It was about day five of my trip to Krabi when I decided to take a break from island-hopping and explore some of the province’s inland attractions. On the itinerary were the Emerald Pool, famous for its crystal-clear waters, and a few other local sights.

But my real destination was Tiger Cave Temple.

Not the temple itself, mind you. The temple sits comfortably at ground level.

No, I had my sights set on the summit.

The guidebooks will tell you the climb consists of 1,237 steps. What many fail to mention is that the staircase has since been extended.

The current count is 1,260.

“What are 23 extra steps?” I thought.

Famous last words.

By this point in my Southeast Asian adventures, I considered myself something of a seasoned stair climber. I had tackled the climb to Christ the King in Vietnam. I had survived the steep temple stairs of Angkor Wat. I had marched up Doi Suthep in Chiang Mai with only minimal wheezing and no permanent emotional damage.

Surely Tiger Cave Temple would be just another notch on my hiking boots.

Well…

Let me tell you something about temple stairs in Southeast Asia.

They are not really stairs.

They are negotiations.

One step might be six inches high. The next might require the flexibility of a gymnast and the optimism of a Labrador retriever. Some are narrow. Some are steep. Some appear to have been designed by people harboring unresolved issues with tourists.

The climb begins innocently enough.

Wide steps. Gentle grades. Plenty of confidence.

It’s a trap.

Before long the staircase begins rearing upward through the jungle. Handrails become scarce. Shade becomes precious. Gravity becomes personal.

For the most part, it is just you, your pride, and an increasingly strained relationship with your quadriceps.

As I climbed, hikers were already descending from the summit.

I paid them little attention.

This was a mistake.

Had I looked more closely, I would have noticed that every one of them appeared exhausted. These were healthy, energetic people less than half my age, and they looked as though they had just completed basic military training.

That should have told me something.

Instead, I pressed on.

Monkeys watched from the trees with what I can only describe as amused skepticism. Several seemed convinced I would eventually surrender my hat, camera, or dignity.

The staircase occasionally widened into small landings where climbers could pause, catch their breath, and admire the increasingly spectacular views below.

Far beneath me sat the temple grounds.

Beyond that, the city.

And somewhere above, still frustratingly out of reach, waited the summit itself: a giant golden Buddha, a gleaming white pavilion, and panoramic views stretching all the way to the Andaman Sea.

I kept climbing.

Until I didn’t.

Somewhere around the halfway point, I came to an uncomfortable realization.

The mountain was winning.

I wish I could tell you I dug deep and found hidden reserves of strength.

I wish I could tell you sheer determination carried me the rest of the way.

Instead, I sat down, drank some water, looked up at the seemingly endless staircase above me, and officially cried uncle.

Now, I would like to blame the Emerald Pool earlier that day. Surely the hot mineral water had relaxed my muscles a little too effectively.

That is my version of events.

And I intend to stick with it.

Still, as I made my way back down the mountain, something occurred to me.

Travel isn’t really about checking boxes.

It’s about collecting experiences.

Would reaching the summit have been wonderful?

Absolutely.

But standing halfway up a jungle-covered mountain in Thailand, laughing at my own overconfidence while monkeys judged me from the trees, wasn’t exactly a wasted afternoon either.

Sometimes the lesson isn’t that you can conquer every mountain.

Sometimes the lesson is learning which mountains deserve your respect.

Tiger Cave Temple certainly earned mine.

And someday, I plan to return and finish what I started.

After all, the mountain isn’t going anywhere.

And neither, apparently, is my stubbornness.

Until next time.