Adam's Peak

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.

Home

I am home safely, for all those who aren't already aware.

I have a few backlogged posts that I'd like to make, including my very...eventful...journey home.

I will type these up and release them over the next couple weeks.

Shock and awe

Today I swam with sharks. That is all.

4th of July

Today was the 4th of July. Emily (a fellow American) and I planned a party to celebrate. We bought fizzy drinks, ice cream, and cookies for all the volunteers--even the non Americans-- and lit candles. We made homemade flameless fireworks. I had an idea to stuff confetti (also homemade) into balloons and pop them mid air. She and I spent yesterday and this morning tearing up colored paper, stuffing balloons, and preparing everything.

The party was fun, only 5 Americans in a group of about 30, but people indulged us and enjoyed the ice cream and snacks we bought. The "fireworks" went just about as well as could be expected. We affixed needles to the end of sticks to pop them, and the confetti and flour poofing out of them was fun. Our coordinator here, in all her awesomeness, arranged a special lunch of french fries and hot dogs. Overall a nice, if slightly low key, celebration. I miss DC today, though, the 4th of July is always such a big deal there.

Last night we had a very exuberant party with some members of Sri Lankan Parliament. One of them, an older (40?) Sri Lankan man who I had actually met before, heard about our party planning and told me that he would send me some firecrackers. Emily and I had a nice laugh about that this morning, given that we're not sure he was in a state to remember any bold promises he made. She and I set off our much lamer confetti fireworks contentedly.

You can imagne our surprise when a tuk-tuk pulled up after dinner and the men inside said "where is Elizabeth? We are looking for Elizabeth. We have something for her from Chula."

The next thing I know, I'm holding a bag of 2 long strings of firecrackers and about 20...something. Rockets? We all gathered at about 9:30 and I lit one of the lines. The was loud popping and bright flashes. For a brief moment I was thrilled and a feeling of being home with real fireworks and celebrations filled me. Then it was just horror. They were so loud and they just kept going. There are elephants trying to sleep a quarter mile away, and the woman who runs the foundation is up at the house probably panicking, wondering what these noises are...remarkably like gunshots. I (and everyone else with me) was completely unprepared for the volume and duration. But I did have that brief moment of pure bliss.
HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

*update as of the next morning: I apologized to the woman at the house and was told it was not a big deal at all. A huge weight off.

Finally

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've posted. If any of you were worried that I was dead or in some seedy Sri Lankan Prison, you can take that breath now. And stop thinking about divvying up all my things.

I would like to give a list of excuses as to why I haven't posted-- #3 would be that the power goes out almost daily for at least an hour, taking the internet with it-- but there is only 1, very simple, reason: I have not been journaling. There have been other things filling my time, like finishing the first book of Game of Thrones. Very good series so far, and spoilers (much like narcotics in Sri Lanka) will be punishable by death, so don't even think about it.

The truth is, if I wanted to journal, I could make time. Everything is so laid back in Sri Lanka that not a day goes by where I can't journal. Sure, some nights I go to bed with lofty intentions to write at least 1 page and wake up with my pen still uncapped in my hand and my journal splayed open faced on the floor next to my bed. But more than business or exhaustion, what's been stopping me has been motivation. I will go through a day and realize that everything that happened is either repetitive or not something I want to blog about, or even put into words for my own eyes only. I'm a little worried that "today I washed Rani and then worked in the garden" will get slightly monotonous. I want to focus on things that are more out of the ordinary (although who would have thought that scrubbing down a 4 ton animal in a Sri Lankan river would ever be described as "ordinary"). But some of the out of the ordinary things have been downright aggravating. I don't even want to think about them at the end of the day, let along bring them to life for all of you at home. But to not mention any of the bad gives this blog an incomplete picture, so here goes.

Please keep in mind throughout reading the following that I am extremely happy here and wouldn't trade the last 2 months of my life for anything. I am not describing things that fill my days, only things that make me hesitant to pick up a pen in the evening, even if the rest of the day has been amazing.

First of all, the honeymoon is over. I'm still happy here, but not everything (and certainly not everyone) is beautiful to me every day. When a group this large are all put in close living quarters for an extended period of time it can be very straining. About 30 of us are here now from all across the globe, a melting pot of ages, cultures, personalities, and ideals. The best thing about a group this large is that yuu're virtually guaranteed to find a couple people you really connect with (miss you, Amber!) and can talk to easily. There are, however, some drawbacks. On the flip side of the kindred spirits you're bound to find, there are going to be people whose personality just does not mesh with your own. This isn't necessarily even the hardest part for me, though. I find myself stretching a bit thin, trying to be there for anyone and everyone. I don't want anyone to feed ignored or left out, and I want to get to know everyone. With people coming, going, staying, and leaving, this is a bit harder than it sounds.

