One of the chapters I had the most fun writing for Kilimanjaro Diaries was the one I named Peequality: The Last Frontier of Women's Equality. In it you'll learn of a series of contraptions, each one niftier than the last, which are supposed to help women on the go who have to "go" and for whatever reason don't have the time or privacy to squat the old-fashioned way.
It’s a cold and windy day in Overland Park, Kansas. I’m sitting at my computer, not sure what to think. Do we stay where we are, or do we move our family of six to Johannesburg, South Africa? It would be yet another continent to add to our list of places to call home. It would be exciting. And it would give the kids an opportunity to go to school in a new country...
Finally, FINALLY, I'm approaching the finish line. I knew that book publishing would be a humongous chore, but it was an even bigger chore. A lot of nitpicky formatting work, like getting a numbered list converted to Kindle format (full disclosure: it didn't). But also a lot of agonizing decision making, like which font size should the subtitles be? Here is the blurb for "Kilimanjaro Diaries."
The good news is, my book about my Kilimanjaro adventure is coming out soon. The bad news is, I can't decide on the frikkin' (as co-climber Mike would phrase it) title! I've been agonizing longer about that title than my daughter does about deciding what to order in a restaurant. Before she gets the chicken nuggets. I'm pretty sure I'll also end up with the chicken nuggets choice of book titles.
So I've written my Kilimanjaro book. I've also hired an editor, gotten the ball rolling on cover design, and educated myself on the intricacies of self-publishing. Then there was a two-week Christmas "break" (ha!), which I emerged from with the realization that I absolutely had to finally bite the bullet, pick a publication date, and launch my author website.
The reason I haven’t told anyone until now that I've written a book - sort of - is that I absolutely hate talking about stuff I’ll do without being absolutely certain I’ll do them. Perfectly. And the best way of being absolutely certain you’ll do something, perfectly, is to already have done it. But I've come to see that there are a few pitfalls with this strategy.
Not long after I returned from my Kilimanjaro climb, I went to a talk by a guy who jogged the entire length of India and who makes a living giving speeches about the lessons he learns from such journeys. I was greatly impressed until it occurred to me that I also can talk about the lessons I learned from my own journey, even if I don't quite make a living from sharing my experiences.
Technically, this diary entry begins on the morning of Day six. I had left off with having come back to Barafu Camp early on September 7th after reaching the summit after a long and grueling climb the previous night, but our day wasn't nearly over by then. The longest part of it was still to come. This is Part 7 of Kilimanjaro Diaries, the last day on the mountain.
Excerpts from Eva Melusine Thieme's travel memoir "Kilimanjaro Diaries: Or, How I Spent a Week Dreaming of Toilets, Drinking Crappy Water, and Making Bad Jokes While Having the Time of My Life". Day Six: Lonely on the Roof of Africa.
Going from Karanga to Barafu is a relatively easy hike. If you do the Machame Route in six days instead of seven, you'd go all the way from Barranco to Barafu, making it absolutely imperative to get up very early so as not to be delayed at the foot of Barranco Wall, unless you don't mind dragging yourself into Barafu past sunset. But if you have the extra seventh day, you are in no rush.