Sri Pada

The conversation in my head was consistently nagging me. To climb or not to climb? If only it was as poetic as a Shakespearian line, instead it weighed heavily. Prior to my accident it was obvious, of course I'd be climbing to the top of Adams Peak, along with however many others who make the pilgrimage to the top.

A snapped plantaris tendon can put a lot of doubt in your mind...

Adams Peak, locally known as Sri Pada (holy footprint), is visited by thousands of pilgrims each year. The Buddhists believe it was visited by Buddha, Muslims and Christians believe it was Adam who visited and Hindus say that it was the home of Shiva.

It's a steep upward climb which starts off as a slope and gradually turns into a climb of over 5200 stairs.

The conversation goes a bit like, " don't be so stupid, what if you re- injure your leg"

"Come on do it!"

"I've got nothing to prove"

"You'll be disappointed if you don't!"

Damn internal dialog!

We approached the mountain by train to Hatton then bus to Dalhousie. When the mountain came into view outside the bus window, I knew I would do it. It was my pilgrimage, my challenge, I could always stop if I needed to.

Leaving at 2am in the morning, we made sure we had extra clothes for the top, It's an elevation of 2240 m and can get cold. The weather was fine and the path was illuminated all the way. Casting our eyes upward we could see the lights snaking their way ever upwards. Small tea houses were scattered along the way for rest and warmth. People of all ages make the climb, many were barefooted.

As we approach the top, the stairs get steeper and there's no doubt that it's tiring. The cold air wraps itself around us, the early dawn light is awakening. We remove our shoes as we reach the monastery. The final stairs are highly congested. Our shoes join the sea of shoes left by others as everyone tries to push their way through on the surrounding forecourt to get a view. People jostle and push aiming to see the sunrise. The clear morning promises a great show.

As the sun begins to peak, the surrounding mutters turn to 'oohs and ahhs'. Could I call it peaceful and serene? No, but definitely interesting. I'm so busy taking it all in, the masses of people, when a calm descends over me and I am taken by the beauty of the fluttering flags. As they toss in the wind the sun reveals itself from behind them. It truly is beautiful. Soon after the sun has risen, the crowd begins to disperse. A few minutes later the bells begin to toll and drumming and chanting from the monks fills the air.

Small children who have made the journey, many on the shoulders of their dads or mums, many who did it on their own, stand sleepily amongst the crowd. Teenagers and the elderly, families who have helped grandma 'one last time', all have come, making their pilgrimage.

 

Making our way around to the other side of the monastery, we are rewarded again, the pyramid shaped shadow reveals itself in the clouds, the bells toll, the drumming continues.

People crowd in meditation and prayer. Blessings are made and returned.

The journey down, was, of course tiring, but who was I to complain. My leg was feeling fine, I ached, sure, but looking around and seeing the dedication of these people is nothing short of inspiring. The elderly women, in their bare feet who have been supported by their families to make their last journey; they are my inspiration!

I meet a woman of 65, we begin to talk. her heart is overflowing with happiness, this is her sixth time to make the pilgrimage. She, like me is tired. She has bare feet and wears white. The bottom of her skirt is wet and muddy. She is a retired teacher, we chat about various things. She has visited India Twice to help 'those in need' she is so happy to have walked today and give offerings to be able to continue to help others.

When we are so close to the finish, Brenda arrives. She is from our guesthouse,The Green House. At 85 she has made the pilgrimage 83 times and literally bounces around. She jogs up the steps to the guesthouse to make me a cup of tea...

 

 

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Sri Lanka thoughts, Reece rambles......

A society, of many religions, post civil war and sixty years after independence from five hundred years of colonial rule....trying to find their place in a modern world.

The conversation in Sri Lanka goes something like this.."Where are you from mister?"..."Australia" I answer.. "Ahh Australia, beautiful country.....Ricky Ponting, Shane Warne, Micheal Clarke!.....". "You like cricket?" I respond....this produces a side to side head wobble and a large smile (yes) "Which city mister...Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne?" .... "Near Brisbane, three hours south"....."Oh..... I have a friend (brother, sister, cousin, know of somebody) who lives in Sydney. Australia is a good country, good jobs and money. How much would this cost in your country?...in Sri Lanka very expensive".....Sometimes you try to justify other times you say it's more expensive in Australia.

Nearly all the conversations in the coastal areas effected by the tsunami would mention that the person they knew in Australia had gotten there by boat and what did I think of that? How else can I get to Australia, maybe you can help me. The people there get good money.....

 

It all seems to perpetuate from stories of a family that is now rich but who had nothing before a family member had made it to Australia. Earn money and send it home. Helping refuges in Australia, who, in turn help their families in their homelands.

Travelling to Australia to work is not a foreign concept to them as many have spent long periods in other countries working. The Middle East where they work in service or labor industries where the money is no better, but they have work. A sinalese woman from a tsunami effect village left her new born third child to work for six years in a Saudi clothing sweat shop. A young man returned after labouring for five years and hopes to buy his own tuk-tuk with some money he has saved. A young chef at a "fancy" hotel learnt his craft working for five years in Iran for a private american security company, one day he plans to open his own restaurant. Australia is a better option in their minds......

