Easy India Intro (knock on wood!)

Who knew an easy life in India was possible?  My intro has been strangely easy peasy and I’m thinking maybe I should just stay put.  Why throw myself into the filth and chaos, the death and destruction, the miserable mayhem that is waiting for me if I leave this mini holiday destination?  Because I’m in India and that’s what I’m meant to do, that’s why.  But for now, I’ll appreciate every single second of this very easy life in India.

Taking the advice of my ever wise travel wifey Deb, I have started my India journey in Fort Kochi, in the southern state of Kerala.  Surprises awaited as a cushy and silly cheap AIRCONDITIONED (!) airport bus took me from a relatively calm airport arrival experience the two hours to this little tourist haven and dropped me near a guesthouse I had arranged via reviews online.  Location:  excellent, owner:  fab, room:  dark cubicle.  *sigh*.  That’s okay, it’s only a room.  I won’t be here much anyway.  In the process of my first messy attempt at local food I met an incredibly enthusiastic little Hong Kong born Canadian man who claimed to be a retired teacher and who talked more than any single person I think I’ve met in a very long time.  I mean, it was … wow…  he talked.  But not conversation, simply talked.  Regardless, he had some interesting stories and a lot of information so I took in what I could and just let the rest flow.  He put me on to his guesthouse as he had initially stayed in the same cramped room where I was staying but found a gem of a guesthouse for a cheaper price and a whole lot more.  I’m in.  Bag packed, moved out of my cell, and into my palatial suite by 8am.  I almost wept when I saw the room – it was beyond perfect.  Owned by who must be the nicest family in all of India, I signed up for 5 days and may not ever leave. 

The days have been busy as I have wandered around a very friendly, again EASY waterfront / port town.  Big cargo ships, fishing nets, boardwalks decorated with nonsense souvenirs, and shiny shops full of expensive must-haves in the forms of spices, flowy colourful clothes, and “antiques” to adorn your heart and home.  The people are relaxed and smiley, even the tuk tuks only ask you once if you want a tuk tuk, and yes, life floats by here. 

I lucked out in my timing as Kochi was hosting India’s first Biennale; the town has turned into a supersized abstract art gallery, some of which is really very good.  I’m the first to admit that I have zero creativity.  Zero.  I cannot draw, paint, sculpt, carve, play an instrument (okay, well I played the flute a million years ago but that doesn’t count), or do anything that requires any stretch of creative imagination so when I see a broken up Walkman (yes, a cassette playing Walkman) running a continuous reel of tape with white noise playing as some kind of Burmese symbolism, sorry folks, that’s not art to me.  I have no ability to appreciate broken children’s toys or shredded plastic or random scribbles and scratches on a wall, or a mess of colour that may or may not take some kind of shape. I can appreciate nice things, I can appreciate talent but sadly a lot of the “abstract” is lost on me.

Hence, for me, a historical moment for India will not be remembered by the tremendously influential and meaningful art work but by the free MIA concert in the local park.  An Indian born UK / US pop singer whose music befuddled the local crowd but was most appreciated by the travellers in the area.  And by the way, Indians can’t dance.  I was thoroughly amused not only by the concert but by watching the local boys giving their all trying but failing monumentally to dance, clap, and generally get into the groove.  How on earth Bollywood came out of this country is beyond me because at least in Kochi, these boys ain’t got no rhythm.  Wow.  Pure entertainment.  But a good time was had and yes, my timing was lucky lucky.  Free stuff – who doesn’t love free stuff?! 

I had some fantastic company whilst at the guesthouse and was able to explore the area without the usual “alone girl” hassles.  Spent one day on a scooter with an Italian couple (I had my own scooter, just in case you were wondering how three of us managed on one bike) to find an amazing, almost empty, stretch forever beach with big waves (from the sea and the locals) and hot, hot sun.  Then the couple, an Israeli woman, and I rented a car, complete with driver, to explore a tea plantation far too many hours away.  The driver was a very sweet, gentle man of the tender age of 72.  Yes, 72.  The blue cataract rims around his dark, kind eyes were my first warning sign but by the time we were in, there was no turning back. 

