Ancient Cities: Anuradahpura

From Trinco, we took the long bus ride to Anuradahpura. The road no more a single lane wide at any time, rust-colored dirt spilling onto the street from the shoulder, we bumped and lurched over varying degrees of pavement. The country was flat and dry, the sun stifling in the cramped bus full of tangled bodies. On either side of the road, crops and sparse groupings of trees slipped past our windows.

The last of the ancient cities on our list, Anuradahpura was billed as not only the largest grouping of the Unesco-backed ruins, but also the most historically significant for Buddhism in Sri Lanka. With history dating back to the 4^th century BC, ancient Anuradahpura was Sri Lanka’s first big capital city (although the palace ruins turned out to be an unimpressive pile of bricks) and the original landing place of the Buddha’s teachings on the island. We thought we might even need more than a full day to see all of the ruins.

Anuradahpura’s biggest religious draw is the Sri Bodhi, its holy bodhi tree. A branch from the bodhi tree, under which the Buddha achieved Enlightenment, was brought from India to be planted in Sri Lanka, a deathbed request from the Buddha himself (or so the story goes). Not only is the tree of religious significance and a major pilgrimage site, it is also the oldest historically verified tree on earth. Many other trees have been planted in the same area, all direct descendants of the famed Sri Bodhi, which reaches and stretches, supported by poles and cordoned-off from the public. Lankans trampled through hot sand and gravel, prayer flags fluttered, and stray dogs dozed in the shade.

In addition to the Sri Bodhi and its accompanying temple, an assortment of dagobas dot the old city, spread out at random. At each dagoba we removed our shoes to circumambulate the bulbous structures painted such a blinding white they reflect the blue of the sky. We watched the religious make their offerings of flowers and incense, offered lotus flowers ourselves at the busiest of dagobas. Variations on a theme, the dagobas ranged in height and shrine style, but little else.

We did not need more than a day; we did not need more than a morning. Aside from the hushed reverence that surrounds Buddhist temples and provides a nice break from honking buses and shouting tuk-tuk drivers, Anuradahpura was lacking in the experience department. The sun was scorching, the air dry and dust-filled, a thin layer sticking to our sweaty flesh. The dagobas very much in the same style as those we see in Thailand, we were templed-out. Even a snake charmer turned out to be a dud, more grabbing than charming it, the snake de-poisoned anyhow. We were ready to abandon central Sri Lanka’s temple ruins and head to the cooler, greener Hill Country.

After Trauma, Tranquility

For nearly thirty years prior to 2009, Sri Lanka was knee-deep in civil war. In the north and northeast of the tiny island, the militant Tamil Tigers fought for an independent state to call their own. Curious to see post-war recovery, but lacking the time or fortitude necessary for a bus to Jaffna way up north (overland travel in Sri Lanka, given its relatively small size, is inanely slow), we settled on Trincomalee. As a northeastern coastal town, Trinco experienced its share of the fighting.

Our guiding light on our journey was a $4 photocopy version  of the Sri Lanka Lonely Planet purchased in Vietnam, with no discernable publishing date (the handwritten 2012 on the back wasn’t very convincing) and a glossary/index that didn’t always match up to correct page numbers. However, making reference to the end of the war in 2009, we knew it couldn’t be too outdated, its information only moderately inaccurate. In it, Trinco was described as “Baghdad on the sea,” a place where the businesses were all shuttered unless you banged on the clang-down garage doors, where there were few to no guesthouses, and where frequent military checkpoints at bus and train stations and armed roadblocks made travel tedious.

What we found couldn’t have been more different.

Yes, there were some roadblocks, but they were barely manned and everyone just drove around the gates and barbed wire. A number of police officers and military men were stationed throughout the town, but they simply smiled and said hello as we walked past. The town was open and friendly, businesses lining every street, and people constantly wanted to talk to us (and not just to sell us crap).

Curled around a sparkling blue bay, Trinco seemed a city at ease. Residents cruised past, more on bicycles than in cars. The bustling market was stuffed with all manner of fruits, veggies and fish, and was home to a small herd of sambar barking deer. Dilapidated buildings, sun-bleached, paint peeling and flecking away, cement chipped and broken, flanked the streets, but no more than in other parts of the developing, third-world island. 

Trinco’s beach, if not for the garbage that invariably litters all third-world beaches, was borderline postcard-perfect. Crabs sideways-skittered and dipped into the sand. Local women dug for clams, using the headscarves as makeshift clam bags, and Lanka families swam and frolicked in the surf, fully clothed for modesty’s sake.