The conversation continues with nearly all asking at some stage......"first time in Sri Lanka mister?"......."yes" is the truthful answer, unless your being sold something, then a claim to previous experience comes in handy.... "How long is your stay?" ......."One month, sometime already .... And some more days to come".... "You will see..........Sigariya, Anaradapura, the high country, the south....?" ...." We have already seen..... And are going to ......." .....All of this is followed by a question which seems to weigh heavily on their minds...."What do you think of Sri Lanka?" they ask as they look deeply into you eyes.....only an honest answer will suffice...."Sri Lanka is also a beautiful country, and the people are honest and friendly....." as you respond the side to side head noddle and smile increases....they are very proud and knowing that they and their country is well thought of is important.

The conversations happen with all manner of people; travelling families (14 in a van), a career navel officer returning to base, a tuk-tuk driver, an educated young woman..... People of all religious or education back grounds thinking as one nation........or just a standard conversation with a tourist.

 

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Ohiya

The sound of the rain on the tea

The mist

The walk

The colonial homestead....a thousand stories....the bath tubs, the fire, the factory, the tea and the tea-pickers.

The train ride from Ella through the mountains to Ohiya passes through stunning countryside. Incredible mountains are carpeted in tea bushes and rocky outcrops. The result, manicured mountainsides, the tea neatly pruned all at the same height. Huge boulders sit in the mountainsides, seemingly held up by the surrounding tea plants. We have the seat at the very back of the train, facing backwards, a huge observation window let's us see all.

The station arrives all too quickly, the two hours passing by in no time at all. A tuk tuk from the isolated station to our guest house in Ohiya takes about half an hour. We travel up. Up the mountain, slowly. We can feel the cool air as we elevate. When the road seemingly runs out, the drivers change and we descend into a valley. It's a steep drop off, down a very bumpy gravelled road. The scenery is stunning...it's best not to look down.

The hills again are blanketed in tea. It's incredible how steep the land is. How on earth do the pickers even get to these plants?

When we arrive we marvel at the stunning outlook. Below there's a small village, a deserted tea factory and, in the distance, an old colonial homestead with no roof. We have to explore this place!

We set off on a walk. The elderly man running the place, Karu, is heading to the shop. We accompany him.

He tells us the ' big house ' burned down. ...everywhere there's a story, my head starts spinning. This whole valley has been planted in tea. Who by? What's the history of the house, the factory, the owners of this valley? How did the fire start? As we walk along my head wants to invent stories, characters...but here I'll stick to what I know...not much!

Karu has never walked around the ruins, perhaps it's an adventure for him too. The house was once magnificent. Two huge cast iron baths still sit amongst the rubble. The kitchen bench still remains, it's about four meters long and made out of a red stone...incredible. There's a few chimneys still standing but several have fallen. Vines try to swallow the building, cows graze around. About three meters away the tea is neatly clipped and controlled, inside these broken walls there is no control, it feels wild and untamed.

Clouds start to threaten and the mist begins to roll in. We head to the village shop; a few biscuits and a warm soft drink from his display in the window. We wend our way back up hill and down valley through steep narrow paths rowed in vegetables and tea. The gnarly old tea (camellia family) bushes are a feat themselves. Some grow In next to no soil and their twisted and tired trunks cling to the cliffs. As an uncut plant it can grow up to ten meters high. Here they are pruned regularly keeping them at about one meter.

Tea pickers surround our 'house' when we return. There is such a stillness in the valley. Just the sound of their agile fingers snapping off the three top leaves and a shoot. When their hands are full they stretch over their shoulders and place the picked leaves in their sack (held on by a strap over their head). As the mist rolls up the valley the view disappears as do the tea pickers. They head to the shed, it's the end of a long day. Now to carry the sacks, not one, but two or three ( at 13 kilos each) on their head, up the steep road, the same road I puffed and panted up a while before!

The sound of the rain on the tea is relaxing and I take it all in In slow breaths with a cup of tea. Sleep comes easily. The rain falls steadily and the thunder and lightning light up the valley.

When I stay in a place of such beauty, I wake regularly. I have to get up and check it all out. The view is still there each time I check, but it's never the same!

We leave early in the morning to head to Horton Plains. ...maybe we will see a Who or at least hear one!

On the way up the mountain to the gates of the national park, we see deer, monkeys and the rooster look alike, the jungle fowl , feeling pretty lucky!

Horton plains national park is situated 2000m above sea level. The plains are covered in grasslands and bamboo patches. theres also patches of forest.

The walk to Worlds End takes us through some great forest. The ruby rhododendrons are a real treat. 'Worlds end is virtually a straight drop off of 880m. It's important to get there early, at least before 10am, before the clouds roll in and cover the amazing view. We made it. It's the steep escarpment and consequential clouds that feed this ecosystem. It's silent and beautiful.

