Honeymoon Travelogue: From Serendipity to Paradise

Part 1 - Sri Lanka

The 11-hour flight with Sri Lankan Airlines from Heathrow to Colombo was anything but smooth - the usual stress of long haul compounded by broken meal trays, malfunctioning TV's and staff who were rude to say the least - but it was wonderful to finally be on our honeymoon. After having marvelled at the duty free shops in Bandaranaike Airport, which sold household appliances like washing machines and refrigerator alongside the more usual booze, perfumes and sweets, we were met by a very rainy Land of Serendipity and our cheerful guide Lal.  And so we were off. 


Every travel agent we'd spoken with before booking the honeymoon had assured us that February in Sri Lanka would be glorious sunshine all day long. This year was different, however, for it was the year of La Niña with a vengeance (as I've noted here before).


We knew about the recent floods in Sri Lanka, and when we checked the five day weather forecast the night before leaving, the whole island was covered by what looked like a washing machine stuck on the soak cycle - so we were prepared. 


For all its efforts, however, the weather never managed to dampen our spirits as we were too busy enjoying ourselves.


So, in this post, dear reader, I'll try to share with you some of the things we did, saw, heard and learnt on what was to be the best holiday I or my amazing wife have ever had.


Kandy and the sacred sacred tooth


The first stop for our motley crew - driver, Tom, his assistant, Jerry (I kid you not), the aforementioned Lal, and six English couples a good bit older than us - was the city of Kandy, the cultural capital of this Jewel of the Indian Ocean. It's the second city of Sri Lanka, situated in the centre of the country, and we would begin our tour with a visit to the Temple of the Tooth.

Temple of the Tooth

The temple is a place of pilgrimage for Buddhists from Sri Lanka and abroad. It was built in the 17th century to house what's believed to be the left upper canine tooth of Siddharta Gautama, the Lord Buddha himself. Most of what one sees today, however, has been added on since, and the moat is pretty much the only remaining original structure. 


According to legend, the tooth was taken from the Buddha as he lay on his funeral pyre and then smuggled into Sri Lanka by Princess Hemamali who hid it in her hair. (Even Lady Gaga would have difficulty topping this particular fashion accessory!) The relic became the foremost symbol by which Sri Lanka's kings asserted their legitimacy and this temple is one of many that have been built to house it.

We didn't actually get to see the tooth itself - a privilege reserved for high llamas and other dignitaries - but the two-storey shrine which holds the relic is impressive. The structure is resplendent with gems and huge elephant tusks, and intricate paintings depicting the life of the Buddha. 


Sri Lankas buddhists believe that they are required to make the pilgrimage to the temple at least once over their lifetime. And we saw a constant flow of people going to worship before the shrine, most having brought beautiful flowers with them to leave as offerings. This, they believe, improves their karma.

The bustling streets of the Kandy's city centre were filled with tuk-tuks and other traffic - and judging by how they, we and even the lorries were constantly overtaking each other, drivers here  fancied themselves as rally aces. Each small shop on the street seemed to sell everything from fruit and veg to high end electronics, and there were reams of confetti hanging across streets and around houses - something you see everywhere in Sri Lanka - with blue denoting affiliation with the ruling political party (UPFA) while green belongs to the opposition party (NDF).


It was difficult to make out much else of Kandy due to its distinct topography and lush vegetation. This city of over 3 million inhabitants lies at the northern tip of the Hathana mountain range. As a result, the residential areas outside of the of the commercial  centre had literally been built into dense forests and hillsides of the mountain range. These communities were in effect camouflaged by astonishing amounts of greenery:  palm trees, cycads and a myriad of heliconias wherever you looked.



After Lal almost got us arrested for using a short cut out of the temple, we were brought to see traditional Kandyan dancing at Kandy's cultural centre. The building itself was dilapidated and a health and safety nightmare to boot - it took over half an hour for people to file out of the auditorium through the only exit, and this was after a show with plenty of real fire and sparks - but the dancing itself was fantastic. 


The dances were stories, the protagonists of which were animals like peacocks, birds and, this one, cobras:

After an evening filled with delicious curries, devilled pork and fluorescent green rice washed down with diluted red wine, we looked forward to the next day's trip to the Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage. 


