Real life | 19 November 2011

A wise man once said it is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. I say never go on a trip that ends with you sealing your laundry into vacuum packs before disposing of it like nuclear waste. Honestly, these Kilimanjaro climbers are mental. My own team was dominated by six previously sensible family men who faced with a mountain peak were ready to trample women and children underfoot in order to get to the top first. Consequently, we took the second toughest route and went way too fast.

I know we went too fast because we kept passing Mr Switzerland. Seriously. Mr Switzerland 2009 is now a top mountaineering guide and was leading a party of Swiss climbers, mostly women. He was dressed in skin-tight ski pants and a belt with studs in the shape of safari animals. And he was walking really slowly.

My lot were stomping so fast I was left at the back with a 19-year-old girl with epilepsy who was attempting the climb against the advice of her doctor.

On the second day she felt so ill she only just made it out of bed. I didn’t spot the fluffy cotton poking out of her ski jacket until it was too late. ‘Sophia, please tell me you are not climbing Kilimanjaro in your pyjamas,’ I said, as we passed 3,000 metres.

‘I carn ’elp it,’ she whinged, in that winning way teenagers have. ‘I’m so tired, innit.’ As she struggled to put one foot in front of the other and asked me questions like ‘if I ’ave a fit up ’ere I’m gonna die, aren’t I?’, the rest of the group marched ahead until they disappeared over the horizon and we were left alone with two Tanzanian guides.