Climbing Kilimanjaro, Kmart Style

Ill-equipped and ridiculous

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There I was, dangling on the face of Mount Kilimanjaro. Well, not exactly dangling; more like sitting in a poorly assembled tent. Freezing to death. Well, maybe not to death, but it was pretty cold. There I was, sucking the moisture out of frozen rocks and twigs. Well, at least I thought about it.

At any rate, I was attempting to reach the summit of Africa's highest peak with three 20-something English travelers, a guide, a small battalion of porters, and some of the worst mountain-climbing equipment available in Tanzania.

During a two-day acclimatization session at the 11,500-foot-high Machame Camp, we spent time with Kili-climbers from other tour groups. They hadn't paid much more than our $585 fee, yet received two nights in a four-star hotel—at the beginning and end of their trip—airport transfers, and tents big enough to play racquetball in. Plus, their porters brought hot water right to the doorway (zipway?) of their tents every morning so they could wash their faces.

After this exercise in luxury, the discarded water ran down the small hill and into our comfort-proof tents, which was generally how we woke up. In Kilimanjaro terms, we were roughing it. Daytime was generally cloudy, but the clear night sky afforded ample opportunity to stargaze. The view was magnificent, although I could never manage to see all those renowned constellations: bulls, crabs, hunters with designer belts, and so forth. I had enough trouble making out the pots, pans, and other kitchen appliances. We took a short"acclimatization walk" with our guide, Lucas, who had two rather unique qualities: He almost never answered the questions you asked him, which can get a bit frustrating when you need vital information, such as where the toilet is (his answer: "The sun will set in about two hours"); and he always carried a little transistor radio. Since Lucas was usually walking with us, we didn't experience much of the park's natural serenity. Instead, we were serenaded by everything from Ricky Martin to Bombay's latest Hindi pop hits through a tin speaker. Of course, we hikers were not without our own quirks. We relentlessly badgered Lucas about the altitude."How high are we now?" we'd ask every 10 minutes. Occasionally, Lucas would even answer us, sometimes with potentially correct information—meaning a figure that was higher than the one he'd given us 10 minutes before.