As usual, supporting photos can be found here (look for the post with the matching lead photo).
The following day, I suffered through one final cold, over-salted omelette (thank God for the rambutans!) and then we prepared to move lodges to The Nest, which lies at the end of a short-but-occasionally-questionable path from Haputale village. We got dropped in town and made a quick stop at the train station to see what the score was with the train timetable. The rail network was majorly impacted by Cyclone Ditwah, which caused catastrophic landslides throughout the highlands and wiped out sections of railroad, not to mention entire rural villages, so the current timetable is far from standard.
We quickly learned there was no chance of us getting a spot on the very popular train to Ella, which we were really only doing because it would save travel time and money. We dropped our bags and quickly sorted out a tuk tuk so that we could go explore the major sights: Nine Arch Bridge, Little Adam’s Peak and hopefully another waterfall. All road travel takes longer than seems possible in the highlands; while it’s only 23kms to Ella, a tuk tuk ride takes about 75mins.
As soon as we arrived in Ella, I discovered that it’s every bit the tourist mega-centre that I thought (feared) it might be. The sidewalks positively swarmed with visitors in elephant-printed clothing moving between shops selling even more elephant-printed clothing, and the seemingly-endless array of cafes and restaurants with elephant-printed menus (did I mention there are no elephants in the highlands??) advertised king coconuts, pizza, burgers, and fresh juice. It felt like a low-scale, inland, Sri Lankan version of Bali. Perhaps needless to say, I couldn’t wait to get out.
We hatched a plan to hike to Kuda Ravana Ella waterfall, from which point we’d partially double back before heading to the famous bridge just in time for the only afternoon train to pass by, then make our way to Little Adam’s Peak in time for late-day light.
The falls are out of the way and gorgeous. Just to make things even better, we had only to share them with three other girls who arrived just as we were finishing up. We swapped phones to take a couple of photos for one another, then wished them well and headed on our way back through the jungle. The hike is no joke, particularly in this tropical heat that never seems to dip below 82% humidity, but we made our way along the trail and back up the winding mountain roads, which were shaded enough to not leave us questioning every life choice we’d ever made while we were kept company by monkeys and dogs – who didn’t look at us like we were fresh meat, for a change.
I’d been quietly harbouring concerns that Nine Arch Bridge was going to be too touristy to feel worthwhile. As we got closer, it became obvious that it’s definitely on every visitor’s hit list, but:
a) not everyone visits armed with the same info about the train timetable, so they weren’t all there with us;
b) the width of the bridge and the variety of viewpoints (or, perhaps, lack of ingenuity on the part of many visitors) meant that we were able to choose a spot with a great view, a clean enough background, good light and minimal company; and
c) it is still worth dealing with 250 people because it really is lovely.
Did I come away with an original shot? I absolutely did not. Did I enjoy a chance to marvel at a really beautiful piece of architecture? I absolutely did.
As the train chugged onward and disappeared around the bend while Western tourists hung out the doors for their Instagram poses, we went back to grinding along our dusty trail, this time with Little Adam’s Peak as our destination. In order to get there, you have to pass a pool club pumping some thumping bass out into the hills, a sky swing complete with photographers and optional wardrobe selection, and the Sky Walk elevated walkway which, ironically, still only gets you partway up and doesn’t really put you in the sky. You can guess which parts we participated in.
Fortunately, we left the bass and shrieking swingers (?!) behind, and quietly climbed our way to the peak of the local landmark, where we quickly learned that it’s notable for very good reason. We sat in silence (almost – the thumping managed to remain audible) and watched as the sun’s rays highlighted different crevices of the mountain, making it appear as though carpeted in emerald velvet, before the late-day ribbons of mist became a full cloak and the mountain disappeared altogether. As the light dulled, we gave up our secluded perch and headed back against the flow of traffic, feeling like we’d absorbed every bit of magic that we could.
Then we ambled past the swing and thumping speakers and were reminded that everyone’s definition of “magic” is a little different.
A taxi (oooh, how bougie!) back to Haputale; a quick dinner that saw us wearing hoodies into town because it was actually cold(!); early bed. We planned a 6am tuk tuk pick up with our local friend, Akram, so that we could travel 90mins to the Devil’s Staircase and hike part of the Pekoe Trail the following morning.
I’d been trying to convince myself for several days that the sandpaper I’d apparently swallowed in my sleep had to be down to the air conditioning and tuk tuk travel, but at 12am, it became abundantly clear that it was not, in fact, the AC or our chosen mode of transportation. I was just plain sick. Around 5am, I finally closed my eyes only to open them 30mins later and begrudgingly start hauling on my trail shoes. It wasn’t like this was the first early wake-up I’ve had in the last 12 months that involved bleary eyes and trail shoes. It was just the first one with something called the Devil’s Staircase waiting for me. I sent a couple of texts soliciting bets on how long I’d last before rolling down said stairs or crying, since both were likely outcomes today; packed all the cold meds and tissues I had; and we hit the road.
