Adam’s Peak

Oh, hello blog, it’s been a while. Twenty-four to be exact. Since then I’ve been to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Thailand. So yes, I’m very behind. I do have some pretty good reasons though:

– Hours of overland travel
– A couple of nights of excessive alcohol (because 3 weeks without it was enough…)
– Learning to dive
– Being hooked on diving

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

So 2380km takes us back to Sri Lanka. I’m going to keep us hidden in the hill country for a little longer.

We got off the train at Hatton, and we were instantly badgered by Sri Lankan transport. “Where you going? Tuktuk? Taxitaxitaxi? I own this hotel, nice hot water and comfortable.” As per our usual, we started asking for the bus station. But of course, ‘no’ buses run to Delhouse, you have to take a tuktuk. So the bartering began. Somehow, we managed to get a ride for four hundred rupees. It probably should have cost us one thousand, perhaps more, but the driver did actually stop several times on the way to pick up various tuktuk essentials; a spare tyre, some fuel, some oil. Oh, we did get to see a lake on the way.

“You want pictures?” The driver was already getting out.
“Okay, what’s the lake called?” I asked.
“Sorry?”
“The lake. It’s name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Does it have a name? The lake?”
“Ohhhh. No. No name.”

And off we went, although not before having our photos with Mr Driver and his beloved tuktuk.

After a cold shower and an afternoon of chill time, we tucked ourselves into bed and slept until 3am. Some climbers had been awake for an hour already, but word of mouth informed us that it should only take roughly two hours to reach the summit. Plenty of time before sunrise.

On the way to the base, we stopped by the open stalls to stock up on water and bars of sugar. Energy energy energy. After being badgered into a too-early-to-care donation scam, we found the first step at 3:30am. This is where team Sam and Lauren split up. I can’t walk slow due to a knee condition, and Sam can’t walk fast due to asthma.

As I started to ascend, Sri Lankan men, women and children, were already coming down and finishing their pilgrimage. We often exchanged morning pleasantries, but as my breathing became more shallow and the words ‘good morning’ didn’t feel so good anymore, I plugged myself into my iPod and let Maroon 5’s rhythm carry me forward. It felt like I was running on the beach back home, but this was steps, and I didn’t have my wing-dog, Lenny.

The entire path leading to the summit was lit, so I could roughly judge how far I’d walked by studying the number of lights above and below me. I had a system where I would walk up blocks of steps without stopping, and then allow myself a couple of seconds respite at the top of each block. This worked perfectly. I was able to make progress while admiring the activity around me. I was struck by the number of elderly men and women making the pilgrimage, probably for the hundredth+ time in their life. Bare foot, frail, determined, they took it step by step, many women in their nineties were supporting each other, stopping with each other. Sometimes I’d pause my music, just to listen to their native language. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they were gossiping the whole way. Sri Lankan tea plantation workers are well known for their twitterings.

Besides the couple of seconds of breathing time, I did stop once. Big mistake. I knew as soon as I’d perched myself on a railing, I’d be stuck. I felt the muscles spasm in my legs and the cartilage in my knees started to burn. I’d probably walked up four thousand steps by that point. The top seemed so close, but the lights above me never seemed to reach the summit. I checked my iPod. 4:45am. Determined to make the sunrise, I swigged my water and took a bite of the sugar bar. I must have stopped for five minutes. Too much.

Although, it wasn’t soon before too long (see what I did there?) that I turned a corner and the steps became steeper. There was a set of railings on either side of the path, and one straight through the middle. I picked the right hand side and mimicked the pace of the person in front of me. Eventually, the trail of people ahead started to slow down due to a human traffic jam near the top. Sweating and wobbly, we all waited. I checked my watch. It had been one hour and thirty minutes ago that I’d conquered step one. There were about one hundred left and it took me fifteen minutes. I shouldn’t say I’m dissatisfied that I could have reached the summit quicker, but actually, I kind of am. Personal competition and all that.

