During our travels, I really wanted to visit Africa. And I know, Africa is a massive continent, so I need to probably narrow it down. We decided to hit up Tanzania for 3.5 weeks for many reasons. But the two most important were to summit Mount Kilimanjaro (fingers crossed) and to safari our way around so I could squeal at giraffes.

We flew into Mount Kilimanjaro and stayed in the town of Moshi at a hostel that was run by the people doing our Kili (that’s what the cool kids call it) climb and safari. Recommended by friends, African Scenic Safaris rocked and now I’m recommending them to you…if you find yourself in Tanzania and want to climb or safari. Plus, they are an ethical company which is important when climbing. Because some companies treat their porters like shit. Not. Cool.

Here’s a fun fact, the hostel they owned was call Hostel Hoff. Named after, you guessed it…

We stayed there before and after our climb. It’s a hostel filled with volunteers. Young volunteers, with big hearts. I felt old. And selfish. But whatever. Moving on.

There are a few routes one can take when attempting to summit Kili. We chose the popular/scenic/challenging Machame route. While on other routes you can stay in huts, we camped for 6 nights.

The day before our climb we met our head guide, Antipas, who has climbed Kili more than 100 times (he’s stopped counting). We also rented gear we needed, because shit gets cold on top of the mountain.

The next morning we were picked up by our squad (suck it, Taylor Swift) consisting of Antipas, our assistant guide, Juma, a cook to fuel us up that mountain and then 10 porters to carry all the gear.

When we arrived at the gate, we signed in for the climb while the porters weighed all the equipment. There are strict regulations about how much weight a porter can carry, and rightfully so.

Then onward and upward we went.

I heard from many many people that guides will constantly tell you “pole, pole” which in Swahili means to take it slow. And take it slow we did. Juma was in front. I was practically stepping on his heels. But this is all for the sake of the climbers. Altitude sickness is no joke, and the slower you go the less likely you are to develop symptoms.

Our first day was a longer day, mileage wise, but a gradual climb through a pretty rainforest. We arrived to camp after stopping for lunch halfway.

Our squad had set up everything; our tent, their tents, the cooking tent, and our “living room” where we would eat all our meals. They greeted us with high-fives, took our packs and showed us to our chairs.

Per usual, we did the climb in the slow season, which means less people but possibility of short rains in the afternoon. And wouldn’t you know it…around 3 pm, the rain started. So we stayed in our living room, read, and had some snacks. Then? Bed.

The next morning (and every morning after), our waiter/personal alarm clock, Baraka, greeted us with fresh ginger tea at 6:30 am.

Then we had a lovely breakfast…which I slowly came to hate. Fuck you, porridge.

And then Antipas came in and took our vitals (which happens every morning on the climb). Let’s just say he got to know EVERYTHING about us…and our bowel movements.

Day 2 was shorter in distance, but made up for it in climbing. We were also slowly starting to feel the elevation impact. You know, feeling winded just walking to the bathroom. Totally normal.

It was Day 2 when we also found out that our next President is going to be an oompa loompa. We were hoping to not find out the results of election, but most guides had radios and I awoke from my nap to “blah, blah, blah, President Trump” and wanted to die. There were a few other Americans on the hike and they felt our pain.

I tried to push away the sadness and just find my happy place, but the weather was feeling similar.

And then, like magic, after a few hours of meh, the sky started to clear.

The next day, we climbed to our highest elevation yet for lunch at Lava Tower. So high. Puff, puff, pass, pass. Which is code for puff puff goes my breath and pass, pass…pass the fuck out.

To help acclimatize, we camped for the night at a slightly lower elevation, with a nice view of the summit.

It was on this day/evening, that Craig started to feel quite sick. I was actually a bit scared. He had a bad headache (common altitude mountain sickness symptom), was shaking with a fever even though he had all the layers on. But, after talking to Antipas, and giving Craig some medicine, the fever and headache subsided a few hours later. Phew.

Day 4, to quote Miley Cyrus, it’s a climb. You start the day by appearing to scale a large wall, when in fact, there’s a pretty decent path. But from afar, you can see other climbers and porters…and it looks like they are hanging on for dear life.

After getting over the wall, we leisurely strolled, in the rain. My shoes got quite wet, so I thought the day was less than awesome. But we arrived to our camp, did our usual, eat, read, sleep routine.

The skies even cleared so you could see the summit in all its glory.

The next day, was our climb to base camp. O. M. G. It’s almost here. Over the last 5 days, I’ve gotten quite good at peeing/pooping over holes in the ground, not showering, and simply rinsing with a bowl of hot water outside our tent.

We arrived to base camp pretty early, so we had the day to rest, because we would start the summit climb at 11 pm that night.

We took a lovely 2 hour nap. Then had dinner at 5 pm…and then went to bed. Ain’t life granny?

At 10 pm, Baraka woke us up with tea and some biscuits. The wind was fucking howling like no other. Neat. I put on everything I owned/brought on the climb: 3 pairs of leggings, hiking pants, two pairs of socks, 2 t-shirts, 4 long sleeves, liner gloves, fat gloves, a fleece and down jacket.

Antipas said the push to summit takes around 6-7 hours. He also gave us tough love and said “do not ask how much longer we have” and “don’t disappoint me” before we started. Noted.

Those 6-7 hours were a doozy. I have never been so cold (and I’m from Minnesota). The wind was bitch-slapping us with every step. It felt like time stood still, yet also rushed by. I had to stop a few times because I felt a bit dizzy/out of it. And yes, we both had to give our packs to Antipas and Juma to carry because we were struggling a bit. But hey, they told us to. I honestly just zoned out and started counting my steps. 1, 2, 3…just keep swimming.

And then, we were there.

Perfectly timed, may I add, to watch the sun rise over the clouds far below.

We were the first to the top. So we had some quality time, of a whole 5 minutes, before our bodies started to freeze. Turns out, it was like -20 F at the summit. NBD.

But look how pretty…

Feeling higher than I ever did in high school, we made our way down back to base camp. And I guess I should’ve realized that what goes up, must come down. And fuck. My knees hurt. We got back to base camp around 8am, packed our bags, had lunch…and then walked to the final camp (only 3 hours away). I’ve never been so tired. Is this what parenthood is like? At this point, we had been up climbing since 11pm, it was now god-knows-what-time and I kept hallucinating that I saw tents meaning that we were FINALLY there, right?But we weren’t.

Until we were. Thank. God.

Time for a nap, please.

The next morning we woke up, and hiked the final 10 kilometers of Kili. We saw monkeys. I slipped and fell and got this awesome bruise. I blame the monkeys. 100%.

Then we reached the gate.

It finally hit us what we just did the last 7 days. We summited the tallest mother-fucking mountain on the continent of Africa. It was by far the coolest/hardest hike we’ve ever done and we couldn’t have done it without our amazing squad. For reals. Thanks from the bottom of our super-tired hearts.

I think that deserves a 5-day safari where we do nothing but sit in a car and squeal at animals…and overeat. Right?