STONER CIRCLES

Ruins are a strange thing. We are enchanted by buildings built long ago, as much as for what it says about civilizations long past as it is about admiring the buildings or what remains of them. Remains is a key word, as often not much remains, lone columns standing like the sun-bleached bones of a long dead animal picked clean by carnivores. This analogy is particularly accurate with many churches made from the ruins of classical buildings, like columns from the temple of Artemis (one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World) used in the construction of the Aya Sofia in Istanbul. 

All that remains of the temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient World.

What remains requires us to use our imagination, to remake the scene of a busy building as it may have been 1,000, 2,000 or even 5,000 years ago. It seems odd that we marvel at buildings made by our forebears that are many times smaller in stature to buildings built today. It is more the wondering how and why primitive people made certain buildings and structures is as, if not more important than the buildings or ruins themselves. Stonehenge is one such ruin where imagination and asking questions may produce more wonderment than gazing on the remains themselves. The first glimpse of Stonehenge is when you are approaching it down one of the motorways that frame it. It’s instantly recognizable, familiar, understated. It’s no Angkor Wat or Taj Mahal, merely a humble collection of undecorated rocks on a hill on rolling farmland in Wiltshire.  Ancient burial mounds can be seen in the surroundings on the hills around it. There is a sense that Stonehenge looks the same as it did 2000 years ago, although I’m not sure if that is the case.

Understated but still awe-inspiring

Stonehenge may be one of the world’s most recognizable sites but that doesn’t stop the haters. A pile of rocks surrounded by a traffic island some say. Others would talk about its small stature (the replica at my work is taller). Indeed, the value of Stonehenge was not always recognized. Even until recent time, people were chipping off pieces of rock and carving their name into them. One man was caught bashing away at one of the stones with a sledgehammer. There were plans to build a rail-line right through the site- an official defended the decision by saying Stonehenge was “entirely out of repair and not the slightest use to anyone”. There were reports that an American buyer wanted to buy the stones, ship them to the States and re-erect them as a tourist attraction. Stonehenge was not protected until the 1920s. By this time, roads had been built close to it (but not as close as some people would have you believe). Buildings close to it were removed and the site was gifted to the National Trust. The significance of Stonehenge was belatedly realized, just in time to protect it.  

Another view

The haters miss the point of Stonehenge and other such sites. It was produced by a culture that left no written records. How did they move heavy stones from a Welsh quarry hundreds of kilometers away? Why did they choose to erect them there? Why did they bother? What was it made for? Despite years of speculation, the questions regarding why and how Stonehenge and other similar stone circles were made are no closer to be answered. No-one is really sure what Stonehenge is or was. Was it a Druid temple, guide for aliens, a celestial calendar, a town, a gate, a burial ground, a healing ground or a place of worship? All have been proposed but all we know was that the stones are arranged in a way that they had some sort of a relationship with the sun and the seasons. Its design allows a celestial observatory function, which might have allowed prediction of eclipses, solstices, equinox and other celestial events. The best guess of the function of Stonehenge is that it use was multi-faceted, sometimes acting as a temple, sometimes a place of healing, sometimes a cemetery and always as some sort of a celestial calendar.

The site was probably not associated with druids, despite what neo-druids would argue. Neo-druids are advocates of neo-paganism and new age beliefs, who came to revere Stonehenge as a site of religious significance, believing that it was a site used by the original druids. The historian Ronald Hutton remarked that “it was a great and potentially uncomfortable, irony that modern Druids arrived in Stonehenge just as archaeologists were evicting the ancient Druids from it”. The neo-druids have held fast in claiming connections to Stonehenge, with Stonehenge Free Festivals held at the site between 1972 and 1984, when it was stopped after a series of serious incidents involving the police, the so-called Battle of the Beanfield. After this battle, access to the stones was stopped for several years and is now only allowed when on guided tours or during the summer and winter solstices or the spring and autumn equinoxes. In fact, even the neo-druidism movement that celebrates the summer solstice at Stonehenge has, most likely, been hi-jacked by people whose only purpose of attending is the unusual experience of being able to get loaded among the stones.

