The very last place I expected to find a Japanese tea ceremony was in Macau. 

While the English can wax on about their royal "High Tea" and the fancy assortment of scones, watercress sandwiches and what not, the concept of tea as a beverage that is freshly brewed, prepared and served is a Chinese concept that spread to other countries. In as early as 727 A.D., The Chinese Tang Court presented tea as a gift to Emperor Shomu of Japan. Tea then was planted in the Imperial Garden of Kyoto in 794 A.D.

So, I should not have been surprised to see the various ways the Macanese take their tea during my recent visit.

The Chinese and Japanese have profited from centuries to make their tea just right (tea was discovered in 2772 B.C. by the Chinese emperor and inventor Shennong, and initially planted in the Chengdou province in China).

Wherever we went, the place settings and the attention to detail seemed so other wordly. "Only in Asia," I thought, thinking of the crazy mess in my dining room. I was sure my new Macanese friends would have a mild heart attack if they set foot into my house. 

One of my first experiences with how the Macanese served their tea was at the authentic Cantonese restaurant, "Treasure Palace" located on the main level of the Boulevard of the "City of Dreams" Macau. The giant "City of Dreams" triplex can put many Manhattan skyscrapers to shame, and as with many prestigious restaurants in Macau, is located smack dab in the thick of all the action: the Cotai Strip (the Cotai Strip was modeled after the Vegas Strip –some say it outshines Vegas).

"Treasure Palace" didn't serve us a proper Chinese tea, but the food was so beautifully presented and the service was superb, so I wanted to show you what an authentic Cantonese culinary/tea experience can be. As soon as you enter the restaurant, you're greeted by a long red lacquered tea station where a beautifully-dressed lady is curating tea as though she was born in a tea garden. Everything you see below is fragrant, loose leaf tea, which she carefully scoops, measures and then pours into one of the clear teapots below for steeping. 

And then there is our place setting  – a group of eight hungry journalists seated around a table on which a clear glass Lazy Susan rests. The restaurant itself is characterized by a bold red decor, but the place setting is so minimalist and white. And for people who are not comfortable with the chopsticks, no big! The servers are used to frequent requests of supplying forks and knives.

We gaze at a peaceful artificial lake that glistens, right outside our window. Everything seems calm and zen, and very healthy. None of the hustle and bustle I typically associate with casinos (City of Dreams pulls a substantial portion of its income from its casinos) and the atmosphere naturally lent itself to finding your inner peace.

The menu is created and supervised by Chef Tam Kwok-Fung, who is known for his mastery of the Cantonese cuisine. If you're a vegetarian, you'll have no issues because they will supply you with steamed vegetable dumplings that are perfectly done (the dough is not overcooked or too watery, and the flavors are well balanced, sodium free and not spicy), as well as several vegetable dishes of your choice. 

But this all brings me back to the tea. The tea we had at Treasure Palace was Chinese tea, and you may have had various versions of this tea in Chinese restaurants around the world. But the experience got me thinking about the difference between the Chinese and Japanese tea ceremonies because immediately following lunch, we visited an authentic Japanese hotel, the "Okura."

The Okura is a newly minted hotel (it opened in July, 2011) that was built specifically to cater to the increasing number of Japanese visitors to Macau.

Visitors are greeted in the lobby by a beautiful blooming Japanese cherry blossom tree, and a lady in a pale pink Kimono who is as perfectly groomed and styled as a Harajuku doll. 

The "Okura" is part of the "Galaxy Macau" five-star resort. 

When you visit one of the many rooms in the hotel Okura, you'll see how much pains the designers took to keep the rooms quite minimalist –but there's always that spotlight on the tea (notice the difference in the Chinese and Japanese tea displays). 

The highlight of my trip was meeting the Japanese Tea Ceremony Mistress in Okura's signature restaurant, Yamazato. The exquisite, graceful and Kimono-clad Shirai Yayoi is a master of the ancient style of serving Japanese tea (the proper terminology for this ceremony is "Otemae") for over 50 years, and has performed this ceremony to several Japanese emperors including the late Emperor Hirohito and his son,  the current Emperor Akihito. 

