higher learning

How climbing Mount Kilimanjaro with her dad taught Christine Chitnis what kind of traveler— and what kind of parent—she wanted to become

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It was after midnight on the icy slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. A frigid wind sliced across my cheeks as I tightened the drawstrings of my parka. A sliver of moon hung above a sweep of cloud so far below us that it felt as if we were looking down from space. My dad trudged a few paces ahead, his breath visible in the cold. We were on the final stretch to the summit and feeling every bit of the more than 19,000 feet we'd climbed. At 16, I wasn’t yet sure of much, but I knew I wanted to be there climbing that mountain with him, despite the blisters on my feet and the altitude headache.

Ascending Kilimanjaro is like hiking through an entire continent’s worth of ecosystems. We started in the cultivation zone, winding past villages where crops thrived in rich volcanic soil, then entered lush, humid rainforest alive with birdsong. Higher up, the landscape shifted to moorland, with giant heather shrubs rising like sculptures against an endless sky. In camp, my dad and I would sit shoulder to shoulder as our steadfast porters ladled out steaming bowls of hearty soup. Afterward, I'd pull out my Walkman and its single worn tape and share one headphone with a porter, trading music from home for their stories of life on the mountain. At night, bone-tired and tucked into our tiny tent, my father and I drifted off while listening to the wind race across the slope.