After nearly a decade of cronyism and corruption, the outgoing president lost a snap election and, in a failed attempt to retain power, tries a military coup which fails (all while we were in the country!). A descent into instability averted, there is a real sense of relief, hope and quiet reverence at the inaugural speech. For VY and I, it is an opportunity to witness a historic event and mix with the natives.

Crowds wait on the palace grounds for an appearance by the president

In comparison to the presidential address, our remaining time in Kandy is largely uneventful. We visit the shrine of the Holy Tooth Relic (which Marco Polo once set out to steal for Kublai Khan); wander the botanical gardens; converse over cups of ceylonese tea; and, in an earnest but failed attempt to sample the local fare, dine at a restaurant with sub-standard hygiene and even worse food. Dad is so offended that he refuses to eat, and instead sulks for the remainder of the meal, speaking only to comment on how bad everything is. To rectify things, he buys a three piece value meal from KFC and devours it noisily in the car, refusing to share with the rest of us.

Dad trying to choke it down before giving up and going for the KFC

When we leave Kandy for the highlands of Nuwara-Eliya, it is by locamotive -on the back of an iron behemoth painted an imposing black. If I could make but one recommendation to someone traveling Sri Lanka it would be this: ride the train, and if you have the time, make sure the ride is through the highlands. But no matter where in the country you board, the journey will surely prove a highlight. During my month long stay I ride the train four times, each as exciting as the first.

While a train ride can certainly be interpreted as merely a method of getting from A to B, it is in the whimsical definition of the word ride that one should consider when traveling by rail in Sri Lanka. Like a rollar-coaster at an amusement park, one boards this train purely for the enjoyment of the experience; for the thrill and exhilaration it provides; for the rush to the senses and the occasional butterflies in the belly. On this ride, the destination is but a distant consideration; necessary to the act of train travel but inconsequential in its location. One's own amusement is the "why", the "where" is of no importance. If the entire length of the track ran in one giant circle I would still whole heartedly recommend taking it.

VY enjoying the ride

The class of travel chosen does not matter because the moment the train pulls out of the station, most of the time will be spent in the vestibule, testing nerves and tempting fate by hanging out of open doors as the train zips along the tracks to the reassuring clackety clack of wheels upon the wooden slats. It's an exhilarating feeling to, quite literally, hang on for dear life while the wind whips through your hair and the surroundings race by -the mass of thick vegetation dissolving into a speeding blur of green while the train lurches to and fro.

In calmer moments, it's possible to admire the distant scenery which is as beautiful as it varied: rushing streams flow alongside the tracks before disappearing behind a hillside, cascading waterfalls divide craggy mountains, and rolling hills of tea bushes are followed by forests of naked trees. And then suddenly, you're brought back to the immediacy of the present as the train passes through one of many tunnels; replacing sweeping vistas with utter darkness, and compensating for the lack of the visual detail with the aural assault of a roaring train, whose sound is compressed and amplified as it reverberates off the narrow walls of the tunnel.

Riding through the highlands

At other times you'll be hypnotized by the sight of your feet against the distorted haze of green, only to have the ground abruptly disappear as the train fords a yawning chasm, creating the illusion that you're riding the equatorial equivalent of the Polar Express, sailing through the sky on tracks of air.

When people say that it's about the journey, not the destination, you can be sure that they've just come off a train ride in Sri Lanka.

While I won't go into too much detail, I will say that there is excellent hiking to be had in Sri Lanka's highlands. In Nuwara-Eliya and Ella we hiked to World's End and near Little Adam's Peak respectively, both extremely rewarding and both requiring early starts.

At dusk in World's End. Reminded me of the moors in Scotland, although Sri Lanka is about as far away as one can get

The hike to World's End starts at the ungodly hour of 4am because come 10 o'clock, the commanding view from the peak is completely obscured by cloud cover that comes flowing thick and fast over the surrounding mountains, much like the "Tablecloth" in South Africa's Table Mountain. In the case of Little Adam's Peak, any departure past 8 o'clock virtually guarantees having your brain thoroughly poached by the mid-day sun.

But the early starts are worth it, rewarding one's determination with beautiful sunrises, breathtaking views and stunning landscapes.

Overlooking the highlands of Ella

By now we're two weeks into our Sri Lanka trip, and before departing for Ella, I bid my parents farewell with a sense of wistful attachment as they call an end to their trip and make their way back to Canada . As constant travel companions for the past three months, we've shared some special experiences. They've been the source of a wide range of emotions: amusement, frustration, annoyance and ire; but have always remained a comforting presence. The goodbye is, as always, brief and unemotional. After they're gone, I'm eager to push on and, with VY, begin to make our way to the beaches that lie along the southern coast.

