erschienen in der HOW TO #2 – food
A nervous tension was running like electricity amongst our group of 12 climbers, eager and ready to begin what felt like a dangerous expedition to conquer Africa’s highest peak - Mount Kilimanjaro. We were all kitted out in our super hi-tech, breathable, all weather thermal gear, our hiking boots and walking sticks – and of course – each with a good stock of food reserves, which we obsessively guarded and hid from one another out of fear that we might go hungry in the 6 days that lay ahead.
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest mountain, is not just about reaching the top. It is about survival and the rites of passage that each climber has to observe to reach the next 1000 meters. The rules that apply on Mount Kilimanjaro are not universal for all mountains above 5.000 meters. It is not about survival of the fittest – because as reality showed us – it was not necessarily the fittest who reached the top.
With the first energy bar and power-aid drink still bubbling in our veins we set out in high spirits through lush green vegetation. Monkeys performed as we passed them under a canopy of trees, the digital cameras were already snapping shots of each other, and we all took confident strides eager to reach our first camp for the night.
We felt like horses being held back at the bit by our guide. He was an elderly man in his mid-sixties, with tired, gentle eyes and slow heavy steps. “Pole-Pole” he said smiling at us, “slowly-slowly”. He had walked this route and reached the summit of this mountain more times than the years that any of us had been alive. He had seen it all before, and reined us in, told us to keep to the path behind him. We kept close to his heels, trying to push him onwards – it was easy to make the mistake of being over confident while oxygen still filled our lungs and minds.
As we arrived in camp – and as it proved to be every night – our tents were set up, warm buckets of water for washing were brought to us, and tea, biscuits and popcorn awaited us within the cozy, cramped shelter of our dining tent.
This tent was our communal meeting point. We huddled close to one another, balancing on small tripod chairs, and devoured the meals that the cook creatively presented to us each day. As the altitude increased and the temperature dropped, the chef’s challenge to serve creative meals became increasingly more difficult.
Already on the second day the effects of the altitude started to show its dreaded face amongst the group. Our enthusiastic spirits started to subside, the sun beat down on us and scorched the skin, the temperature began to drop, and the first headaches blurred the vision and made the reality of our expedition a daunting challenge that lay before us.
Hope was sought in the unwrapping of chocolate bars and energy syrup that oozed thick and sweet down the throat, coating the taste buds with sugar. Each day we were issued with packed lunches: sandwiches and boiled eggs. The black-market of trading began, as each started to tire from the sweet taste of energy bars, and began to covet his neighbours boiled eggs and salty nuts. The mountain stood like a distant beacon before us. A powerful symbol of Africa and the vast Serengeti that now lay many miles below us. The bitter cold and altitude began to rob us of our appetites and strength, as we watched our sure-footed porters pass us, almost at a trot, their heads and shoulders were heavy laden with our luggage, tents, chairs, gas cookers, drinks and - very importantly – our food supplies.
The vegetation became scarce and the slopes of the mountain rocky and barren. We continued, onwards and upwards, pole-pole.
The bland porridge served each morning began to stick to our throats, although the warm soup served each night was welcomed like an old friend, and warmed our bodies and bellies.
They say necessity is the master of invention – and as a cook at 5000+ meters – equipped with little more than a tent, a portable gas cooker, and sub-zero temperatures - you had to give the man credit for his ingenuity when he presented us with each meal. And when fresh supplies started to diminish, feeding 12 exhausted climbers (and not to mention the 30+ porters) demanded a great deal of imagination. So when on the night before the summit we were presented with deep fried jam sandwiches (*see recipe next page), we all had to take off our hats to pay our respects to the chef for his creativity! We almost all made it to the top. But most importantly, we all made it down again.
Looking back there were 2 very important lessons learnt on the slopes of Kilimanjaro:
Recipe:
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INTO THIN AIR
von Line HadsbjergA nervous tension was running like electricity amongst our group of 12 climbers, eager and ready to begin what felt like a dangerous expedition to conquer Africa’s highest peak - Mount Kilimanjaro. We were all kitted out in our super hi-tech, breathable, all weather thermal gear, our hiking boots and walking sticks – and of course – each with a good stock of food reserves, which we obsessively guarded and hid from one another out of fear that we might go hungry in the 6 days that lay ahead.
Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest mountain, is not just about reaching the top. It is about survival and the rites of passage that each climber has to observe to reach the next 1000 meters. The rules that apply on Mount Kilimanjaro are not universal for all mountains above 5.000 meters. It is not about survival of the fittest – because as reality showed us – it was not necessarily the fittest who reached the top.
With the first energy bar and power-aid drink still bubbling in our veins we set out in high spirits through lush green vegetation. Monkeys performed as we passed them under a canopy of trees, the digital cameras were already snapping shots of each other, and we all took confident strides eager to reach our first camp for the night.
We felt like horses being held back at the bit by our guide. He was an elderly man in his mid-sixties, with tired, gentle eyes and slow heavy steps. “Pole-Pole” he said smiling at us, “slowly-slowly”. He had walked this route and reached the summit of this mountain more times than the years that any of us had been alive. He had seen it all before, and reined us in, told us to keep to the path behind him. We kept close to his heels, trying to push him onwards – it was easy to make the mistake of being over confident while oxygen still filled our lungs and minds.
As we arrived in camp – and as it proved to be every night – our tents were set up, warm buckets of water for washing were brought to us, and tea, biscuits and popcorn awaited us within the cozy, cramped shelter of our dining tent.
This tent was our communal meeting point. We huddled close to one another, balancing on small tripod chairs, and devoured the meals that the cook creatively presented to us each day. As the altitude increased and the temperature dropped, the chef’s challenge to serve creative meals became increasingly more difficult.
Already on the second day the effects of the altitude started to show its dreaded face amongst the group. Our enthusiastic spirits started to subside, the sun beat down on us and scorched the skin, the temperature began to drop, and the first headaches blurred the vision and made the reality of our expedition a daunting challenge that lay before us.
Hope was sought in the unwrapping of chocolate bars and energy syrup that oozed thick and sweet down the throat, coating the taste buds with sugar. Each day we were issued with packed lunches: sandwiches and boiled eggs. The black-market of trading began, as each started to tire from the sweet taste of energy bars, and began to covet his neighbours boiled eggs and salty nuts. The mountain stood like a distant beacon before us. A powerful symbol of Africa and the vast Serengeti that now lay many miles below us. The bitter cold and altitude began to rob us of our appetites and strength, as we watched our sure-footed porters pass us, almost at a trot, their heads and shoulders were heavy laden with our luggage, tents, chairs, gas cookers, drinks and - very importantly – our food supplies.
The vegetation became scarce and the slopes of the mountain rocky and barren. We continued, onwards and upwards, pole-pole.
The bland porridge served each morning began to stick to our throats, although the warm soup served each night was welcomed like an old friend, and warmed our bodies and bellies.
They say necessity is the master of invention – and as a cook at 5000+ meters – equipped with little more than a tent, a portable gas cooker, and sub-zero temperatures - you had to give the man credit for his ingenuity when he presented us with each meal. And when fresh supplies started to diminish, feeding 12 exhausted climbers (and not to mention the 30+ porters) demanded a great deal of imagination. So when on the night before the summit we were presented with deep fried jam sandwiches (*see recipe next page), we all had to take off our hats to pay our respects to the chef for his creativity! We almost all made it to the top. But most importantly, we all made it down again.
Looking back there were 2 very important lessons learnt on the slopes of Kilimanjaro:
- When faced with life’s obstacles: pole-pole will get you to the finish line.
- It is all in the presentation! Be creative
and you will convince even the most
critical audience
that a deep-fried jam sandwich deserves 3 stars
Recipe:
White bread
(preferably 5+ days old)Bright red jam
(with sugar, flavouring and colouring)Flour
(used as batter to coat the bread)Oil
(this can be pre-used for extra flavouring when deep frying)Altitude
(4.000+ meters above sea level)zurück