Big Friendly Giants


Pinnawela Petting Zoo would describe the place better as the focus seemed to be more on tourism rather than conservation, but the orphanage is still an invaluable place for elephants who have trouble living in the wild. 


The residents included orphaned little Dumbos, while some had been mistreated by their owners, and we met one old fellow who's leg had been blown off by a mine during the civil war.


According to Lal, the conflict began after the "Sinhala Only Act" of 1956 declared that Sinhalese was to replace English as the infant state's official language. The policy understandably alienated the minority population of Tamils, mostly Hindus, who were effectively disenfranchised as every official document and activity had to be conducted in a language they did not speak. 

After initial demonstrations and rioting, the Tamil's began moving to the north of the island, and their efforts to achieve equal rights gradually hardened into a call for total independence. The Tamil Tigers were formed to pursue this goal by any means necessary, leading to a bloody and drawn out civil war.  


Their choice of name and symbol, incidentally, resulted from how Sri Lanka's flag depicted a lion, the king of the jungle. The Tamils, then, adopted the tiger, or prince of the jungle, if you will - even though the island has none of either.


The conflict ended in May 2009 after over three decades of fighting and atrocities by both sides. These days both languages are officially recognized - and Lal said it was remarkable how fast the population have chosen to move on and nowadays no-one really talked about it anymore. 


But I digress. It was the first time either of us had met these majestic creatures at such close proximity - and they certainly didn't disappoint. Although not as large as their African cousins, the Asian Elephant (elephas maximus) is still huge to say the least. But they were also docile, friendly and gentle - until, that is, when a few began running around the place in frenzied anticipation of feeding time. 


It was impressive to see how fast the elephants downed a litre of milk - which comes as little surprise, of course, given how these giants eat some 75-kilos of green matter each and every day.


We then had the pleasure of watching elephants being bathed in the river while we indulged in a delicious buffet at a restaurant a little upstream - something I certainly don't remember happening in my home town. 


It was truly wonderful meeting some of these gentle giants and I recommend it to everyone, and not just because tourism is the orphanage's main source of income. Indeed, Sri Lanka's elephant population has fallen dramatically over the last century, from almost 15,000 to some 3000 surviving today - so hopefully places like this will help to ensure that the trajectory of their numbers would henceforth move upwards.

As we left the orphanage to visit a tea plantation, we stopped off at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Kandy, which was fitting for us as we'd been married two months prior at London's Kew Gardens. The flora was pretty, and the orchid house was stunning, but, for me, the most interesting part was the fauna: giant bats, each the size of a cat, and just like the ones that had so freaked me out when I first saw Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom as a young'un. 

I was also impressed by the Scorpion Man - as we named him - a park employee with a lucrative side operation of his own. He walked up to us offering a chance to touch a poisonous scorpion which he dangled on a leaf, but just looking at it was enough for me and I instead handed him a few hundred rupees to take the deadly insect away.

Time for a cuppa


Tea was introduced to Sri Lanka in 1852 by a British planter called James Taylor. Since then, it's become Sri Lanka's main export, far outstripping its closest competitors: cinnamon, gems and textiles. 


The tea plantation we visited was like going back in time to the age of steam. All except one of the machines in use was over a hundred years old, while the time tables and rotas were kept on a chalk boards. 


Although fortunate to have a job, the tea pickers are only paid a 150 rupees per day, which,  in London, is equivalent to about a can of Coke. And the pickers, all of whom were women, would only be paid for their day's work if they managed to pick more than the minimum amount of, I think, two kilos of fresh tea leaves. What an incredibly tough job.


We also learnt that pretty much every type of tea is made from the same plant. The several distinct varieties are the result of differences in the oxidization process, i.e. the length of time the leaves are dried for. Before leaving, we were told that our PG Tips and Liptons are made from the left-overs of the good stuff, which is mainly consumed in Russia, Asia and the Middle East.


Afterwards, we also learnt about Sri Lankan attitudes to building. Local houses and shops, and other small construction projects were in most cases paid by loans from banks which would usually only lend enough for one floor at a time. As a result, the majority of houses had been left in a state whereby another level could easily be added at a later date. 