Tea plantations bloom and blossom in steep rocky hills which often turn into treacherous territory in most areas so the roads to access these towns are narrow, windy, and often poorly maintained.  As we wove our way at far too fast of a speed around these Indian roads with a dozy old man determined to pass every vehicle out for the day, all of us (whom are all fairly experienced travellers) were noticing that he didn’t seem to see oncoming vehicles until far too late, that he didn’t seem to hear the warning horns of vehicles around the blind bends in the road, and that he didn’t seem to care about his general state of unawareness.  We four were fairly convinced this would be our last trip.  Ever.  At one bright and sunny midday point high up on a narrow section of the road, our dear sweet driver insisted on passing a massive dump truck whilst navigating one of these heart lurching blind bends.  As we rounded the corner fully exposed on the wrong side of the road, all four of us holding our breath and silently cursing old man stubbornness, a large vehicle of some sort bore down fast and heavy on us, we being directly in its path.  Blind Old Man swerved into the dump truck he was attempting to pass with a solid smash as the rear of our car connected with the front of the truck.  *sigh*  None of us the least bit surprised but really?  I’m PAYING to die?!  You’ve got to be kidding me.

Angry words were exchanged between the drivers as the four of us quickly exited the vehicle and stood on the safety of the opposite side of the road, as far away from the mess as we could.   We’re fine, we’re fine, the car is fine (a ding and scrape smash, no biggie), but Jesus, what are we going to do about this guy?  As the truck driver was on the phone to who knows who, our little old man scurries over to usher us all back into the car.  We’re pretty sure he pulled a sneaky quickie and we may have been accomplices in a hit and run but meh, we’re on our way so not much we can do. 

We continued to beg and try to reason with him, insisting that we were in no hurry and that by slowing down we could actually enjoy the scenery instead of white knuckling the upholstery and biting through our cheeks but he was on a mission.  Things to do, places to see. 

The day was long, somewhat stressful, definitely life threatening but overall, a success.  We wandered through tea plantations, ate good food and cake (three cheers for cake!) and learned lots about each other.  The stories, the stories, it’s always about the stories.  I now have happy homes where I can lay my head in Italy and Israel if anyone is interested in heading that way.  We arrived home by the skin of our teeth many many hours into the darkness with little sleep as we were all far too fearful to close our eyes in the car.  Strangely enough, he seemed to become a better driver once the sun set.  Go figure.  Another day, another adventure.

Spent a lot of time the next day trying to get my life together and make a bit of a travel plan but failed miserably and ended up with a few hours of sleep before a 3:30am alarm to make it to a 5am train that was taking me to my very first ashram.  I know nothing about where I’m going, what an ashram experience is meant to be, and if I will actually be able to tolerate a 2 week health focused, very regimented program but I’m excited about my first go at yoga and as is my newly adopted motto inspired by travelling so far…  why not?  Hippie life, here I come.       

Beach Life in South Lanka.

Okay, okay, okay.  You know life is good on the road when you just can’t find time to write.  Where did I last leave you guys?  Ella?  Wow.  That was a lifetime ago.  Let’s do a quick catch up (well, “quick” as in condensed because yeah, you know me.)

After the chilly but captivating tourist town of Ella I decided to head for the beach.  Mirissa was supposed to be the place to go.  Regular run about lugging bags on and off of overfull buses flying warp speed down the middle of crowded roads, aging me every minute, then conveniently get dropped right outside a decent guesthouse and settle in.  Decided to stay a few days as an annoying travel cold was kicking in full force and I thought life would be good by the sea. 

It was so nice to be back at the water.  This was meant to be the centre point for whale watching; blue whales, biggest beauties in the sea, can be seen from boats shuttling eager camera wielding tourists to and fro.  This was my grand plan.  The owner of the guesthouse immediately set out trying to sell me on his best, the only good, government regulations boat and I stepped back.  You know when your little ding ding bells go off and waving red flags pop up?  This guy was all smiles and “I help you!” but yeah, I said I’d get back to him. 

