Songs for the Top of Kilimanjaro
19 341 Feet: Kilimanjaro Part IV
In one week, I am going to climb Africa’s tallest peak with Claire — the woman I love — and my two cousins.
Claire and I get along splendidly. We go together like peas and carrots, or scotch and soda, or athlete’s foot and a communal shower.
We do have this one minor disagreement. No matter how hard we try, we just can’t seem to get on the same page when it comes to music.
The problem is simple. You see, I enjoy listening to good music. You know, songs that sound pleasant, written by artists who are creative and unique, with a good little melody. Something you can whistle while you walk down the street.
Whereas Claire, she likes listening to awful, yucky, cliched noises made by big studios that hire sexy teenagers to sing algorithm tested words into a microphone, just praying that somehow they can manufacture the next Harry Styles and make enough money to buy a beach house in Malibu.
You know what I mean: bad music.
Of course she’s perfect in every other way and I’m immensely lucky to be in a loving relationship with this woman. (In case she’s reading this right now: Hello Claire!)
Still, we have this argument about how we should celebrate getting to the top of Kilimanjaro. It goes like this:
Me: “What song are we going to play when we get to the top?”
Claire: “Song? There is no song.”
Me: “No song? So we just stand there and then go back down?”
Claire: “We could high-five. We could enjoy the view. We could appreciate all the hard work and dedication it took to buy all the gear, fly halfway around the world, and march through blisters, and altitude sickness, and . . .”
Me: “What about this song?”
Claire: “I swear, if you ruin this experience for me, we are breaking up on that mountain.”
Me: “I hate to tell you this, but you accidentally said ruin just now. I think you meant to say enhance.”
Claire: “I don’t want to look back on climbing Kilimanjaro and be forced to remember this god awful song for the rest of my life.”
Me: “Okay, what about this one?”
Claire: “That’s worse.”
Me: “How is that worse? This is inspirational. Imagine watching the sunrise stretching across the vast plains of Tanzania as a beautiful voice in Swahili says ‘Here comes a lion, father.’”
Claire: “First of all, no. Second of all, what kind of person knows the Swahili lyrics to the Lion King soundtrack?”
Me: “I’m a learned man. I know many things. I wrote an article about how inspirational this song is.”
Claire: “And that was a good joke. This is real life.”
This isn’t going well. It’s time to pull out all the stops, my last hope.
Claire: “I tell you what: you can play this song when we get to the top. So long as you are wearing headphones, and I can’t hear it, and you don’t sing the lyrics out loud, or hum, or in any way indicate that you are completely ruining the moment for yourself.”
Me: “Woohoo! Thanks babe!”
See? I knew she’d slowly break down and compromise. Now all I have to do is tell her I forgot my headphones, and the negotiations will begin again. Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.
You can catch up on my Kilimanjaro series with Globetrotters here:
