Almost the best view in Sri Lanka

On the tear-dropped island of Sri Lanka, it is claimed that the best view can be found atop the mighty Adam's Peak, with a vantage point of 2243 metres.

Adam's Peak is religiously schizophrenic, with Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam and Christianity claiming a piece of the pie. The rock formation at the summit is revered as the footprint of the Buddha, in Hindu tradition of Shiva, Muslims believe it to be where Adam first set foot and Portuguese Christians claim it belongs to St. Thomas, the disciple of Jesus.

Hindu and Buddhist pilgrims scale the mountain in swarms from December to April as for much of the rest of the year dense clouds smother the peak. So, we rock up at the end of July; the term 'off peak' has never been more appropriate!

Nonetheless, we decided to climb the peak of Adam, Shiva, the Buddha and St. Thomas in the way all pilgrims do - reaching the summit for sunrise. Setting off in a small group at 2.30am - laden with biscuits, smothered in leech repellent and clutching metal torches - we perpetually stepped upwards for two and a half hours in the dead of night. The stray dogs from the small village of Delhousie also accompanied us all the way to the top, negotiating twice as many legs up the big steps despite their joint problems induced by years of pilgrimages.

Conditions grew worse as we ascended and I thanked Adam, Shiva, the Buddha and St.Thomas simultaneously for the waterproof coat I'd purchased on a market stall the day before. It may have been coloured yolky yellow and white and nick-named 'the fried egg', but at that moment in time it was the best item of clothing I had ever owned.

We couldn't see more than a metre in any direction as the mist enshrined the holy mountain to protect it from the wind and rain. Another interesting addition to the climb was the small river that had started to flow down the steps. We squelched and slipped upwards and upwards, stopping only briefly to catch our breaths.


Meeting just two other small groups on the way up, we made it to the top (first, if you are wondering) at 5am. Out of nowhere, a small door opened, bathing us in light so bright it hurt our eyes. A barely clothed man told us to come inside for tea as the gate to the summit would not open until 6am. We were wrongly sceptical and, after climbing up to the gate to realise it was bolted shut, we sheepishly returned to escape the worsening weather.


Inside the small room sat two men with just a cloth around their waists. There eyes were fixed on a fuzzy black and white TV set that intermittently spurted out ceremonial music and white noise. They were displeased to see us but dutifully offered us sweet, hot tea as more intrepid Westerners squeezed in their isolated home. I lapped up the tea and the atmosphere. Before me were complete strangers, water-logged and windswept, drinking tea and sharing biscuits up a mountain without a care in the world.

As the clock hands crawled to 6am, we braved the elements, leaving our damp hue behind us in the house. What should have been the best view in Sri Lanka was only mist and murk and mystery. Not a soul stepped foot on the very top to see the contested footprint or temple. The prospect of removing our shoes and plunging through puddles was not a tempting one.

The descent back down bashed our knees and our spirits and we were overjoyed to return to the hotel and hot shower.

For days afterwards, I could still smell the herbal leech repellent and my body froze at the sight of more steps. But our challenge was unforgettable and we proved there's no such thing as 'off peak'!