The one thing you really have to do in Kandy is visit the Temple of The Tooth. The tooth, that is to say, that was retrieved from the funeral pyre of the Buddha, and transported via a circuitous series of adventures to become the most venerated object in Sri Lanka. So we did it.
We came, as luck would have it, at peak time. Not quite sure why – certain times have particular religious significance – but the place was absolutely heaving. Mostly, it felt, with fierce little grannies, uninfected by any colonial hangover about queuing. Though also, it has to be said, perfectly amenable to being baulked in the attempts to wheedle past at every turn.
We ended up getting through the melee reasonably quickly, having no great interest in seeing the tooth itself, which is in any case kept in a casket, and set about visiting the many other sights on offer, including a museum of Buddhism around the world: lots of wonderful artworks and carvings, and very interesting to see the different cultural takes on the image of the Buddha himself – some jolly and rotund, others more ascetic, almost severe.
For the afternoon, we’d decided to check out the market – we love markets – and the shopping district. One of the pairs of shorts I’d bought – beach bum stylie – had proven so beach bum stylie that they literally fell apart on first wearing, and Virle had knackered her trousers when she fell over yesterday, so that gave us something to focus on, in what was in truth little more than a follow your nose meander, so we headed to the market, next to the main shopping district.
As it turned out, the market was less interesting than we’d hoped: not that big, with two modest floors, the ground full of locals buying fruit & veg and groceries various; the first floor dedicated to clothing, but with many shutters down, and few other punters around. It’s always a bit awkward walking past shopfront after shopfront with people all but begging you to come in and view their largely indistinguishable wares, but we stuck at it like the troopers we are, and eventually hit paydirt: a nice shop run by a nice man, where we bought a large and beautiful batik for a vacant spot in our stairwell which has been waiting three or four years for the right candidate. We also picked out a lovely bolt of batik, from which the nice man said we could have a shirt for me and a skirt for V run up overnight. Sure enough, the tailor turned up five minutes later, did some measuring, and went off to get cracking. We’re picking up our made-to-measure gear tomorrow: £10 for my shirt, £8 and change for Virle’s skirt.
By this time we were both feeling we’d about had enough for today (not least because we’d had to do the Temple in bare feet, and Virle’s were very hurty), so we got a couple of ice creams and headed back along the lakeside to our room for an hour or two’s well earned r&r.
PS Been meaning to mention, I erred the other day in crediting the magnificent Nine Arches bridge to Victorian engineers. Googling has since revealed that it was actually built in 1921, and by Sri Lankan engineers. So hats off to them.
PPS Just discovered (from our balcony) that we should have stuck to plan A and gone up the hill for the sunset after all.