It was a joy and a thrill to be able to get into the "igloo" with her (note: the "igloo" is not the official name for where the tea ceremony is held but rather my inept, watered down way to give you an idea of what it looked like; the inside of the "igloo" is warm, cozy and very very clean). I had a picture taken of my with Shirai Yayoi but unfortunately –much to my extreme disappointment –the SD card got corrupted and I could not retrieve them when I came home! 

Below you'll see one of my writer buddies, Alexis Quinlan, who was also with me as Yayoi showed us how the tea is prepared. 

The art of the Ancient Japenese Tea Ceremony is a very quiet, reflective ceremony, and one that involves a lot of patience and the art of savoring. Yayoi had several precise steps she took before offering us a pot of the freshly prepared "matcha" tea. The reason why the matcha tea is served with sweets is to balance the bitter aspect of the tea. So the ceremony, in essence, is not only about drinking the tea –it's about appreciating all the little but significant steps in the preparation of the tea —a ritual that changed my life forever. 

PREPARATION: Alexis and I sat in silence and watched Yayoi prepare the tea herself. She took a teapot of clear boiling water and set it aside. Then she made sure the teacups themselves were sparkling clean, before scooping up a precise amount of freshly powdered green Matcha tea and placing the powder at the bottom of a master bowl.

There are some precise rules applied to the utensils and how to care for them, clean them and have them ready for the Tea Ceremony. Everything is placed on a clean mat made of bamboo, upon which the guests sit.

APPRECIATION: What I loved most about watching Yayoi is how she appreciated every little task, from ladling the hot water into the master bowl, to whisking the matcha green tea and the water. As she handed the cups to us, with both hands and a courteous bow, she ordered us to "appreciate the bowl" after we were done tasting and drinking the tea.

Before tasting the tea, we followed Yayoi's example of sniffing, savoring and sipping the tea gingerly, and then gulping it down. It's impressive that even when it comes down to the art of drinking tea, there are fine steps to follow to enhance your appreciation. 

I left Hotel Okura with a sense of accomplishment, and now I wanted to transfer this spirit of zen-ness and appreciation to all my daily tasks, from boiling my American tea kettle to doing the dishes. As the saying goes, it's easy to do things, it's hard to do them well. After Yayoi told me to "appreciate the bowl" I surrendered to her wisdom and simplicity because the latter must be —had to be — the key to happiness.

For many travelers, Macau is the Asian version of Vegas. And while I won't deny that during my recent visit there, I did encounter more marble lobbies, fountains and upscale shopping venues than I have in a while, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the "other" side of Macau.

The Ruins of St. Paul was formerly St. Paul's College, and is now a much loved, much visited landmark by several tourists. It's refreshing to see the watermark of the Portuguese influence in Macau, and I experienced quite a magical walk from the Ruins, down the steps, and through the narrow cobblestone streets that reminded me of Sicilian towns.

Arguable the most famous cultural landmark in Macau, the Ruins of St. Paul were made a part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site Historic Center of Macau in 2005.

The Ruins of St. Paul actually refer to a site that featured two prominent buildings in Macau: the first was the Cathedral of St. Paul, which was built by the Jesuits and completed in 1602. You won't find traces of the cathedral on site, I'm afraid, because it was destroyed by a fire in 1835.

But you can see the southern stone facade carved by Jesuits who fled their native Japan (in the early 1600s), and if you venture down into the catacombs, you will encounter a chilling crypt and their bones. 

So, this landmark –which is a popular place for brides to get photographed (we encountered a beautiful bride getting her pictures taken on the day of our visit) — gives you a slice of Macau you never thought you would find. 

Here's a photo walk from the Ruins all the way to Senado Square where you can see the brightly-colored Pagoda, and all the festive paper lanterns from the Mooncake Festival. 

The Ruins of St. Paul is a much-photographed landmark, but it did not disappoint because I was thrilled to get a glimpse into the history and culture of Macau (cliched as that phrase may sound). The facade has intricate carvings and detailing, and the Cathedral of Macau was the largest Catholic church in Asia at the time.

A walk from the Ruins will lead you through narrow alleyways and cobblestone streets flanked by traditional stores selling everything from pigskin to hand-made souvenirs. 

