How They Play the Game

I take a beer at the hotel bar as I read the news on my phone. Two women sit at the table across from me and I catch their glances from time to time. Eventually the younger of the two gestures to me. Neither is attractive and both are rotundly overweight but I join them at their table because I am a few days alone and this is what you do. They begin with the common pleasantries and my responses are succinct and absentminded but not rude, I think. I am in the mood for a conversation but I prefer that it be one I do not feel responsible for or that I would not be upset to walk away from.

       I ask them if they are guests at the hotel.

       ‘No,’ says the older of the two, ‘we just saw the place when we were passing on the street.’

       Then I knew that they are on the clock and this seems so very strange to me because they are so big and passed whatever prime they might have had.

       ‘Maybe you could buy us a drink,’ the older of the two says.

       ‘Sure, I can buy you a drink,’ I say, assenting because I have Kenyan shillings burning a hole in my pocket and because I am still curious about how they play the game.

       There are more pleasantries during the time when the drinks are ordered and poured and delivered. In the other room, two musicians are playing popular covers and a large group of young North American missionaries sing along, drink beer, and shuttle between their rooms and the restaurant.

       After a few pulls from her drink, the younger of the two ladies says, ‘I would like to give you a massage.’

       ‘Thank you but I don’t think that I am needing a massage,’ I say.

       ‘It would be like a thank you for buying the drinks,’ she explains and adds, ‘I like to give massages and I am very good.’

       ‘Thank you and I am sure you are,’ I reply, ‘but the drinks were my pleasure and I do not need anything in return.’

       We sit a while longer and the small talk continues. A curious rendition of ‘Thriller’ is now playing in the other room.

       ‘Maybe you would like to spend the night with me - in your room?’ the young one offers.

       I know that it has been coming to this and, it having come, I consider it, sort of as a small gesture to keeping an open mind about the world and its infinite possibilities. But the idea is unpleasant and the bearer of it can do nothing to dress up what it is.

       ‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling and making up a story because it seems the easier approach, ‘but I have a girl and I do not think she would like it much.’

       ‘She would not have to know.’

       ‘I would know,’ I say, ‘and, besides,’ I add, ‘she would know - they always know, don’t they.’

       She tries again but lets it go when she perceives it is my lack of interest not my loyalty to my imaginary girl that she persuading against.

       The pitch being made and rebuffed and remade and again rebuffed, the small talk is ended and we sit silently now. I finish my drink and I thank the ladies for their company and wish them a good night.

       ‘Maybe you could give money for a cab home,’ the older of the two suggests.

       ‘No sorry,’ I say as I am rising to my feet.

       ‘How about buying us another drink?’

You Won't Get a Fuck

I sit at a table on the patio at Simmers. It is a Friday evening and the place is becoming packed with the after work crowd. The host places two South Africans and two Kenyans at my table because there is no seating anywhere else. They are on contract with a building firm to renovate the smoking section in the Nairobi airport. The white South African is a big talker and unfiltered. You get the sense that he is one of those who carries all the colorful prejudices in the world but directs none of them at anyone personally.

       'With some, they won't without a condom,’ he explains. ‘They won’t have one. So if you don't have one, then you won't get a fuck. But, of course, but you will have to pay anyway.'

       He reaches into a bulging pocket withdraws a stack of condoms from his jeans. He smiles and slaps a strip of three down emphatically on the table in front of me.

       'Here,' he says. 'So that it doesn't happen to you.'

The Airplane Crash Playlist

Any evening out in Juba

‘So you all know I’m petrified of flying. It’s one of my phobias,’ the British aid worker said.

     ‘I feel like we talk about your phobias every week,’ said the female Australian aid worker.

     It was Sunday evening and there was a football match being projected onto the large screen. Around the table were a half dozen aid workers, several rounds of empty beer bottles, a fresh round of mostly full beer bottles, and three half finished pizzas.

     ‘That may be so,’ said the British aid worker.’

     ‘It is so,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Anyway, in my sadistic need to feed my phobias, you know I gather all kinds of obscure information,’ said the British aid worker. ‘So I mentioned my fear when I was having a beer with one of the UN pilots and I asked him how long it would take for an airplane to crash.’

