kandy

after checking out every lower-end guest house listed in our lonely planet, we were depressed and decided to spend the extra few bucks (thanks, Ruta) to stay in a proper hotel. when i woke up the day after our pilgrimage, my entire body was stiff as a board; i pried myself out of bed and did a sort of frankenstein-hobble to the bathroom; it was obvious that that was as far as i was getting. we pampered ourselves like the crippled princesses we were, ordering room service and lying in bed reading all day.

the next morning, Ruta was showing off her limber limbs, laughing at my mountain-ravaged misery; i could walk, but stairs were still ambitious. so i humoured her as we visited the royal botanical gardens (i especially loved the trees inhabited by thousands of fruit bats, clicking and squeaking above us; it gave me the willies), and explored the marketplace and the streets of kandy. we made our arrangements to see the “cultural triangle” (three ancient cities in the north: Sigirya, Polonnaruwa, and Anuradhapura), and after hiring our driver and buying our site tickets, i was begging to go lie down. we did manage to squeeze in a performance of the kandyan dance troupe, a performance of traditional dances with full regalia and masks and drums and everything; the highlight was at the end, when two guys came out and walked on a bed of coals and fire, then took fire sticks and rubbed them all over their bodies, bringing them to their mouths and joining their tongues to those of fire; it made my skin crawl, and i was in pain and horror just watching. it was insane.

the next day we visited the famous Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, where a tooth belonging to Gautama buddha (smuggled to sri lanka in the hair of a princess) is enshrined. what i’ve learned of buddhism is philosophy, so i was sort of surprised to see so many people bringing offerings to little idols littered about everywhere; then again, the mix of hindu and christian belief systems have lent themselves well to the creation of an idol-rich culture. the dagobas (or stupas) are my favorite—the perfect symbol of Faith: in each one there is (supposedly) a secret relic of great historical/religious significance, but nobody knows exactly what’s inside, and nobody can check (because they are completely sealed structures). as our guide so poignantly put it, “we don’t know. we just believe.” another weird/freaky temple in the compound was the oldest one there—750 years old—and the outside was a beautiful mahogany-pillared (all hand-carved) roofed complex that led into a little antechamber that felt like an indian pawn shop in Park Ex. there were a few cases of gaudy silver and gold offerings, two dilapidated ceremonial procession baskets, peeling pastel paint on the sparse walls, and the magnificent centerpiece: a back wall with a hanging glittery painting of some deity, framed by an altar with plastic flowers and…christmas lights. unbelievable. it was actually hard not to laugh, because i was suddenly faced with the absolute ridiculousness of humanity and i myself am part of it, it’s inescapable; i wanted to laugh, because otherwise i would cry.

the inside of the main temple was made of beautiful latticed wood, but also contained a certain tackiness in its religious decor; the wildly coloured resin statues clashed with the ancient stone carvings. i loved the family of wild monkeys who had claimed the roof as their home; dozens of people praying and chanting at the altar of the hidden tooth, and screeching monkeys banging on the tiles and pounding the grated walls, trying to get a piece of the action (or a piece of food). we checked out the national museum and toured the slightly depressing displays with a guide; we both felt torn between absolute boredom and curious interest. our intrigue soon won out over our indifference (and sore feet and rumbling tummies), and we humoured our guide, who ended up giving us loads of cool information about everything ranging from kitchen utensils to ancient ola books, to the royal family, to national fugitives and war heroes. we hobbled out (finally) and decided to have lunch in the hills at an eccentric hotel, Helga’s Folly (temporary home to 1950s hollywood stars, eclectic high society, and well-to-do vagabonds alike). the place was right out of a fantasy, with each room a moody dreamscape boasting a collection of bizarre art and cultural oddities. we wandered through with our jaws agape, and enjoyed a fabulous lunch; our stomachs satiated, we moseyed down to the Weda-Madura Ayurvedic Massage Treatment Center, where Ruta treated us (and my still-sore muscles) to the Supreme Royal Deluxe treatment. i had a girl no older than me massage the hell out of my head, face, body, feet; stick me into a wooden casket posing as a steam-bath; and giggle and ask, “pain?” every time i howled as she karate-chopped my aching calves and thighs. in the end, it was worth being rubbed down in herbal oil (hair included) and scrubbed with an exfoliating natural mix of i-don’t-know-what; i still smell like cloves and molasses (though i’m sure i just made that up, and the oils consisted of altogether different ingredients). after a hot shower and a junk-food dinner, i have unpacked and repacked for the umpteenth time, and am preparing for tomorrow’s final excursion north to the cultural triangle. just a few days left…i am ready to head back to familiar ground. sri lanka has worn me out; i’m tired of the constant attention and “hello? where from? take my tuk tuk!”—the men are on top of me at every turn, and it’s exhausting. at least in israel i can be a tourist in peace (except for in Eilat, but that’s a different story). either way, thoughts of europe have been dancing around in my head, and though i scorn western civilization, i could sure use a healthy dose right about now.