The most vivid memory from my adventures in Sri Lanka is the trip to Adam’s peak. The 2243 metre peak, also known as Samanalakanda (Butterfly Mountain), has multi-denominational religious significance and the walk up has served as a pilgrimage for over 1000 years. Buddhists call it the peak of Sri Pada (Sacred Footprint), as they believe an indentation on the summit is the footprint of Buddha. Hindus think this crater is the mark of Shiva, Muslims that of Adam, and some Christians believe the indentations were caused when Christ's Apostle, St. Thomas, prayed at the peak. But enough of all that; I'd heard the views from the top boasted the most humbling of Sri Lanka’s hill country, so off I went.

I arrived at the base of Adam’s Peak in time for dinner. Scattered amongst tree-clad slopes were a few very primitive family homes where, for a nominal fee, ‘pilgrims’ are fed and bed. Although perfect for our simple needs, due to the climate, everything in The Green House (my home, shared with around ten other walkers) felt damp to the touch. A film of mist quickly covered my skin. Intoxicating smells from the kitchen beckoned me to a communal table. Over a delicious meal of lentils, rice and veg, the conversation, full of anticipation, flowed effortlessly despite at least five different first languages. A guide regaled the peak’s history and all first timers grabbed the opportunity to ask anything and everything. What if I run out of water? You can buy water on the way. Is it cold at the top? Most definitely. Erm...has anyone ever died trying this?!!

We retired to bed early in preparation for stupid o’clock. The palpable reason for a pre-dawn call was to avoid the heat of the day, the dividend being to make it to the top before sunrise for the full extraordinary experience…although I can’t imagine anyone actually slept. Having supped on a variety of travellers’ previous experiences, I for one was sh**ting myself. At the time I was NOT in great physical condition and fear was creeping through the vents in my Bridgedale Comfort trail socks!

At 3am, suitably togged for a chilly night's trekking, the fit and fat set off, bleary-eyed, into the dark. After an initially enthusiastic group burst on flat ground, the terrain, lit only by the eerie glow of old rope lights, took on the alarming form of a seriously advanced 4,500-lunge step class. Inevitably the assemblage spread uphill according to stamina and levels of fitness. You might have it in you to run up; locals and whole families of ‘real’ pilgrims (some clearly considerably nearer death than myself…'though apparently in age only) passed by bare foot or in flip-flops! Most of us tourists went at our own steady pace, often stopping out of necessity at path-side shacks for tea and water; also to gather thoughts, catch breath, or in my case (if I’m being completely honest) to sob and to wheeze. The words 'altitude sickness' just don’t conjure up the level of shock that my body went into half way. Despite pre-journey jitters I was surprised by such a reaction. I found it impossible to walk three steps up without needing to step down one, grab my knees and refocus my foggy breath. Who stole my lungs and replaced them with a gerbil's?!! It took the magical words of an Irish nun and a German, lesbian, political speechwriter to scrape me off the dirt stairs and encourage me onwards through the mystical night air. This unlikely pair alone gives a hint at the eclectic mix of interesting people who united en route.

It's hard to describe the gush of elation I felt once I’d reached the top. Surrounded by dying butterflies, peace rang in my ears. I’d joined an unanticipated, respectful silence that had taken hold of every nationality and religion collected there. United, we looked out expectantly at the breathtaking view. All remained mute until the sun rose, casting the long awaited triangular shadow of the peak across the clouds. The toll of the mountain bell marked break of day.

Dense cloud disguised the true geography of the landscape. At first glance I mistook a sheet of white for water. Only when the wind dissipated this apparent lake could I comprehend the true distance from myself to home below.

Having soaked up the atmosphere I began to feel cold and it dawned on me that I would somehow have to get back down...Quelle horreur!

Three hours up is average, I was told, but I managed to cut my return journey time in half. Dangerously overcome with euphoria, I ran - probably the easiest technique when your legs are weighty with fatigue.

Physically and emotionally worn out, I eventually plopped myself down at the table where it had all started and joined in the excited chatter of my fellow 'pilgrims'.

I don't practice a particular religion but can testify that, after such an amazing experience, the cooked breakfast tasted pretty close to heaven!