“Remind me when we’re through this of this moment. Of me getting sick on the side of this mountain at 4am. I don’t need to attempt to summit any type of mountain ever again. Remind me of this moment. But in a kind way. Don’t make fun of this moment. Even though there is room for humor. Just politely remind me.”
Mid altitude sickness in Lombok, Indonesia while attempting to summit Mt Rinjani I gave H the above speech. I’d woken up slowly at 1am in our two person tent, I knew we weren’t hiking until after 2 but I’ve learned a lot about myself on this trip—including the fact that I’m not a “get up and go” kind of person. I’m a slow to rise, slow to start the day kind of person.
Our porters prepare some toast (yes this is one of those hikes where you have porters that carry the bulk of your stuff) and we start hiking up at 2:30am. We stop for a break at one point and when we’re ready to move on our guide says he’ll catch up. He is exhausted. We move up. Continuing our ascent, using our head lamps to light the way.
We’re a few hours in when my body starts to feel very weird. I’m alternating between dizziness and nausea. I look at my feet, keep moving them through the volcanic gravel. Two steps forward a half step back. The hike is tough.
I’m getting slower. I feel like I’m going to be sick and start gagging. I double over.
I’ve never had altitude sickness and part of me still wonders if that’s what happened. Maybe I just can’t hike this early in the morning? Maybe I ate something? Maybe I’m out of shape? It’s funny (or perhaps frustrating) how your brain and body can get into big ‘ol fights. I end up making it to 3,200 meters before I fully stop.
I tell H to go on and to leave me on the side of the mountain. I’ll just “lay down” and wait for him. My attempts are feeble and frankly he’s concerned so he doesn’t leave my side.
We make our way to a vantage point where we can watch the sunrise and I deliver my monologue about how summiting mountains isn’t for me. And while I don’t want him to ever do a hike without me because who would save his life if he’s not okay, I acknowledge that I can’t save anyone’s life feeling this awful.
H doesn’t laugh once. He lets me talk it out while he rubs my back, documents the sunrise, and my curled up body next to it.
I wish I could say from there the hike was uneventful. But we still had two more nights. We hike back down to camp and I lay down for an hour before we got moving. I feel much better over the course of the day. And as we lose elevation my appetite comes back.
But then it got interesting! That night the porters ran out of water.
I asked for water before dinner and they offered me an opened bottle that had sediment at the top. I asked for another bottle. They said this is it—stream water. And told us they always do this.
It was mind boggling. We’d paid for 3 liters of sealed water per person per day. (A lot of water for sure but we’ve only had about 6 liters so where are the rest of them?)
We ended up buying some water from a sales tent mid hike that had a few bottles and we called the trip short. After a painful semi-yelling match with the tour operator we were given some money back, paid off the porters and guide ourself, and got the hell out of there.
Perspective is a funny thing, we were so angry. The injustice! The poor customer service! And yet when we get back into the world and get service we see the tragedy that is transpiring in the Middle East. The death of Israelis, the hostage crisis, and the cascade of bombs that are being dropped and killing hundreds of Palestinians. A little altitude sickness and a scam company feel inconsequential.