My Pilgrimage
The scene opens: it is 1 AM at the base of Adam's peak. 10 tired volunteers are dragging themselves out of their all too briefly occupied hotel rooms. We drove to Adam's Peak last night, arriving at about 9 PM, knowing that we need to wake up at 1 for our sunrise climb. It is the off season right now, and the lights guiding us up will not be lit, nor will the tea houses be serving on our way up. Even the temple at the top will probably not be displaying the sacred footprint. But we are going to complete this journey anyway.
For the Elephants!
1 AM rolls around and the shrill tones echoing from our hotel rooms drive us out of bed for our dispatching cup of tea. On our walk to the base, our guide stops us at a temple where he recites a prayer and we are all given incense to light and add our own petitions to the guardian of Sri Pada (the Sri Lankan name for Adam's Peak). I don't know about everyone else's silent prayers, but I whispered "safe journey, good weather" as I lit my incense--it is off season for a reason, and there is a definite need for this particular request. I also add a personal plea to my own God, a half-prayer to be completed when I reach the top and ring the famed bell, the reverberating exaltation of summiting Sri Pada.
The Pilgrimage has begun.
I am exhausted from lack of sleep, but my blood is pumping energy through me at the prospect of completing this journey I have just begun. Nothing save an absolute monsoon will keep me off these 4,800 steps to watch the miracle of God's sun rising over the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, a monsoon is exactly what begins to descend upon us not 10 minutes into the climb.
We rush into a vacant temple, and I belatedly realize that I did not even stop to respect the temple by removing my boots. We wait for at least 20 minutes for the rain to clear, but the storm does not show signs of slowing, let alone stopping. With much difficulty, we rule that turning back is our only safe option. Toward the summit we are told the steps rise steeply and rain + dark do not bode well for the climb.
Back at the hotel, I fall into a dejected (and slightly damp) sleep. The mosquitos try to help, but surprisingly 15 bites inside my shirt, spreading over my stomach and side, don't seem to make me feel any better.
Driving home in the morning has the redeeming quality of being incredibly beautiful (although what in Sri Lanka is not?), but it is still shrouded in disappointment.
The next 2 weeks I keep thinking about getting back to the mountain. I have been sponsored for this, I can't let all of your generosity down. Even more so (forgive me if this taking higher priority seems selfish), I really want to complete my pilgrimage. I want to feel the thrill of planting my feet on the top-most stair, I want to let the ringing of the bell toll through me as I release the finale of my prayer. *And yes, I did try to find a less cheesy sounding way to descrive this, but that's legitimately what I was feeling*
When I got the chance to try again, the plans were slightly altered. The climb and descent would not both happen in daylight, with less danger and less chance of rain. Giving up the summit sunrise is slightly disappointing, but a small price to pay for actually making it to the top. 5 others agree to attempt it, and the 6 of us prepare in our own ways to leave at 2 AM. My method involves and early bedtime, I have no false hopes of sleeping at any point during the 4 hour drive in the van on the bumpy Sri Lankan roads. When the van picks us up in the night, only 4 of us pile in. Ilse, I am told, discovered that the wound on her foot was infected and Sian has gone with her to the hospital. The price for renting the van is now split only 4 ways instead of 6, but my brief moment of frustration over this is dissipated when I realize that the extra 500 rupees per person is approximately $4. And I get a whole row to lay down. "Sleep" isn't necessarily a word I would use, but I was certainly not entirely conscious the whole time and 6 AM came sooner than expected.
The day has begun and although a few clouds threaten on the horizon, we don't forsee rain. Amber, Rachel, Ceri, and I begin the climb in good spirits. The base is quiet and void of another person except for one little boy who knows at least two words of English: "Hello...money?" We do, however, see a good number of dogs. One in particular, a puppy by his nibbling and playfulness, decides to follow us. His biting at my ankles is not to my liking (or to any of our party's for that matter), and I try to shoo him away, but to no avail. He follows us with exuberance. Ignoring him, yelling at him to go away, shoving him as he tries to gnaw on us, nothing has an effect. After about 20 minutes of this we christen him "Nigel." Of course, it's not until after this that Amber points out that Nigel is, in fact, a girl. The name sticks anyway and, as is wont to happen with animals after you have given them a name, we start to love our little guide dog. When, about halfway up, we run into two other very rowdy dogs, she engages them in a fight, running all around on and off the path. We have no choice but to go on without her, and are very distraught. Oh, Nigel, you're the cutest thing ever named Nigel. And the most feminine...and possibly the most rabies infested. But you were our Nigel, the female, rabies infested guide dog of Sri Pada. We didn't see her again.