These slices of meat can be purchased by the pound. The prices are in Macanese Patacas (written as MOP$). A U.S. dollar yields roughly 8 Patacas, using the exchange rate as of December 2011.

The feeling of being in Asia is palpable.  I never felt hurried or rushed or had pushy salespeople throwing their wares in my face, and I was very happy about that. Typically in Macau, you can browse and shop in peace and not feel too bothered. 

I absolutely love corners like these where you can absorb the flavor of a place in just one glance. From the Chinese lettering flanking the door to the carefully cut and laid cobbestones that are done in the traditional black and white basalt stones (a Portuguese technique), the alleys leading to Senado Square can be full of surprises. 

Yes, sadly, there is both a McDonald's and a Starbucks in Senado Square. The chain store globalization trend continues. But at least, there are other stores for you to enjoy the authentic Macanese experience.

The Mooncake Festival decorations still were everywhere. The brightly colored paper lanterns are just one way that the Macanese celebrate their festivals. What is a mooncake? It's a Chinese dessert that has a filling of a duck's egg. 

The culmination of your walk will be the unmistakeable Pagoda in Senado Square. Also called "Senate Square," the paved area was the center of Macau, and where a lot of the parades, dances and festive celebrations take place on a monthly basis. Senado Square using the traditional Portuguese pavement technique which are done using black and white stones made of basalt and limestone. 

Fall is a magical time of year and a photographer's dream. From the blood red maple trees, to the crunch of pale yellow leaves on the sidewalks, there's a photo everywhere you look. 

Over the past few  years, Matthew and I have been captivated by the sheer, dense, deep, rich shades of fall. Living in Weehawken, NJ makes us feel we're a bit in the woods; but, at the same time, we're not more than a hop, skip and a swim across the Hudson away.

Leaves are fascinating because they come in all shapes and sizes: some with serrated edges, some the size of your palm, others wispy and thin. Enjoy the photo album below.

Maple leaves in New Jersey

Butterscotch inspecting the fallen leaves

A lake in Harriman State Park, Harriman, NY

More lake and leafy silhouettes in Harriman 

A misty view of Chris Columbus' statue in Columbus Circle, New York

A closer look at the dry, pale leaves on the pavement

This is the view on  my way to catching the bus into the city 

During my very first day in Macau, we were taken to see the Macau Tower (the bungee jumping destination I mentioned in my previous post), and also enjoy the first weekend of the Fireworks Competition.

This annual competition features pyrotechnic displays that are one part Cirque du Soleil, one part geometric study in beehives, bouquets, rockets and other fairly predictable shapes (and some unpredictable mixes and matches).

Since fireworks have been part of the Chinese culture and traditions since the 12th century, this should come as no surprise. But a Fireworks competition implies a bigger senses of orchestration: we were going to watch Taiwan and Austria battle for some of the judges' top marks. I was expecting Chinese pop music in the background, and traditional Viennese classical music and the show did not disappoint.

My camera, however, did. Or let me take that back–my photography skills were just a tad bit too caveman to handle my new Nikon D3000 (this was my "Macau" present given to me by hubby who didn't want me to take his D90 camera…the trouble is, I had to learn the hard way and fiddle with it while I was there). 

One of the first photos I took (below), was a complete dud 

My first few shots were pretty much along the lines of what you see above. Fuzzy as a scene from "The Blair Witch Project," these were my initial 20 or 30 photos before I realized that you simply cannot take good pictures of fireworks using the "Auto" mode. 

I then switched to Manual mode, where I turned the ISO setting to 800 because it was night and starting to get pitch back, but I was also a bit worried about the graininess…I didn't want the sensitivity to be so high so as to render the pictures poor quality. This was a number I used by chance because the 800 setting has worked well for me in the past during dusk and night.

One issue with light exposure was my lens, because this was a relatively el cheapo lens, and the aperture only goes down to an f-stop of 5.6. So, I would get minimal light into the lens (my husband's D90 lens for example, goes all the way down to 2.8). But in a situation like this, where there is ambient light and all it takes is a little zoom to get a close up of the fireworks, the f-stop of 5.6 actually worked fine. Even in this case if I did have a lens that went all the way down to 2.8 I'm not sure I would have used it because that would have made the pictures too grainy).