One of the things I learnt in England is that Stonehenge is not necessarily unique. It is unusual in that it is taller than other existing stone circles, and the lintel stones (the stones that “cap” the monument are held in place using mortise and tenon joints are unique, at least in surviving stone circles) but stone circles of Stonehenge’s ilk were relatively common around Neolithic Britain. A kind of sister site to Stonehenge is Avebury, 25 kilometres from Stonehenge, which is an older and much larger stone circle (it is the largest stone circle in Europe). Avebury lacks the relative completeness of Stonehenge (I use completeness lightly as many of Stonehenge’s stones have  disappeared) and the dramatic hanging stones but 100 stones still stand in the circle that surrounds the village of Avebury. It is also less touristy than Stonehenge. Sheep graze in the fields the stones lie in and you can walk around, touch and even sit on some of the stones. 

Sheep graze among Avebury's stones.

Europe’s largest burial mound, Silbury Hill, is close by and may have been a component of a greater Avebury complex. Men toiled building both Silbury Hill and a ditch that surrounds Avebury itself, using red-deer antlers as their digging implements. The function of Avebury is still unclear, with as many ideas existing about its function as there were for Stonehenge. Our audio guide mentioned something about a study that found that seeds germinated here produced higher than average yields. The reason given was something new-agey like ionic disequilibrium or something. Similarly, people were using dowsing rods in the belief that they can detect psychic emissions in the area. The audio guide ambitiously suggested that this could be a cure for world starvation (ignoring the fact that we already have an excess of food in the world, it’s just transportation that prevents us from feeding everyone). The building of Avebury around 2600 BC has been attributed to the druids, the Phoenicians and as a monument to honour King Arthur.  It has even been suggested that Native Americans had built the megalithic monuments in Britain.

Avebury’s stone circle is several kilometers in diameter, enclosing an area of over 100 hectares. Many of the stones remain buried in the earth; others have long been demolished for use in other projects.  With the rise of Christianity, stone circles were viewed throughout the Middle Ages as being the work of the devil; hence many stones were pushed over or otherwise destroyed. This apparently stopped after a falling stone crushed one unfortunate; his body was found in 1938, lost during the war and then re-found again in the 1990s. This may have discouraged the villagers from pulling down the stones. Certainly, the pulling of stones stopped and it has been speculated that the man’s death was seen as either a warning or retribution from the devil himself.  Stones left standing acquired names like the Devil’s Chair or the Devil’s Brand iron. 

In the devil's chair

By the 17^th and 18th Centuries, the destruction of the stones increased. Obviously, the villagers no longer feared the devil. This time, many were destroyed by lighting a fire around the stone, pouring cold water on them and then attacking weak points of the stone with a sledgehammer. The stone fragments were then used in buildings in the local village, a village that grew over time to the extent that houses were now among the stones themselves. By the late 19^th Century, the idea that Avebury was something worth preserving was gaining momentum. The site was bought and protected by two men of influence, initially by Sir John Luddock who bought the site when he learnt that a large portion of the remaining circle was to be removed to make way for new housing and subsequently by Alexander Keiller, a man who improbably was a marmalade heir, who removed many of the houses that lay near the stones and started excavations that uncovered many of the buried stones. He gifted the land to the National Trust in the 1940s, thus preserving it for future generations.

View of the stone circle

Stonehenge and Avebury pose many questions, with many of them unlikely to be ever answered. Will people 5,000 years from now stand before one of the ruins of our buildings and ask what was this for? What would people think were the purpose of vast sports stadiums, edifices of extravagance that some are, if they were to be rediscovered 5,000 years from now with no written clue as to their use. People would probably be as unlikely to guess correctly their proper usage as we are at ascertaining the role of stone circles in Neolithic Britain.