Perched high upon a cliff, at the very tip of the bay, sits Trinco’s famed Hindu temple. After passing through a military fort, which seemed to double as reservation land for the swarms of sambar deer, and trekking uphill among Hindu worshippers, we came to the temple. Hindu temples are elaborate to the extreme; intricate representations of deities cover the surface, climbing skyward, arms and legs akimbo. Incense wafts, prayers are muttered, foreheads dabbed. Beyond the ceremony, sea and sky stretched endlessly. 

To see this seaside community blossoming, full of life and positive energy, after many long years of devastation was incredibly uplifting. Not only was it far from being the shadowy, militarized post-war experience we were expecting, it turned out to be a lovely couple of days lounging by the beach and exploring the town. 

Ancient Cities: Dambulla

Well-endowed with World Heritage Sites, Sri Lanka is home to a cluster of ancient cities, palace ruins, and incredible old Buddhist temples and monasteries, each with its own unique draw. First on our quest through the ancient cities, due to its proximity to Kandy: Dambulla.

The town of Dambulla is nothing more than a handful of shops, homestays, and “cool spots” (places with cold beverages and the possibility of food), as well as a slew of tuk-tuks, most of which have sprung up due to interest in the Cave Temples.

The Cave Temples are basically two separate temples, one new, one old. At the base of a hill, a flashy new Buddhist temple flaunts a lion-mouth entrance, a museum, and is topped with a giant, seated Buddha. The signs claim that at 30 meters tall it is the tallest Buddha statue in the world, but in reality it isn’t even close, although it is still impressively imposing.

Beyond this temple, a flight of stairs rises swiftly up the hillside. Vendors selling overpriced ice cream, water and souvenirs line the stairways, seeking refuge in what little shade is available.  They are joined by clusters of stray dogs, as well as hordes of chattering, curious families of monkeys.

Upon reaching the summit and removing our shoes, we made the scalding run across the sun-heated stones to reach the temples’ modern entranceways. While the Sri Lankans, after years of walking barefoot on scorching earth, strolled casually, I was forced to run from one patch of shade to another. (This turned out to be a common theme at the majority of Sri Lanka’s holy sites.)

Inside each of the cave temples, cool and damp without the midday sun, resided numerous Buddha statues and images, the size, number and positions tailored to each specific space. The care with which the caves had been converted into temples was evident in the details. Miniature dagobas filled empty spaces, and the soles of the reclining Buddha's feet were elaborately decorated. The ceilings undulated with geometric paintings, and many Buddhas had been built directly into the rock facades. 

Strikingly different from the temples we typically encounter in Thailand, Dambulla's Cave Temples were certainly worth the hillside stair climb. Although, as we would come to find out, in a country that values altitude among its holy cities, a mere ten to fifteen minutes worth of stairs is nothing.

Kandyan Karma

Kandy, nestled around a glistening, oblong lake, is a World Heritage City and one of Sri Lanka’s primary pilgrimage sites. Safely tucked away in a lakeside palace-temple is Lanka’s claim to Buddhist fame: a tooth from the Buddha. Supposedly snatched from the funeral pyre and then whisked away to Sri Lanka in the elaborate hairstyle of a princess, the Buddha tooth relic has migrated around the tiny island, most recently calling Kandy home.

The Tooth has caused much political strife among the Sri Lankans, as it is believed that whoever controls the Tooth, controls the land. Due to a terrorist attack in 1998, the Buddha Tooth is heavily guarded by military guards with machine guns, and everyone entering is subjected to a search and a metal detector. However, once you get past the road blocks and the unsmiling military guard (okay, they will smile, but only if you start it), the atmosphere is calm and reverent.

As it is free for locals, the Buddha Tooth Palace is chockfull of Lankans, with a handful of tourists for good measure (and good money). Shoes left behind, worshipers and spectators make their way up stairs, under elaborate archways, and through various museums and shrines. Slowly queuing up the wide staircases, the throngs of devout worshippers make offerings of flowers, rupees, and prayers. Seated and kneeling pilgrims fill the room of the relic, the murmurs and chanting echoing, hushed and personal.

A pilgrimage to the Buddha Tooth Temple is supposedly a Must-Do for the Sri Lankans, as well as a big boost of positive karma. Hopefully we soaked up some of that good karma as well. 

White Temple

After spending a year in a Buddhist country, we are used to seeing temples everywhere, with very little variation in appearance. They come in different sizes, some with a chedi, some are perched atop a hill, they feature Buddha-themed murals or statues in a variety of positions. But, for the most part, the variations are slight. The White Temple, however, is in a category of its own.