     He paused for a swig of beer and a long glance at the football match and the others took the cue to do the same. The beer swigging and the long glances at the football match are like a metronome for these conversations.

     ‘He said it would take about 30 minutes to crash from a cruising altitude,’ the British aid worker continued after one of the Chelsea forwards missed a header at the goal.

     ‘That would be gliding down, right, like if the engines failed? I mean, if the wings fell off it would go down a lot faster than that,’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘Well I didn’t ask that but, yes, I assume 30 minutes would be for a controlled descent,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘It must be,’ said the Canadian aid worker, ‘otherwise the thing would spiral downward like a javelin.’

     ‘Absolutely,’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘Like a javelin - my nerves are a wreck just thinking about it,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘What point are you getting at?’ said the female American aid worker who was probably also a bit skittish about flying but would not admit to it.

     ‘The point is: what would you do with those last 30 minutes before you crash?’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘Probably scream my head off,’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘Well, yes, but after that,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘You can’t scream for 30 minutes straight, can you?’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘Bet I could,’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘I’ve experienced 30 straight minutes of screaming before,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     There was laughing and then drinking and then the British aid worker said, ‘Ok but the question stands: how would you spend the last 30 minutes?’

     ‘I think I would grab the first cute guy I see and make a run for the lavatory,’ said the female Australian aid worker.

     ‘Ok, so what would you do with the remaining 25 minutes?’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘25 minutes and 30 seconds,’ corrected the British aid worker.

     ‘30 seconds for zipping back up and straightening your coiffure, no?’ replied the American aid worker.

     ‘The airplane is crashing - who gives a fuck about the zip-up and the coiffure?’ said the female American aid worker who was not enjoying the conversation.

     ‘Actually, the coiffure is rather a problem - I have this stubborn cowlick that requires minding,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘Actually it needs some minding right now,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Oh, thank you, honey,’ said the British aid worker sarcastically.

     ‘I just want you to look your best, sweet cheeks,’ said the Canadian aid worker in the same tone.

     ‘Anyway there’s only what - like four lavatories or something?’ what if someone gets there before you?’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘What if someone genuinely needs to take a shit?’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘Why bother with the lavatory?’ said the Canadian aid worker, ‘You’re going to die anyway, right?’

     ‘Especially if you’re in business class - there’s more leg room,’ said the female Australian aid worker.

     ‘Good point,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Ok, but if the pilot miraculously saves the day while you’re right in the middle of it - then what?’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘Then you're caught with your tiny pecker balls deep in the closest hole you could find,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     The group ordered another round of drinks and the waiter collected two of the pizza trays before going off to fetch the next round. There were two minutes left before halftime so the conversation paused while they took the first cold sips from the new Tuskers and watched a penalty kick. When the players ran off the pitch for halftime, the discussion resumed as though it had never been sidelined.

     ‘So you scream for what a minute? A minute and a half?’ said the British aid worker. ‘Then, maybe some miserable, terrified woman lets you take your pathetic little Jimi for one last bit of the old in-and-out. That’s another five minutes, right? Then what?’

     ‘You probably need a good 15 minutes if you want to go again,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘No. Put on some Creedence or Pink Floyd, push the seat back, and take a little nap until the end comes,’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘What an asshole,’ said the female American aid worker.

     ‘What? Even with the plane crashing you would want to talk afterward?’ said the American aid worker.

     She punched him on the should while he was taking a drink and he spilled the Tusker on his lap.

     ‘That’s the point though,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘What? To talk about your feelings after sex before you die in a plane crash?’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘No. The point is what music would you listen to for those 30 minutes while the plane is crashing,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘OK, I’m with you,’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Sure, and you wouldn’t want to spend the whole time flipping through albums looking for the right song,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘Yeah, you would start rocking out a few seconds and then realize, “No, this just isn’t it. Not right for the occasion,”’ said the American aid worker.

     ‘So you need a playlist,’ said the female Australian aid worker.