A DOGGIE DISH

Guinea Pigs in Peru, spiders in Cambodia, anything that moves or used to in China. The food choices of people from many countries intrigue us, even as much of our diet intrigues or offends other cultures. A guy arrested in Korea recently who stole from foreigner’s apartments said he could easily find foreigner’s apartments because they smelt like cheese (in this case, he meant both the foreigner and their abode). If you were to ask the average westerner what it is that Koreans eat, I bet that dog meat would come high on their list of answers. And its true, dog meat is something that Koreans, especially males, do eat occasionally. Korea’s reputation of being the land of the nervous dog ignores the fact that dog is commonly eaten throughout much of the world. For example, dogs have been seen as a major source of protein throughout the Pacific, ever since people left Taiwan and started one of humankind’s greatest migrations. No large mammals exist on any of these islands, bar one’s close to Australia, so the dog was valued for its taste and protein value. Its fur and teeth could be used for decoration, clothing and ornaments, its bones for tools and implements. Dogs are still eaten in South East Asia, throughout China where it is eaten during the winter months, as it is believed to generate heat and promote bodily warmth. Dog was even on the menu of Chinese astronauts. In Ghana, it is eaten in a courtship stew provided by a king to his royal lineage. In Germany, it has been eaten commonly in times of turmoil. In Poland, dogs are rendered into lard that is said to be good for the lungs. Parts of Switzerland are known to produce dog jerky and sausage. In Mexico, breeds were developed by the Mexicans to be used as a food source. And so on. Most countries have some history of eating dog, yet South Korea is the country most associated with the eating of dog, the gold standard of canine consumption.

Despite the widespread use of dogs as a source of protein, many of the world’s inhabitants are strongly opposed to eating it. In Islam and Judaism, the consumption of dog meat is forbidden, Some would argue that it is also taboo for Christians, although most Christians are of a belief that the New Testament scriptures supersede the Old Testament and allow consumption of foods like pork and shellfish considered unclean by Jews and Muslims. Regardless, the elevated position of dogs in the West is shown by the fact that we don’t consume dogs, or cats for that matter, (although during the Blitz in London, cats were euphemistically called roof rabbits and commonly eaten). In Keith Thomas’s, Man and the Natural World, three features are mentioned that elevate dogs (and cats) above other animals; they were allowed and indeed encouraged to enter homes and churches, they were given individual personal names, and that there was a strong taboo against their consumption.

Even though dog has and still is commonly eaten around the world, cultural imperialism has led for cries to stop the eating of those animals elevated to a special status in the West (namely cats, dogs and horses). Many Asian countries have banned the consumption of dog meat, including Korea who somehow has managed to acquire and bear the brunt of the dog eating moniker. In 2003, the BBC claimed that around 5,000 restaurants served dog and that around 100,000 tons of dog meat are consumed annually in South Korea.

What's for dinner? Beef or Dog?

 While dog meat is eaten and has been eaten in Korea for millennia, it does not form a major part of the diet. It does have a long tradition, with dog bones found in Neolithic settlements clearly used as food. A wall painting from the 4^th Century AD depicts a slaughtered dog in a storehouse.  It is a summertime dish, (interesting the opposite of China where it is seen as a winter dish) and is most often eaten in the form of bosingtang or dog soup, usually by men looking for a boost in stamina (code for prolonged sexual prowess, one of many alleged aphrodisiacs in Korea).  Alternatively, it can be eaten boiled or consumed in a drink, gaesoju where a dog’s penis is often added for extra ‘stamina’. With the rise in Western medicine, people are starting to doubt the veracity of the aphrodisiac properties attributed to dog meat. Not Kim Sung Il, the former North Korean dictator, who reputedly ate 7 dog penises a day as both a youth elixir and as a way to cope with the harem of young girls he kept.