There are no more elephants in this park. They were all hunted out by the colonialists in the 1920's. The museum here is called Far Lodge, it used to be the hunting lodge. One such hunter, a plantation manager by the name of Robson,is credited alone to have shot 1400 elephants. His karma was that he was struck by lightning in the field, his grave overgrown and neglected, has since been struck twice by lightning cracking the headstone...

 

Did we hear a Who?

Sure did!

Did we rescue it?

...no need...Horton already had!

Our work is elsewhere...

 

On the fifteenth of May, in the jungle of Nool,

In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,

He was splashing…enjoying the jungle’s great joys…

When Horton the elephant heard a small noise.

So Horton stopped splashing. He looked towards the sound.

“That’s funny,” thought Horton. “There’s no one around.”

Then he heard it again! Just a very faint yelp

As if some tiny person were calling for help.

“I’ll help you,” said Horton. “But who are you? Where?”

He looked and he looked. He could see nothing there

But a small speck of dust blowing past though the air.

“I say!” murmured Horton. “I’ve never heard tell

Of a small speck of dust that is able to yell.

So you know what I think?…Why, I think that there must

Be someone on top of that small speck of dust!

Some sort of a creature of very small size,

too small to be seen by an elephant’s eyes…

“…some poor little person who’s shaking with fear

That he’ll blow in the pool! He has no way to steer!

I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all,

A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

So, gently, and using the greatest of care,

The elephant stretched his great trunk through the air,

And he lifted the dust speck and carried it over

And placed it down, safe, on a very soft clover.

With thanks to Dr Seuss who always inspires me with such great philosophies..... I will always stand up for the little people...

 

 

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The ancient cities, Dambulla Caves and Sigiriya.

Sometimes journeys take longer than expected. Having completed the walk to the top of Adams Peak, we jump on a bus. It's crowded and it's a 2 hour journey to Hatton. Reece has to stand most of the way. From Hatton we catch a train. There's no seats. It's Sunday and it appears everyone is on their way home, on our train! So it's four hours standing on the train and we've been walking since two in the morning. The walk lasted for about 7 hours, its the downward part that plays havoc on your knees. Luckily there's entertainment on the train. The large group of teenage boys drum and sing the whole way. It keeps my feet moving and my fingers tapping.

We arrive in Kandy only to head out the next morning to Sigiriya, this time with a driver and very sore thighs!

To be greeted by a sloping rock face and lots of stairs can be a tad daunting with aching muscles, but to see the Dambulla caves it's a necessary suffering!

Historically, these caves have been a place of worship since the 1st century BC. There are five caves magnificently carved with 150 Buddha images. To add to the sheer beauty the caves are painted, the ceilings are stunning. Most of the painting happened in the 19th century

From Dambulla we head to Sigiriya (lion rock)

When a huge lump of a rock sits in the middle of a plain...what else to do but carve it and stick a temple on top. That's exactly what happened here ........

It's an impressive formation, geologically it rises 200m above the dusty plains, it's flat topped and an amazing archaeological site as well. It can be spotted from kilometres away.

Local legend says when the king Kasapa (AD 477-495)was exiled after murdering his father ....he escaped to Sigiria. He built his own kingdom and lived on top of the mountain for ..... Years. More recent evidence says that Sigiria was never a fortress or a place but a Budhist Monastery built several centuries before King Kasapa.

We stay in a resort and relax ready for the walk up in the early morning before the crowds arrive.

The lower areas you approach is made up of water gardens. The water off the rock is all directed to these gardens, beautifully carved pools and even fountains. The whole gardens are an engineering feat of great significance.

After you pass through the Water gardens you enter the boulder gardens. Massive boulders are seemingly propped up by rock walls which weave their magnificence in various directions. Every boulder is carved in some way to direct the water below.

Gradually climbing upward the 'rock' looms overhead. The now 'modern' spiral staircase replaces the once upon a time, bamboo ladders! The height is rather sickening and not for the faint hearted. Vertigo sufferers forget it!

Within this cave are a series of frescoes. Beautiful buxom women line the walls. ( Either King Kasapas concubines or images to represent Tara Devi, an important MahayanaBudhist goddess, depending on the theory)

Around the western side of the rock is a staircase, the remains of enormous lions paws come out from the rock, the staircase begins.

At the top of the rock, an area of 1.6ha, there are remaining foundations of buildings. The view is stunning and it's easy to visualise this being a place of meditation, rather than a fortress. We are up on top with only two other tourists, it's calm and peaceful.

It's a different story on the way down, there are hundreds!

 

The heights are dizzying and of course you have to climb down as well. The narrow staircase is somehow pinned to the rock and it's best not to think about it, just one step in front of the other.

The heights are worth it, the whole place fills me with awe and fascination, such unbelievable engineering. How did people of ancient times achieve such wonders?

Later that day...

Elephants are still common in this area and a safari in a jeep allows us to see many. They appear so gentle and safe. When we stop we are quickly reminded of their strength and the fact they are wild animals, another jeep pulls up, it's passengers rather terrified and high on adrenalin as they had had a mad escape from a rogue mother who charged, and in fact made contact with their jeep, leaving a massive dent in the side!

 

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