     ‘Exactly. That’s the point. Wouldn't you wish you had a 30-minute best-of playlist ready to go?’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘An Airplane Crash Playlist,’ said the American aid worker. ‘It's perfect.’

     ‘So would you choose your favorite songs of all time or songs that remind you of special times in your life or songs that you think might be appropriate for the context of being in a plane crash?’ said the female British aid worker.

     ‘That’s the question,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘Plus what if the forensics team finds your charred remains holding the iPod and looks through the playlist?’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Yeah,’ said the American aid worker. “Hey, Harry, come take a look a this. This poor son-of-a-bitch was listening to Lady Gaga when the plane went down.’

     ‘A lot of factors to consider,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘You guys are so morbid,’ said the female American aid worker.

     ‘Anyway, it’s a relevant issue to consider and, according to my phobia, it’s a scenario that’s quite likely to happen,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘Especially with how often you fly between field offices and the regional office,’ said the female Australian aid worker.

     ‘So you’re saying my odds are even higher - thanks for that. My phobia just loves having you around,’ said the British aid worker.

     ‘I can just picture it,’ said the American aid worker. The loudspeaker comes on: “This is your captain speaking. We have just lost our engines and will begin crashing now.” Everyone goes nuts. There’s screaming and fighting and fucking all around and this guys takes out his iPod.’

     ‘And orders a glass of Sherry,’ said the British aid worker. ‘That would be my last drink.’

     ‘And would you tip your bowler with the top of your cane?’ said the Canadian aid worker.

     ‘Sure. “God save the Queen’” and then Jimi Hendrix “Highway Chile” right into oblivion,’ said the American aid worker.

     The second half of the football match was starting so they ordered another round of Tuskers.


(Note from the author: Yes, I have made an Airplane Crash Playlist and no, there is no Lady Gaga on it)

You Will Find No Revelations

It is dark and cold. If you look to the horizon beside you, you can see where the sky meets the mountain ridge. Both are colored in shades of darkness. You follow the ridge with your eyes until you are straining your neck to look upwards and you lose your balance as you plod forward among the train of hikers. Ahead in the distance there is another train and behind there are several more. You can identify them only by the headlamps they wear and that is how you know how many are attempting this summit at the same time you are.

     The air is cold so that it hurts in your lungs if you inhale through your mouth. So you make sure to inhale only through your nose. You do this for a few breaths until you find that your nose is so cold inside that it now hurts when you inhale as much as your lungs did when you breathed through your mouth. So you put your neck gaiter over your mouth and nose and breath the warm air as deeply as you can. But soon this becomes suffocating because the spoiled air you exhale does not entirely escape the gaiter before you inhale again and you need more oxygen. So you pull the neck gaiter down and draw several heaving gasps through your mouth, and then through your nose, and then you put your gaiter on again.

     The wind comes slashing across the mountainside. If it strikes you in mid stride it might unsteady your balance and you might not have enough air in you to adjust or enough leg under you to stay up. So you might stumble or you might go down. If you go down, hopefully you will land softly and you will avoid boulders or sharp outcrops. The wind is strong when it rises and it carries a cold that goes through your jacket and deep into you. 

     ‘Are you OK?’ the Tanzanian guide asks at the front of our train of six - two guides, an assistant guide, and we three tourists.

     Maria and Sanne respond mutely, ‘Yes.’

     ‘My water is frozen. I have to stop to fix it,’ I say.

     I feel bad to stop the group because rhythm and pace is everything and I hate to break it. But I am twenty or more minutes without a drink and I am getting very concerned about dehydration. The group stops. I take off my heavy gloves and un-shoulder my pack. The water in the tube is entirely frozen but inside the plastic sack of the Camel Pack it is still liquid. I drink deeply and I feel better. I work the frozen tube in my hands to break up the ice and I try to suck the water through. It begins to break up and I take in a squirt of liquid. I replace it in my pack and we begin to ascend.

     Just over an hour earlier I lay awake warmly in my sleeping bag in my tent. I am half dressed and I am warm enough but I am nervous so I feel a cold shivering inside. My stomach aches and I feel a bloating. I lie awake worrying that this is from the altitude which could be a very bad sign. I tell myself that it is an upset from the food and now made worse by the worrying, but I cannot be convinced.

