Exploring the Caves at Dambulla

Traveling can't always be always a fairy tale and it only makes sense that this day would be challenging. After two days biking across vast ruins in one of the hottest parts of Sri Lanka, I climbed Sigiriya in the early morning, quickly packed my bags and caught a tuk-tuk south to the town of Dambulla. I figured I could see the cave temples there and then catch a bus several hours south to Kandy, but it promised to be an exhausting day. The climb to the summit of Sigiriya had been tiring and the day was only getting hotter as I traveled south.

The tuk-tuk dropped me at the cave temple entrance, a gaudy building called the Golden Temple on top of which sat a monstrous 30m-high Buddah image. I passed under the archway and began to ascend the many flights of stairs. Under the midday sun, the heat was oppressive and my shirt was soaked through almost immediately. I climbed and climbed without shade until I reached the cave temples. "Ticket," the guard asked. I pulled out my $40 Cultural Triangle ticket and he shook his head, telling me I had to return to the bottom of the stairs and buy a ticket specifically for the cave temples. I pleaded with him at first, desperate to find a way to avoid making that torturous climb another time, but the guard wouldn't budge. Hot and weary, I became frustrated and angry. I argued for as long as I could and his buddy's laughs only made me more irate. By the time I gave up, I was cursing the man, Sri Lanka and anybody else who dared cross my path. I was furious as I descended the stairs and every person who had begged me for money or to buy their t-shirts or pineapple all got to hear a piece of my mind this time around. I swore to everyone that now I wouldn't even bother seeing their 'damn caves,' but I was even more upset knowing I had no choice but to ascend these sweltering stairs again. I paid my 500 rupees and laughed out loud when they handed me my 'ticket'- a measly receipt. And as I stormed back up the stairs past the beggars and t-shirt peddlers, all they could do was smirk and laugh.

Tossing the receipt at the guard without even looking, I stormed into the Royal Rock Temple. The place was packed with local schoolchildren and I wasn't in the mood to entertain them so I bypassed the first four caves and headed straight to the last. As I entered the cave and saw what lie before me, my sour mood almost instantly dissolved. The cave isn't very large, but nearly every inch of it is covered in elaborate paintings and carved Buddah images, the largest of which is a reclining Buddah that stretches nearly the entire length of the rear wall, flanked by 2 standing Buddahs. The images were even greater than I imagined and as I walked from cave to cave, I couldn't help but be astounded at the work, and very pleased I had made that second climb.

Cave IV was even larger with a small dagoba in the center of the room and 19 meditating Buddahs against the rear wall. A central Buddah figure is seated under a makara torana (ornamental archway) and the ceiling is covered in a very detailed painting showing worshippers, Buddahs, and a checkerboard pattern that flows with the natural waves of the walls.

The third cave (called the New Great Temple) houses 67 Buddah statues in all, along with statues of King Kirti Sri Rajasinghe of Kandy, who had this former storeroom converted to its present state in the 18th Century. On each side are 4 meditating Buddahs, each getting progressively smaller from left to right. A meditating Buddah in the center is enshrined by an elaborate carving that includes 3 dragons and the rear wall has 3 meditating Buddah statues with several standing Buddahs between each one. Elaborate paintings cover the south walls showing dagobas with figures praying and other worshippers holding flowers and facing the a statue of the king. A giant reclining Buddah lay in a nirvana state in front of the east wall, while the north wall features a line of standing figures painted repeated, all facing a red-robed standing Buddah.

Cave II is the largest and arguably the most spectacular, measuring 52m from east to west and 32m from the entrance to the back wall; the highest point of the ceiling at 7m. It is called the Temple of the Great King because of its 2 wooden statues of kings Valagamba and Nissanka Mala. The cave's main Buddah statue was once covered in gold leaf and is situated under a makara torana (an archway decorated with dragons). There are 5 meditating Buddah statues along the east wall, getting smaller from left to right, with paintings on the wall that cause them to appear 3-dimensional. The dagoba in the center of the room is surrounded by 8 meditating Buddahs, 2 with cobras that appear as hoods. The ceiling is covered in brilliant frescoes showing temples, Buddahs, followers praying and a reclining Buddah in nirvana state. There is also a vessel in the room which collects water that constantly drips from the ceiling, even during droughts.

The 1st cave is called the Temple of the King of the Gods, and though it is the smallest, the 15m-long reclining Buddah it houses is one of the cave temple's most impressive sights. There are 2 other statues in the room, a seated Buddah and Ananda, Buddah's loyal disciple, and a small shrine in the corner of the room houses a statue of Vishnu.

The Royal Rock Temple of Dambulla with its 5 caves and 150 or more Buddah statues was an awe-inspiring sight, one that I could never do justice in words. I descended the stairs in my own state of nirvana, overwhelmed with what I had just seen, and exhausted from 4 days of biking, walking and climbing to see so many wondrous ancient sights. I walked past the beggars, vendors and voyeur for the fourth time of the day and this time I shared in their amusement. "Of course I went to the temples," I responded to their taunts. "I came all the way around the world to see this!"

