On my first visit to Africa, I thought, it would be fun to go for the double whammy, tying in a trip up Kilimanjaro with a Kenyan safari. So I dreamed up what seemed to be a great plan, writes Grania Willis.
The Masai Mara safari was on horseback, so I imagined myself trotting across the border into Tanzania. When I reached the foothills of the mountain I would tether the horse to a tree and head upwards. On my return from the summit of Kilimanjaro I'd get back in the saddle and retrace my steps into Kenya. The only trouble was, even though the saddle might still have been next to the tree, the chances of the poor horse being anything other than skeletal remains seemed remote.
So I abandoned that plan and opted for the easy route, which is why my first sighting of Africa's highest peak was from a flight between Nairobi and Kilimanjaro International Airport. We were cruising at 5,200m (17,000ft) - lower than my ultimate destination - when, right on cue, there was the mountain, peeking through the clouds, its snow-capped upper flanks turning pink in the dying embers of the day.
I was looking forward to the challenge of altitude on the way to the 5,895m (19,340ft) roof of Africa. It's a challenge that more and more people are taking up, often to help raise money for charity. Estimates of how many people attempt the mountain each year vary between 15,000 and 40,000; whatever the figure, only about 40 per cent reach the summit, at Uhuru Peak.
You don't need any mountaineering skills to tackle Kilimanjaro; all you need is a reasonable level of fitness and the ability to rough it a bit. If you go up the most popular - and therefore most crowded - Marangu route, also known as the Coca-Cola route, you'll be staying in huts. On the seven other routes, you'll sleep in a tent.
I certainly didn't feel as if I was roughing it. In fact, I had so many "staff" that I felt as if I'd been dropped into EM Forster's novel A Passage to India. I had assumed I would be joining forces with a group of other "Kili-baggers", but the only group I joined was a quartet of wonderful Tanzanians and a Masai, who were there to pander to my every whim. I had a guide, an assistant guide, a cook, a porter and, most bizarre of all, a waiter. It wasn't quite how I'd pictured it.
After a night in Moshi I met up with Ali, my guide from Zara Tanzanian Adventures. He struggled with my name until I suggested it might be easier just to call me G. And so we became Ali G.
Slim, our far-from-svelte bus driver, was thrilled to hear I was from Ireland. "Ah, Roy Keane!" he whooped, his face split by an enormous grin filled with impossibly white teeth. Slim was taking us to the start of the Rongai route, the only route to approach Kilimanjaro from the north and, to my delight, the least popular and, therefore, least populated route up the mountain. Also known as the whiskey route, Rongai is used only for the ascent. We'd be coming back down the Marangu route.
The Rongai route starts at Nalemoru village, about 15km (10 miles) from the Kenyan border. As Slim stopped the bus and opened the doors, we were greeted by a swarm of porters looking for work. Those already employed were in the midst of an important task - deciding what food to take - but we eventually started off towards camp one with a couple of scampering five-year-olds leading the way. I remarked to Abdul, my assistant guide, that there were a lot of children in the villages. "It's very cold at night," he said, by way of explanation.
Our two youthful scouts evaporated as the trail turned uphill through a forest famed for its beautiful colobus monkeys. Alas, none was to be seen, but we were in the forest only briefly. The 2,800m (9,200ft) Forest Edge camp was already jammed with teams when we arrived, and it was with some difficulty that we found a plot to pitch our tents. We had only two - one for me and one, exactly the same size, for the five lads.
The princess treatment went into overdrive as soon as the tents were up. Salas, my waiter, brought a bowl of hot water for me to wash with and, after a discreet pause, took away the ablution equipment and arrived with a candle, a tablecloth and a flask of hot water. He laid everything on the groundsheet inside the tent and came back bearing a plate of popcorn. "Our job is to care for you," he said as he returned with my dinner.
It seems to be an accepted part of Kilimanjaro life that westerners will want to eat only western food. Of course the food has an African slant to it, with avocado and banana a recurring theme, but I wanted the real deal. I wanted to try ugali, the maize porridge that is a staple part of the African diet, especially when Salas told me that it would make me strong for climbing the mountain.
Later, after a very western dinner, Salas gently wished me a good night, good sleep and sweet dreams in Swahili - lala salama, njonzi njema - before departing from my tent carrying the remains of my dinner. "S**t!" I heard him curse as he dropped a fork. "That's not Swahili," I said.
The next day, after about three hours of easy walking, we reached First Cave, or Buffalo Cave. Just 30 minutes later we were at Second Cave (3,450m), where wooden tables were thronged with groups tucking into lunch. It reminded me of Dollymount Strand on a sunny day.
Much to my surprise my team started erecting our tents, and, when everyone else trekked off across the moorland towards the towering, jagged peaks of Mawenzi, the secondary summit of Kilimanjaro, we were left in splendid isolation and an eerie silence broken only by the rasping caw of white-necked ravens.
