Happily I got off the bus near the caves in Dambulla. After great days in Negombo and Kandy, I was yet seeking for a more authentic Sri Lanka experience. I had read about a place called "Little Dream" on the way between Kandy and Sigiriya. A quick Internet research convinced me that it must be a peaceful place, worth to give it a try. I had to take another bus towards Amaya Lake, 8km away from the main road. The tuk-tuk drivers were particularly persisting and would not leave me alone. Call me stingy, but I had just paid 70 Rs for the 2 hour journey from Kandy - I wasn't going to spend 350 Rs on a tuk-tuk for the last bit. Finally, the bus arrived. I paid one tenth of the tuk-tuk price.
Proud to have found the place all by myself, I walked through the gate and was welcomed by the owner of the guest house, a kind woman in her fifties. There were 3 rooms, but I was the only guest for the night. I was not surprised due to its rural location. The room was basic, but clean and after talking to Adunta for some minutes, I decided to stay. Outside, I could swing in the hammocks and even try out my own hammock. It seemed like a great discovery.
Sausage Tree!
When I wanted to go to the lake for some pictures, the son of the house welcomed me and offered to show me the river just down the hill. I was curious to see the spot where the family bathes and washes their clothes. The next minutes turned out quite thrilling as we rushed through thick jungle and I felt increasingly uncomfortable. We arrived at a small pond where a waran (a large type of lizard) pulled a dead dog into the water. Suddenly, my alarm kicked in as I imagined the worst stories, ending with myself being pulled into the pond by the waran.
I signalled that I wanted to go back and to my luck, there was no offensive behavior on our way back. We were cutting through man-high grass, jumped across a small stream, climbed some rocks, and I realized I would not have found my way back alone. I scolded myself for having gone this far, and took a deep breath when we were approaching the house. I thanked the son for the tour and went off to take some pictures of the lake. The landscape was stunning, with a mountain range in the background, some dead trees standing in the deep blue water.
Suddenly a tuk-tuk stopped and a man jumped out. I had seen him before, he was missing some teeth. He explained that he lived in the "Little Dream". I was skeptical and when he did not back off, I decided to walk to my guest house. Of course, he followed me; it turned out he was truly another son of the family. Many more men showed up on the property, some of them friends of the three sons. They did not approach me in any way, but their pure presence made me feel uneasy. For the rest of the evening, the first son decided to give me (unwanted) company. Even when I wanted to just rest in my hammock, he was not far to keep telling me stories.
Over dinner, which was delicious and spicy, I happily talked to Adanta about their life as farmers. I could tell she was a bright woman who had settled for a traditional life and now lives here with her three sons and mother. The interior of the house was very simple. What always stuns me is that with a little more effort, it could be made so much nicer. The paint was long worn off. On the wall hung a picture frame, with the photograph half sunk in. There were spider webs everywhere and old plastic bottles in the corner. Sitting here for one evening was fine, but I could not live like this.
Throughout the evening, I still could not get the peace I had hoped to find. After some time, I announced that I will go to bed. It was only 8pm and I was nowhere tired, but with Adanta being out of sight and the 'boys' still lingering around, I decided to be on the safe side this time. I did not have a particularly peaceful night either. The fan did not work but gladly there was a mosquito net. However, the buzzing sound of an army of mosquitoes kept me awake all night. A little later that night, I could hear someone walking on the terrace outside my room. It was probably the son who turned off the outdoor lights. Now it was pitch dark; I could not even see my hand in front of my eyes. This was the first night I slept with a pocket knife in my right hand and a torch in my left hand.
Nothing happened in the end, not even a knock on the door. Needless to say I greeted the next day with a pretty grim face. The son had made breakfast and came hanging outside my door as soon as I opened it. I ate in a rush and paid my debts. My instincts told me to get out of there - fast! Before the little dream would turn into a nightmare, I packed my things and thanked Adanta, she was certainly hospitable. But the place was spooky! I sprinted after the bus that was about to pass, trying to ignore the weight of my backpack. The tires screeched and I jumped on board. While the locals were curiously observing me, I looked at the pretty lake and let my rural experience settle in.
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