In front of most building sites, which were small affairs, you could also see a scarecrow. This was a local defence against the envious eyes of neighbours and passers by - the green eyed monster being capable of jinxing an otherwise sound project. Some sites also had a pumpkin dangling from a rope, a natural clock that dictated the builder's deadline: get it done before the pumpkin rots, or risk having your pay docked.


The magic mountain



After a few hours of little rain and plenty of overcast, the heavens opened again on our way to the cave temples of Dambulla. Although the caves on this mountain, situated some 72 kilmotres from Kandy, were inhabited by humans over 2700 years ago, the current look and feel of the place - think Indiana Jones - dates back to the 1st century BC. 


So far, over 80 caves have been found, which together hold 153 statues depicting the Buddha sleeping, meditating and reclining; and several kings and various gods and goddesses. The buildings that lead into the caves are more recent (1938), but they still add to the mystique of this mountain, especially when the rain is falling with monsoon-like force.

I had never seen anything like it: cave after cave of Buddha statues and stupas (the Buddhist equivalent to the Christian cross, which often contain valuable relics), many of which are over two thousand years old, and carved from the mountain itself. 


The walls are covered with gloriously coloured paintings of geometrical patterns and cosmological visions. One showed the Buddha being tempted by demon-like manifestations of his human desires, while another, quite fittingly for our visit, pictured the meditating Buddha being shielded from the rain by the hood of a helpful cobra that had entwined itself around him.

The mysterious leak

Desires tempting the Buddha

The caves are also home to a centuries old unsolved mystery: one of the chambers has a leak in its ceilings, from which water has been dripping since the caves were first decorated by the monks inhabiting them - back in the days when, in far off Europe, Rome was still a republic. The drip has never ceased, not even during the worst droughts - and, still, to this day no one knows where the water comes from. UNESCO has spent the last seven years methodically searching for the source - with no success.


A pot has been placed to hold the mysterious water, and it is overlooked by several meditating Buddhas, who, I felt, know more about the mystery than they would have us believe.

While we were entranced by this magical place, dusk had arrived and the rain had begun to fall even harder. The path leading down from the mountain is made of cobbled stones and steps of varying width and height, but by the time we began our descent it was overwhelmed by water rushing down to sea level, and the little light we had to navigate this treacherous path was giving way to the darkness of night - a tad too swiftly for our liking because there were few artificial lights there to guide us.


This, of course, was not a recipe for a safe or leisurely walk, but it certainly added to the mystique of the dark mountain, home to god-like beings, hallucinatory visions and age-old mysteries. By now, even the tourists with colourful umbrellas and soaked trainers seemed to have transformed into pilgrims, nervously helping each other down the path, step by slippery step.


We finally made it to base camp, relieved but also exhilarated. Each of us was drenched, but the feeling we shared was one of having just experienced something magical and dangerous - an addictive combination, for sure.


The drive from Dambulla to our next hotel in Habarana, where warm showers and clean clothes awaited us, continued was equally, if not more, dark, damp and dangerous. The torrential rain continued and stretches of the road, having been tested so severely over the last few weeks, had simply disintegrated into ponds interspersed with potholes. Our driver, Tom, was forced to navigate the road at a pace even snails would snigger at - something he wasn't happy about because, as already mentioned, Sri Lankans like their driving fast and furious. Even still, at times the wheels of the van were literally gliding on the water, which was an interesting sensation, for sure, but one I would rather not experience again.


Polonnaruwa The Great


The next morning the sun came out and we were off to Polonnaruwa, the medieval capital of Sri Lanka. The Hindu invaders of the Chola dynasty had captured the city in 993, but the Sinhalese king, Vijayabahu I, defeated the occupiers in 1070 by taking advantage of how the Chola were distracted by unrest in Southern India.


Trade, agriculture and art began to flourish during the reign of Vijayabahu's grandson, Parakramabahu I (1153-1186), and he is revered in Sri Lanka as an almost mythical ruler. Indeed, the ruins provide ample evidence of some of his great achievements. 


The area is vast and littered with homes, temples, shrines, parliamentary chambers and swimming pools, along with lots of monkeys running around the place. 


The people that had inhabited this city were obviously much smaller than today's Sri Lankans, for the rooms and corridors are tiny even in the king's palace. But wandering around this sprawling city, or what's left of it, it takes little time to see how incredibly skilled they were. 