The beach in Mirissa, meh.  Nice and small.  Crashing waves way too rough for me.  Some surfers braving a bit of break towards the cliffs at the end, lots of super expensive but shabby beach front restaurants, it was pretty, but meh.  Didn’t even take any photos.  Hopped on a bus or two, explored the small towns either side of Marissa, tried to sleep off my cold, and looked into the whale thing.  Turns out I’m a little too early for the big shows.  The boats that had been going out (4 – 5 hour trips with some big rocking swells) were resulting in one, maybe two tail showings.  That’s it.  Hmmmm…  several hours of seasickness and a big chunk of cash for a fleeting glimpse of a tail – I think I’m going to pass on this one sadly. 

I learned very quickly that in Mirissa, when you say no, the relationship is over.  The guesthouse guy, a fat-bellied horker / snorter who wore nothing but a very dirty lungi, became pouty and angry with me, even when I caught him in a lie about prices, and stopped speaking to me entirely.  I’d smile and offer an extra cheery “Good morning!” which was either entirely ignored or acknowledged with a grunt if others were in the room.  No big deal for me as I didn’t see him that often, but really?  Come on now.  The very sweet and slightly senile mother-in-law whose house it actually was spoke zero English but spent an evening showing me her fabulous wedding photos and making it clear in the brilliant art of charades that she really didn’t like her son-in-law, the current man in charge.  That was all I needed to put my guilty feelings right.  It seemed like anywhere that you went to ask for info on various things, if you didn’t commit and buy right then and there, it was a ‘harumph!’ head turned away, get out of my sight reaction.  Not the nicest people in Mirissa.  A very long and uneventful few days there. 

So off to the next beach town, Unawatuna.  Say it.  It’s fun.  Wanted to do some diving.  Similar to Mirissa but WAY more options in terms of places to stay, bigger beach, and definitely more of a tourist hotspot.  Plan – DIVING.  Visited a few and chose one that I got a pretty good vibe off of.  Showed up to dive and they insisted on giving me fins that didn’t fit (I have ridiculously small feet).  Hence, fail.  Got into the water and there was just no chance that the dive was going to happen.  If I lose a fin, I have to pay for it and even with socks, I couldn’t keep them on.  Itty bitty baby fins, surface current too strong and got nowhere despite massive effort.  *sigh* waited on the boat in utter frustration.  *whine.  whine.  whine.*  I want to dive.  Second day tried a different dive shop, German owned so yeah, everything was tip top.  The dives however,  … crap.    Always happy to be in the water but I had really high hopes for this jewel of an island.

The south coast of Sri Lanka was smashed by the tsunami so perhaps this is why there’s so little to see.  Well, for me, this spoiled dive princess.  Murky waters, no coral, hardly any fish, even the wrecks looked like shadowy mounds of moss.  Only two dives and it was enough.  That being said, if anyone is looking to set up shop, this is the place to be.  I swam off on my own for a bit and with some serious effort I was able to find a few very cool and tiny hiding bits of interesting life but the dive guides here just have no idea what to look for.  The few shops in town are all in the business of scoping out new staff and dives sites as they know their current ones don’t have much to offer.  Jacques Cousteau’s grandson was diving with the shop when I was there as he is setting up some new projects.  Being just out of a civil war there is mega business to be found here and I’m sure with some time and a little searching, Sri Lanka will be on the map of “world’s wicked dive spots” in no time.  If anyone has a wad of cash they want to invest, let me know; I’d be MORE than happy to set up shop for you there.  Seriously. 

I liked the atmosphere in Unawatuna, but got the boot from my guesthouse, quite by surprise.  It was THE most fantastic sleep spot so I decided to stay for a while to do some wandering but when I came back after my dives on the second day, the owner said “You’re leaving tomorrow.”  Thinking it was meant to be a question, I laughed and told him that I was going to stay as I might dive a bit more and hadn’t had much of a chance to explore.  “No,” he told me, “you’re leaving tomorrow.  I booked the room for someone else.”  A quiet but heated discussion ensued wherein the rudeness of his behavior and desperately lacking communication skills despite speaking very good English were clearly outlined for him.  He didn’t care.  I was leaving tomorrow.  

