The Journey to Adam’s Peak…

Travelling alone was never going to be easy. But I did not imagine an experience that would be as unpredictable and fraught as my journey to Adam’s Peak. My first journey solo in Sri Lanka. Mum and I had said our goodbyes in Galle and I was on the express bus to Columbo. I would then catch a train or bus to Hatton, to get another bus to Dalhousie. In Dalhousie there was Adam’s Peak. It is a mountain, also known 'Sri Pada' or 'sacred foot'. The mark at the summit is believed to be Buddha’s footprint, or, in Christianity, Adam's footprint left when he first walked on the earth. Hence the name 'Adam's Peak'. Sri Lanka is predominantly Buddhist, with other religions including Christian and Hindu. Sri Lankans regularly make a pilgrimage to the sacred mountain, often during a full moon. The descent is made at night and the sunrise is watched from the summit.

Express bus from Galle to Columbo

It was a long way to Dalhousie and difficult to get to. I caught the first bus early and believed I had plenty of time to get there before nightfall. I was in Columbo quicker than expected, dropped off at the train station. The station felt unchanged from colonial times. The trains were ancient steel contraptions, with no doors, and no glass in the windows. It was chaotic and confusing. I was told there would be another train to Hatton at 1 o’ clock. I had asked the ticket officer and several other locals which platform and waited for a good hour. I thought the platform was unusually quiet when the rest of the train station was heaving.

A Sinhalese man suddenly came running up to me shouting ‘Hatton? Hatton?’ to which he pointed to the other side of the station and said ’that way!’ I don’t think he’s ever seen a person with an enormous backpack move so fast. The whistle was blowing and people were hanging out of the train from all angles. It was Easter week; every crevice of the train was full of Sri Lankan’s going home to see their families. I hurled my rucksack through the doorway knowing I was only going to get onto the train by force, and followed my rucksack. I was pulled into a thousand sweaty bodies pressing against me in 30-degree heat. I was grateful for the hands that would not let me fall backwards. I thought this has to be one of the worst parts of travelling and really it’s not so bad, this is nothing I can’t handle.

We remained cramped together for two hours; I was tightly holding my bum bag, I had all my valuables strapped to me, hidden in belts under my clothing. I was trying to keep an eye on my rucksack, which was tossed amongst a thousand people’s feet. Gradually the congestion on the train eased with every stop. I was able to sit on my rucksack near the doorway, thankful for the cool breeze now blowing through the train, as we climbed higher and higher into the hills. Vendors passed through the train selling mangos, water and samosas wrapped in their child’s homework - sheets of painstakingly written Sinhalese letters in blue biro. I listened to Kool and the Gang and watched in amazement at the changing landscape from dusty city to green hills.

My first view of the hill country in Dalhousie

The train arrived in Kandy and emptied bar a handful of people. It was late afternoon, the light was fading and I estimated it would be another two hours to get to Hatton. It would be dark, but still early evening and there would be several buses running to Dalhousie. Or there would at least be nearby guesthouse in Hatton where I could spend the night. I was the only white person left on the train. I moved into the main compartment thankful for a seat as my back was now aching. The train moved onwards, the landscape grew darker and I couldn’t help but notice that the train was moving at an alarmingly slow speed, clunking down the tracks. It stopped at every makeshift station possible, and more and more people were leaving the train. I was tracing my map and after two hours we were in total darkness and nowhere near Hatton. I felt panic rise in me as the landscape became sinister, the noises in the hills terrifying. There was not a single light outside. Fear and anxiety gripped me and I realised this was the first time in my life that my safety had ever been truly compromised. I was not invincible. I could be kidnapped or murdered and my family would not know for days, even weeks and they would not have a clue where I was. I texted my mum my guessed location (I struggled to see the signs at the stations in the pitch black) and told her the train was running late, as if it was a bad day for Northern Rail. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her panicked and powerless several thousand miles away.

I felt awfully helpless. I could get off at the next stop and continue my journey the following morning, but I had little idea where I was. I did not know if these train stations were near actual villages, if there would be somewhere to stay. I at least knew that Hatton would have guesthouses, taxis and tuk-tuks as it was more frequented by tourists en route to Adam’s Peak. My instinct told me to stay on the train, which was well lit with several passengers as witnesses.

Sri Lankans were always friendly and genuinely curious as to whom I was and where I was going, and I was not short of conversation on the train. I was constantly on guard. I would often lie and tell them I was 26, engaged, a qualified doctor and meeting friends at my next destination. They were precautions that probably made little difference in such a helpless situation, but it was the best I could do to avoid looking vulnerable. Throughout my whole time in Sri Lanka locals were never threatening, they were incredibly welcoming and respectful. They would call me ‘Miss’ and go out of their way to help me.

There was a group of young teenagers on the train who wanted to add me on Facebook and join their birthday party. A pastor befriended me and bought me a bottle squash from a train vendor. He explained how long it would take to reach Hatton and that the last bus to Dalhousie was 10pm, ‘we might just make it’ he said. He also said very unhelpful things about leeches and other disturbing creatures living in the hills. He gave me the name and phone number of a local church to contact if I could not find accommodation. Yet I sensed danger in every conversation. Too often there were enquiries about my fiancé back home ‘But why has he let you travel alone?’ and I was very aware that the men would be only too happy to find themselves an English wife. I relied heavily on my iPod to sooth me.

After 10 hours on this horrific train we arrived at Hatton. The last bus to Dalhousie was outside and I was drenched with relief. I was so tired I was half asleep as the bus hurtled around winding roads, deep into the hill country. Traffic lights in Sri Lanka are obsolete; going anywhere in a motor vehicle is like being in a small box in the back of a truck driven on Spaghetti Junction. At midnight we were in Dalhousie and a young girl came running out of a guesthouse saying ’Miss, your mother called ahead, she said you’d be late’. Overwhelmed with gratitude that my Mum had pre-booked somewhere for me to stay, I collapsed into bed, thoroughly drained. I was so thankful to have that last obstacle of finding a bed taken away.

I woke up the next morning to the sun rising between the hills, casting shadows on the mountains and warming tea plantations. The landscape that, just a few hours ago, was so menacing was now inviting, peaceful and undeniably beautiful. I woke up refreshed and unharmed, all my fear dissolved with sleep. I was very lucky. The journey had been a true reminder of my vulnerability and the risk of independent travel. I felt this experience give way to new resilience, and felt excitement and possibility spread through me once again. Now there was a new adventure as I caught sight of the summit of Adam’s Peak reaching into the sky.

Imogen

Adam's Peak