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Leaving Lecce

When we last spoke, I was sharing our love for Lecce. The “Florence of the South”, located in Italy’s Puglia region. And in common with all our travels, when we fall in love, we move on. Who knows what the open road will offer up to us? Over the crest of the hill. Around the next corner. The anticipation pulls us forward, exploring the world, one town at a time. Today, with our bags slung in the back of the Fiat 500, we were headed to Gallipoli. Right now, just a name on a map, (to me, Mrs C had done extensive research), but soon to be another destination that grabs a piece of our heart.

A better grasp of Italian wine than the language

With the sea in sight, and less than 10 minutes outside of Gallipoli we had a planned stop. We were in Italy. How could we visit and not taste some of the wine that the region is famous for? You know the answer to that one. We simply couldn’t, and we found ourselves driving down a dusty road, turning right through imposing gates, signalling the home of Cantina Coppola 1489. Whether they are related to the very famous Francis Ford Coppola we will never know. Duolingo can only take you so far. It is little help when talking to a local.

Thankfully, when it comes to wine tasting, this was not our first rodeo. And, with the wonders of the internet, we had pre-booked the tasting that we wanted. What also helped was the fact that the place was deserted, so the English speaking tourists, with only a rudimentary grasp of the Italian language must be the ones these two wine glasses were laid out for.

Cantina Coppola 1489 – A bit of Apulian history

Cantina Coppola has been in the family since 1489 and has been passed down through 15 generations. The vineyard and cellar door that you see today was built in 2004, built as a “cellar door with a village around it”. The cellar door has a small museum attached and we were fascinated to see the family tree painted on a large canvas, tracing the lineage of the various family members over the long and storied history of Cantina Coppola. We left that day better understanding the role that wine has played, and continues to play, in Italy over a vast stretch of time.

Gallipoli

Our instruction from the bed and breakfast host was to head into the large paid parking lot, and take your chances. We had seen people in these car parks driving around in interminable circles trying to find a free slot. As with our arrival in Monopoli a few days earlier, the car park gods must have been smiling down on us. Driving in the general direction of the paid car park, we slowly approached a car park that was completely free. Twenty four hours a day. And would you believe it, at that very moment, a car reversed out ahead of us, leaving Victoria to simply swing the car in. We gave each other a slight look of disbelief. Did we manifest it?

It is all Greek to me

Gallipoli is a very small town, located on a limestone island and connected to the mainland by a narrow bridge dating from the 16th century. Believe me when I tell you that Gallipoli is beautiful. Located on the west coast of Salento, the sunsets over the Ionian sea are stunning. If it looks a little Greek you won’t be surprised to learn that it was once a town in Greater Greece, and in 265BC it suffered defeat in a war with the Romans, leaving Gallipoli to be relegated as a Roman colony.

Accommodation in Gallipoli

It was in this old Roman colony that we were staying. And our accommodation was a gem. A short walk from the car park (did I mention it was free?), and we were at Cortepatitari B&B. As beautiful as these bed and breakfast places are, they are old. Which means they weren’t built for travellers in mind. Unsurprisingly, our bedroom was up three flights of stairs. With no elevator. Gasping in the heat, on reaching the third floor we were met with a beautiful room and immediately I breathed a sigh of relief. The air conditioning was strong. The heat in Puglia continued to be oppressive.

The room was very compact, as most of them are, and maintained beautifully. Seeing us with our purchases from Cantina Coppola the host called back up to our room, dropping off a corkscrew and two wine glasses. Giving us a smile. Priorities are important in Italy. Exploring the accommodation we discovered that breakfast would be served on the rooftop. Each morning we would start with a leisurely Italian breakfast and listen as the local fruit and veg man plied his wares.

Find me a better pasta dish

The way to combat the Southern Italian heat is obviously a cold drink. Am I right? Not long after leaving our bags at the B&B we strolled through Gallipoli. Being only a small place this didn’t take us long. Ergo, it didn’t take us long to find that cold drink. What is an acceptable time to have an Aperol Spritz? I am just asking for a friend.