Since I was in manual mode, I had to play with the shutter speed too…and this took several tries because many of the photos ended up too burry, meaning my shutter speed was way too slow. 

What could have been an extremely frustrating experience turned out to be a fun, exciting way to use the camera!

So I played with my shutter speed, and discovered that a 1/4000 was way too fast (this was the upper end of what I had) and I settled for 1/200 which worked for this instance. During the entire experiment, I must have taken over 300 photos of the fireworks. 

As you can see, the photos became crisper without much graininess. I also took photos from various angles, trying to capture the bridge, the people and just zoom in on the fireworks alone. So is there a magic formula for taking good photos of fireworks? Here's what I found: 

1) Don't crank the ISO setting way up. If your camera lens is sensitive, which it will be if you increase the ISO settings, it will be able to pick up ambient light from the fireworks no matter how far away they may seem. If it's at night, a setting of 600-800 should work well;

2) Definitely don't put your camera in "Auto" if you can help it. This will just make you pick up the closer objects when the flash goes off and the distant objects will appear darker. Not attractive!

3) Play with the right shutter speed and don't crank it all the way up otherwise it will be too fast and you'll end up with black photos.

4) Your aperture is probably best at 5.6, which is what I had it at. If you turn it down to an f-stop of 2.8 your pictures may become too grainy when you increase the size. 

Enjoy the progressively better pictures. If you have a tip, please share. 

As far as zip lining, bungee jumping, Six Flags' Kingda-Ka and all sorts of adrenaline-pumping sports are concerned, I'll give myself a C+ in the department (I am getting better in that going down the rail-less path in Grand Canyon didn't freak me out quite as much as I thought it would). 

On my recent trip to Macau, we went to the Macau Tower (remember I showed you the snazzy view of the tower from my hotel room previously?), which has the world's highest nighttime bungee jumping spot, at 1,109 feet. Although the tower is used for conferences and there are retail stores on the first floor, many youngsters come there to go straight to the top — only to come down again! It's actually really cool how it works; when you go to the very top, there is a store that rents secure harnesses for you to take the plunge. 

If that's not adrenaline-pumping enough for you, then consider this: there's an outer-rim that circles the Macau Tower right at the top, and brave visitors can walk outside. If your initial reaction was, "hmm, sure, no sweat, I got this," then consider that there's no handrail outside at all. Yeah, zippo handrail. 

Of course, being deathly afraid of heights, I wasn't going to venture out by myself, but I'm sure one of my readers would, right? Some of the writers I was with were intrigued by the notion (the skywalk was developed by the AJ Hackett, who bungy-jumped like an Olympic diver from the top of the Eiffel Tower in 1987). So, you're probably wondering, how is it really legal for a tower to have an outer rim walkway with absolutely no handrails at all? Do people sign waivers before they go? Or are only contestants from "The Amazing Race" allowed? 

Well, this is the thing — there is a safety system, but it's hidden! The world's first overhead safety system, which was designed by Hackett's company — stands in place of handrails, but yeah, all the fear factor elements are left completely intact. Pretty neat, huh?

The World's Highest Bungee (or Bungy, as the Asians call it) Tower is also the World's Highest Nighttime Bungee Jumping tower: there's a 4-5 second free fall and a yo yo like action afterwards that will make you then land onto a specially designed airbag. Bungee jumping doesn't come cheap and the price is around $320 per jump but that basically gets you all the frills that come with membership and a soft, branded tee shirt. After my visit to the tower, I started thinking about extreme sports, and why people really love the concept.

The extent of my acquaintance with extreme sports as a kid was parasailing –which isn't even an "extreme sport" in any sense of the term. But it seems that fear is being tossed out the window on a daily basis, and today's youngsters love adventure and sports…so much so that it's become part of their travel itineraries (on a trip to Michigan, I was introduced to stand up paddle boarding for the first time and loved it. Props to the Third Coast Surf Shop for bringing the art of surfing to the Midwest.)