Onlookers await the president's inaugural address in Kandy

Unimpressed

Man taking refuge from the afternoon sun under his parasol

Butcher at work

A spot of afternoon tea at a local haunt

The only other place I've seen this besides Africa

Enjoying the train ride

Locals treat train rides like a picnic. I saw a group bust out the crockery for a shared meal

A wonderful view to take in over a cup of coffee in Ella

Tea picker in Ella

Food vendor boards the train selling gateau pimant!

View of Little Adam's Peak

The early morning sun casts gorgeous light on the way to World's End in Nuwara Elia

Being a fan of ancient civilizations, I was excited to leave Colombo for the cities of Polonnaruwa, Anuradhapura and Dambulla; backbone of the once-thriving Sinhalese empire that now serves as the country's cultural triumvirate. With visions of crumbling ruins and extant stone temples on my mind, expectations were high, especially after witnessing the palatial majesty of the Taj Mahal and the heft of Mehrangarh's mighty walls.

The buildings themselves may not be impressive but the details sure are

And yet, when we finally arrived, I couldn't help but feel somewhat underwhelmed by it all. The ruins were, in the truest sense of the word, ruined, amounting in some parts to no more than knee high pillars and naked stone buildings that would challenge even the liveliest of imaginations. While still interesting and undoubtedly significant anthropologically, they lacked the grandeur and awe that I had become accustomed to (and indeed spoiled by) in India and elsewhere (Cambodia's Angkor Wat springs to mind).

No doubt my tepid reception was due in part to our lackadaisical driver/guide, whose descriptions and delivery felt stilted and perfunctory, leaving me disinterested and feeling a victim of "cattle-prod tourism"; flitting from one destination to the next like so many tour bus excursions. Truly, guided tours are not my preferred method of travel. I know this for a fact now. While the convenience is undeniable, it has none of the messiness and potential for chance encounters that are the source of so many great travel stories.

However, I'm not one to dwell on the negative. Visiting the Dambulla cave monasteries were fascinating. Seeing row upon row of Buddha statues in different states of repose was a sight to behold. The low hanging ceilings of the caves -every inch painted with religious iconography- were exquisite in their detail and stunning in their use of color. Why the celebrated D.H. Lawrence once described them as "rat-hole temples, like decked up pigsties" I'll never understand. I'm not one to contradict a giant of English literature but I'll have to respectfully disagree.

Inside the Dambulla caves. Photo courtesy of VY

But far and away the highlight of my visit to central Sri Lanka was Sigiriya, the country's version of Aeyer's Rock. While smaller in scale, the surrounding plains -much like Uluru- lend this enormous stone a haughty and defiant air, inspiring awe and curiosity. Unlike Aeyer's Rock however, a climb to its summit isn't sacrilegious and involves only a moderately challenging scramble up ancient stone steps, rickety gangplanks and iron scaffolding. There's also an amusing walk along Sigiriya's Mirror Wall; a passageway with highly polished plaster on one side (since defaced and mirror-like only in name) and on the other, frescoes of the kingdom's rather well-endowed women.

Titillating

The final ascent to the peak involves an encounter with the Lion Staircase where a pair of Sphinx-like paws are all that remain of a giant sculpted lion that once presided proudly over the kingdom below. Within the presence of these massive paws, it's easy to imagine a fierce lion head whose wild stone mane and giant open maw served as the only entry point to the rock's plateaued summit. And with all of it lit from below by giant bonfires casting dancing shadows across its features... it must have been a sight to sent shivers up the spine.

The final entrance before ascending to the Sigiryia's plateau where the king's palace would have been

Once summited, Sigiriya offers panoramic views of the surrounding landscape; and it is here that one realizes just how lush Sri Lanka really is. Vegetation is thick and full, and greenery covers everything like creeping moss. Atop the plateau lie the ruins of the king's palace that still manage to impress despite the palace having been wiped out long ago. There are wonderful terraced gardens, large pools and cisterns that still contain water, vast tracts of grassland that were once used for agriculture, and mazes of stairways that could have inspired MC Escher. The old, large trees provide welcome respite from the equatorial sun while the breezes that blow intermittently at this elevation are cool and pleasant. It all serves as a deserved reward for the sweaty and sometimes nerve-wracking climb.