The views on the way up are quite nice. It's certainly not the tallest mountain I've ever climbed, but Sri Lanka is so breathtaking, and seeing it from any unique viewpoint is a new thrill. We gradually ascent into a cloud, and the views come and go as the wind wills the clouds across the sky. Eventually it doesn't matter anymore, the steps are getting steeper and steeper (surely this is the absurdly steep section the guide books told us about...oh, it gets steeper still? Lovely.) and we are beyond caring about anything except the peak, which is not seeming to grow any closer. We've been climbing for 2 hours...3 hours...3.5 hours...
Oh, and did I mention that we were practically fasting through this? I brought a large bottle of water, but no food. When we were here before, starting at 1:30 AM, there were shops open where we could buy sustenance. It seemed obvious to me that a shop open at 1:30 would be open at 6, and I planned to buy peanuts and crackers there before starting up. Not a single open shop. Amber brought some sugary treats and Rachel and Ceri have some crackers on them, but that's our entire larder for the climb.
By the time we hit 4 hours my legs are crying out and I am forcing my legs up every step with all my will. I see what looks like a temple (the cloud is not very thick and foggy) and Rachel and I agree that we will stop there a while. It isn't until we are practically at the gate that we realize it's the temple. We are a mere 20 steps from the top and we didn't even know it!
The top: here's a picture of the amazing view.
Yup. In a cloud. The whole time. Surprisingly, I actually kinda like it. We are here at this temple without anyone around, made even lonelier by the lack of view. There is a section below the temple that is closed for the off season, but is clearly usually bustling with tourists. Looking down on it is like looking at a ghost town. The whole effect just goes toward making me feel like this is all just here for me at this moment. I ring the bell and (finally!) complete my pilgrimage, we with cloud mist, wind blown, and feeling like the 4 of us are the only people in the world.
The scene opens: it is 1 AM at the base of Adam's peak. 10 tired volunteers are dragging themselves out of their all too briefly occupied hotel rooms. We drove to Adam's Peak last night, arriving at about 9 PM, knowing that we need to wake up at 1 for our sunrise climb. It is the off season right now, and the lights guiding us up will not be lit, nor will the tea houses be serving on our way up. Even the temple at the top will probably not be displaying the sacred footprint. But we are going to complete this journey anyway.
For the Elephants!
1 AM rolls around and the shrill tones echoing from our hotel rooms drive us out of bed for our dispatching cup of tea. On our walk to the base, our guide stops us at a temple where he recites a prayer and we are all given incense to light and add our own petitions to the guardian of Sri Pada (the Sri Lankan name for Adam's Peak). I don't know about everyone else's silent prayers, but I whispered "safe journey, good weather" as I lit my incense--it is off season for a reason, and there is a definite need for this particular request. I also add a personal plea to my own God, a half-prayer to be completed when I reach the top and ring the famed bell, the reverberating exaltation of summiting Sri Pada.
The Pilgrimage has begun.
I am exhausted from lack of sleep, but my blood is pumping energy through me at the prospect of completing this journey I have just begun. Nothing save an absolute monsoon will keep me off these 4,800 steps to watch the miracle of God's sun rising over the peaks of the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, a monsoon is exactly what begins to descend upon us not 10 minutes into the climb.
We rush into a vacant temple, and I belatedly realize that I did not even stop to respect the temple by removing my boots. We wait for at least 20 minutes for the rain to clear, but the storm does not show signs of slowing, let alone stopping. With much difficulty, we rule that turning back is our only safe option. Toward the summit we are told the steps rise steeply and rain + dark do not bode well for the climb.