     Damn it, I think angrily, pull yourself together. But my nerves are unravelling and that is making my heart pound faster and harder. This makes me more nervous, which makes my stomach ache more. You fucking priss, I think, where’s your sand? I continue to berate myself until I run out of foul words in English and Spanish. I am more nervous now that the berating has stopped because I am silent and so now I can hear the cold shivering in the core of my body.

     I break. You can turn back whenever you need to, I tell myself. I feel small for saying, I feel weak but I notice that it makes me feel better so I begin to repeat it over and over. Each time I say it I grow calmer so I keep repeating it. Now I am laying quietly and when the pounding starts to come again, I repeat the cop-out phrase over and over until I am quieted. My alarm sounds, which means it is 23:30 and time to prepare for the midnight ascent to the summit. It is a bad omen that I am starting for the summit with shaken nerves but at least I am out of my sleeping bag now and there is activity to keep my mind off of the stomach ache and ill omen.

     A few moments pass on the ascent and I notice how cold my fingers are even after I have replaced the heavy gloves. I work the fingertips of one hand over roughly in the palm of the other hand and then I alternate. I do this for several minutes while the numbness grows painfully across all my fingers and down from the tips. Finally, the numbness recedes and is replaced by a terrible burning. The burning is very bad but I know it is a good sign because it means that the feeling is coming back. So this must be frost nip.

     Finally feeling is restored to my fingertips and I realize that I am thirsty from the walking and the concern over the numbness. I suck from the tube of the Camel Pack but it is frozen through again and no water will pass. Dehydration will be worse than the altitude, I think, and I cannot continue like this only drinking every thirty minutes at a rest stop. Also, my stomach is still bad from the nervousness of before and it is becoming clear that I must do something about it if I am to continue to ascend. I am very concerned now about how long I will be able to continue and there are many more hours until sunrise when we will reach the summit. I call for a halt.

     ‘My water is frozen again and I must drink. Also, my have to use the bathroom,’ I say to the Tanzanian guide at the front of our small group. ‘Maybe you continue without me and the assistant guide and I will catch up when I am ready.’

     He agreed to this. I had spent most of the previous days far ahead of the group with the assistant guide so we had the experience of going off on our own. I took another long drink while the group prepared to continue the ascent. Once they were off, I gave the Camel Pack to the assistant guide to hold so that the water did not spill while the screw top was off and I placed the tube under my shirt against my skin to warm it up. Then I took the toilet paper and walked 10 meters or so off the trail to where there were a few boulders. I was listening to a book about the recent war in Iraq. It was an odd choice for the circumstances but it was all that I had left after six days of book listening throughout the ascent. More importantly it was compelling, which helped to take my mind off of what I was doing. I watched the headlights of the trekkers that had been further behind and I saw that a few saw me because their headlamps struck me straight on. But I did not care and probably they did not care either. It was too dark and too cold and there was too little oxygen and too much struggle for caring. For each of us there was only ourself and the mountain that mattered. And, if you thought more about it, maybe there was not even the mountain, only the part of you that strives against the part of you that does not.

     When I am done, I feel very good. I return to the trail where the assistant guide waits.

     ‘I am good now,’ I say.

     I take back the Camel Pack and I screw the tube on. My stomach is very cold from where it was pressed against my skin but its heat has gone to break up the ice. I take a long drink and now again I can suck through a stream of water. I feel better with the dehydration pushed back for awhile and I am lighter and a little stronger and a little less worried. I heave my pack onto my shoulders and we resume.

     Hours pass of slow, steady, painful trudging. Mostly I look straight ahead only calculating my next footstep. The night is too dark to see far beyond that. Occasionally I look up and I can see only the line of the next ridge ahead. When we reach that ridge there is another beyond it. Always there is a another ridge but I know that eventually after one of them will be the summit. I am cold but I am keeping a better pace and I do not have the cold shivers from the nerves anymore.