Whilst waiting for my second Spritz to arrive, my lunch was served. Not sure what to order, having had a lot of the orecchiette that the region is famous for, I chose a dish that I had never heard of before. This is not an uncommon approach of mine. But, this decision rarely pays off quite as spectacular as that day.

The description just does not do it justice. It was a pasta dish. With a rich cheese sauce. But not too much sauce, of course, this being Italy. And in the dish were large, plump, fresh from the sea, mussels. Mamma mia! Some moments, if life were to end at that very second, you know that you will leave this mortal coil happy. That was one such moment. If you find yourself in Gallipoli, head to Buena Vista and order their scrigini cacio e pepe con cozze. Thank me later. 

Beach Days in Gallipoli

Our days in Gallipoli included time at the beach. Our travel schedule had us moving around quite frequently, so we loved the opportunity to stick a parasol in the sand, throw down our towels, and join the holidaying Italian masses on a beach day. Italians do beach days well. Often making a whole day of it. And with all the family. There is an energy and a buzz that you don’t see on many beaches in other countries. As I was laid there, something kept catching my attention, in the corner of my eye. What was that moving up and down against the sea wall?

It turns out that it was a delivery system. With people on the beach, at the foot of the very high wall, shouting up to a drinks and gelato vendor on the street above. Once the order had been shouted up, the vendor would lower a bucket attached to a long rope, to the waiting customer on the beach. The thirsty beach goer would put money in the bucket and it would make its return journey up the wall. Ingenious.

The Sunset in Gallipoli

Also ingenious, is the way that the bars of Gallipoli utilise the walls around the small town. Facing west, each evening gives you one of nature’s most amazing shows. Unrestricted views of one of the best sunsets you are ever to see. Grab yourself an aperitivo, and wait. Our first evening saw us at Cafe del Mar, Aperol Spritz in hand, nibbling local olives, and enjoying the “show”. It was a very popular way to spend the evening, and being one of the towns that is very popular with Italian tourists, Gallipoli was busy.

The Unglamourous Side of Travel

Travel is not all about beach days and Aperol Spritz. If only. Travelling for any length of time, and relatively light, we have to incorporate one of our favourite days. Laundry day. For those that followed our travels around the world, you will know how much fun we have carting our dirty smalls high and low trying to find a laundrette. Then, trying to find enough actual cash to feed the machines. And then, trying to decipher in the local language how to use the hulking machines. When we finally do, it is a thumbs up all around.

With clean clothes once again we had a final night in Gallipoli. We were back on the road tomorrow, heading out of Puglia to a very special place. One that I had seen many times on TV and was very much looking foward to exploring. BUt, that is for tomorrow. For tonight, we would be a lot closer. We headed across the small bridge, into the new town. I had my eyes on a pizza joint.

Grateful for Gallipoli

A very popular pizza joint it turns out. As someone who is normally in bed for 9pm, sitting down at the table at 9.30pm felt very strange. It was worth it. The pizza was delicious. Sat on the open rooftop of the bustling restaurant we raised our beers and spoke our gratitude for another amazing day on this wonderful planet. Not even a power cut could dampen our spirits. For what seemed an eternity, but was probably only 15 minutes or so, the restaurant lost all power. People resorted to eating by the lights of their mobile phones. We thought it all very romantic. Not the phones, but eating under nothing but the stars.

With the power back on, and thinking the restaurant would be wanting to close, what with it being so late, we didn’t hang around when paying our bill. Imagine my surprise when leaving, seeing a massive queue of people waiting to still enter the restaurant. This is bed time people, what are you doing? We strolled back across the bridge, to the old town, and I closed out another day with my usual whisky nightcap.

Gallipoli had been wonderful, somwehere we would definitly return to. Once we have been everywhere else in the world.

Ciao!

