"We're climbing up the sunshine mountain, faces all a-glow..."

It wasn't really the sunshine mountain, but for some reason that's the song we and our posse of 9 sung on the long hard slog up Kilimanjaro, 5895m. Nerves fraught from constant hassling by touts, we decided to take the safe option and opted to stay in a colonial-style country hotel in the foothills of the great mountain, in a beautiful little village called Marangu. The hotel runs its own climbs, and seemed well run and secure. It definitely was. We found ourselves in a luxury retreat, a large white colonial coffee and banana farmhouse run by an extended Irish family. We joined onto a group of 9 for the climb and took the easier 'coca-cola' route. Two didn't even make it to the start, being struck down with food poisoning from their safari. Gutting. But we are so glad we joined that group, they were great. There were Jim (about 70, this was his 3rd climb, so he was our guru - he loved it), his step-grandson Tom (15, very athletic and liked his walking stick a bit too much), Chris (26, a naval doctor and a great laugh), Cat (25, a lovely giggly Aussie actuary), Silvia (35 but you'd think 25, fab crazy Italian with a chocolate fetish), Martine (23, really sweet Dutch student who was great at Swahili), and 'Big W' (Woutijn, but you try pronouncing it - something like wow-tine; the brother of Martine with a bottomless pit of a stomach, also a student). The motto, drummed into you both before you begin the climb and by every porter and guide you pass on the busy paths, is 'pole pole' - slowly slowly! And we went veeerrryyy slowly. We were even too slow for Jim. Not that it helped us to acclimatise. There was lots of vomiting (some of it projectile, courtesy of Tom, who added flavour to our Spag Bol), diarrhoea (Tash pooed her way to the top) and banging headaches from the first night (poor Silvia - chocolate gives her migraines!). The scenery was amazing. We started the trek through lush humid rainforest alongside a babbling stream, and watched monkeys play in the canopy and as we walked through. There was a downside - hordes of biting ants, and we really did have ants in our pants. On the second day we rose above the rainforest and into the alpine zone, where vegetation was more sparse - meaning less cover when we needed to pee! The air got progressively thinner as we climbed, and certainly by the second day we were panting on the slightest of inclines. Guess that's what it must be like to be fat and unfit! The third day saw us rise to alititudes where nothing could grow. The terrain was bleak and covered in volcanic ash and rubble and littered with boulders. The final ascent was in the middle of the night at dangerous altitudes (classified as 'very high' and 'extremely high' in mountaineering terms) in a biting wind. About 2 hours into the 5-hour zig-zagged scramble in pitch black, our water froze. Six of us made it to Gillman's point, one of the summits, but only 4 to the highest point. The four included Big W, who lived up to his name by persevering nonplussed despite wommiting every 2 minutes. Tash got a gold certificate, I got a silver one. I think the cold drained me, I have never felt so completely exhausted and sapped of all my energy. Coming down was difficult - we took a long time to recover our energy, and it took me a good day to thaw out. Still, we're down now, if having trouble walking! Off to relax on the Kenyan coast for a bit! Mmmm beach...