Bungee jumping isn't my thing, but if it were, the Macau Tower would be a good excuse for visiting China.

View from the top of the Tower; here you can see the oldest casino on the island– the Grand Lisboa

And here's where you can get your tickets…

This is a retail store on the first floor of the tower: according to local custom, when a store opens, it is customary to send bouquets of flowers as a sign of respect and good wishes

This is about as much bungee jumping as I can handle…

The tower at sunset, with the Ponte de Sai Van Bridge behind it (this connects the Peninsula to Taipa Island)

Have you gone bungee jumping? Into adventure sports? Leave a comment below and tell me about your experience.  

After we arrived in Macau, we were greeted by yet another Joao (the name seems to be as common as "John" or "Matt" there), and quickly transported via taxi to our hotel, The Mandarin Oriental Macau.

A beautifully maintained boutique hotel (it's considered boutique only because of the number of rooms, 231), this hotel is located on the older Peninsula, which was were the first casinos were built. The oldest casino in Macau, the Grand Lisboa, is not too far away from the Peninsular strip. The Mandarin Oriental is also right next door to the MGM Grand, and a series of upscale shops that include Dior and Louis Vuitton. I could only imagine if a character like Isla Fisher in "Confessions of A Shopaholic" were to check into the hotel, her credit cards would need to be kept in the largest ice block on the property!

What struck me as I walked into the perfectly maintained lobby was the flawless customer service. It all started to sink in….I really and truly was in China. The attention to detail here is impressive: every leather chair seemed newly minted, the chandeliers sparkled, and my room was outfitted nicely and there was this cute fruit plate that had a nice medley of known and strange fruit.

That beautiful, spindly purple thing in the middle of the plate…do you see that? That's the Dragon Fruit, a local specialty. At first I was uncertain as to what to do with it…as with other strange fruit I've encountered (jackfruit, also known as sour sop; and initially, pomegranate). Dragon Fruit is an almost tasteless clear fruit studded with what looks like poppy seeds. It's very Macanese and I was told they make drinks out of this stuff. 

Also in my hotel room, the famed Portuguese Egg Tart, with a custard-like filling in the center.

Each hotel room gives you some kind of view of the Peninsula and Taipa Island: my view from the window was of the Macau Tower, which is famous for its bungee jumping! Apparently people have been going for years to bungee jump from the tower's peak, at 1,109 feet, and is the largest night-time bungee jumping tower in the world.

I wish I had learned Mandarin, but I figured all these characters just mean "Mandarin Oriental Macau"

These were gone in pretty much 60 seconds….with compliments to the chef

One of the softest duvets I've ever slept under…

A room with a Macanese View: almost sunset

Attack of the Dragon Fruit

A local delicacy

The view of the Macau Tower from my hotel room. The Tower is the tallest place in the world to do night time bungee jumping

Even though I was born in India, I've never really been to "Asia." When I was three years old, my father took my sister and I for a whirlwind trip around Europe, but China has been one of the destinations I've really wanted to visit.

So, when I received an opportunity to visit Macau, I was very intrigued, and even did a post and a giveaway on it (congratulations to most of you for being spot on –I'm so impressed with my worldly-wise readers!).

The day before the trip, I had a gala to attend at the Grand Hyatt in New York City, and was genuinely concerned if I would be able to sleep that entire evening: partly because I had not packed yet, and partly from sheer excitement. In some ways, a trip to Asia warrants that you stay up the evening before, because you have around 14 hours to sleep on the plane–unless you're like me, anxious to catch up on in-flight entertainment because you seldom go to the movies.

I was flying Cathay Pacific, an airlines I had heard nothing but great things; part of journey anxiety can be softened if you are dealing with airline professionals who really know how to take care of you, and I have nothing but positive things to say about Cathay. The flight attendants, dressed impeccably, were like doting parents who wanted to make sure everyone received their proper meals, had unlimited supply of water, tea and coffee, and received adequate amounts of rest during the flight.