Dolce far niente

Leaving Gallipoli was hard. It is the sort of small Italian town that you could lose yourself in for months. The slow vibe. Easy pace of life. And how vibrant it feels when the sun goes down. No expectations. High rewards. Dolce far niente. Picking up a sentence or two of Italian each day. As your “buon giornios” start to connect with your “come stais?” one day you find yourself thinking in Italian.

Leaving Puglia for Basilicata

Isn’t that the dream? It is certainly one of mine. That dream will have to wait. Today we were headed out of Puglia. Although, I didn’t realise this when we booked the trip. Basilicata is a close neighbour of Puglia and is home to one of the oldest cities in the world. A city that stops you in your tracks. Takes your breath away. Has you entranced and almost hypnotised.

Matera is truly magical. It looks like no place you have ever been. It looks uninhabited, and rather eerie. This is until you get up close and discover how wonderfully the people of the city have maintained the history whilst converting many of the stone cave dwellings into bed and breakfasts and restaurants. This bereft looking town is actually a hive of activity. 

Arriving by car in Matera

With no private cars allowed into the old town, once again, we parked some distance away. And from arriving into the newer part of town, with no glimpse of Matera in sight, we could have been, and indeed were, in any small nondescript Italian town. Nothing against Italian towns but many do look rather uninspiring. Buildings that looked perfunctory rather than perfect. Architecture from the 60s and 70s. Could we really be close to the magical Matera that I had seen and heard about from television programmes?

As seems to be common in Italy, we had been sent a homemade video from the host of our accommodation, directing us where to park. With Victoria driving and me trying to match the video to the streets as they quickly passed me by, it took us a couple of attempts before we got our bearings. The tension was eased somewhat by the running commentary of our host, in broken English.

“Here on the left. Parking. Possible. Here, also. Possible. There, by blue lines. Not possible.”

Having found a space that was indeed possible, we trundled our bags over the cobbled streets, turning a corner, and literally realising we were there. Right there. A low wall offered us views right across a valley. A valley of stone. And if you looked really carefully, focused your eyes, you could see little doorways and windows cut into the stone. How many thousands of years had Italians enjoyed the very same view?

Has Djokovic moved to Matera?

Our host, an uncanny Novak Djokovic lookalike was on the balcony, waving across to us as we crossed the piazza, looking confused at the Google Map on our phone, trying to work out which direction we should be walking in. Novak came down and took one of our bags as we climbed three flights of stairs. Hard work, and worth it, seeing the balcony the accommodation had, with unhindered views across Matera, towards the stone hills that look as though they have dead black eyes, staring right back at you.

“Novak” was a very friendly chap, and was happy to hear that as a result of his very helpful video, it was “possible” for us to find a free parking spot for the next 3 days. In what appeared to be a pattern on this Italian trip, we were checked in by our host, given some information, and they quickly departed. Never to be seen again. A few hours later, over a cold glass of Soave, you could be forgiven for thinking that Novak was an apparition.

The “shame” of the Sassi

As recently as the 1950s, Matera was dubbed the “shame of Italy” as a result of the overwhelming poverty in the town. Some 16,000 people were forcibly moved out of the Sassi (stone buildings) and into new housing. “Modern” apartments that can still be seen close by. They look like an aberration. And this left Matera as an empty shell.

It would have stayed this way. Perhaps forever had it not been for some enterprising locals. Seeing the opportunity offered by this they created a local group, intent on restoring and maintaining the history of a town that gets to play ancient Jerusalem in films. When Matera was listed as a UNESCO heritage site in 1993 they knew that a corner had been turned.

Fixer Uppers in Matera

With the government offering 30 year leases, at minimal cost, for people to purchase a “fixer upper”, there are now over 3000 locals living in the Sassi. This number swells as the word continues to seep out amongst tourists, with Matera starting to become a little like the gold rush of years gone by. The town was one of the busier ones of our travels around Southern Italy and I couldn’t help wondering if there is a tipping point for towns like Matera? The effects of over tourism on small Italian towns would soon become very evident to us during a visit to Taormina in Sicily.