All was fine though as Eva, the gorgeous German I had spent time with in the hills, was in the next beach town of Hikkaduwa (again, say it.  Love these names!)  and was staying there for a while.  She said it was very chilled out and a must see.  So I went and saw. 

The biggest of the touristy beach towns but GORGEOUS beach.  Not quite Mozambique, nothing could be Mozambique, but the closest I have seen.  Love, love, LOVED the beach.  One long strip of guesthouses, restaurants, and shops with loads of sunburned Russians and chilled out surfer dudes lounging about.  Oh, and did I mention the beach?  I could walk for MILES on soft, CLEAN sand and only run into a few people here and there.  The waves were big and the strangest currents came in and swept you straight sideways off your feet in warm, wild water.  Despite a few panicky moments of “holy shit I’m being dragged to my death!”, the water was good fun for playing.  A week melted by and I did a whole lot of I’m not quite sure what.  It was divine.  The locals even seemed more chilled out there.  Did some city exploring, ate way too much food, walked and walked and walked, rented a scooter and drove around, laid in the sun, and even drank wine.  I found out much too late that after my year of yearning in Indo, Sri Lanka had all the worldly wine you could ever want at really good prices.  *sigh*  I still got a good bottle worth in though so all good.  All good. 

The week was great, it was SO nice to hang out with really good company and be a tourist instead of a traveller for a bit.  I was seriously contemplating extending my visa in SL for another month but the time on my Indian visa was ticking away.  It was time to go. 

Sri Lanka – two thumbs up and on my list for must go back to countries.  I feel like I saw and did almost nothing of what the country has to offer after only a month.  It’s clean (compared to Indo and apparently to India, of course), the people are LOVELY, you can do the usual ignoring of the incredibly annoying tuk tuks and touts without any worry of aggression, the men are still icky and in some towns after a few run ins I was confined to my room after dark but for the most part, no issues at all, the food is YUM!, and it’s still all new.  Everyone I met who has had an India experience says that SL is a very soft India, all the good stuff of India, a warm up for or necessary wind down to India but India aside, I really, really liked SL.  Trains and tea, climbing mountains or swimming in the sea, SL is an upcoming love affair for sure.  Get here now, before it’s overdone.  And if you need a travel partner, let me know.  I’m definitely up for it.  Definitely. 

I’m off to India, completely unprepared, no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing, and to be honest, a little scared out of my mind.  Bring it on.    

Bella Ella

Ahhhhh Bella Ella.  Arrive late afternoon after two more buses and another long but beautiful train ride to find a very small, one street town with a sign that literally says “Ella Tourist Town”.  Okay.  Guess I’m here.  Guesthouse chosen as I was given a few suggestions and had spoken to the owner whilst on the train.  Tuk tuk from train stops at said guesthouse, I hop out, shoulder my STOOPID backpack and am looking forward to a reeelax in the quickly fading light.  A few steps down off the road then… Oh Gawd.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  NO!  At least 100 steps leading up to the place I had masterfully chosen.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Really, Universe?  SERIOUSLY?!  *sigh*  So I quaked and shaked my way up to a lovely little room in a lovely little town and quickly pulled out my fleece and raincoat.  Oh hill country, what are you doing to me?  Quickly discovered that the resulting agony of accomplishing Adam’s Peak wasn’t so much now going up steps, but going DOWN them.  Haven’t experienced that one before.  Youch!  But meh, no pain, no gain right?  Carry on.

Spend a couple of days relaxing in the steep mountain landscape that offered similar views to what I imagine I missed out on during our misty morning on Adam.  Went up to Ella Rock (which claims to be “Little Adam’s Peak) and pshawed such lunacy.  Come on now.  Maybe the itty bitty little teeny tiny baby toe of Adam’s Peak.  Let’s stick with Ella Rock.  (again, what’s with the need to keep climbing things??)  Up there on my own, breathing clean, clean, clean air, quiet, green, mountains.  Breathe in, breathe out.  The clouds roll in by 10am and the days I was there the rain quickly followed so when my body stopped protesting so much, time to move on.  More to see, more to do. 