     But the worries are not all gone. Each footstep is a huge exertion and my chest is pounding, the heart and the lungs. There are pains that may be from exertion or may be from something worse but I cannot know because I have never felt these pains before. But now it is not like it was earlier that night when I was alone in my sleeping bag in my tent. ‘You will go until you finish or until you collapse. If you are going down before the summit, it will be on a stretcher.’

     I repeat this to myself over and over and I believe it. I know as I say it that it is a terribly extraordinary statement but isn’t that why you came here to do this? I repeat it and it settles my worries. The pains do not go away but the worries about them do. The worries are about what the pains might signal, but right now there is only now and there is nothing after this if I do not get through it. Another extraordinary statement but the top of a continent is the right place for extraordinary statements.

     I take one footstep and then another. I am not listening to the book anymore, so I remove the headphones. I remember a conversation from many years before.

     ‘The reason to do the right thing is because it is hard and that it is hard is how you know it’s the right thing,’ I had said.

     ‘It’s circular reasoning,’ I was told.

     ‘Well, is good and right ever easy?’ I replied.

     I thought about that now and I thought about all the hard things I had done in my life and I decided that it was still true even if it was a logical fallacy.

     We continue plodding on. Right in the head now but feeling exhausted and dehydrated, I slip into a sort of a trance. My mind is clear but each thought is stretched out so that I cannot get to the end of it to conclude it but only keep stretching it inconclusively further on with what seems to be no elastic limit. Like a sound that fades but never quite disappears. Outside of this there is only enough rational thought to carry on the mechanical grind of the footsteps and the periodic sip from the Camel Pack.

     I had not noticed that the sky has begun to lighten until a long slice of red begins to seep from a point over the horizon. In a few minutes I have reached Stella Point at 5,739m where there is an amazing eastward view of a sunset beyond mountaintops with a sky of clouds above and a sea of clouds below. I stay to watch this a short time. Many stop here and go no further maybe because once their rhythm is broken so is their resistance or maybe because it represents an achievement and so they have gotten what they came for.

     The assistant guide urges me on but I need no urging, only another moment of rest. It is another 45 minutes along a series of undulating ridges to Uhuru Peak where the true summit is. I resume the plodding, chest and lungs and head pounding but muscles strong and stubborn. It is a very long 45 minutes but soon I am within view of the summit - a small, sloped clearing where a handful of hikers have thrown down their packs and are posing for photos beside the plaque. When I see the summit and my mind begins to understand what is means, a powerful emotion comes over me. My eyes begin to tear and then my heart rate increases so that I have to calm myself because my pulse is already as high as it should go. I continue walking until I arrive. I am greeted by several who have arrived before me and I nod in return but I am not ready to say anything. At 5,895m I throw down my pack and I stand breathing deeply, feeling the warm sweat growing cold now and my breathing calming and all my sense growing sharply focused as I look out.

     You will find no great revelations at the summit of a mountain and this can be very disappointing. Maybe it is like a sort of postpartum depression because you have done a very powerful thing for a period of time and now it is over. It is over and, as hard as it was, you miss the thing that you were doing because it was everything to you while you were doing it. Now you feel empty. You do not yet realize that your life will be a little different or maybe a lot different from now on and, because of what you have done and because of who you are, you will soon find there is a next thing to become everything to you the way this was.

This Is Your Happiness that You Feel

In the morning you wake up stiff in the back and in the muscles of your legs and your shoulders. Your back is stiff because the ground is hard and gravelly through your thin isolation pad and your legs and shoulders are stiff from the long hiking and the weight of your pack from the day before. You might be cold or you might not be - that depends on how good your sleeping bag is and your isolation pad and how resistant you are.

     You rise before the sunrise when the sky is light gray and fresh and as beautiful as any sky anywhere. Then you dress, which is to say you put on the same clothes you wore yesterday and probably the day before. While you dress, one of the porters brings you warm water. The warm water is wonderful as you rub it over your forearms and your face, but even better is the coolness you feel afterwards from the wetness. It is a beautiful, intense discomfort that you feel, which, like most all sensations when you are here, reminds you that this is what it feels like to be alive.