Bad news: Akram got lost before we got to our destination, so our hike started with an extra 2km uphill march through gorgeous forest of a sort that I didn’t anticipate seeing here. As the light filtered through branches, I oohed and ahhed between huffs and puffs until we finally found the trailhead and began what was both a literal and figurative downhill spiral – errrr…. zigzag.
Good news: the staircase is not, in fact, a staircase but rather a series of steep, uneven and partially (formerly?)-cobbled switchbacks that zigzagged back and forth across a view worth stopping to write home about.
Bad news: we didn’t pack enough snacks and I’m someone who is always just in it for the snacks. We didn’t count on the fact that we’d be setting off well before breakfast and forgot to buy an alternative breakfast to eat while on the trail, so we dove into our cookie stash and also used some running chews that we had stockpiled for later on in Nepal in order to keep us from landing on our faces (under-fuelled bodies = clumsy bodies – ask me how I know).
Over the course of the next 8hrs, we began what I’ll probably always think of as the Hunger Games Hike. We crossed hilltops and walked along ridges; we went through forests, tea plantations, grasslands and near-swamps; we walked through rural villages where news that Westerners were passing through caused children to run to say hi; we watched farmers work the soil of the steeply terraced land and families hang laundry to dry on any surface available, including the hedges; we clambered over fallen trees and narrowly missed being stung by an entire huge colony of wasps; we climbed up, down and along aged stone steps and meandered between tea bushes; we watched as the spectacular view we’d been enjoying disappeared as the midday haze settled in and I heard myself ask in bewilderment, “Why is the fog HOT?!”; and we followed the trail down the train tracks and into a tunnel that left us both chuckling at what our mothers would say about what we were presently doing.
As we came upon a small group of women finishing their tea picking, one of them dropped her sack and, in the most unexpectedly familiar tone, said “Oh HIIIIII! How ARE you?” We laughed with her and greeted her warmly in return and I will forever regret not stopping to make a portrait, so caught offguard was I by her spirit that I completely forgot to pick up my camera.
As we approached kilometre number 20, my spirits plummeted, my toenails hung on for dear life, my blood sugar went on a wild roller coaster ride and our water supply dwindled. Just in time, we found a little shop selling my favourite crispy snack, dhal vade (lentil fritters), and some water. We had a brief rest and reset, then finished the last 5kms in near silence while I clung to my sanity and my glutes tried to figure out what the hell we were doing.
27kms after we started, we grimaced as we pulled off our shoes at the guesthouse door and likely made a spectacle of ourselves as we limped up the stairs and flopped into a near-immediate nap. Mission complete.
The following day, we went on separate missions: tea tour vs Tea Trail. My muscles and sinuses were screaming, so I went on an unplanned tea hop, moving from one small shop to the next as I sipped tea and caught up with some journalling before heading to the market to see what I might find to photograph and then making friends with the samosa vendors. My lunatic husband, meanwhile, decided to tackle another part of the Tea Trail.
We reconvened in the afternoon and agreed that it was time to try out Crispy Kitchen for dinner. In we walked and over came Ali. We quickly learned that not only does he have excellent English, but he also exemplifies the Sri Lankan spirit that we’d come to know and love. The restaurant operated with such a relaxed easiness that it was hard to tell who worked there, who was family, and who was actually a customer. People seemed to go wherever they pleased, including into the kitchen, behind the buffet counter and over to the hotplate where someone was making fresh roti and paratha.
Ali offered us some of just about everything in the place: tea, milk tea, an entire buffet of curries and side dishes in little bowls, roti – he even sent his son out for a couple of sneaky beers so that Rich could have one with his meal (alcohol laws are slightly confusing here; we’ve yet to understand exactly who can sell beer and whether that’s governed by personal choice and religion or by the State). He sat with us and expounded upon his philosophies on relationships, parenting, recycling, the future of Sri Lanka, wealth, Rich’s beard and its need for a comeback, and success. It was a lively conversation filled with laughter. When it was time to go, we were left with a standing invitation to return to Haputale as family. While I doubt that it will happen, I’ll happily add it to my list of “one day” daydreams.
My heart sat heavy in my chest the following day as we gathered our belongings and prepared to leave Haputale. We’d packed so much into 6 days, but felt like we’d only just started to get settled there.
We blundered our first attempt to catch the bus (backpackers don’t get the same privilege of being able to hop on the bus just anywhere – our luggage complicates the rolling stops) but a gracious local driver picked us up and took us downhill to the next major junction where we’d grab the bus we needed. As we wound downward through the hills, the blasts of air flowing through the tuk tuk changed from cool to damp and then gradually back to the tropical heat we’d become familiar with, and the rising temperature announced our time in the hills had come to an end.
Grateful for: strangers who greet you like family, whether in the middle of a tea plantation or in a plastic restaurant chair