Some temples still stand several stories high, even after the jungle had claimed this area for centuries. The people of Polonnaruwa also modified the surrounding countryside by building vast artificial lakes that were used as reservoirs for irrigation systems, many of which still work today. The Parakrama Samudrayama water tank is so large that it's been known as the Sea of Parakrama - and the name still rings true.


The artistry and skill of Polonnaruwa's bricklayers and sculptors was also plain to see in countless temples and administrative buildings, and many of their outer walls were adorned with inspired reliefs that still manage to look delicate yet imposing.


The area is full of temples for the Buddha, but there are also Hindu temples, like the Shiva Devale temples for fertility. In one of them, women still leave offerings of milk and, if I remember correctly, cinnamon in front of a phallic shrine so as to placate the gods and ensure offspring.

Some of the structures were made of large asymmetrically shaped stone slabs that slotted together so neatly that one would think their joints must have drawn afterwards to create such an illusion. The walls were often filled with ancient sinhalese writing - like European cathedrals were often built to tell biblical and classical stories on their facades.

A short drive away, which felt slower than the moss growing on the ruins as a result of some seriously large pot holes, was the most impressive part of this ancient town.


The Buddha statues at Gal Vihara are a stunning testament to endeavour, skill and tenacity, not to mention the human will to mould the world to his liking, whatever the effort involved. 


These four gigantic Buddhas have been carved from a huge wall of granite. What must have gone through the minds of the artisans charged with this monumental task when they first looked at the mountainous stone and realised the amount of work they had in store? Or can you imagine the cheek of whoever gave them the job: "right so, here's a stone the size of several double decker buses. Now get your chisel out, good chap, and carve it into some perfect representations of the Buddha." 


The stunning results, however, make one shut up and just marvel at how malleable stone is when faced with such hardy material as we humans are made of.

The largest statue depicts the reclining Buddha and is over 14 metres. It is distinguished from a sleeping Buddha by how the toes on his feet are not in a straight line. The fact that one leg seems shorter than the other symbolises that this is the moment of his death, the last spasm of his worldly body. For Buddhists, this is the moment when Gautama achieved parinirvana, of awakening and being released from the cycle of reincarnation.

A bit of advice: it is deemed disrespectful to pose by a Buddha with your back facing the statue

Back in the real world, tragedy


Our journey back from Polonnaruwa was a sombre affair, however. Although we were some distance from the worst affected areas in the east of the country, the human impact of the recent and continuing flooding had become depressingly obvious on the roads we travelled that day.


For us, the near constant rain was a slightly disappointing turn of events given how any other year we would've been piling on the sun block in an attempt to only burn our skin up to a healthy looking tan. For the people who lived on and off this beautiful land, however, the consequences from the freak weather were disastrous.

We drove past rice fields that had been completely submerged under what looked like the lakes built by Parakramabahu The Great. Each destroyed field heralded hunger and meant a year of hard toil laid to waste - and that's before considering the effort involved in making the fields productive again.


Countless roads, as well, had been rendered impassable, thus marooning whole communities with only scant access to food, fresh water and medicines. 


We saw families shielding their - what for us would be - meagre possessions from the flood waters. Some were laying down sand bags while others were busy digging ditches so as to divert the deluge. Despite all their efforts, however, several homes had already been swamped by the ever rising waters.


On passing one of these, I saw a woman standing in front of what I presume was her home, which had been swallowed up by the muddy brown water. She was holding a baby against her bosom - a sight I will never forget because of the look on her face. I won't try to describe it here - I'm not paid for writing journalistic drama.


The very same evening, in our comfortable hotel room in Habarana, I saw Polonnaruwa again. It had made the headlines on CNN and there were pictures of flooded fields and dozens of abandoned vehicles lining the roads between them. We also learnt that we were now in what was officially the wettest place on the planet.


At least, I thought, we were bringing some money into the country. Even if this was of little or no consolation for those affected by this natural disaster, it was still probably better than nothing.


Herbs and spices


The next day we were due to visit the Sigirya Rock Fortress. But first, we were treated to a tutorial on dozens of well and lesser known plants, herbs and spices, and the various ways they can be used for our benefit.