     Then, dressed and washed, you sit on a rock away from the commotion of the campsite and you watch the line of shadow descend along the mountain slope as the sun emerges from over the opposite ridge. When it reaches high enough, the shadow will descend to you and you will experience the first warmth of the day on your face even as your fingertips are still cold at your sides. You unbutton your coat and take off your wool beanie and you feel warm and cold at the same time. You will feel these things and you will feel a surge pass through you like as if you had touched something electrical. This is your happiness that you feel pure through unsuppressed senses.

     Maybe you are not someone who ordinarily ‘feels’ a lot. If that is you then these feelings will be especially good because they will be uncommon. And if that is not you then it will still be very good because these will be the most simple and true things that you have felt in a very long time.

     Soon you will smell the scrambled eggs and toast or hot chapati and the cook will summon you into the tent for the breakfast meal and a cup of hot tea or coffee. The eggs will arrive steaming on the metal tray and you will mix some chocolate into your coffee for the pleasure of a simple indulgence. You will thank the cook and ask for more hot water to be put into the thermos and then you will attack the simple meal he has brought. You will eat more ravenously and more gratefully and probably it will taste as richly as anything you can remember eating previously.

     After you eat maybe you will have to lighten your stomach and that will not be very pleasant. Going in the open air is a fine thing but here there is only a field of small rocks and no trees to provide cover. So, if you have not the time or desire to find yourself a private place at some distance, then you must use one of the several latrines scattered around the edges of the campsite. When you do this, you will be sure you bring your scarf or bandana to tie over your nose and mouth before you enter.

     When you return from your morning preparations, the porters will be breaking up the camp. You will shed your warm clothes because you will soon be walking and carrying the pack and then you will appreciate the chill. When you set out you will feel stiff but you will not feel awkward. You will only have felt awkward during the first day until you broke your muscles and your breathing into a rhythm. If you did not find your rhythm during the first day then probably now things will be going pretty difficult for you, but if you did then the stiffness will work itself out very soon and then you will only feel good and warm and very healthy. You will feel the hard earth beneath you and the support of your boots and the rigid frame of your pack. You will walk evenly, rhythmically so that your breathing is harmonized with your strides and you will drink between your breaths so that you minimize the disruption to them. Your thoughts will be clear and less scattered and if you are lucky then you will hardly be thinking anything at all. The less you think the better it will be and the more you will experience of what you are doing.

     In the morning the sky will be clear and the sun will be strong. You will apply sunscreen and wear sunglasses and a hat and you will use the solar panel strapped to the outside of your pack to recharge your iPod and your digital camera. Before lunchtime the clouds will have come and they will be either just above or all around you depending upon how high up the mountain you have ascended. When the clouds come it will become much cooler so that you will increase your pace if you can or you will put on your rain shell and use the zippered vents on the sides to trap the right amount of body heat. With the clouds around you now it might even rain lightly and for a short time. If it does then it will be refreshing and as much a necessary part of the experience as the morning sunshine and, anyway, you are already wearing your rain shell.

     You will eat lunch when you arrive at the next camp and, if you do it that way, then after lunch you will probably lay down on your isolation pad beside your tent, listening to music until you fall into sleep. If you are still on the trail at lunchtime then you will eat from the pre-packed meal that the cook gave you before you set off that morning. There will be a sandwich or a chicken breast and an orange and maybe a juice box. There will be plenty and you will be plenty hungry but you will have to control yourself to eat very little. If you eat too much you will be heavy on the trail in the afternoon. The heaviness can be dangerous if you have to scramble over any boulders but mostly it will upset your rhythm and it could make you feel sick. If you eat too much then all the blood and the oxygen that it carries will go to the digestion in your stomach. Already your body is short on oxygen because there is less of it in each inhale and you are using your same lungs to capture it. You have been compensating for this by breathing deeply and steadily and by drinking plenty of water mixed with rehydration salts. But if you eat too much and then must walk again before the digestion is done, you can easily upset this tenuous equilibrium.