Panoramic view from atop Sigiryia

A word in recognition of VY's taste for sussing out what would be one of my favorite places to stay during my entire month in Sri Lanka: an out of the way guesthouse located down an unmarked, dirt packed road hidden by a forest of dense foliage. Difficult to find, our driver had to stop several times for directions, inquiring with roadside wayfarers in the comical and lilting tones of Sinhala -a language that sounds like a xylophone struck at random. We arrived to find that we had the entire place to ourselves and spent the remains of the day unwinding in the open air lounge, listening to peacock calls and watching the sun bathe everything in sepia tones. To end the day in this rustic milieu, with a day's exploring under the belt and a nice bottle of scotch in hand makes for an unbeatable combination and was a real highlight of this trip.

What you don't see is the expansive garden out front with wild peacocks running around. I loved it here. Photo courtesy of VY

Next we book our train onward to the city of Kandy and finally get a break from our driver.

The impressive entrance to Sigiriya

Groundskeeper

Walkway up to the lion entrance

Green moss(?) sprouts on everything here

Palace grounds at Sigiriya

Entrance to the Dambulla caves

Shining eyes of the enlightened

Smiling monks

I had no expectations upon arriving into Sri Lanka and yet was unaccountably excited in the way that only the unknown, with its infinite possibilities, can stir one's imagination. I had felt similar feelings of anticipation when I traveled to Iceland some time ago, assuming nothing about the trip except for an abundance of Ice and Land, and that trip had turned out to be one of my favorites.

Largely inaccessible on account of a 26-year civil war, Sri Lanka's tourism trade returned in 2009 with the mutual termination of the war and the LTTE; thus re-entering the casual traveler's wider consciousness only recently. I suppose in that sense Sri Lanka held a certain appeal in being relatively unknown; ravaged by the vagaries of war but unspoilt by the seismic change that mass tourism tends to brings about. And being only a brief 90 minute flight away from Chennai, the decision to visit was a no-brainer.

Bidding India farewell, we boarded our afternoon flight and started our new adventure in the best possible way: by being upgraded to First Class! A computer error had double booked my seat, and because I'm an incurable laggard, I came upon the plane to find it already occupied resulting in me being bumped to First with a stupid grin on my face and a glass of prosecco in my right hand. In his mind, Dad thought that as a result of this error our whole family would get the royal treatment causing him to sit expectantly in economy, belt buckle stubbornly undone, until an air hostess came by and told him to do it up. I wish I had a mirror to see his hopeful face curdle into disappointment but I was too busy soaking up the luxury. Sorry pops VIPs only. First time in my life that I wished for a longer flight.

Cause this post needed more crab pictures

Coming off our trip through India and being so close to it in terms of culture and climate, it's inevitable that Sri Lanka would invite comparisons to its larger neighbour. If airports are anything to go by, the differences are night and day. Whereas airports in India are slow, tedious and bureaucratic affairs, the Colombo airport will have you on your way faster than you can say "guess terrorism isn't a concern here."

Collected by our pre-arranged chauffeur (courtesy of VY who will be travelling with us for three weeks), we're peppered with tid-bits of information, but are barely listening because we're just so bowled over by how well-maintained everything is. We weren't expecting much, and frankly after India, simply having no animals on the road would have been startling, but the difference here was stark. As in First World stark. The roads were wide and well-paved and lacking entirely in potholes, traffic was busy but always in observation of the rules of good etiquette and personal space, and there was a distinct lack of garbage, even on the backroads. "Orderly" is probably the best way to describe my first impressions here, lacking entirely in the chaotic mess that India is known for. By the end of our 45 minute ride into Colombo I think we managed to frustrate our driver-cum-tour guide into a grudging silence. The whole time he was subtly putting his South-Asian hustle to work, trying to get himself hired as our guide even though we told him we already had one, yet all we could do was gawk at everything and stupidly repeat ourselves: "Oh my god it's so CLEAN here!" "God, look how CLEAN it is!" "Jeez, it's SO clean and can you FEEL how smooth the road is?!"

Before we had even arrived at our rented apartment, Dad had already declared Sri Lanka his favorite country and mom, clearly enamored with the place on account of its cleanliness, was inclined to agree. As for me, I'm trying to judge Sri Lanka on its own merits and failings and not through light cast by my recent time in India. But initial thoughts are that I think I'll like it here.

So this is what my month in Sri Lanka is going to look like:

Loop de loop

A few days of acclimation in Colombo before travelling northwest to Sri Lanka's cultural triangle of Anuradpura, Dambulla and Polonnaruwa. Then by train down to the central highlands of Kandy and Ella to see its tea plantations and spice farms after which a little sun bathing will be in order along the southern coast's many beaches.

