The day before I ascended Adam’s Peak, I formulated a creative plan to get to the ancient Sri Lankan rock fortress of Sigiriya immediately after the climb. Since the traditional Adam’s hike begins just after midnight and ends just after dawn, I figured I’d skip a second night in the trailhead-town of Dalhousie and head straight for Sigiriya once I’d come down from the peak.
I could have done this via a standard series of tuk-tuk and bus transfers, but since I knew I’d be operating on next to no sleep (and since I figured I’d be saving money by skipping a hotel night) I decided to try and hire a car. My initial queries with travel agents yielded quotes of around $100 for the five-hour trip, which was more than I wanted to spend. When I casually mentioned my plan to a tuk-tuk driver in Dalhousie’s market square, however, he asked around and found a local guy, Sanun, who told me he’d take me to Sigiriya in his minivan for just $50.
Sanun’s original offer was that, having paid the $50, I could sell off the other seats in the minivan to fellow travelers, but after a night of climbing up (and down) Adam’s Peak I didn’t have the energy to go out and recruit passengers. Reasoning that $50 is less than I sometimes pay for dinner in New York (and since I’d already saved money by skipping a hotel night), I elected to enjoy the novelty of having the van to myself for the five-hour journey to Sigiriya.
The resulting experience, I’d like to think, was kind of like riding in a limo, if that limo was in fact a dusty minivan that blasted Sri Lankan pop music and had no functioning seatbelts. With a flourish, Sanun flipped the bucket seat in back around, so that I could prop up my feet and position my luggage on the seats beside me. Sprawled across those seats I felt – if not exactly like a limo-celebrity or a king – like the sovereign of my own little mobile hostel lounge.
Long-haul road trips have a way of making you feel time in a way you aren’t accustomed to experiencing, and I made the point of avoiding podcasts and books during the transit. Gazing out the windows as the mountains and tea plantations sped by outside, I tried to remind myself not to take Sri Lanka for granted, that I might not see this same landscape ever again, that – despite occasional moments of boredom or banality – I wanted to try my best to be right there, in the moment.
Note: “Dispatches” are short vignettes, profiles, and mini-essays written and posted from the road, often in tandem with my Instagram account. For more full-formed writing, check out my book Marco Polo Didn’t Go There, or the Essays or Stories archives on this site. I don’t host a “comments” section, but I’m happy to hear your thoughts via my Contact page.
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