One of the many ways you know you're not in Kansas anymore: sign spotting

Macau, a Special Administrative Region of China, was a Portuguese colony; I expected to find European touches throughout the island–which I did! The most convenient way to reach Macau is to fly to Hong Kong Airport, and taking the Sea Express (a turbo boat) for 45 minutes. There are two areas where you can board the Sea Express  — one is at the airport terminal itself, and the other one is in downtown Hong Kong.

The idea of where to go through immigration was one of the interesting aspects of my journey. I learned that if your final destination is Macau, you don't have to pick up your bags and go through the immigration in Hong Kong — you do that in Macau itself. All your luggage is efficiently tagged directly to your final destination: I'm glad they value visitors' time!

Since I went with the Macau Government Tourist Office (who know what they are talking about) I thankfully chose to ignore the advice given to me by the Cathay Pacific agents at check in who told me to go through Hong Kong immigration, receive my luggage, and check the luggage into the SeaExpress separately. If I had gone this route, I would actually not have been able to enter the airport again without a ticket, and would have had to take the SeaExpress from the downtown Hong Kong location.

I'm really glad I ignored that bit of advice; otherwise I would have really been someone from the movie Lost in Translation. 

This is the view from one section of the Hong Kong Airport; as you can see, the immediate vicinity is green and mountainous

The Macau SeaExpress is a 45 minute ride from the Hong Kong Airport to Macau, and costs roughly $100 U.S. for a round trip ticket

The island of Macau as seen from the SeaExpress

Visitors can also take the helicopter- it's a brief ride

After a relatively uneventful flight, three movies later (I sobbed as I saw Like Water For Elephants, and counteracted the sobbing with Bridesmaids and a few Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes), I arrived in Hong Kong fourteen hours later after having lost a day to time zone changes.

I don't know if you're familiar with the book Chinglish but I was hoping for some interesting sign spotting when I was in Macau. I did manage to find one at the airport.

Stay tuned for more adventures…

Your friendly Asian correspondent,

Charu

2011 has been a banner travel year for me, and I'm very grateful. While packing bags and jet setting is something that's second nature because of my restless legs (thanks for that phrase, David Farley), planning and logistics definitely take time. In 2011 alone, I've been on the road for roughly three months in total. Not too shabby!

From New Mexico, which I visited and fell in love with because of its rich history and arts and crafts scene, to Vail, Colorado, a summer journey that I will never forget, 2011 has been a melange of destinations. Detroit was one of my highlights too, because of the Henry Ford Museum and Ford's grandiose vision. Imagine — apart from inventing the Model T, he created the world's first Airport Hotel. My memories of Detroit will always be about the Piquette Assembly Line, Rouge Factory and Greenfield Village, which is not just any old field trip.

Since I was three years old, I've been on the road. From India to Nigeria to Kenya to a European trip when I was nine years old, it's always been a case of "go, go go." I get my share of extreme anxiety when traveling, but because I've traveled so much, I can always find ways to unwind and de-stress.

Friday is the beginning of one of my most exciting trips ever, partly because of its sheer distance, and partly because of the novelty. I'm as excited as the proverbial and highly cliched pig in mud.

So — where exactly in the world will I be? Staying true to my love for Trivia, here are some clues (don your Sherlock Holmes hat):

1. It's the farthest I have ever traveled (note: I was born in India and have traveled from India – the U.S., roughly about 10,000 miles);
2. Despite my fears of not having enough vegetarian food to eat, I am assured that this is NOT an issue;
3. My destination has a UNESCO World Heritage Site;
4. I will do my best to avoid the slot machines while I'm there;
5. During my plane ride, I'll be given all three meals before I descend: breakfast, lunch and dinner;
6. My final destination is NOT a country per se.

So, where am I going? Please leave your comments and best guesses below. The winner of this gets bragging rights and a beautiful new edition of LUXE CITY GUIDES TO LONDON. As for me, I'll get back to packing….

- Charu Suri; all images copyright of Butterflydiary.com

This is a guest post from my sister, Sharmi, who currently resides in Johannesburg, South Africa. I am in awe of her spirit and bravery and give her major kudos for climbing Kilimanjaro to celebrate her 30th birthday.