The tightrope walk of tourism

Having the “right” amount of tourism is a fine line to walk. The town relies on tourists. They need to be drawn in. And Matera alone is enough of a draw. As the secret gets out, and spreads further, as happens exponentially quick in this age of social media, the risk is that you are dealing with another Santorini. Lines of people queuing up to get the perfect shot. Aggressive influencers asking you to move as you are “in their shadow of the photo”. Yes, this actually happened to me in Santorini. I will let you decide whether I moved for them or not.

That said, as travellers, we definitely benefit from social media. For large parts of this trip, Victoria had been doing Insta(gram) research. The fruits of which do find us in some spectacular places. In Matera it was Zipa cafe bar. Cut into the rocks, high up in Matera. We found a bean bag and had a drink amongst the rocks.

Maintaining our traditions in Matera

Right now, the town did not feel over touristed. Puglia, and as now in Basilicata, still felt a little under the radar. We were able to stroll around Matera through the day, and then come out for dinner in the evening without a reservation. We followed our Italian ritual of the passeggiata before the customary Aperol Spritz.

Each evening we became cave dwellers, the restaurants cut deep into the rock, and down flights of stairs. The effect was a restaurant not affected by the intense heat of the day. A restaurant where we got to sample some of the cuisine the region is famous for, cucina povera. Cuisine of the poor. I particularly enjoyed the bread soup. Using stale bread in a rich tomato broth. Delicious.

Strolling back through the dark streets of Matera we reflected on the amazing history of this place, and how, had things been different we would not have Matera to marvel at. There was a suggestion, which sounds incredulous with the passage of time, to concrete over the whole town back in the days of “shame”. Serenaded by a guitar strumming singer in the piazza, I am very grateful that Matera will be here, to be enjoyed, for generations to come.

Our last night on the mainland of Italy. What a trip. Now, our thoughts start to turn towards Sicily, tomorrow’s destination.

Stepping into the same river twice

They say that once is a mistake. And twice is a choice. With this in mind we found ourselves at Mend. Again. Our very first ice bath was back in January, and here we were, in March, back for more.

If you are a regular reader of this travel blog, you will know that Mend is a relatively new addition to the Margaret River wellness scene. Set up in 2023 it has quickly gained a cult following, offering a range of options, including what we were here for once more, early on a Saturday morning. 

Mend Motions and the ice bath

The “Mend Motions” is a 90 minute session, with a maximum capacity of six guests. The idea is that you cycle the time around the infrared sauna, the ice bath, and the warming plunge pool. Prior to your first session you are sure to do what we inevitably did. Try to calculate how long this meant in each, and how we could possibly fill 90 minutes.

Let me tell you, once you are there, time is the last thing you are thinking of. In fact, on both visits now we could not believe how fast the time went. This is the exact condition that psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi called “flow”. The state you get into when time seems to magically pass.

And pass it does.

Warming up to cool down

With my belly still warm and pleasantly digesting the delicious pain au chocolat we had for breakfast from across the road at Margaret River Bakery, we got into our bathers, showered quickly, and entered the sauna. This morning it looked as though there were only three of us, but we had two others join us later. As everyone usually starts at the same time there is some mental gymnastics trying to work out who gets to move on from the sauna first. Our companion looked like a veteran and kept checking his smartwatch to ensure he had been in the sauna for his regulation time.

We had much less rigour, and I hate regulations, so we decided to head to the ice bath first. A thought that had been giving me mild anxiety since we re-booked our session some weeks before. That anxiety didn’t ease when we saw that the ice bath was literally full of ice. On our first visit the water was a balmy 4.3 degrees. This morning it was hovering around 2 degrees. I am glad one of us has bags of courage. Displaying her courage, Victoria stepped straight into the bath, parting the ice as she sank down into the deep tub. A series of quick sharp intakes of breath and she soon settled into the deep breathing that is required for ice bath immersion.