Back at the hotel, I fall into a dejected (and slightly damp) sleep. The mosquitos try to help, but surprisingly 15 bites inside my shirt, spreading over my stomach and side, don't seem to make me feel any better.
Driving home in the morning has the redeeming quality of being incredibly beautiful (although what in Sri Lanka is not?), but it is still shrouded in disappointment.
The next 2 weeks I keep thinking about getting back to the mountain. I have been sponsored for this, I can't let all of your generosity down. Even more so (forgive me if this taking higher priority seems selfish), I really want to complete my pilgrimage. I want to feel the thrill of planting my feet on the top-most stair, I want to let the ringing of the bell toll through me as I release the finale of my prayer. *And yes, I did try to find a less cheesy sounding way to descrive this, but that's legitimately what I was feeling*
When I got the chance to try again, the plans were slightly altered. The climb and descent would not both happen in daylight, with less danger and less chance of rain. Giving up the summit sunrise is slightly disappointing, but a small price to pay for actually making it to the top. 5 others agree to attempt it, and the 6 of us prepare in our own ways to leave at 2 AM. My method involves and early bedtime, I have no false hopes of sleeping at any point during the 4 hour drive in the van on the bumpy Sri Lankan roads. When the van picks us up in the night, only 4 of us pile in. Ilse, I am told, discovered that the wound on her foot was infected and Sian has gone with her to the hospital. The price for renting the van is now split only 4 ways instead of 6, but my brief moment of frustration over this is dissipated when I realize that the extra 500 rupees per person is approximately $4. And I get a whole row to lay down. "Sleep" isn't necessarily a word I would use, but I was certainly not entirely conscious the whole time and 6 AM came sooner than expected.
The day has begun and although a few clouds threaten on the horizon, we don't forsee rain. Amber, Rachel, Ceri, and I begin the climb in good spirits. The base is quiet and void of another person except for one little boy who knows at least two words of English: "Hello...money?" We do, however, see a good number of dogs. One in particular, a puppy by his nibbling and playfulness, decides to follow us. His biting at my ankles is not to my liking (or to any of our party's for that matter), and I try to shoo him away, but to no avail. He follows us with exuberance. Ignoring him, yelling at him to go away, shoving him as he tries to gnaw on us, nothing has an effect. After about 20 minutes of this we christen him "Nigel." Of course, it's not until after this that Amber points out that Nigel is, in fact, a girl. The name sticks anyway and, as is wont to happen with animals after you have given them a name, we start to love our little guide dog. When, about halfway up, we run into two other very rowdy dogs, she engages them in a fight, running all around on and off the path. We have no choice but to go on without her, and are very distraught. Oh, Nigel, you're the cutest thing ever named Nigel. And the most feminine...and possibly the most rabies infested. But you were our Nigel, the female, rabies infested guide dog of Sri Pada. We didn't see her again.
The views on the way up are quite nice. It's certainly not the tallest mountain I've ever climbed, but Sri Lanka is so breathtaking, and seeing it from any unique viewpoint is a new thrill. We gradually ascent into a cloud, and the views come and go as the wind wills the clouds across the sky. Eventually it doesn't matter anymore, the steps are getting steeper and steeper (surely this is the absurdly steep section the guide books told us about...oh, it gets steeper still? Lovely.) and we are beyond caring about anything except the peak, which is not seeming to grow any closer. We've been climbing for 2 hours...3 hours...3.5 hours...
Oh, and did I mention that we were practically fasting through this? I brought a large bottle of water, but no food. When we were here before, starting at 1:30 AM, there were shops open where we could buy sustenance. It seemed obvious to me that a shop open at 1:30 would be open at 6, and I planned to buy peanuts and crackers there before starting up. Not a single open shop. Amber brought some sugary treats and Rachel and Ceri have some crackers on them, but that's our entire larder for the climb.
By the time we hit 4 hours my legs are crying out and I am forcing my legs up every step with all my will. I see what looks like a temple (the cloud is not very thick and foggy) and Rachel and I agree that we will stop there a while. It isn't until we are practically at the gate that we realize it's the temple. We are a mere 20 steps from the top and we didn't even know it!
The top: here's a picture of the amazing view.
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