Adding Mawenzi Tarn to the route not only helps with acclimatisation but also provides sensational views of Kibo, the highest of Kilimanjaro's three volcanic peaks and the classic view of the mountain. I missed out on that because of Ali's decision to overnight at Second Cave, but there were compensations, such as when Saitoti returned from a firewood-foraging expedition with a thick wooden paddle.
It had started life as an ugali stirrer, but I saw an opportunity for sport rather than cooking. It needed no alterations to become a cricket bat, and we made a ball by swathing a huge avocado stone in a pair of walking socks. We had a fiercely competitive match. The paddle and avocado ball became a constant source of entertainment for the next 48 hours, right until we headed for the summit. And I had ugali for lunch, just to make sure I was strong, although whether it was for the cricket or the summit I was never sure.
Mountain nights and, therefore, mountain mornings are always early. By 6am I was wide awake and ready for action, but there was no sign of movement from the lads' tent. I looked out on to another glorious day. Way below us, a thin bank of cloud shrouded the far side of the plain; our heavens were the purest blue. Tiny mountain rats, their striped coats of dark brown and chestnut glossy in the sun, were already out foraging, as were speckle-chested sparrows.
I left out the remains of my late breakfast for the foragers, and after a brief game of cricket we headed up the trail, past caves that buffalo apparently visit for the sodium in the rock, using the cave walls like giant salt licks.
The landscape was changing as we got higher, climbing through a carpet of heather and everlasting flowers. Missing out the Mawenzi Tarn camp meant the third day was far from strenuous, and we reached the 3,920m (12,860ft) Third Cave in time to play nagé, an African school game that I thought was similar to piggy in the middle, but it turned out that the aim is to hit the person in the middle with the ball, not avoid them.
As we headed up to Kibo Huts the next morning Ali told me about the cleaning crew and their role in keeping the mountain spotless. Teams have to sign in at every camp, and all gear, including rubbish, is weighed to make sure everything is taken off the hill at the end of each expedition.
About a kilometre from Kibo camp we stopped and rested on a huge rock, watching a string of LS Lowry-like figures, silhouetted on the horizon, snaking their way across from Mawenzi Tarn. And, farther over, a stream of people poured down the Marangu trail, their speed in stark contrast to the trudge of the ascending silhouettes.
Almost the entire ascent to Gillman's Point, 5,685m (18,650ft) above sea level, is on scree: loose, broken rock formed by constant freezing and thawing. It's exhausting and unforgiving to ascend, but climbing at night, when the scree is still frozen, is slightly easier.
Before we left I'd worked out that the ascent from Kibo Hut to the summit is the equivalent of climbing Carrauntoohil. The only difference was that we were already at 4,750m (15,600ft) as we started.
It was well after midnight when Ali, Abdul and I headed out of camp, and already a stream of head torches was zigzagging up into the dark. With just three of us, all full of ugali, we gradually picked off the bigger groups straggling up the switchback trail. A full moon made our head torches redundant, and, in an otherwise clear sky, a strange cloud shaped like a paraglider hung over the mountain. It dispersed and re-formed three times. I hoped it wasn't a harbinger of bad weather.
As we got closer to the crater rim, the wind picked up and I stopped to add another layer of clothes, but then the terrain changed, and we were out of the scree and into scrambling mode. Things get noticeably tougher here. The breathing intensifies and the heart rate increases. But it's all worthwhile when you reach Gillman's Point, where the guides usually allow their clients a rest.
No rest for me, however. Ali pushed straight on down towards the crater and into the darkness as the crater rim hid the moon. I flicked on my head torch and peered at my watch. I had seriously underestimated how cold it would be.
An hour later we were standing on the summit, at Uhuru, where a wooden sign, written only in English, welcomed us to Africa's highest point.
The sky was still black, with no tinge of pink warming the horizon. Dawn was some way off, but, as we walked back past the shrinking Leopard Glacier, Ali suggested we stop and wait for sunrise.
We found a patch of snow, which offered a slightly cosier mattress than the frozen scree, and lay down, waiting for the warmth of the sun. But the cold seeped into our bones, and we decided to view sunrise on the hoof. As we descended towards Gillman's Point, a slender band of orange finally heralded a new day.
The descent was fast and furious, the scree almost skiable. We were back at camp in time for an early and much-needed breakfast before the trek down to an overnight at Horombo.
Then the celebrations. Me and the lads. A proper Tanzanian meal of ugali and fish and vegetables. And buckets of banana beer in a local bar in Moshi. It sounded fantastic. It tasted like sand. But it was pure Africa, and I loved every minute of it.
Grania Willis travelled with Walks Worldwide (www.walksworldwide.com). Prices for the Kilimanjaro climb start at £1,850, including flights from London, accommodation, transfers, park fees, porters, guides, cook, camping equipment and most meals. Tips can add significantly to the cost. Zara Tanzanian Adventures is at www.zaratours.com