Anyway, I edged around the temple that sat at the top of the peak, and joined the Western world that had been waiting around for a couple of hours. The early risers were shivering under blankets and jumpers. This would probably be the coldest place I’d visit in Sri Lanka. On went my own two hoodies and a pair of gloves (thank you, Mum, for making me pack winter-wear).

A quarter of an hour later, Sam joined me at the top; just in time for the sunrise. We watched the sky pinwheel through its colour chart of navys, blues, pinks, reds and yellows. As it rose, the mountains below started to come into focus, triangular shadows pointing to the sky.

If I’m honest, that was pretty much it. Although beautiful, the urge to see the sunrise was quickly replaced by an urge for descent.

I won’t bore you with the details of going down, but I will let you know that it hurt. A couple of times I had to move aside for people to be stretchered down the mountain.

But I made it. Tired, sticky and shaking, ready for a shower and some breakfast.

At the bottom, I turned around and looked up, towards the peak, where we’d left people in peace, praying after their long pilgrimage.

They’d be there for a couple of hours, eating, drinking, praying, socialising. This was their way of life, and they’d let us in. Grateful, I turned around and dragged myself back to the hostel.

As I tucked into my toast and runny jam, I thought about how I would climb Adam’s Peak again if I was ever in the area. It’s definitely cheaper than a gym membership.

Stories To Tell

I’ve Been Searching For It For Days

We’d trudged through the dusty towns and cities of Colombo, Negombo and Kandy, and I was beginning to wonder where the renowned Sri Lankan scenery was hiding; apparently it can’t be missed.

Standing on the platform at Nuwara Eliya, we waited among the seventy/thirty tourist to Sri Lankan ratio, for the train to Ella. We were already in the ‘hill country’, but we were yet to experience the vast tea plantations that are supposed to occupy the area. Although we’d already sampled plenty of it.

The train rolled in and people started shuffling along the platform. Shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, running. Running to claim a seat for the three hour journey ahead. Of course, we were not quick enough. One of the main guidebook attractions we wanted to experience, and we had to stand in the aisles or between the carriage couplings. I managed to park myself in the middle of a carriage so I could see out of the window. I didn’t bother taking my camera out. I didn’t want photos of filthy windows taunting me for missing the views on the other side.

The train jerked forwards. I could already feel the cramp in my toes from my not-so-broken-in walking shoes. For the first half an hour, the scenery passed by, much the same as everything I’d already seen in Nuwara Eliya. Dry grass dominated the slopes either side of the track. A three-legged dog relieved itself on what looked like a giant pink tulip. A couple of mini waterfalls trickling down the side of the hills attracted a few twitterings from the tourists, but nothing guidebook worthy yet.

I was distracted by a fidgeting French couple when it happened. Since they’d gotten on the train, all they’d done was move their bags from one place to another in an attempt to make some seats. While I was trying to grab the strap of my bag to tug it out of their way a forth time, the train emerged out of a tunnel and the voices in the compartment rose. I looked up, and there it was. A reason to use the word beauty.

Colombo has its busy roads and backstreet drug grottos that tuktuk drivers are happy to show you in case you’re that way inclined (often without asking you first), Negombo has its beach that attracts many tourists and even more locals, Kandy has its Temple of the Tooth (turns out there’s one in Singapore too), its scamming tour operators and its man-made lake. The stretch between Nuwara Eliya and Ella has these sheer drops on either side of the railway tracks, and hillsides that would send you plummeting into a forest of coconut trees or tea plantations.

I took my phone from my bag and wrote the following sentences:

     The Sri Lankans make incredible use out of their land. Wherever there is a patch of mud, a seed grows.

I look back at this and feel as though I didn’t put enough effort into describing what I saw, but then, upon reflection, this note expresses exactly what I thought of the scene at the time. The simplicity of the sentence structure shows just how much I wanted to be looking out of a window rather than at an iPhone screen. It’s not very often that we experience something that has the power to transport our minds away from technology, long enough for us to temporarily forget that it exists.