Next 6am destination  – Tissa (there’s a WAY longer name but we’ll stick with what I can say).  Actually ended up in a town called Kirinda (don’t ask), in the middle of nowhere, on full moon holiday, which meant all was closed.  That’s okay.  Wander, walk, found the sea (oh how I’ve missed you, sea!) and sweated my arse off.  Yep, I’m outta hill country.  The point of this pitstop was Yala National Park and a safari.  Yala lays claim to plentiful elephants and LEOPARDS!  Oh yes, please!  Arrived in town at around 10am, had a look around, and was in a jeep by 2:30am.  I wanna see me some CATS!

I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?  I mean, SHOULDN’T I???  Our driver, whilst very nice and locally knowledgeable, well, he’s going to fall short considering I’ve been on African safari, isn’t he?  Regardless, he’s really nice so let’s see what’s going on.  He got excited about pointing out deer (that munch in our backyards back home), buffalo (that roam the streets HERE in SL), peacocks (okay pretty, but *yawn*) then oh bless your little heart, he stopped for a chipmunk.  Yes, my friends.  He stopped to point out a chipmunk.  I put my camera away.

Relatively pretty brush and small treed landscape, lots of nice birds (I’m just not a bird person) and small monitor lizards, and a shit ton of water buffalo.  Oh well, gave it a shot.  Highlight – 4 elephants stampeded across the road in front of us as they had been spooked by something.  Thought Mr. Driver was going to pee his pants.  But yes, after the mammoth, immersed experience of Tanzania, well, nothing can really compare, can it?  And leopards?  That they boast to have unimaginable numbers of?  Horseshit.  Oh well.  A nice enough day out. 

Weird experience of finding one of the only places open to go for dinner.  I was the only person around.  In the whole world, apparently.  As my food was served, the owner sat at my table to just watch me eat (yeah, that’s not the least bit uncomfortable) then his two teenaged boys sat at the next table, again just to watch me eat.  Attempted conversation to try to avert the staring, nope, not interested.  Just watch the white girl eat.  And for some reason, eating in SL is purely functional.  From proper restaurants to road side shacks, they are pulling away your plate and drink before you finish and shoving a bill into your hands.  Finished? (sounds more like “beenished”) Good?  Okay, you go now?  Okay.  You chow down as fast as you can, wipe your face on the way out the door (napkins are cut up pieces of old newspaper), and get on your way pronto.  Nothing social about food in this country.  Wow.  No wonder I’ve had a stomachache for 3 weeks. 

I'd Definitely Do Adam Again.

A lovely but long morning loafing through Lipton county then Eva & I hop a 1:30pm train outta chilly & rainy Hatton.  I’m managing to spend less than 24 hours in some towns – yes, moving quickly.  I’m off to Dalhousie to climb the million stairs of Adam’s Peak , she’s heading to Kandy.  There’s a brand new train that has started running, literally a week on the tracks, and Eva and I are wandering up and down carriages marveling at how “it’s just like at home!”  Shiny and modern and 1/7^th the price of the fancy yet well worn panorama trains with equally good views.  Bonus:  it’s new so it’s CLEAN and it smells new!  No stinky pee smells or greasy head spots on the windows.  Lucky timing on our part.

So yes, more pretty landscape, ooh & aah tea terrain then off in some random connection town, walk, bus.  No bus??  Pardon??  Oh … TWO bus.  A 33km journey takes me almost 2 & ½ hrs.  Of course it does.  It’s cold and dark and my pack weighs about 50kgs by this point.  I was welcomed to a prearranged guesthouse (a rare & wise moment on my part) by the most charming sweetheart of a teenaged school girl I have ever met.  As she chats away in brilliant English, getting me settled and sorting my life, business with just the right touch of how do you do, I melt.  This girl has been running the show for quite some time and it was so entertaining to watch.  She’s going to do very, very well for herself. 

