Climb for Hospice

Six days.

In less than  a week, I board a plane that will take me to Amsterdam, then to Nairobi, then finally to Dar es Salaam, where I will sit and recuperate for a few days before hopping a ferry to the exotic and mysterious island of Zanzibar.

After about a week on the exotic and mysterious island of Zanzibar, I will hop that same  ferry back to Dar, then slip onto a bus that will take me to the Kilimanjaro airport. Once there, I will get onto a shuttle bus that is bound for the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I will spend the night at the Marangu hotel, hopefully finding a few hours’ sleep between the anticipation and the fear.

And then… I climb.

Eight days later, I roll down that big dirt mound, and into a shower at Marangu. For the next 10 hours, I try to vigorously scrub the dust and blech from my skin, while attempting to scour the ‘carry-your-own-waste’ memory from my saturated mind.

After one more night at the Marangu, I roll on back to Dar, where I spend the next 5 days lounging in a beach hut, recovering, reading, recharging and reclining.

And finally, I jump on a plane that takes me back through Amsterdam before depositing me back on home soil.

I can do this.