Dog Soup

While many Koreans have tried dog meat, only a small proportion of Koreans eat it regularly. However, it is an emotive issue, with many disparate views. Some Koreans want it banned outright, others don’t eat it but support the rights of others to enjoy it and some want to actively promote the consumption of dog meat. If prompted, most men and some boys would admit to have sampled Fido. Most women and girls however screw up their nose at the thought of eating dog and a growing number of Koreans are opposed to the practice. 59% of Koreans under 30 said that they would not eat dog, 62% said that they saw dogs as pets first, food second. A possible reason for this is dogs are becoming more popular as pets, especially the lap dogs, perfectly sized pets for Korean apartments. A special breed of dog (nureongi) has been developed for eating in Korea that differs from other pet dogs, including dogs like the esteemed Jindo (designated Korea’s 53^rd national treasure in 1962). To further dissociate these dogs from the pets now commonly kept by Koreans, they are known as ddong-gae, meaning "shit dog", which refers to the common stray dogs' habit of eating feces. These dogs are generally considered by Koreans to be "mutts", "mongrels", or "curs" and are not normally allowed into the home.

A Jindo: National treasure #53

I have never tried dog. I could have a James Frey moment here and embellish a story about how I had a piece of meat in my mouth and didn’t have the strength to follow through with my conviction but that’s just not true. Before I arrived in the country, eating dog was one of the things I had wanted to try. I considered it a cultural rite of passage, shedding part of my colonial baggage in the process. I imagined how my honour would grow in the minds of those Koreans present, a foreigner embracing something that foreigners are supposed to express anger or shock at. I imagined it to be an activity hidden away, where the participation in this culinary delight was only achieved through belonging to clandestine underground groups, only joined through an intense initiation testing my resolve and dedication to the cause before letting me enter the inner chamber. I imagined secret handshakes and passwords were needed to obtain the elixir of canine moonshine. However, these doggie clan meetings unfortunately appeared to be a myth, nothing more than a trailer played out in the cinema of my mind. The truth is less sexy. Koreans are a little hesitant to talk about eating dog with foreigners, no doubt aware that many foreigners are vehemently opposed to the practice. Under pressure from international protests before the Seoul Olympics held in 1988, dog meat was banned and it still has no legal status as a food unlike say beef, poultry or pork. The South Korean government at that time asked butchers to not hang dog carcasses in windows and asked its citizens to limit the eating of dog in front of foreigners, pleas that were reiterated before and during the 2002 Football World cup jointly held in Korea and Japan.

My reasons for not eating dog in the end didn’t have anything to do with them being man’s best friend. I find such thinking to smack of cultural imperialism. After all, we as westerners indulge in eating beef (undesirable for Hindus) and pork (similarly for Muslims and Jews). One of the worst examples of this cultural elitism was during the 2002 World Cup co-hosted by South Korea. The organizers put some pressure on the South Korean government to stop the consumption of dogs with Brigitte Bardot calling for a boycott of the games unless a total ban on dog meat was strictly enforced. Imagine if Indian groups came to America and called for McDonalds to stop using beef in its burgers (Interestingly,  in India, McDonalds doesn’t sell Big Macs, it sells chicken burgers like the Maharaja burger to avoid offending the Hindu majority).

Nor could I use the too cute excuse. I’ve watched Bambi and still enjoy venison. And I couldn’t use the how can you eat a pet reason as coming from the south of New Zealand it was common for kids to have lambs which one week were playmates called Lamb chop and then the next week end up as Christmas dinner. In the end, it came down to two things. The first and most important fact was that I didn’t like how the animals were killed (or might have been killed). The traditional way to kill dogs is to slowly strangle the dog to death while beating it with hammers. This was believed to add more adrenaline to the meat, therefore increasing its all important  stamina quotient. A friend described how she used to admire a dog that lived in her apartment complex but was worried how it never seemed to be walked. She awoke one morning to a terrible noise, which sounded like a child being beaten. She ran downstairs to discover that it wasn’t a child that was being beaten but the dog she had been concerned about. It was strung up in a tree and three old men were beating it with hammers. Being a person of strong conviction, she immediately ran over and managed to delay the dog’s imminent death. Her boyfriend was able to phone the police in the interim who arrived in due time. When they arrived, they spoke to the three dog beaters and seemed to come to some sort of an agreement. They then came over to the couple and explained that while what the old men did was wrong and illegal, in Confucian style they had to defer to their elderly age and ask respectfully that they allow them to continue the beating of the unfortunate mutt albeit in a different place away from a residential complex. Apparently, dogs killed for commercial consumption are not treated in this manner and are killed in a similar manner to sheep in the west, with an electric jot to the head.