The regular dealio for this sacred step aerobics class is a 2:30 – 3am start to catch the 5:45am sunrise.  There’s supposed to be a magical shadow shape that appears and well, it’s sunrise.  All good sunrises are seen from the top of something, aren’t they?  I rolled into this town near 8pm after a 4:30am start and a full day of travel … yeah, I’m not going to make it tonight.  So after staying awake as politely long as possible, I slept.  And slept.

And when I awoke to wander the shuttered up, boarded up, deserted town of Dalhousie, I realized that this is one of those less than 24 hour towns, but I had already missed my ascent opportunity.  Pilgrim season is Dec full moon to May full moon which means all the little restaurants, shops, tea houses, and most of the guesthouses board up like southern States in hurricane season.  I also forewent my chance for the included breakfast so lunch consisted of crackers and water I had saved from my trip into town.  The “Food Shop” attached to my guesthouse was empty except for… yep, crackers and water.  That being said, I would much rather experience the subtle pangs of hunger than the throngs of hundreds and thousands that over take the place in a couple of short weeks.  So I wandered and hung out in this gorgeous little mountain town mentally preparing myself to be slaughtered by a night time climb.  I chatted with a ridiculously fit Aussie guy who had done the climb in the morning (while I was snoozing my life away) and he just kept shaking his head, “It was tough.  Yeah, hard.  Tough going.  Really tough, hey.  My legs were just shaking.”  *gulp*  Oh shit.

I decided for a 2am start as I figured this chubby chick was going to need a fair amount of extra time to haul her holiday sized ass up a mountain.  The other (again very fit) people I overheard chatting were all aiming for a 3am start.  Okay.  That sounds about right.  I left my room at 2am and it took me about 15 mins to walk through a dark and eerily quiet town.  Helloooooo?  Anybodeeeee???  Just before reaching the start of the trail, approaching a T-intersection, I heard dogs going apeshit.  A whole pack of them howling and barking and oh crap, they were getting closer.  A quick look around and damnit, I’m in the middle of an empty road!  There’s nowhere to run or jump or escape these frantic hounds. If I can’t do this climb because I am getting eaten by DOGS I am NOT going to be impressed!!!  I hold my breath and wait, staring at that empty T-intersection.  Dogs come running from the right side to the left, not even turning to look towards me, then a MASSIVE wild pig, then more dogs.  Bahahahahaha!  Did that really just happen?!  *sigh* Oh man.  I’m going to take that at a good omen.  Run piggy run!

So hit the trail head and swallow the tiny bubbles of fear creeping up on me as I realize that it’s pitch black, I’m now on a trail in the middle of a jungle/mountain, and I’m all alone.  Again, not the smartest move.  But it’s a maintained, well marked, impossible to get lost set of stairs so I keep moving.  Fast.  (well okay, fast for me, not for the majority)  Huffing and puffing.  I’m going to do this thing.  I was soon very thankful for being on my own as the steps presented themselves in all their miserable glory.  Steep, uneven, and unending.  There is a reason you do this in the dark – if you actually saw how much torture was ahead of you, there is no way in hell you’d keep going, pilgrim or not.  I promise you.  Out of breath, gasping for air, heart about to gush fountains of blood out of my ears, yeah, I’m kinda glad no one is here to see this mess.    

Then …  what …  oh shit.  Have you ever tried to stop and listen when you are completely out of breath?  I was trying to hold my breath and listen to some sound that had spooked me but I couldn’t breathe from the damn steps.  Nearing blackout, lungs about to burst…  Breathe?  Listen??  *help*  Suddenly, torches appear out of the darkness behind me.  Oh glory days!  Noisily gulping air, hiccupping and kinda laughing, I calmed my painfully thudding heart and waited to catch my breath as the trio came into sight.  Two German guys and their guide.  I let them pass me as rare common sense kicked in.  I don’t need to be here on my own. 

Their guide quickly gave up on the ascent and I kept the Germans (who appeared to find this unfairly easy. Bastards.) in sight.  By in sight, I mean I could occasionally see their torches shining far, far above me.  The steps just got ridiculous.  Really.  But again, when I stopped to try to keep my heart from exploding out of my chest, a rustle in the trees closing in on all sides pushed me upward and onward.  I will not get eaten on this journey.  Up, up, up.