     The clouds will stay through the afternoon and it will grow cooler, especially since you are probably ascending now, which means you are at a higher altitude than you were this morning. When you reach camp you will feel good and well worked and your muscles will be tired but they will somehow be stronger than they were when you started out in the morning. You will set you pack against a rock beside your tent and you will drink longly and deeply the way you wanted to all throughout the day but did not allow yourself so that you would not get cramps. Then you will peel off your rain shell and your nylon sport shirt and you will stand shirtless for a few minutes letting the cool sweat dry and enjoying the fresh air against your skin. You will lay out your clothing to let them dry and to let them absorb the fresh smell of the mountain air so that it will not be so foul when you put them back on tomorrow morning. Now you stretch and then dress yourself warmly. It is not cold yet but you are not moving now and you know the cold will come before the night does. You will dress in long underwear under your trousers and several shirt layers under your fleece jacket. You will replace your sunhat with your wool beanie and exchange your sweaty bandana for a wool neck gaiter. Now that you are properly dressed you might walk around the campsite or take a nap or more likely find a comfortably shaped rock where you can sit and read a book or listen to one or listen to music and vacantly observe the activity around the campsite or the stillness across the mountainside.

     You will do this for a long while and maybe you will have dozed or maybe you will have remained alert, but either way you will feel entirely relaxed. You will feel that you are exactly where you should be and that you should never be anywhere but here. You will watch the sunset which will be spectacular or quite mundane depending upon whether the sunset is on the horizon at its proper time or much earlier against a high mountain ridge. When the twilight is almost faded into night, the cook will call you to the tent for dinner. There will be hot water for tea or coffee and a soup of squash or pumpkin or lentils. Then the cook will come to refill the hot water.

     ‘More soup?’ he asks in uncertain English.

     Sanne and Maria, the two Danish ladies in the threesome, will look at each other and then Sanne asks, ‘What is next?’ because her answer to his question will depend on his answer to hers.

     ‘Dinner,’ he responds.

     She smiles and you smile and Maria smiles and she asks for ‘more soup, please’.

     Dinner will be chicken or beef and some vegetables. It will be very good and very filling and you will eat as best as you can. But there will be enough for much more than the threesome so the cook will return and think you do not like it and you will have to convince him that you like it very much but maybe you don’t want to eat too much because of the altitude or something like that. After dinner you will drink hot tea to digest and you will finish the rehydration mix that you prepared when you arrived at the camp and have been working on ever since. The taste of the rehydration salts is bad and the Tanzanian tea is very weak but you accustom yourself to both and you enjoy the sensation of switching between the hot and the cold drinks.

     After dinner it will be very dark outside and very cold. It is maybe 20:00 or 21:00 and you make your preparations for going to sleep. But before you go into your tent you lay upon your isolation pad on the cold hard ground as warmly bundled as you possibly can and you take out your star chart. You shine your flashlight on it while you look away so that the constellations will glow on it and you can look at them for reference without ruining your night vision. The campsite will be almost completely dark and if you remove your earphones you only hear the sounds of the porters having a few drinks or smoking ganja after their clients have gone off to bed. If there are no clouds you will probably see as many stars as you can ever remember seeing before, but most nights there are clouds so you will only see a small portion of the sky with clarity. But that one portion will be enough because after ten minutes or so it will be too cold to lay outside inertly any longer. Your fingers will be numb and your nose will be wet from the cold.

     In your tent it will be noticeably warmer because the dome will capture your body heat and then, inside your sleeping bag with the extra lining inserted for extremely cold weather, you will be warm and tired and very happy to be closing your eyes before 21:30. You will listen to your audiobook for a long while and then you will doze or your attention will wander so you will switch to music and then you will doze. You will sleep fitfully during the night because the isolation pad is too thin for the hard, uneven ground and because the altitude will not allow you a sound sleep. Your sides will bruise at the hipbone from laying on them and you will shift constantly throughout the night. By early morning you will be tired but just as well ready for the day to start because lying there is not accomplishing much anymore. Even with the difficult sleep you will wake up refreshed and you will have reserves of energy. Yesterday will have been a great day and the night will only have been an obstacle before you can begin another just like it.