Enchanted island

‘Excuse me, madam, you are writing for a Buddhist priest?’ For a moment, I was confused — but then enlightenment struck. No, I assured the waiter, whose smile was, indeed, like the Buddha’s, the pieces I was writing were for the British press. After a few days in Sri Lanka, however, I could see how writing for a Buddhist priest might well make much more sense.

Buddhas are everywhere in this beautiful country, a country whose Sinhalese name means ‘enchanted island’ and which Marco Polo described as ‘the finest small island in the world’. It is a country which has inspired writers from Paul Bowles to Neruda and Chekhov, a country whose riches and spices have caught the eye, and invading armies, of not one European nation, but three. Early Arab traders called it ‘Serendhib’, a word which has become a synonym for the making of happy accidents by chance. And this is a country full of happy accidents. Buddhist and Hindu temples nestle alongside Catholic churches and mosques. Christmas is celebrated and so is Diwali and so are poyas, the full-moon days when alcohol is forbidden. But not, thank goodness, for tourists.

Not all the accidents in Sri Lanka have been happy, of course. Colonialism — Arab, Portuguese, Dutch and British — brought the messy legacy it always does. The country’s religiously diverse population (70 per cent Buddhist, 15 per cent Hindu, 7.5 per cent Christian and 7.5 per cent Muslim) may live together in unusual harmony, but the bloody conflict between the Tamil Tigers and the national government continues. And, as if that wasn’t enough, there was the tsunami — that giant wave which rose up out of nowhere, killing 32,000 people and wiping out whole communities.