My first stop: Sigiriya, often called Lion Rock, a dramatic 200-metre-high column of stone rising straight out of the jungle. In the 5th century CE, King Kasyapa, who ascended to the throne following a violent coup, chose this spot to build his fortress-palace, serving both as a defensive stronghold and a symbol of his power. He carved a lion’s mouth into the rock face, painted frescoes of celestial women across its sides, and polished one wall so smooth he could see his reflection in it.
You begin at ground level, passing symmetrical water gardens, moats, and ancient fountains, some of which still function during the monsoon. Then the climb begins.
There are 1,200 steps in total; I made it to the Lion’s Paws, which is around 900 steps up. The heat, the crush of people, and the thought of a medical emergency on an iron staircase made my decision easy. Do I regret not reaching the summit? A little. But I feel certain I’d regret pushing too far and not making it back down.
Still, what a place. The palace ruins at the top, the surrounding jungle, and the sheer scale of its construction evoke a sense of something mythological—and yet, it’s all very real. Sigiriya is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and remains a marvel of ancient urban planning.
I left Sigiriya feeling awed. Even without reaching the summit.
The next day brought more stairs, this time, a mere 364, to the Dambulla Cave Temples. But having learned my lesson from Sigiriya, I was the very first visitor to arrive. No crowd, no blazing midday sun. Not “cool,” exactly, but cooler and blissfully quiet.
Tucked inside a rock outcrop, Dambulla’s five caves have been sacred to Buddhists for over 2,000 years. The story goes that King Valagamba of Anuradhapura took refuge here in the 1st century BCE after being overthrown. When he reclaimed his throne, he turned the caves into a monastery to honour the monks who had sheltered him.
Today, the caves hold more than 150 Buddha statues, in every posture—seated, standing, meditating, reclining. The reclining Buddha, nearly 50 feet long, depicts his final moment before enlightenment after death.
Each cave is painted floor to ceiling with intricate murals, covering thousands of square feet of images that depict the life of the Buddha, his teachings, and scenes from local lore. As you walk from one chamber to the next, it’s not just the scale of devotion that strikes you, but the layering of centuries. Some paintings date back to the Kandyan period of the 1700s, while others were added later, and some may even conceal traces of earlier work underneath.
As the temperature started rising and tour buses started unloading visitors, I made my way back down the steps in the company of a few cheeky monkeys, glad to have had that early-morning start with no regrets.
If you've enjoyed following Karl's journey, please consider sharing this post with others. I've been researching and telling his story since 2016 — it's a labour of love, and every share helps keep this piece of Canadian history alive.
Then get caught up on the rest of our journey, click here for more Karl Chronicles
The Karl Journey is registered as an official expedition with the Royal Geographical Society