And breathe

With the clock set for three minutes, I guided Victoria through a visualisation of being sat under a warming sun. Dipping into the ocean in the Maldives. Anything to take her mind off what the near freezing temperature of the water was doing to her fight, flight, and freeze response. As you first enter the cold water your brain senses danger and screams at you to get out. A natural evolutionary reaction, designed to keep you alive. The first battle is over riding that voice and reminding yourself that you are in fact safe and have no need to escape to save your life.

The second battle is with your breathing. Getting it under control. Slowing it right down. Regulating your parasympathetic nervous system. Your “rest and digest” system. Once you have this under control you have your third and final battle. With the clock. Once you have got this far you will be surprised to note that you will be more than half way through the interminable three minutes. Now, you just have to avoid peeping at the digital clock on the wall as the seconds slowly tick by. Thoughts of Maldives and the warming ocean appear to help.

Winning the mental battle

The strange thing is, by the time the clock starts beeping, telling you that you can escape, part of you thinks “I can do longer”. That you have this. Thankfully, this is only a small part and the larger part inside me demands that I get out. Mindfully stepping out of the ice bath you find that you are tingling all over. Your legs have seized up a little. It is important at this point to move slowly. Listen to your body. Do a little stretching before heading to the warm embrace of the plunge pool.

Ah. Just how good does the plunge pool feel after your ice bath immersion? Slowly sinking into the warming waters, noticing the feelings return to your body. Start to feel human again. Realising that you have completed the first of three cycles. As you look at the clock, you do a double take. How has so much time passed? And realising that if you stay in the comfort of the plunge pool for much longer you won’t get to complete all three cycles. That is flow.

At the end of 90 minutes, showering, you do immediately feel the effects of the morning. You feel on a high. Your body feels good. And my thoughts start turning to a walk along the beach and a good coffee.

Will we return for take 3?

A different kind of day

The day after we had time to reflect whilst visiting one of our favourite venues in the South West. Not just for the food, which is AMAZING, also for the wine, which is world class. We first discovered Glenarty Road whilst on a trip from Margaret River to Pemberton. We paid a visit to the lighthouse at Cape Augusta, before heading through Karridale and calling in at “The Farm’.

On that occasion we just had a wine tasting. On several visits since we have always made sure to book ourselves in for lunch. With a philosophy of “paddock to plate”, there is a simple elegance at Glenarty Road that has simply stolen our hearts. Fine dining, in a shed. Being a working farm you also get a chance to see where your produce comes from. The carbon footprint is very low as everything is produced either right there at Glenarty Road, or by one of their neighbours.

Sitting down to eat I am not sure how Victoria felt when the waitress complemented her on the perfume she was wearing.

“Is that Chanel?” she asked.

“Yes”, replied Victoria.

“Oh, i love it. My mum wears it.”

The conversation kind of ended there. Luckily, the food saved the day.

As always when visiting wine country, and in a region as large as the South West of Australia, one of you needs to be the skipper. For this particular trip, Victoria had the car keys. I got to enjoy an extra glass of their excellent 2023 Kinfolk Chardonnay. Oh my!

Thoughts of returning

Glenarty Road is a place that we continue to return to. We will again. And as I sipped my wine I wondered when our next visit to Mend, for the ice bath, would be.

Settling into Sri Lanka

Arriving late at night is always a little discombulating. Over the years we have tried our best to arrive in daylight hours, giving us a better chance to get our bearings in a new city. Sometimes, you are at the mercy of flight schedules as was the case with our arrival into Sri Lanka.

Having had a good sleep near the airport, and a very hair raising taxi ride to Sigiriya, we could now slow down, settle into the Sri Lankan rhythm and start exploring. Sigiriya is in central Sri Lanka, north west of Colombo, in a very historic area. An area that is said to have been inhabited since prehistoric times. The main attraction is Lion’s Rock which dominates the skyline. Almost 600 feet high, this massive slab of granite has a rich cultural history. Now a UNESCO World Heritage site it is described as “one of the best preserved examples of ancient urban planning.”