Summit night, 11pm. The guide stands outside my tent, calling softly to wake me up. After two hours of anxious sleep, I rub my groggy eyes, fasten my headlamp on my balaclava, and don my “armour,” the layers of thermal and outerwear that are going to be critical in helping me brave the freezing weather. I turn to my tent mate, wanting to go over our daily checklist –gear, food, medicine. I suddenly realize, with a lurch in my stomach, that she wasn’t joining us on this final stretch. My bravado leaves me, deflating me as I contemplate what lies ahead. Panic constricts my throat.

On autopilot, I push on. I unzip our tent flap, pack in my toe-warmers under my socks, put on my climbing shoes. It’s pitch black, freezing. I clamber out of my tent, stumble outside. In the darkness, all I can see are the headlamps dotting the nightscape of the cold, wind-swept ridge at the base of Africa’s tallest peak, Kilimanjaro. I can’t believe I am going to summit tonight. I am excited. I am terrified.

***

I had decided to climb Mount Kilimanjaro as a personal challenge in honour of turning thirty. I was looking for a transformative experience, one that would mark the turn of a new decade, and one that would celebrate my three already in existence. Months of preparation – which included slowly depleting my life’s savings in favour of expensive hiking gear and engaging in a masochistic fitness programme had me confident that I was up to the challenge. For each of my companions on this adventure (including my rather reluctant husband and a crew of six friends), the trip represented a personal challenge, a quest for transformation.

We arrived in Moshi, Tanzania, the afternoon before our climb, little knowing what to expect. We had spoken to the veterans, but their advice was overwhelming, often inconsistent—some said physical fitness was immaterial, others wished they had trained more. We took heed of the advice, paid little attention to the inconsistencies, and blindly trusted our potential to succeed as long as we were “prepared.”

That evening, we met our designated guides for the trip—August and El Bariki. These two soft-spoken, knowledgeable, and patient men were responsible for our team’s eventual success. We listened attentively as they described the terrain we were attempting to conquer, the Machame route, popularly known as the “Whiskey” route for its relative difficulty. They spoke of challenges such as the Wedge, the Barranco Wall, and finally, in hushed tones, summit night. We were told that we would “walk high, sleep low” to help us acclimatize to the altitude. We were told that pole pole (slowly slowly in KiSwahili) was the only sure-fire way of getting us to the top. We nodded blithely, unaware of what really awaited us.

The next morning, we drove into the park, where other teams and their crews waited for clearance to start the climb. We were still at 1800m, and our route forward was displayed on a signboard—3000m, 3800m, 3900m, 4600m, 5895m. It looked so simple, really, just a little bit higher every day… Our 5-kg day packs, a reasonably heavy burden to us, paled in comparison to the heavy loads that the porters had to carry, ranging from sacks of potatoes, pots, pans, tents, even our portable toilets! These heroes of our journey never failed to amaze us, reaching out and lending a steady hand when one of us tripped, gracefully balancing their cargo with their one free hand. In what was going to be a typical pattern, the porters, who had left after us, passed us on the trail, elegantly balancing their burdens as they sprinted up the muddy trail.

As we walked through the rainforest, we laughed and joked that it was too easy—the light rain and the cool weather making for a pleasant hike. But our beginner’s enthusiasm quickly waned as the rain intensified and the trail got tough. By the time we reached the first camp, we were winded. And we had only made it to 3000m! That night, spirits were high as we camped out for the first time in our cosy (or claustrophobic) tents. However, it was only as I laid out my sleeping bag and organized myself for the next morning did it really dawn on me—the extent of the challenge I had imposed on myself.  Was I really going to be able to do this for the next five days? My self-confidence, indomitable at the outset, wavered. The night grew chilly, and despite the cheery bustle of a crowded campsite, a core of fear gnawed on my insides.

The next day, we began walking straight into and beyond the cloud cover of the rainforest, the beautiful landscape falling away in dizzying heights around us. We kept a gruelling pace, clambering over and around rocks, as the vegetation slowly waned from lush, thick rainforests to scrub forest on craggy, lunar outcrops—a surreal landscape, a strangely beautiful wasteland.