Without a morsel of energy left in my weary body, I boarded the bus for a trip of several hours into the Hill Country of Sri Lanka. To my dismay, there was hardly a space on the bus to even fit my weary body, and I would be stuck standing at least for a couple of hours. As the bus traveled into the hills and their winding roads, I struggled to keep myself standing, clutching both overhead rails, and the driver weaved at insane speeds through the twisting mountain roads. I wondered how much longer I would be able to cope, both physically and mentally, but it was at that point that yet another miracle happened. A man, probably 35 years old, stood up and offered me his seat. Though it seems like a simple gesture, a seat on a local bus is a coveted spot and even women and elderly are forced to stand for hours, only hoping that somebody will depart and a seat will become available. I nearly fell into the seat, unable to even lift my bag, which the thoughtful man did for me. Hardly a word was spoken between us, but the gesture touched me profoundly. I offered him my pineapple pieces and several times mouthed the words "Thank you," hoping to relay my extreme gratitude though my actions felt completely inadequate as the man clutched the railings and for the next two hours was thrown from side to side as weroared into the Hill Country.

The Desert - What a surprise!

For backpackers travelling without popular travel guides (e.g. "Lonely Planet") or people like us, who usually do not know more than the currency rate of the country we are crossing the border of, the South of Peru and North of Chile can be quite a surprise.

After hitch-hiking a plane out of the Peruvian jungle (from Iquitos to Lima, the capital of Peru), we ended up staying with our friend Carla in the Comas district of Lima. A step out of the house and we had a great view onto two sandy hills without any vegetation. The only change in landscape was due to people's houses living on the hills. Carla's house was maintained mainly by her mom and brother who had to clean the dust each second day. If they would not wet the sandy street in front of their house each day, the desert would be in their house soon. We were astonished to see a completely shiny bathroom get covered in dust within only three days. At that time we thought it is only because of the hills which accidently happened to be in Comas. We did not realize that there the desert actually begun.

Moving on towards the South of Peru we noticed that all along the coastal highway was only sand and hills without any vegetation. Everything seemed drier than anything we had seen before. The only light were fields prepared for agriculture, which were showing how much this dry dusty sand can change into fertile ground once it gets watered.

Staying in Tacna (southern most Peruvian town) showed us more clearly the extremes of temperatures a desert has. During the day we enjoyed modest temperatures, not too hot, not too cold, simply pleasant. The nights got terribly cold though. Also this was not the worst so far since we stayed inside a house, slept inside a bed, and enjoyed all amenities of being "adopted" by a local family. Once it came to the shower, we did try to avoid it since night temperatures got close to zero degrees and ice-cold water showers were its result.

Heading to the Chilean border we still did not get aware of what may be ahead of us. We imagined Chile green and mountaineous. How wrong we were we understood during our first ride in a Chilean truck. We drove along vast areas which were nothing more nor less than pure desert. The Chilean desert is far from the Saharan like picture. It consists of mountains and hills covered by stones, sand, and salt. Sometimes a green valley appears (an oasis), where surprisingly many people live.

We also got a chance to stay for a couple of days in Lluta valley (Valle de la Lluta), about 10km North-East from Arica, which is close to the Peruvian border. Since my geographic lessons at school, I was dreaming to get to an oasis, and now I was staying right there. An amazing feeling. You leave the main road and you enter a green spot which never would let you guess you ended up in the desert. Water flowing in rivers, birds chasing each other through bushes and fields, greens instead of dust on our shoes. Life everywhere.

With few hazzles we arrived to Iquique, where the whole picture of the desert gets the biggest and most ridiculous contrast a desert can have: the sea. How can a desert exist if it has the sea right aside? Difficult to understand, especially when living right on the sea, being "guarded" by two huge mountains of sand in the back of our friends house.

We continued our trip through Chile by visiting Pica. Wind seems absent in this 95°F (35°C) degree hot oasis, and nights are way more warmer than we were used to. Pica's plus: a tranquil tiny town with several thermal baths reachable by foot. A little paradise if it only was not so terribly hot during the day.

The driest desert of the world - the Atacama desert - was our next stop. Our destination - San Pedro de Atacama. The road seems endless. The time waiting in the heat for a ride equals ages. We succeeded though, after spending a night in a service station on the crossroad towards Calama. Water is precious and expensive here, but through a warm-hearted lady in the service station we managed to get sufficient drinking water for free. Her boss should not know, though.

San Pedro - a famous tourist destination in the Atacama desert. The main reason coming here was a chance to earn a bit for our living on the road by programing a website (Augustas speciality) for one agency selling horse rides. Stephanie, a Swiss girl dedicating her momentary life to work with horses leading tourists along unforgettable desert trails, cared for us in every possible way. Through her we enjoyed San Pedro, survived 23°F (-5°C) or less degree cold nights in our tent, got hot showers, a place to work, rest, eat, and even a horse ride. With her we found a great friend. Thank you, Stephanie!

San Pedro and the Atacama desert seemed to be the most extreme places we have experienced so far in the desert. The days are hot. Sun burns skin immediately, if not having a 60+ suncreme at hand. Lips break like paper, hands turn old, dry, ugly. Eyes get hurt without sun glasses. Nights are freezing cold. 23°F (-5°C) or less degrees are not inviting to camp, but we had no other choice.

