This trip stems from a promise that El (my better half) and I had made to ourselves - when her exams were over we would take off for a while, travel the world, have a little fun. The aim was to do a wide variety of stuff – some touristy things, some mountains, see some friends and family. Most of this journal dates from notes I took in the evening - I have allowed hindsight to creep in in some places though...

Our lift to the gate arrives late. Much to my surprise, we are greeted by a portly (but muscled) chap wearing what looks like baseball uniform and a Malcolm X lookalike with a corduroy jacket round wire rimmed glasses and a neat beard. When we get to the gate, it turns out that Malcolm X is the driver and so leaves with the van, but the baseball player is indeed our guide, Dickson. As well as the guide we have an assistant guide, a cook and two porters. All these people just for little ol us?

Our guide confirms that the first day will be muddy, so we surrender ourselves to gaiter extorsionists - 10$ a pair for 7 days seems a little steep, but hey when you've got a monopoly, why not abuse it... In the end it only takes an hour for us to make a return on our investment. It's very muddy and the gaiters at least keep the mud out of the inside of our boots.

If the going is hard for us, it's worse for the porters. Unlike, say, Peruvian or Nepalese porters, Kili porters have their loads limited to 15kg by their union. However, they don't all get a rucksack and many carry on their head or neck. (This, to be fair, is partly cultural and how most heavy loads are carried in Tanzania). Tiptoeing from slippery root to slippery root with 15kg of potatoes on your head is tricky and we see some of the younger ones fall flat on their face. Not much seems to have been done on path maintenance - if the authorities are not careful, they will end up with a path 10m wide in places.

About 50 people start the route the same day as us. The guide says that the Marangu route (or the Coca-cola route as they call it) is even busier and that in the rainy season the paths are even muddier. Aside from the mud, the only difficulty is trying to go slowly enough to acclimatise properly.

The first campsite is nice enough - lots of little tents amongst the bushes. To our grateful surprise, the budget/medium price we paid includes comfy mattresses and decent food and tents. It doesn't extend to a guide with much knowledge of English though - at one point he points to a tree and asks us if we know what it is. When we say no, he solemmly replies 'moss' pointing to the green stuff hanging off the tree. Aah, we reply.

We set off bright and early - but still slowly - as the jungle and mud gives way to moorland. Strange primeval plants poke their way between the rocks as we get higher. Underfoot is easy now and we get more time to admire the view and the surroundings. On the way into the next camp a young porter greets me with Jambo, mzungu. I say Jambo back but wonder afterwards whether I should have blanked him. Hello white man is not particularly polite, even if like gringo in South America, it's commonly used.

As we relax in the tents after having drunk the obligatory litre of tea, we hear a group of walkers from the SW of France singing. Strange to hear those songs in this place, although Les Montagnards is not entirely inappropriate, I suppose.

A certain amount of doubt and apprehension is in the air. So far so good, but how will we react as we get above 4,000m for the first time in our lives? Which route should we choose? Do we want it enough?

The next day is a rest day. We get up late and go for a wander. Despite the ravens - birds of ill omen - circling overhead, things look better for us. We're a bit fed up of the tea cycle - drink tea, full bladder, urinate, drink more tea - but if it helps with the altitude it's worth it.

Today we will climb above what we are familiar with, and commit ourselves to a difficult approach to the rim of the crater. What is more, we're doing it based on the vague and only partly intelligible explanations of our guide. We'd read little on the various routes before going away, and wish we had more information now.

We take things easy and arrive in relatively good shape, certainly compared to some who we pass, in difficulty early on. A French guy is weaving from side to side without a rucksack on at 4,200m and a US couple have manifestly not got enough warm clothing.

I start to feel the altitude in my breathing at about 4,500m (although El doesn't) but none of the promised nausea or violent headaches. I wouldn't say we were 100% - a sort of light headedness takes over and, at the campsite, we take a paracetamol each. The ravens are still at Arrow camp, but the little birds with big stomachs have gone - no worms here. Some of the lava scenery is tremendous - pillars, arches, dykes. We can't really see the next bit of the route - perhaps for the best?

Another midnight start - fuelled by a vitamin C tablet, black tea and adrenalin, I feel surprisingly good at 5,000m. Good job really as we start by losing the path on the moraine, and then move onto a treacherous mixture of scree, ice and boulder field. This is quite tiring and any rhythm we have is further disturbed by the assistant guide, who is sick and lagging behind. At 5,600m, and after passing some dodgy icy sections, El feels that she might lose consciousness. A quick look at her eyes and another at his slowly arriving assistant, and the guide diagnoses down for all as the best remedy.

Frustrating to go back only 70m or so from the rim, but a difficult section remained and retreat from this would have been tricky. As it was, we were slipping and sliding on the scree on the way down - the guide broke his sunglasses, El ripped a hole in her trousers.

Looking at the positives, the western breach gave us a little feel of what mountaineering at high altitude might be like (difficult). It's a shame that we didn't get the chance to see the views from the summit but not the end of the world.

After a short break at Arrow Camp, we set off almost immediately on the long descent back off the mountain, trudging through the different vegetation types in blazing sunshine. We get 2,600m of it done and can feel it in our knees.

One of the abiding images from the ascent is watching our guide - a big fellow - climb up the ice in his trainers and big rucsac, lighting the way with a torch on a rope round his neck. A million miles away from the kind of gear we'd use in the Alps. Indeed with an iceaxe we might have made it to the rim?

The next day we finish the walkout, accompanied by less mud, fortunately. After a miserly lunch we say our farewells to the team and veg out in the hotel. Everyone's a bit down in the mouth, although we try to put a brave face on it. We complete the recovery process in Arusha by eating a lot, sleeping as much as the mosquitos will allow, and getting our dose of European papers and Internet.

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