It's Hard to be a Pilgrim

Adam’s Peak, also known as “butterfly mountain”, is Sri Lanka’s holiest mountain and most famous pilgrimage site. Near the summit, a 6-foot rock formation resembling a footprint, called Sri Pada, is said by Buddhists to belong to the Buddha, by Hindus to belong to Shiva, and local Christians and Muslims believe that it is the place where Adam first set foot on earth after being cast out of Eden. Important to all local religions, it has become a must for Lankans to complete the pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime.

To reach the summit of Adam’s Peak, pilgrims climb 5200 increasingly steep steps, ideally reaching the peak just before dawn. During pilgrimage season, which lasts for about six months out of the year, the path and steps are illuminated by rigged overhead lights, and tea and snack shops stay open throughout the night, refreshing pilgrims on their trek.

Unfortunately, we weren’t in Sri Lanka during pilgrimage season. This meant that in getting from Anuradahpura to Delhousie at the base of Adam’s Peak required not two buses, as it would during pilgrimage season, but four. Unfortunately for us, overland travel in Sri Lanka takes a surprisingly long time, considering how small the island is as a whole. The bus crawled over mountain roads, hardly one lane wide, that curved up, around and back, snaking its way through tea plantations toward Hatton. Houses were carved into the mountainsides, made up of many narrow stories stacked around the mountain’s natural shape, sometimes only the top floor at street level, with many stories built downward instead.

By the time we reached Hatton, dusk had settled over the town and the last bus of the day had already left. This left only one option: tuk-tuks. For 1000 rupees (roughly $10) we hired a tuk-tuk to drive us all the way to Delhousie, about an hour away. Under normal circumstances, an hour in a tuk-tuk would be unpleasant; on narrow mountain roads, in the dark of night and driving rain, it was terrifying. And, since he had promised to make it in under an hour, our little tuk-tuk was bouncing and jostling down dirt roads at incredibly high speeds, all while he called various guesthouses to get a commission when we arrived.

After a massive pile of noodles, we turned in for a couple hours of sleep. In order to make it to the top by dawn, a departure time of 2am is required. We suited up: sneakers, long pants, Win’s sweatshirts, and a flashlight borrowed from the guesthouse. And we were glad we did; Sri Lanka’s Hill Country, especially when you’re in the forest at night, is downright cold. Heavy mist hung about the mountains, giving the silence mass, density.

The path started out mostly flat, easing through the hillside tea plantaions, with some gradual incline and occasional steps. A stray dog, limping its way along, seemed to be keeping pace with us, disappearing and reappearing at random. After passing a donation tent where string was tied to our wrists with a blessing (and we signed a guestbook in the event we lost our way and wandered around in tea plantations until found), we found ourselves rising a bit more.

The only other people on the path were clusters of foreigner tourists, each brandishing his or her own flashlight. As cold gave way to perspiration, we stuffed our sweatshirts in the backpack, and water breaks became more frequent. Time became meaningless, minutes held no concrete substance, there were only stairs, stairs, stairs. At some point it started raining; mist, rain, and stagnant sweat clung to my arms, my face. Sweatshirts were re-donned. Some three hours in and it was just vertical stairs and handrail.

Somehow we reached the summit. I might have cried a little, I felt like I was going to throw up, my legs like jelly, my pulse pounding out an erratic beat in my head, and the limping stray dog made it to the top before us, but I made it. A tea shop at the top warmed new arrivals, as they waited for the summit temple to open at 6am. The hot tea brought feeling back to my fingertips.

After watching the sun rise, a layer of clouds spilling out below us like a vast cottony sea, we were the first to venture onto the summit temple. Removing our shoes and socks, we rushed across the marble floor, through puddles of freezing nighttime water, and rang the bells, two notes vibrating across the cloudscape, full of blessings.

And then we had to clomp our way back down the mountain, back down all those stairs, back through the mist and rain, back to our guesthouse where we could collapse into exhausted slumber, losing a full day to sleep.