At the end of day two, I was struck by my first wave of acute mountain sickness (AMS). I became light headed, nauseous, and my head swam – and I thought I was losing my mind. That night, I went to bed loaded on diamox, afraid I would have another attack, that I wouldn’t make it to the top. I drugged my fears to sleep, convinced that I would wake up strong. My fears did dissipate in the quiet light of pre-dawn, when I saw the object of our ambition gleaming quietly in the distance—beckoning, mocking.

Our target altitude on day three was a whopping 100m, our path leading us over “The Wedge,” up to 4300m, and down again to our camp at 3900m! After a few hours of taking pole pole to its logical extreme, we spotted our peak for the day, Lava Tower—an eerie, rocky protrusion surrounded by swirling mists—an ancient, volcanic Stonehenge. We camped that night at Barranco with the mystical peak looming over our starlit campsite.

Our guides pointed out the Barranco Wall the next day, the sheer cliff we would scale during the early part of the day. We watched in awe and horror as a few porters weaved their way up the rockface. My second, brief attack of AMS, meant that I would hold the rear of the group until the very end. A line of traffic made its way slowly up that wall, composing a human chain up the rockface, porters reaching out a hand whenever the climbers needed a steady hand.  The top of the wall and a hot lunch brought some relief, but we were quickly taken aback to find out what lay ahead of us.

We were to make our way down and up Karanga valley, and the terrain ahead looked tortuous and desolate—a post-apocalyptic landscape giving way to an even bleaker, oddly beautiful gravel desert. We were by then easily exhausted, the lack of oxygen depleting our energy far quicker than would have been the case on lower altitudes. Our guide August, ever patient, encouraged us to move consistently forward despite our exhaustion. Just when we thought we could go no further, we caught a glimpse of the treacherous ridge leading up to the very top. The lack of oxygen had us gasping, open-mouthed, speechless at this magnificent sight. Breath and words left us as we gazed in awe at the roof of Africa.

By the time we reached base camp, it was almost dusk. The ridge fell sharply away from our campsite, and the wind howled around our tents, making for a perilous respite. As we ate, rested and contemplated our last few hours before summiting, the pit in my stomach deepened. I didn’t want to look up at our route, purely because I was afraid I would be too frightened to continue. I decided to calm myself down, silence my fears for a few hours at least, and try to snatch a few hours’ sleep.

***

Summit Night. One foot in front of another, I tell myself, as the jog of bright headlamps ahead of me weave their way up the mountain, blurring into infinity with the stars. There are times I feel like I am falling asleep. I am cold, tired. I don’t want to look ahead for fear I will not want to continue. August holds my hand, gently pushing me forward, at times shaking me awake. I die a hundred deaths that night—my body does not want to go on. Climbers pass us on the way up; others, less successful, make their way down, unable to continue. I will myself forward, inch by inch, reminding myself of my promise, my commitment to myself. I turn around, watch the dawn light steal across the city of Moshi. It is now visible in the distance, far away from our precarious little ridge.

I catch sight of Stella Point, the crater a few hundred metres away from the peak. Dawn is breaking, and I am nowhere near the top. I am about to give up. I will barely make it to Stella Point. I want to go down.

Then, all of a sudden, a strange wave of inspiration strikes. We run into a rush of climbers starting their descent. “Don’t lose courage!” they say. “You’re nearly there! It is worth it.”

I am near tears, I have lost all hope, and here I am suddenly, a few hundred metres away. All I needed to hear was that I am close, I can do it.  I have come this far.

Summoning my last reserves, I make my way up the gravelly, slippery scree to the crater’s rim. The sun beats fiercely upon us. The peak is within reach.

I have fallen to the absolute rear, the slowest member of the team. I take one agonizing step after another, each step bringing me closer to my conquest, each step oddly renewing. The tall, blue-ice, glacier gorge gleams in the morning sun, exuding an ancient, other-worldly calm. I see the signpost beckoning, the marker for the highest point on the African continent.

The last few metres towards my destination are exhausting, exhilarating. I am in a daze, unable to comprehend where I am, and yet strangely exultant. I have done it.

I have conquered the mountain.

Base Camp at Machame Gate: Sharmi, her husband James and friends

Sharmi and James take their first, brave steps up Kilimanjaro

- By Sharmila Surianarain