A week with Wagner… “Interesting”.
Our arrival into Anuradhapura was a late one. We wandered through the bustling new town, surprised to see such a commercial looking area whilst being only a stone’s throw from the famed Sacred City. We awoke to find that another of our train companions, Pablo, had also decided to drop anchor at the same hotel as us. He explained his reason for coming to the area was he was about to undertake a 10 day meditation at a nearby temple whereby he would sit still, eyes closed for 10 hours each day, and during the whole time there he would be undertaking a vow of silence, eating only small vegetable meals for sustenance.
Later that day was the bicycle tour around the sacred city. The 14km loop included 3 of the largest dagoba we had seen so far, a number of hydraulically filled pools (old school style), countless temple ruins, and an abundance of monkeys. The bikes were Sri Lankan relics of a bygone era in themselves; wonky handlebars, dodgy chains and kickstands large enough to prop up a truck. After a thoroughly enjoyable ride around the city we tuk tuk’d it back to the hotel just in time to catch the first England vs Sri Lanka ODI cricket game at Trent Bridge. Having no understanding of cricket whatsoever, I subsequently taught Michael, a Czech national, everything there was to know about the Lord’s game with the local Sri Lankan lads chipping in to help explain leg before wicket. The match was a stormer, with Sri Lanka making a par total of 286. This was going to be a good chase and was pleased to show Michael how England could perform under fairly good batting conditions and chase down the total. We collapsed to around 80–6, and so Michael retired to bed and I retired into my room to watch the rest of the crumble from my bed, preparing myself for the whirlwind of shit I would get at breakfast from the local lads after I’d already given them a bit of stick for the 2–0 Test win. After Butler and Woakes slapped on a heap of runs, and with the match finishing with Plunkett’s maximum off Prassana to bring home the draw it amounted to one of the most exciting ODI conclusions I’ve had the pleasure of seeing. For anyone who doesn’t give a shit about cricket, I’m writing this for my own posterity and so I can recall what a great evening this was, it can’t all be about you guys.
The next day took us to Mihintale, about 30 mins away by bus from our current base. The temple here is alleged to be one of the first sites that Buddhism came to Sri Lanka and was taught to the King atop a rocky summit of a nearby hill. The site was since blessed with the presence of a number of dagoba, both maintained and left to entropy, and the usual seated Buddha statue.
Before our ascent to the temple we met a local lad named Krishan who was extremely keen to practice his French. In what became a surreal tour of the local museum, I entertained his desire and proceeded to learn all about the local Ayurvedic hospital, the first in southern Asia at 50BC, in a Gallic fashion translating the odd bit that wasn’t written in English on the signs in plain sight for Gemma and Michael. Only Gemma and I went up to see the temple as Michael was too cheap to pay 500 LKR (ie £2.50) to see a great view of the surrounding area, leaving him instead near one of the free dagoba.
The tour at the top was stunning, being the few days late to the party that we were, and as a full moon festival had occurred merely days before, we were still treated to a highly decorated environment as the desire to take down decorations clearly hadn’t struck the locals yet. Nor had a little bit of litter picking I might add. We sat for a while watching the folly of apes, as they gratuitously consumed the flowers left atop the altars at the dagoba, we saw across the valley a white shirted figure on top of a rocky outcrop. It was Michael. Of course it was Michael. He’d seen a big rock and the thought had gripped him like a schoolboy. We descended from the temple and went to join him atop the rock to watch the sun go down and during our time there we were entertained by a group of schoolboys, all aged 14 but looking more like they spanned the ages 8 -18 as the hormones bloomed erratically across the bunch. They also asked if Michael, aged 21, was my son, with myself being a tender 28. Kids are fucking stupid. Having enjoyed the company particularly of one brilliant little lad, who we decided to call John Cena after the wrestler, we said goodbye to the merry band.
We moved next to Dambulla, a base for our next venture to Sigiriya and its amazing ruins. However, being the cheap bastards that we are, we walked up the hill next door for around 1/7th of the price. Why not? It’s the same view, and at least we get to SEE Sigiriya. The ascent was a little sketchy in places, with occasional side paths and caves accessed by dubious wooden ladders, that snapped under Michael’s weight on his descent! Our bravery was rewarded and we were met with the usual stunning views across the plains with the odd eruption of verdant, flora draped peaks and needle tips of temples, flashing white and gold in the afternoon sun.
We stopped off at the Gold Temple and Rock Temple, situated very close to our guest house and after a rather lengthy step climb, we were treated to some pretty stunning cave paintings, although a far cry from what we saw in the Perigord Noir in France. They do cheat a little here by plastering the cave walls first, but it does help to preserve the vibrancy of the murals.
Settling down to our final evening of rest, our sights set on the infinite, serene beaches of the North East coast towards Trincomalee and Michael’s sights set towards the Central Province and Kandy, we will be breaking our union with our European friend. A time that has been memorable and altogether too brief. Seems somewhat poignant in the current circumstances.