Designed and built by Thai artist Chaloemchai Khositphiphat, Chiang Rai’s White Temple (Wat Rong Khun) is a standout in a city, and a country, saturated with Buddhist temples. A quick motorbike ride outside of town, only thirteen kilometers or so, the White Temple is easy to see on a weekend afternoon. Not to mention, easy to spot.

Construction on the White Temple began in 1998, and is expected to continue for the next fifty or so years in order to complete Khositphiphat’s vision. Donations to the temple help to fund further construction.

The temple design is based on the artist’s interpretation of Buddhist Enlightenment, hence its pure white façade. Covered top to bottom in stark white stucco and glittering mirror fragments, the temple was stunning, in the early evening sunlight.

Surrounding the temple is a pit filled with writhing, demonic-looking figures reaching up toward visitors, also all white. These statues are meant to depict the struggles and trials involved in reaching Enlightenment. It’s hard to be a Buddhist.

A white Naga-topped bridge arches over the pool of misery and anguish, leading to the main hall. 

While foreigners are forbidden to enter the temple without a Thai guide present, we went in anyhow. In typical Thai fashion, the walls were floor to ceiling murals of scenes of the Buddha’s life (one of which inexplicably had a little painted Doraemon whizzing by with a jet pack on).

Thus far, the main hall is all that has been constructed, aside from a gift shop/art gallery and an extremely elaborate bathroom, decked out in glittering gold mirrors, rather than white. Wouldn’t want to confuse the temple and the toilet. Even incomplete, the White Temple is majestic and dazzling. 

And Burma Makes Ten

For our first “visa run” (when we pop into and out of another country to renew our entry stamp) we spent a week in Laos for Christmas. The second time around, we were off cavorting around Southeast Asia for two months. This time, given our proximity to Burma, and the fact that we are practically out of countries to see, that was the clear choice.

Crossing the border at Mae Sai, the northernmost point of Thailand, is relatively simple. We hopped a bus from Chiang Rai, took a tuk-tuk to the border, and walked through customs checkpoints. On the Burmese side, things are a bit strict. They take your picture and give you a temporary pass. Your passport is left at the border. At this border crossing, tourists are given permission to stay in Burma for up to 14 days, but only to enter a specific string of villages, and you’re required to check in at checkpoints along the way.

As soon as we stepped foot on Burmese soil, with its relative lack of tourism, we were immediately inundated with offers from tuk-tuk drivers to drive us around the town at moderately steep prices. Some of them literally came running at us. Our plan, however, was simply to have lunch and head back, new entry stamp in hand.

The border town on the Burmese side, Takhilek, is practically Thai. They use Thai baht as currency since it is more stable. So many Thais come through there for shopping or immigration that many of the town’s residents speak at least functional Thai. However, in Thailand rarely do you see pickup trucks full of uniformed men carrying machine guns.

Over lunch, we were even more of a spectacle than we have come accustomed to. Especially me; I was the only female in the restaurant who wasn’t serving food (and without my face painted in a tribal fashion, white squares and circles blooming across cheeks and foreheads). 

As we were finishing up our Myanmar beer, one of the many staring men walked past our table, did a double take and sat down, striking up a conversation. He was a non-government tour guide (which may or may not be illegal there). He was also adamant in using only the new name “Myanmar” for both the people and the country, no “Burma” for him. And he was exclusively pro-Myanmar; shushing Win whenever he asked a slightly critical question of the government or the country. His fear of being overheard daggled in the air.

Clearly, we hired this illegal tour guide. We stopped by several temples, many of which were similar to what we see on a regular basis in Thailand; the only exceptions being a Chan temple (more ornately carved and decorated), a meter-tall Buddha made from weaved bamboo, and a Chinese temple. Also, our tour guide got so drunk off the one beer we bought him that he forgot his shoes at a temple.

Interestingly enough, the Burmese people are some of the nicest we have come across, generally speaking. They also speak some of the best English we've heard outside of the English-speaking countries like Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia. They are gearing up for a full tourism explosion in the near future. 

Now, it might not have been a full-scale, in-depth exploration of Burma/Myanmar. But it was what we could do with a small time frame and while avoiding giving excessive amounts of money to the government there, of which no one is in favor.

More impressive, Burma marks a milestone in my career as a traveler: country number ten. Double digits. Now, I know that ten isn’t the biggest of numbers, but for a girl who has yet to go to Canada, Mexico, or Europe, I’d say it’s not too shabby. And, it's not everyone who has a Burma/Myanmar stamp in their passport. 

Historic Pit Stop

Ayuthaya was the capital of Thailand from the mid 1300s until the late 1700s, when, in line with the Thai historic trends, it was sacked by the Burmese. After all, the Burmese chased the Thais from capital to capital, forcing them downward to modern Bangkok. All that remains is the ruins of the old city, an ever-popular Unesco World Heritage Site. And during their trip out here Jenny and Ansel requested a trip to ruins of some sort, so a stop off in Ayuthaya was the quick, simple solution.