I must apologize, though, dear reader, as the only details I can remember from the lesson were that red bananas are good for a man's virility, limes are beneficial in pretty much every way and if pepper is only dried, it becomes black, but if it's first soaked, it becomes white. Otherwise, the only thing that stayed with me was how much fun it was being guided through a jungle and being taught about this remedy for that symptom.


This amnesia was, I think, brought about by the spice massage we received in a hut at the end of the walk, which effectively wiped my mind clean of any thoughts, along, it would seem, with the lessons we had just learnt. Perhaps this was a side-effect of the red banana extract they used, or the oil of ulay, who knows, but even if I was none the wiser, I certainly felt a lot better as a result!


Into the lion's lair


And so, refreshed and relaxed, we made our way to the 'Lion's Rock'. Our first sight of the fortress was of a rocky protrusion towering over the surrounding jungle that was partially obstructed by clouds. By the time we got closer, however, the clouds were beginning to lift and we were in for one hell of a treat.

The site had been inhabited by Buddhist monks since the 5th century BC, and the Sigirya defensive complex that we see there today, along with its surrounding gardens, was built in the 5th century AD by King Kashayapa. This happened after he had first killed his father to ensure he, a bastard, would reign instead of the rightful heir, his half brother, Moggallana. Having forcefully made himself king, Kashaypa then swiftly moved court to this location in order to safeguard himself from any reprisals. Once you go there, it's easy to see why.


The gardens themselves were similar to those in Polonnaruwa, with the exception that everything here had been planned and built in one sweep. This was evident from how purposefully and geometrically everything was laid out to fulfil a clear vision - an undertaking somewhat similar, I suppose, to how Baron Hausmann would centuries later raze and then reorder 19th century Paris to suit his and his master's (Napoleen III) fancy. As it was, both the city and fortress of Sigirya were built in just 7 years. Amazing, isn't it, the things you can achieve with slave labour.


The feeling one gets when walking up toward the Lion's Rock was that these paths were meant to impress and even scare visitors, so imposing is the colossal rock - the size of a mountain - to which they lead to. To underscore the importance of the place, the paths and structures form straight lines which converge at a vanishing point that just happens to be where the king would hold audiences to those he saw as deserving of his time and attention.


These buildings were built to withstand pretty much anything that his unseated half-brother Mogallana, or anyone else for that matter, could muster. You can still see the how they were built on top of massive stones, with the structures slotting in neatly into carved holes which acted as natural foundation stones.

The aforementioned paths that lead to the entrance of the fortress are also lined with artificial streams, swimming pools and fountains that still work today, a mere 1500 years after they were first built. Quite some plumbers, they must have been.


After Kashayapa fell, the jungle claimed it for centuries and Sigirya was only rediscovered in 1831 by a Major Jonathan Forbes, who first described it as the "bush covered summit of Sigirya." This, as we will see, couldn't be further from the truth, but the first systematic archaeological excavations for the city only began recently, in 1982 to be exact - around the time of Duran Duran (the fortress can be seen in one of their well known music videos, along with Polonnaruwa). No one knows how much of the city still lays hidden underneath that jungle that surrounds it and UNESCO's archaeologists are continuously uncovering new buildings and areas of the city.

The climb to the top of the Lion's Rock consists of a meagre 1200 steps, and, like at Dambulla, many of them were overflowing with water due to the freakish weather. Upon rising above the jungle canopy - what amazing views opened in front of us - we were met by the Mirror Wall, which does exactly what it says on the tin. 


The wall used to extend all around the mountain, but only a section of it remains. Its name comes from how it was treated with bees wax and egg white, giving it an unmistakeable mirror-like shine. Perhaps not clear enough to help today's ladies to apply their make up, but you could still make out broad reflections, a feat in itself considering how old it was.


The wall might also be one of the oldest graffiti sites in existence as the strict warnings of fines and imprisonment hadn't stopped people from scribbling on it in various languages, from English to ancient Sinhalese.


From the Mirror Wall, we ascended up a cramped and rusty stairwell - an unnerving experience, it must be said, for those, like myself, who have issues with heights - to gape at the captivating Cloud Maidens.


These are frescoes (paintings made with plaster, thus requiring great skill as the artist has but one chance to get it right before their "canvas" solidifies, literally cementing the picture into the wall) of beautiful women of many types, from Sri Lanka and far beyond.


