Sigiriya

Sigiriya, Sri Lanka

The former, ancient capital of Sri Lanka is set on top of Lion Rock in the Central Province of Sri Lanka. Sigiriya or “Lion Rock” is a column of rock that juts straight up out of the jungle. We arrived early, as we often do in Sri Lanka, to avoid the heat and crowds. We hadn’t planned on hiring a guide, but Lall found us in the parking lot and we couldn’t say no to his warm smile or his endless knowledge of the UNESCO site. While researching for this post, I learned Lall is an Indian name that means “lovely,” and it sure did fit. While the kids swung on vines, like swings from trees outside the museum Lall navigated Paul through the multi-step ticket buying process.

Once we crossed the moat surrounding the grounds, Lall began to paint pictures in our minds of lush green gardens and baths filled with all of the kings lush ladies. The perfectly symmetrical gardens and expertly crafted irrigation system gave way to a cool forest at the base of the rock where the climb began. Passing through the cobra shaped stones and damp frescoed caves, giant stone steps wound us to a plateau at the mouth of the lion. Lall was sure to point out the adjacent tent which had been provided by UNESCO, to protect visitors in the event of a wasp attack. I had read about these wasp attacks, but he assured us this was not the season for wasps. We proceeded beneath a spray of water seeping through the rock face and between the remains of the former, grand entrance to the rock: two giant, stone lion paws and crept up to the top.

At the top of the plateau, the wind played on the surface of the water in the step-wells and we took in the 360 degree view of the island and the remains of the palace, before descending the slender metal staircase. About halfway down the stairway (you were waiting for this) I glimpse a blur of saffron-clad monks, running. I’ve been here for three years and I have seen my share of monks, but never, have I ever seen them running. Which strikes me in that moment with just a touch of wonder, when all of the sudden I notice our guide turn to us and motion wildly for us to sit down. “Get down!” We do, just as the roar of a swarm of “off season” wasps begins to fill my ears. They came, thankfully, as quickly as they went, and we briskly (as briskly as one can cling to a shard of steel clipped to a cliff) make it back through the lion paws to solid ground.

The moral of the story, if you need one, is that if you ever see monks running, let that be a signal that something is amiss.

We aren’t typically ones for tourist traps like holding snakes buying magic wooden boxes, but after months of longing to get back out into the world we’ve decided, for now, that everything is worth exploring. Which also made the Jetwing a perfect stay near the rock. With loaner bikes and sprawling grounds, we strolled and cycled through tunnels of bamboo, along rice paddies and through a small floodway. In the evening we swam in the lakeside pool and dined to the chorus of a thousand frogs under the stars.