Seeing Sigiriya

As you can see in other parts of the world, notably Machu Picchu in Peru, Sigiriya rock was built to be lived on. Where better place to build your fancy new palace? At the very top, of course. Away from nasty people trying to invade. In what must be one of the world’s greatest conundrums, I gaze in wonder at how they possibly managed to build a palace on top of such a high rock. A rock we would be climbing ourselves during our three days in Sigiriya.

Today was about getting our first taste of Sri Lankan food, and specifically the famed kottu. A dish that I think is specific to Sri Lanka, a kottu is a mixture of cut up roti bread, vegetables and sometimes with chicken and cheese added. The way this dish is made is very distinctive and the sounds can be heard before the delicious smells. On a large grill plate, all the ingredients are bundled together and with two large metal cleaver type utensils, the cook chops up furiously. The metallic clang clang of the utensils on the metal grill can be heard far and wide. A piece of clever marketing I would say.

The result is a delicious plate of food that can be tailored to your level of spice tolerance. It turns out we have a “Sri Lankan” tolerance, something that surprised quite a few locals. Maybe our love of spicy Indian curries has trained our palettes. Little Hut was the venue for our first foray into Sri Lankan food. A small restaurant that wasn’t much bigger than a hut. I am glad that I had eaten before using the solitary toilet. 

A kottu each and a local Lion beer and the bill was 4,290 rupees, approximately $21 AUD. Not very cheap by Asian standards and worth every penny. I think we are going to like Sri Lankan food.

Sigiriya is a small village and it didn’t take long to explore. It has the welcoming feel of a very local community and all the restaurants we passed were small and family run. Usually dad or grandad outside bringing people in, the wife in the kitchen, and kids running around. Sadly, there are way too many people opening restaurants and serving food from the kitchen of their house than there are tourists. The result is a lot of forlorn looking places and not much food being cooked.

Monday dawns in Sigiriya

Monday morning dawned rather portentously, with rain. Something we were to see a lot more of. Our first breakfast at the hotel was great visually, not so good when we started eating. Everything was served cold. As is the norm in many places we had to order our choice the day before. I didn’t realise this was so that they could make it the day before. This is what it felt like when I bit into my omelette. Cold. How about the toast? Cold. The only thing served hot was the tea. Sadly, it was going to become the rule rather than the exception for most of our time in Sri Lanka.

Dambulla and the Cave Temple Complex

With the rain being rather relentless we switched around our plans for the day. Climbing Lion’s Rock could wait until tomorrow and today we will head to Dambulla, home of some of the most well preserved and largest cave temples. In fact, it is the largest cave temple complex in Sri Lanka. The Golden Rock Temple among them is declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

Being 14 kilometres from Sigiriya we ordered a taxi through the Pick Me app and were soon getting dropped off by the ticket entrance. A steep climb up and the very impressive Dambulla cave temple is revealed. We had to share the path with monkeys. Lots of monkeys. What had become obvious is that Sri Lanka is home to wild monkeys, with hotels warning that doors are always closed and shoes not left outside. I would hate to see a monkey strolling around the village in my Tevas.

Leaving our sandals at the gate, safe from curious monkeys, we got to explore the Royal Cave and its many imposing Buddha statues. The 3,000 rupee entrance fee was rather steep, more than the price of the tuk tuk home. That said, we did get “extra value” on the ride home. When the driver asked where we lived I just went into autopilot. We must get asked this question over a dozen times a day. However, when he fiddled with YouTube on his phone, whilst driving, and we suddenly had the “Australia Top 50 Charts” blasting through the tuk tuk’s speakers I worked out that the driver was on a charm offensive. Probably fishing for tips. The only tip I could offer him was not to play such loud garbage to a middle aged gentleman.