Some of the luscious ladies might have been members of Kashayapas court, while some are thought to be depictions of goddesses, as is suggested by the way they hover on clouds. The former, lighter ones are called Lightning Princesses while the latter, darker ones are the Cloud Maidens.

There used to be hundreds of these beautiful frescoes, looking down on the city from all sides of the mountain. Unfortunately all but 22 have been destroyed: some by time - tempus edax rerum - but some on purpose by the monks who reclaimed the site after Kashayapa's rule.


Perhaps the ladies simply proved too much of a distraction for the more impressionable of the monks, which would be understandable given their enigmatic smiles and curvaceous bodies. Nevertheless, to knowingly destroy  such masterpieces as these, whatever the reason, is surely unforgivable.


In any case, before I get myself into trouble - I am a newly married man, after all - I feel it wise to leave the last word on these enchanting women to a previous visitor who, in 800 AD, scribbled on the Mirror Wall:


     The lovely girl with golden skin entices the mind and eyes
     Her lovely breasts cause me to recall swans drunk with nectar


 
While the Lion's Rock was a formidable natural fort in itself, the summit of which must have been as safe as any other contemporary fortress, Kashayapa had also built weapons into it. We saw boulders the size of houses that had been placed precipitously on top of stone stilts so that they could be dislodged in an instant. If push came to shove, these gigantic weapons of mass destruction would have thundered down uncontrollably and no doubt inflicted horrendous damage on anything and everything unfortunate enough to be in their path.  

Next we found ourselves in front of two giant lion's paws. These mark the entrance to the top of the mountain, and what a sight it must have been when a whole king of the jungle towered in front of you, at least some four stories high. Today, however, only the paws remain and the rickety stairs that lead to the summit don't quite have the same effect.

On the summit itself was Kashayapa's palace: a large complex of buildings many of which used to be several stories high. There were lodgings and dining rooms for banquets; there was even a swimming pool, the water for which was pumped from springs at the base of the mountain or, during the monsoon, collected from rainwater. 


Except for the pool, the whole summit would have been covered in terraced buildings that were staggered, each row higher than the preceding one, so as to break the wind coming from the plains.


The panoramic views are spectacular to say the least. We were also lucky that the clouds that previously covered the top had evaporated and, now, the the jungle canopy spread out below us, as far as the naked eye could see. 


To the south we could see the Habana mountains,  along with the mystic mountain of Dambulla. In the east, we could see Polonnaruwa, and the artificial lakes of Parakamabahu the Great. The plains beneath us seemed so distant - in fact, it was difficult to believe that we had only climbed 1200 steps to get here, surely whoever counted them must've missed a few!

In its heyday, this must really have felt like a city in the sky - and it's all the more remarkable considering the speed at which it was erected. But just as fast as it was sprung up from the jungle, Kashayapa's crimes would come back to haunt him, ending his short spell as king and causing his magnificent city to crumble and be lost for centuries.


For Mogallana returned to lay claim to his birth right. He came with help from Indian armies, and Kashaypa's hubris caused him to make a fatal blunder. Although it would have been virtually impossible for the opposing armies to reach the summit, it was so well protected, Kashayapa chose to meet his brother's forces head on. The fog of war was to separate the king from his bodyguards and, isolated and effectively surrounded, he chose to slit his throat rather than surrender to his half-brother's forces.


Thus, after Kashayapa's 18 reign, Mogallana became King of Sri Lanka in 495 and he moved his court to Anuradapura, converting Sigirya into a monestary. The monks who inhabited it thereafter did their best to erase this patricidal egomaniac from history, allowing most of the gardens and the palace itself to be reclaimed by the jungle.

On the way back to the hotel, Lal pointed out some tree houses beside the rice fields. He told us of how, each night, the farmers here would take turns to sit in them in order to prevent pigs from coming to feast on their crops. They would  sing to themselves what, to us, would sound like lullabies so as to stay awake and, perhaps, keep themselves company as well.


What a beautiful image, I thought: a quiet countryside where the darkness of night is broken by regularly interspersed torches in tree houses, where men sing lullabies that echo gently over the rice fields, while awaiting for the returning light of morning.


And, so, this story of our journeys on this beautiful island in the Indian Ocean came to a close.

NEXT STOP: PARADISE...