I stared at the expanse of foliage that was revealing itself to us as we sped across the rails. Each time we went through a tunnel, a different view would be there to greet us on the other side.

I watched the silent movie of the countryside until the train stopped. Sri Lankans started vacating their seats, so I threw my bag onto one next to a window and climbed across. Normally, I would be more  polite, but this was important. I had to see.

The train pulled away and I took my camera out; poised, I waited. But the view was gone. No more rippling hills or overcrowded forests. No more mist brushing the canopies of coconut infested palms. No more sheer drops. Just fields, and mud.

A Sri Lankan occupied the seat beside me and started asking me the usual, ‘where are you from? Where are you going? How long in Sri Lanka? You like?’ spiel. I took the opportunity to ask him about the environment, trying to mask my disappointment. I found out that those patches of mud I’d been ignoring, were actually rice fields.

We spoke about cultivation for the rest of the journey, and by the time we reached Ella, I’d taken fifty+ photos and been informed that I should try a red banana during my stay. I promised I’d buy one as soon as I could.

I met Sam on the platform and showed him some photos.

     “Did you see? All those plants. Look at this one of the train.”

     “I couldn’t see from where I was standing. That’s a good photo.”

I felt sad that I’d managed to capture a fraction of the beauty that Sri Lanka has to offer.

     “We’ll take the train to Hatton when we go to Delhouse to do Adam’s Peak, okay?”

And so, we did:

P.s. Adam’s Peak, you ask? Another day perhaps…

Stories To Tell

– USUAL DISCLAIMER: it’s been a while, WordPress. Normally I would have something to blame for my lack of posting, but this time…
… nothing. Apart from maybe being distracted by the exciting lives of other travellers and making friends along the way through the wonderful world of hostelling. But you can’t blame me for that? Can you? –

So I left you all contemplating the obscure town of Nuwara Eliya, right? Well we only spent one night there, and it wasn’t very exciting, so don’t worry, I’m not going to bore you with the dull, ‘we went here, then there, then did this and saw that’, style narrative. Instead, I’ve selected a few Sri Lankan tales that I will individually blog about to round off the first part of our trip.

Yep, we catch our second flight in two days. Singapore, we’re ready for your noodles.

One Banana?

Way back last week, in what seems like another age – what day is it? – we were wandering down to the lake in Nuwara Eliya, which, as is the norm around here, we would have had to have paid a higher price than the locals to get into the complex. Opting to keep our foreign payments (a few days later, a fellow backpacker informed me that if we’d travelled north to Sigiriya, aka Lion Rock, we would have paid 3800 rupees more than the locals) we chose to view the lake from the road. Brushing that fun fact aside, before you get to the lake itself, there are many pop up stalls on the roadside selling fruits.

As we’d travelled through several towns by then, we were getting a clear picture of trade in Sri Lanka. Back in the UK, it would be unheard of to open two of the same franchises/stores next to each other (such as two McDonald’s’ – gross), but here, everyone is selling the same product and you find yourself choosing between six of the same stalls to purchase that perfectly ripe piece of fruit. Where do you even begin?

Trying not to make too much eye contact with the sellers, I eventually chose a bright red apple that looked crisp enough to take a few hits from the Sri Lankan cricket team. With it swinging in a bag at my hip, I scanned the stalls for the ripest looking bananas. It appeared that I would be picking the best out of a bad bunch, so I walked towards an elderly gentleman who smiled and said hello. He was missing his top front teeth.

     “Can I help you, Madam?”
     “How much are the bananas?”
     “Twenty rupees, Madam. This?” He pointed to a long, bruised green one underneath a bunch that was hanging from the roof of his stall.
      I stood on my tiptoes and pointed to a stubby, yellow, equally bruised one at the top.
     “That one, please.”
     “One?”
     “Yes please.”
     “One banana?”
     “Yeah.”
     “One.”
     I nodded, not sure what else to say. Is it weird to want one banana? Apparently so.