Though it is beautiful. Walking at 4 a.m. to the Moon Valley for enjoying the sun rise, riding gracefully through Death Valley, falling over a long dead horse, witnessing the leftovers of a goat served as a dinner, listening the wistles of animals living below earth. Nothing so extreme, nothing so beautiful. The desert is magic.

El Fin del Mundo

Disfrutate! Estas al fin del mundo!

(Enjoy yourself! You're at the end of the world!)

I only have a few more hours at the end of the world. I'm in Ushuaia, Argentina (the southernmost city in the world). It is roughly 1:15 am, and I have to catch a bus to El Calafate, Argentina in less than four hours, and then across the Chilean border to the sleepy port town of Puerto Natales. It should be one of the more pleasant 20 hour bus rides I can think of. Driving across the island of Tierra del Fuego as the sun rises, boarding a ferry to cross the Strait of Magellan, and onward towards some of the most prized peaks in the Andes.

Nice.

This past week in Ushuaia has been one for the books, for sure. The hostel I'm at has easily been the best hostel I've stayed at on this trip. Exceptionally clean, great music, heated floors, friendly staff with great smiles, free breakfast, coffee, tea, $1.50 for a liter of Quilmes, unbelievable views of the Beagle Channel and los Dientes de Navarino (the teeth of Navarino, a jagged Chilean mountain range across the channel). Boating through the Beagle Channel, the same waters Captain Fitzroy and his companion Charles Darwin sailed nearly two centuries ago. But the best thing about this week has been the people I've met here. I bumped into three guys from Calgary my first morning in town, with whom I went trekking in Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego. We got absolutely pounded with rain, but managed to have a pretty deep conversation whilst doing some primetime birdwatching. Three guys I will definitely contact when I find myself in the Canadian Rockies.

My second day I ran into two girls from Salt Lake City, a guy from Philadelphia, a guy from Ann Arbor, and another girl from New Zealand. Some the closest friends I've made inside of 30 minutes. I'm not sure if all of us were relieved to transcend the recycled, surface-level Spanish conversations we've been having, or if we were all supremely compatible. But we fell into one of the friendlier rythyms around within the first few hours. Joking, laughing, asking fairly personal questions without thinking twice. Something usually only good friends do. We spent a few days clambering around the city, traversing the sides of snowy mountain faces and through rainy mushroom forests, and had one giant pot luck dinner. Perhaps the best days of my trip were spent with that group of people marching around Tierra del Fuego.


It's too bad that they all have gone their respective ways already. It would have been nice to have somebody to walk with today... I took a stroll through the woods just north of the city to check out the fall colors. Everything was going well, birds chirping, good weather, good tune in my head, boppin' right along. But as I was nearing the end of my walk, I heard a pretty ferocious bark. I looked up and saw a very hungry dog running at what seemed its top speed directly towards me. The only thing I could think to do was yell "HEY! HEY! HEY!" I thought by making a bit of noise the dog would stop, or at least pause. But what my 'hey hey hey' must have sounded like to him was "I AM MADE OF THE MOST DELICIOUS LEMON PEPPER STEAK AND I WILL DISAPPEAR IF YOU DO NOT CONSUME ME WITHIN THE NEXT 4 SECONDS!" I thought the dog had already been running at top speed, but when I yelled, it picked up its pace at least two fold. I really had no time to respond, so I kind of braced for a big angry dog-pouncing. It came within five or six feet of me and started pacing, barking as aggressively as I've seen a dog bark, showing all of its teeth. Some dogs bark while wagging their tail, showing you that they're making noise but have no real intention of chewing your legs. But this dog had serious intent in its eyes. I've never before been afraid of a dog, but this dog scared the absolute daylights out of me... It somewhat cornered me against a thick patch of trees, and I thought it was going to make its move. I was still about 1 km away from town, so I figured I'd better try to get the dog before it got me. I grabbed my half full nalgene bottle thinking that it would actually impact the dog's behavior if I threw it at him. I raised my arm to throw the bottle, and the dog backed up a few feet. Suprisingly. (Although I have seen dogs back away from a potential rock throw throughout Argentina). I did this a few more times, all the while backing my way down the trail. I kept backing away until the dog was no longer visible behind a bend in the trail and then took off on a dead sprint towards town. I turned around within 5 seconds or so to see the dog sprinting towards me, teeth exposed. I stopped and grabbed a rock, turned around and raised my arm to throw. The dog stopped. This trend continued two more times until I finally threw the rock, missing him by about a foot or so. I collected more rocks and uneasily made my way back home until the dog finally decided that I simply had too many rocks. Given the fact that I was already bitten by a pretty angry dog in Bariloche about two weeks ago, I assumed that this dog would also not hesitate to bite and bite and bite me. I don't know how long the whole ordeal lasted, but I wouldn't put it much over three minutes. And even though I've never before been remotely afraid of a dog, I will say that these were three of the most genuinely frightening minutes of my life.

At least dogs in Patagonia don't have rabies. Or so they say...

Onward to southern Chile!