The steps didn’t stop.  Straight up.  Keep going.  Switch a little here, turn a bit there.  No stop.  And then I was in the clouds.  I guess.  Or maybe mist?  Fog?  What’s the difference between mist, fog, and clouds?  I need to look into that.  The clear, starry sky disappeared, the crumbling, uneven, leaf covered steps were now wet and slippery, and my torch is doing nothing but showing me the few steps ahead of me leading into blank greyness.  And not the good 50 Shades of Grey greyness.  I can’t see the German torches but I convince myself I can hear their voices every once in a while.  This was massive mind over matter time.  At one point the stairs became smaller and steeper (how is this even possible?!) so they’ve put in railings.  Tiny bit of bliss.  I was pulling myself up as I went which I somehow managed to trick my silly little brain into believing made it easier.  What. Was. I. Thinking???

And then there was light.  Literally.  The top.  Suddenly I was there.  As it’s a temple, sacred footstep of Adam or Buddha or whoever you believe in, thing at the top (google it, each religion in SL has laid claim to it, kinda cool), it is locked up tight and someone is always there.  Orange street light lamps lure your weary body those last few suicidal steps to the flat ground calling sweet rest to you.  The Germans were there, having arrived maybe 15 minutes before, and that was it.  A small Rocky Balboa hurrah and it was just we three.  What time is it?  4:25am. Sorry, WHAT time is it?!  4:25am.  Oh maaaaannnn.  We’ve got an hour and a half to wait.  Irrelevant though as I figured it took me just over 2 hours to climb a feat that I figured would take me at least 3.  Every single cell in my body was cursing me for it, but woop woop!  I made it.

It got cold.  Fast.  Layers soaked through with blood, sweat, and tears, (okay, maybe no blood) but thankfully my Indo volcano days prepared me well.  I discreetly switched wet tops for dry ones and had a few extra provisions.  People laugh when they see my pair of small mittens and travel blanket that I swiped from an airline come out.  That laughter quickly turns to envy.  You’ve been sitting still for a while and you’re cold?  Awww, shame.  Who’s laughing now?!  Yeah, that’s right.     

About half an hour of quiet chit chat then the throngs arrived.  For some reason, SL is full of Russians, Czechs, and various groups of Eastern Europeans.  The Russians – oh love a duck they are LOUD. A group of about 6 arrive amidst a smattering of us who were respectfully hushed in this meant to be very sacred place and wow, party on, dude.  Shirts off, (one girl who was thankfully wearing a sports bra was included) yelling, shouting, putting notoriously noisy Koreans to shame.  And then more, and more and more.  Me and my modest Germans exchanged secret glances and head shakes while this small sitting area filled with soon to be shivering sightseers awaiting a magical sunrise.  This is what we came for, isn’t it?   

Nope.  Sun came up because the skies got lighter but all we saw was cloud/mist/fog.  There were a few mountain peaks poking through in spots but nope, not today folks, not today.  *sigh*  That’s okay.  The view is meant to be spectacular, the scenery I took in from the bottom the day before was gorgeous, but honestly, I was pleased enough to have been able to get to the top.  Really.  Even though old & frail pilgrims do it on a regular basis, it was still a small accomplishment for me, view or no view.  I’m learning to appreciate the journey, not just the destination.  A comforting consolation prize.

Going down however, holy frick.  I mean, ow, Wow, OWWWWW!  Toes jamming into runners, legs turned into sewing machine needle pumping, shaking noodles, knees creaking and bones scraping, how is this hurting SO MUCH?!?!  While my lungs weren’t bursting, my body was protesting SEVERELY.  It was a long journey down.  Funniest feeling ever?  Once I finally reached flat ground after all of that, every step felt like my knees were going to buckle out the back of my legs; you know, fold like a camel’s do, the wrong way.  Oh the things that we do.  Worth it. Worth it. Worth it.

A shaky return to pack up and get the heck out of dodge.  Off to the meant to be lovely tourist town of Ella to recuperate and try to repair the damage I have just done.  Thanks Adam, you were definitely worth it.