In Sri Lanka we're trying a different tack, hiring a driver/guide (on VY's recommendation) to take us around the island instead of our usual modus operandi of travelling via public transport and mixing it up with the locals. While certainly a more convenient way to get around, a private car hire does feel somewhat insulating, removing the element of randomness that is often the very source of so many great travel stories: a chance encounter with a native that gets you to try something new; a casual conversation with a fellow traveler that leads to an amazing discovery; or falling afoul of Lady Luck landing you in a tight situation which, in retrospect, turns out to be absolutely hilarious. But I'm nothing if not adaptable and can't deny the convenience of this method of travel so we'll give it a shot.

So what about Colombo?

With the war finally over, Colombo has the feel of a city desperate to make up for lost time: cranes punctuate the sky line, hastily erected five-star hotels abound, and day-and-night there are road works to improve the already excellent infrastructure. It all feels a little bit Singaporean in its rampant development. And like Singapore, Colombo is neither beautiful nor charming, but it is a city that's on an upward trajectory and its optimism is palpable; surely a wonderful change after a quarter-century of civil war.

To be fair it's not all glass, steel and concrete. Old Dutch buildings speak to Ceylon's European legacy as a colonial outpost, and off the main streets there are still pockets of that third world charm as we discover in Colombo's main market. Walking through its dusty and bustling streets is like being back in Mumbai's Crawford Market: terribly congested, plenty of shouting, and a mess of bodies all tangled into a giant knot of limbs and sweating faces. On either side there are locals (or "Lankans" as SS refers to them) plying their trade as fish mongers, fruit merchants, rickshaw drivers, butchers, and all manner of laborers. Every once in a while a large Tata or Ashok-Leyland truck manages to barely squeeze itself down the narrow street, forcing everyone to the margins, which they tolerate with familiar indifference.

But in the end, Colombo, being a largely urban (and urbanizing) city doesn't hold much in the way of cultural experiences for the interested traveler. So we spend our three days adjusting to the Sri Lankan pace of things (which is a much toned down version of the Indian Hustle), and pass the time shopping and looking for good things to eat. On this front VY has got us covered, having scoped out well in advance "The Ministry of Crab", which,as you may have guessed, specializes in serving that six-legged Sri Lankan staple.

I saw a sign at the MoC declaring the pepper crab to be a bona-fide Sri Lankan export, something that any self-respecting Singaporean is sure to contest. Most of Singapore's crabs however, do come by way of Sri Lanka. And if the country ever grew pepper, its plantations have long-since been paved over with luxury condos and charmless high-rises, a victim Singapore's relentless pursuit as a centre for high finance and a hub of capital formation. So maybe there is something to Sri Lanka's claim of being, if not the original source, than at least the current one.

Little pinch?

But these are thoughts that are far from my mind as I tuck into one of our four steaming crab dishes on the table. MoC has a staggering array of crab sizes to cater to the hungry and satisfy even the gluttonous. The range starts at the low end with the sensible "1/2 Kilo Crab" (500g), passing the indulgent "Jumbo" (1.1kg) and the excessive "Colossal" (1.4kg), before going to the absurd "OMG!" (1.5kg) and finally ending in the unconscionable and LDL-rocketing "Crabzilla" (2.0kg upwards). Being in a self-indulgent mood, we order four Jumbo's (two chilli, two pepper) with a side of "mantou" to sop up the sauce as well as a serving of crab fried rice because Crabs. VY, a true crab aficionado, says it's the best she's ever had while Dad says that it's just as good as the version he cooks; which is about the highest compliment he'll ever begrudgingly admit when it comes to someone else's cooking.

Mighty wok

Between all the snapping, cracking, sucking and slurping there isn't much talk at the table apart from a few involuntary spasms of pleasure ("mmmm" "oh my god"). And when we're done, the table looking like some anthropoidal version of the beach of Normandy -limbs and shells strewn about- VY and I immediately make reservations for the following afternoon. We end up having crab four more times on this trip, but never again reach these exalted heights (although at Galle, VY and I were comped two more crabs in addition to the two we were already eating on account of a small complaint. I actually clutched my chest half-way through the second helping but the heart-attack subsided).

At the end of our third day our guide and driver comes to pick us up at our serviced apartment and we make the 3h drive to Sri Lanka's cultural triangle to gawk at ancient ruins and Tomb Raider worthy statues. As we drive past the city limits, concrete and glass give way to lush vegetation and greenery and we have our first taste of Sri Lanka proper.

Market streets (photo courtesy of VY)

Flag ceremony at dusk along the promenade

Good eatin'

Jumbo claws

Chilling

I love that this guy's shirt is essentially a Ralph Steadman drawing

Fish guts aplenty. It smelt as bad as it looks