Sri Lankan curry

Lunch was back in Sigiriya and another first. Sri Lankan curry from a great restaurant called Kenoli. It looked deserted when we arrived, something we were getting used to, and over the time we had lunch quite a few travellers called in. I had the chicken curry and a mango juice. And being a Sri Lankan curry it was served in the traditional way, with lots of little bowls holding all the usual Sri Lankan accompaniments. It was delicious. And spicy. With Victoria’s egg fried rice and a Sprite the bill was a princely 3,350 rupees, $16 AUD. What about a cold beer? Not sold at the restaurant so we thought we would call somewhere and pick some up.

Buying alcohol in Sri Lanka

When travelling we usually like to pick up a couple of cold beers in the afternoon to take back to the room whilst having a few rounds of Uno. Curiously, I hadn’t yet seen anywhere that sold alcohol. I was fully expecting to see lots of types of stores that are ubiquitous in Asia. The 7-11s of Thailand. The Family Marts of Tokyo. Yet, here in Sri Lanka, nothing. So I headed over to Google (other search engines are available) to research what was going on.

What was going on was that very few places are licensed to sell alcohol. The places that are, are usually called “Wine Shops” and are marked by a large green sign, something that I learned to spot at a thousand paces. But not in Sigiriya. There wasn’t one shop in the whole village selling alcohol. This, and the fact that only limited places could sell alcohol did mean that for the whole trip we drank a lot less frequently than we might have otherwise done. Not a bad thing. As with the local beer in Bali, Bintang, the Sri Lankan lager, Lion, is not something you would want to drink much of. It takes some getting used to.

What we were getting used to was the rain. Our accommodation was down a lane off the main road and was prone to flooding. At one point it was completely flooded and fortuitously, a tuk tuk passed just at the point where we were wondering how wet we were going to get. The tuk tuk was occupied and Victoria asked if she could jump in for the 10 yards or so of flooded road. The back passenger shuffled over and Victoria jumped in. Only one of us got our feet wet.

Climbing Lion’s Peak in Sigiriya

We both got our feet wet the next day. Our last full day in Sigiriya and so our last opportunity to climb Lion’s Peak. Weather be damned, we are climbing. Not even another cold breakfast could dampen our spirits. Paying a pricey $35 USD, each, to enter the National Park it seems we weren’t the only ones braving the elements. We were in good company with large numbers out to scale the rock. 

Reading somewhere that it could take between one and three hours to climb the peak we were ready for a strenuous morning. Imagine our surprise when less than 30 minutes later we were walking around at the top. The views would have been amazing, if it ever stopped raining. We smiled. We were happy. We were travelling around Sri Lanka and knew we were very privileged. A bit of rain wouldn’t stop these two hardy folk from Yorkshire.

Walking around the top I really did get a feel of Macchu Picchu. The sense of awe I felt when first arriving at the top all those years ago. All this ingenuity. All this history. The felt sense of all those people that were here thousands of years before us. Life really is so much bigger than any of us.

Leaving Sigiriya the following day we reflected on our first impressions of Sri Lanka. I compared it to travelling many years ago. Very friendly locals all trying their best to make a living. Our first stop had been in a traditional village steeped in Sri Lankan history. Tourist numbers were low and I know this will change over the years as the world catches on to the beauty of this country. 

As this happens, and Sri Lanka moves with the times, one of my biggest hopes is that they stop this horrendous practice of chaining up elephants so tourists can gawk, ride, and take photos of them. It broke my heart each day to see the stricken elephant chained in a yard and looking very distressed. What was worse was seeing the very sharp spear the men used to dig into the elephants heels when they refused to walk where they were being directed and hearing the elephants’ harrowing cry.

I understand historically countries have used elephants in their tourist attractions. Livelihoods have been built on elephants. My hope is that many more start following the lead of places such as Mandalao Elephant Conservation in Luang Prabang, Laos, who conserve and protect these beautiful animals. Humans and animals both deserve the same level of respect.

With that thought occupying me I was brought back to the present by the sound of crunching gravel as our taxi pulled up to the hotel. We have a three hour taxi ride today, heading south, to the historical city of Kandy. If only all this rain would let up. Worryingly, it did seem to be getting worse. Has anyone checked the forecast?