It was the sweetest, softest banana I’d ever tasted. My short stay in Nuwara Eliya taught me not to judge a banana by its skin, and that making an elderly Sri Lankan fruit seller smile, is a better way to spend my money than on an over-priced admission to a tourist attraction.

I will continue to ask for one banana, even if I fancy two.

Observation Sri Lanka

– DISCLAIMER: this post is slightly out of date due to wi-fi connectivity issues –

My travel partner and I have been mingling with the locals of Sri Lanka for five days, and in that time we’ve visited four areas of the country. Upon arrival, we eased through customs in ten minutes and were soon walking past flat screen televisions, washing machines and other household items. Did this provide an accurate first impression? Well…

…in our sleep deprived state, we caught a taxi (luxury number one) to Colombo Airport Hostel @ Negombo Beach. Naturally, so as not to waste time, we de-backpacked and headed for the capital by bus. The hostel name proved to be slightly deceptive, because an hour and a half later, we arrived in Colombo. Oh, Colombo. Busy, busy Colombo, with your squished markets and rows of shops.

A short walk through a couple of streets and we were done. Everyone has something to sell and each road looks the same. I’m sure if we’d given it more of a chance, we’d have stumbled upon something of interest, but the lure of the trains that would rattle us back to Negombo was too enticing.

This in itself, has to be my most dominant memory of Sri Lanka so far.

Mistake number one of the trip occurred when we hopped (while it was moving) onto a rush hour train. If you’ve ever been subjected to a London tube at five pm on a weekday, multiply the intensity of the journey by ten and you have the experience of the human-cattle-herding train from Colombo to Chilaw. On top of this, the train takes longer than the bus and not all the stations are signposted (apart from Negombo -fortunately). By the end of the ride, I felt like I’d just stepped out of a film. Having just witnessed people hanging out of the train doors and jumping off at non-existent stations, I was ready to say goodnight to Sri Lanka.

With a little healthy traveller debate, map staring and toast munching, we decided to head for Kandy. It was everything you’d expect from a tourist trap, cramped with street sellers, restaurants, tour guides (official and ‘not-so-official’), etc. Initially, I felt more at home than the relaxed life in Negombo, but soon took a dislike to the constant badgering to buy the finest silk in Sri Lanka, or to try my luck at winning a car that I clearly wouldn’t be able to fit in my luggage; backpack or otherwise. Although I did appreciate the peaceful walk around the lake in the centre of the city:

This aside, on the second day, we hired a tuk-tuk to take us around the surrounding area. We visited the Bahiravokanda Vihara Buddha Statue above Kandy (one of the best places to take valley photos so far, but we are yet to visit the hill country), a war cemetery, and a spice plantation where we were treated to a massage (for a tip of course) using their own ingredients.

Oh yeah, we rode an elephant.

On our last day in Kandy, we donned our finest trousers and cover-ups so we could enter The Temple of the Tooth. We were fortunate to be part of it that day due to it being a full moon. These are known as ‘poya days’. Sri Lankans were buying fresh flowers outside and inside the temple as their offering to Buddha. It is prohibited to actively smell the flowers, but you didn’t need to, it smelled like a perfumery in every room, but not in that ‘bathing in aftershave’ kind of way. There were also signs asking visitors to refrain from posing for photographs in front of shrines, so I was a little taken aback when I witnessed two monks taking it in turns to photograph each other with Raja, the body (thank you taxidermy) of the sacred Sri Lankan Tusker elephant.

I will never understand why they broke the temples rules, and I doubt I’ll ever fully understand Sri Lanka. The only people that have been able to give us straight answers to questions like, ‘how long will it take by train?’ are the children on the bus to Nuwara Eliya – a bizarre and confused little town that doesn’t seem entirely Sri Lankan and only partly colonial.

Destination Sri Lanka has so far proven to be a clichéd ‘throw in at the deep end’, but I don’t regret it.

This is why I’m here.