Trying to connect with everyone also leaves me vulnerable to being dissapointed if they turn out to have very different ideals than I do. If I feel like I've gotten along really well with someone it pains me a little bit to see them completely disinterested in Sri Lankan culture and ways. I don't really understand why someone would want to come to such an amazing country and make no effor to understand the culture of the people. I'm not even saying that everyone has to try to speak the language or anything extreme, but to try to abide by rules of modesty when outside Millennium seems like a no-brainer to me, and to not make fun of the locals to their faces. I don't care that they can't understand you, that's uncalled for.

There's also, as I suppose comes with the territory of 30 volunteers mostly around age 20, been a bit of drama. I feel like I'm in high school again some days. I don't think overmuch of it actually involves me (although rumors don't always reach back to their subject), but I get exhausted by them and the drama anyway. It's gotten a little better in the past couple weeks, but for a while I was having a very hard time with some of the socal aspects here. It's been a good test of my personal strength which I've been trying to work on since I've been here. I want to learn to let things go, something I've sturggled with my entire life. I'm definitely not there yet, and may never be, but I'm working on it and will continue trying to improve.

I have made many new friends since I've been here and would book this trip again in a heartbeat if given the opportunity, so I don't want any of you to think that any of this is to say that I'm not happy. In fact, I think I'm handling social interactions better than I do at home. I'm trying to keep an open heart even with people who don't think or act as I do.

The local people provide an interesting challenge too. Most of them seem so sweet and so genuinely excited to interact with a white person. The children are my favorite (who's surprised?) They get so animated when they see white people. I love walking through town smiling at everyone I pass, sometimes waving. The reaction is well worth the negligible effort it takes to make eye contact and smile. I do, however, occasionally come across someone I get a bad vibe from. I am challenged because I do not want to misjudge someone or be overly harsh, but I also don't want to get myself into any (more) sticky situations. I feel like the fact that I do make eye contact - a very important sign of respect in this culture - and smile at locals, making conversation if they engage me, gives me power when someone creepy comes along. To ignore the creepy man is treating him differently than I treat everyone else. He may not even notice, and may just think that I'm rude, but I know, and I feel empowered. Sometimes I know immediately that ignoring was the correct course: "Hey baby, what's your number?" or "Hello, madam, I need money because I am in a bad time..." I will ignore and if followed, turn around and sternly tell them to stop in their own language.

But then there are men that ask me "where are you from?" and "how do you like Sri Lanka?" or "how long are you here? First time?" When I get the creepy vibe from one of them, I do not have immediate confirmation of my gut reaction. Sometimes I will feel guilty for passing such quick judgement against them. One day this happened to me while I was on the but. They do say not to travel alone. A man sat down next to me and immediately my spidey sense was tingling. I wanted nothing more than to get up and change seats, but the bus was so crowded and I couldn't get out of my seat because he was in the isle seat blocking me in. I could have gotten out anyway, but I would have had to ask him to let me out and then end up standing for 3 hours instead of sitting. (In hindsight a highly preferable alternative) It would have been so obvious that I was just trying to get away from him, and I hadn't (yet) had proof that he was creepy, just a gut feeling. He began talking to me, but after exhausting his very minimal English and my even more minimal Sinhala, did not stop. I have no idea what he was saying for about a half hour where he was speaking to me, so I turned away from him, beginning to get very uncomfortable. All I got was that he was trying to get my phone number, that he was asking me once we reached our destination if I would get lunch with him, and where I was staying. (no, no, and boldface lie). The rest of the bus ride confirmed my gut feeling about this man.

You have 2 perfectly good knees of your own, there is no reason your hand needs to be on mine. And no, that's not an invitation to move your hand higher up my leg. I understand that the bus is crowded, but it's not so crowded that you need to lean your body against mine and press your arm against my chest. In hindsight I am so angry at myself for not being vocal or slapping him in the face, but in the moment it was so scary that I didn't know what to do. I contented myself with picking his hand off mine gingerly by a finger and putting it back in his own lap. A process I needed to repeat a couple more times. I see now that had I reacted strongly I'm sure that he would have had to stop and others on the bus would have been behind me, but at the time I wasn't sure what the fallout would have been, and I still had a long bus ride to go. When we got to our destination I jumped in the first tuk-tuk I saw, the only time I've ever gotten into a tuk-tuk without first negotiating a price.

It could have been so much worse, and I am very thankful that it wasn't. The experience also helped me realize that waiting longer for the next bus, or moving away and standing, as awkward as it may feel, is the correct course of action. The next time I was on a bus alone--I don't feel unsafe at all if I have someone with me, even just another young white girl--I was much more wary and assertive. I was able to effectively stave off any creepy men. I sat down next to one man who completely ignored me, a pleasant change. And who, when he saw a pregnant woman board the bus, immediately stood up and guided her on the lurching bus into his seat. There may be creeps in every culture, but there are also gentlemen.