We took a night train from the north, and arrived, sleepy-eyed, bright and early at the Ayuthaya train station. Having both been to Ayuthaya before (Win on his first trip to Thailand, and then both of us as a respite from the clamor of Bangkok our first weekend after arriving from America), we knew that the entire Historical Park could be done in a matter of hours.

Turning down many a tuk-tuk driver, we opted to walk around and hit several of the main structures. The main area of Ayuthaya’s ruins lies on an island created by several rivers flowing in and around the city. Towering, and eroded down to their brick innards, the palace grounds and temples of the old city spring up in patches.  

All of the seated Buddha statues, big and small, have been left headless after years of abandonment, destruction, and pillaging. But, most are garlanded with vibrant yellow sashes and flowers, incense and candles burned before them. Seemingly, the only Buddha head left in the place, and the most famous to boot, is entwined and suspended in the roots of a banyan tree.

Checking off another item from their Thailand To Do List, Jenny and Ansel took a quick ride on an elephant. Two hundred baht and ten minutes later, they arrived back at the elephant corral, safe and sound. Having successfully completed our historic interlude, we made our way back to the train station to continue on our journey south to Bangkok.  

Motorbike Exploration

Chiang Rai is in no way lacking for things to do. If you look at a map of the area around Chiang Rai, there are dozens of dots strewn about – temples, waterfalls, caves, an elephant camp, hill tribe villages. A recent visit from friend from New Mexico served as the perfect opportunity to spend a lazy Saturday on motorbikes, exploring the areas around Chiang Rai.

Win and I had our motorbike, Jenny and Ansel had one rented for several days. Our itinerary was ambitious, but plausible: the nearby Buddha Cave, a waterfall, the Black Temple, and the longneck Karen tribe.

The air was heavy and wet, the sun forcing the moisture into the air, but moving along on the motorbike the breeze was cool. We took a circuitous route through rice paddies and open fields, past the prison, eventually winding up and around jungle hills. It involved a heavy amount of guesswork, as maps in Asia aren’t especially nuanced, and therefore often prove themselves to be somewhere between confusing and useless. One roadside fuel fill-up (poured from repurposed whiskey bottles) and several wrong turns later, we found the cave we were looking for.

Stray dogs lounged about on the steep staircase, but let us pass with little worry. Set in the side of a lone rock formation jutting from the rice paddies, the Buddha cave was inhabited by all manner of Buddha statues. Reclining, seated, standing, small medium and large. Even placed in gaps and natural skylights in the ceiling, there were Buddhas galore. And, the part I found most delightful, a number of stray cats lazed around, basking in pools of sun, and absorbing the quiet calm of their cave home.

After once again consulting the map, we ventured out, waterfall-bound. Now, there are a number of waterfalls in the greater Chiang Rai region, so once we found our way to the main road and the right general direction, we simply started following signs. Left, right, up, down, through residential neighborhoods, hill tribe communities, and lush, green jungle. Often, we would lose the signs and have to guess our way along, but the signs would almost always pick up again. The road meandered and wove through beautiful, diverse scenery, taking its time as it led us along.

It wasn’t the waterfall we were aiming for, but we found a waterfall. We headed off across a rickety suspension bridge over a river, assuming it would lead somewhere, which it didn’t. So we crossed back over the bridge, careful to avoid precarious or dangling boards. 

Then we tried the trail with long, flat steps leading up small patches of bamboo forest. The Thais seem to build staircases to any and all natural or man-made points of interest, so it was a brief, easy trek to get there.  It also wasn’t overly impressive, the water murky brown from the season’s high rains, but it was still a waterfall.

After a quick stop by a hilltribe museum --just one room filled with old tools, clothing, and accessories used by the local people -- and an attempted drive to a view point, which ended with us rolling backward down the hill, skid marks spooling out before us, we were ready for the second half of our adventure.

Then, it started to rain. And not just a little. I’m talking about the rains that wash, dump, and flood Thailand many afternoons during the (aptly named) rainy season. With Jenny and Ansel not being used to driving motorbikes or Thai traffic, let alone when complicated by monsoon rains, we figured it was time to throw in the metaphorical towel. Second half, canceled. It was a rain delay of the monsoon variety. We arrived home soaked and ready for an afternoon nap. 

So, it looks like Win and I will just have to postpone the Black Temple and Karen Tribe until we are feeling ambitious and touristy, or until some other friends come visit us.