the surface. The feel of the oxygen in my lungs becoming stagnant, my body begging for a new breathe. The feel of breaking through the water and back into the world, feeling the sun, taking that breath, the oxygen filling my blood, opening my eyes, and its so bright and so blue, blue waters and blue skies, blue and bright and blue and far away those white sandy beaches. I swim back to the dhow, pull myself in, climb back up to the roof, and let the warm low sun start to dry my skin. I look down at the water, so turquoise and inviting ten feet below me… and then I am diving through the air…

It is so beautiful when the mist lifts, but it's beautiful when it comes back too… it moves so fast, it covers everything, shrouds it all. The peak looks very close now, so close that I could throw a rock and hit it, even though I couldn't, it's not that close. And the fluctuations in the temperature, so neat, it's warm when the sun comes out but as soon as the fog storms back, covers it all in its grey mystery it gets cold, so cold, shivering in your gloves and beanie cold.

The fog lifts again and the peak is so close! And maybe there will be a sunset after all.

A girl I met in Zanzibar, Claudia, told me that her dad had a brain tumor. He fought it, and he won. And then he died in a car accident. She mentioned a coma and said it was "messy." The thought cut me deep. To watch someone fight, and win, and then have that taken away in a second…

I took a walk after dinner. The clouds were lifting; there would be a sunset after all. I walked along Barranco ridge, to its edge. Down below, two great valleys emptied out into a sea of clouds. I sat on the edge, Kili's peak behind me. I could hear a distant waterfall, the scream of the white-necked raven. I watched the sea of clouds turn from white to blue to purple to pink and back to blue. I watched Kili light up with the last of the sun's rays and then fade to grey. I walked back. As I got near to camp, I saw Perrine, she saw me. We walked towards each other, we met. We stood and talked, ostensibly waiting for the full moon to rise. She is beautiful and French and her laughter makes me smile. We stood there, in the center of camp, absorbed in each other. The sky turned black. We got cold, we shared my gloves. We sat, we tried to keep each other warm. We waited for the moon, it kept us waiting, I didn't mind. We could see its light on the ridge and could see its light moving across the camp and we knew it was coming, and finally it rose, and it was full, and we were bathing in its light. And we sat, now quiet, now laughing, watching it rise, keeping each other warm. But Perrine is on a 7-day trek. Tomorrow at Karanga Valley she sets up camp and I push on, up another 3000 feet to Barafu Camp.

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