On the way to the table.

The second reason and my personal nail in the coffin of canine eating was a conversation I had with my mother-in-law. She had watched a BBC documentary that went undercover at dog farms around Korea. What struck her (and me in her retelling of the documentary) was that while the dog farmers saw the animals as a food commodity, the dogs themselves acted and looked like dogs. They still wagged their tails when approached and were playful towards their farmers. This image of a playful dog wagging its tail shortly before being hang from a tree and beaten was hard to shake. Maybe I couldn’t shake my cultural background after all, no matter how virile it might make me.

ISLAND ON A COMEBACK

Sri Lanka has been an island divided by a long war of independence, a plan for Tamil secession that ultimately failed but not before 100,000 people lost their lives. The conflict has wrecked much of the island’s infrastructure, especially in the north, as well as severely reducing the number of foreign visitors to the country. The war started in 1983, with the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) seeking and fighting to create an independent Tamil state in the north and eastern part of the island. For 26 years, the battle raged, with atrocities and war crimes committed by both sides. The root of the war was that Tamils felt that their cultural heritage, in particular language (Tamil) and religion (Hindu), was being swamped by the majority Sinhalese, who speak Sinhalese and are predominantly Buddhist. 

Despite the differences that led to the civil war (one of the bigger oxymorons in the English language), Sri Lanka remains a multi-ethnic and multi- religious country. While about 70% of the population are Buddhists (Sri Lanka lays claim to having the longest continuous history of Buddhism of any current pre-dominantly Buddhist country), there are large Hindu (15 %), Muslim (8%) and Christian (8%) populations scattered throughout the country. It’s not uncommon on a walk through a Sri Lankan town to pass by a church, then a mosque then a Buddhist temple then a Hindu one. You can hear Muslim calls to prayer, see monks and  hear Buddhist chanting and on occasion you might hear bells ringing from a Catholic church. Its this diversity that makes the recent troubles even more surprising.

Our most hectic day of sightseeing in Sri Lanka meant we had an early wake-up call in order for us take in some of the sights of central Sri Lanka. 5 of the 7 World Heritage sites in Sri Lanka lie in this central plain known as the cultural triangle. After leaving Kandy (home of another World Heritage site, the temple of the Tooth), our first stop was at the Hindu temple in the town of Matale, known as Sri Muthumariamman Thevasthanam (Sri Lanka has a lot of unruly names. A prominent cricketer’s full name is Warnakulasuriya Patabendige Ushhanta Joesph Chaminda Vaas).  Here, the temple is in the style of southern India, quite different from the Hindu temples that we saw in North India. It was built around 1820, mainly by people from southern India, in particular people from the state of Tamil Nadu, many who had come from India to work on tea plantations and the like. Large spires towered above us, covered in deities and sculptures. 

Cool Hindu Temple in Matale.

Inside, a man who may well have been the world’s worst tour guide showed us around. I’m sure he would be very informative if we could understand him but even though we think he was speaking English he may have well have been speaking a long forgotten dialect of Sanskirit for all we could understand him. He was enthusiastic but the only words we managed to catch were “you take picture” at various spots he deemed photogenic, followed by come and at the end, give money. That said, we still tipped him out of courtesy and the temple was distinctive enough to be worthwhile visiting. Of special note were five large colourfully decorated ceremonial carriages that are pulled by people during an annual festival in the town. 

Maybe the world's worst tour guide. Apologies sir if you ever read this blog.

Just past Matale, we passed through a village that our driver said was a pre-dominantely Muslim. Our driver just managed to avoid a wild sow and her piglets. Afterwards, the driver commented that pigs seemed to know which villages were Muslim and hence safer to be around given Islam’s pork prohibition. 

The next stop after our near crash experience was the cave complex at Dambulla, the largest and best preserved cave temple complex in Sri Lanka and arguably the most impressive Buddhist cave temples left in Asia. This World Heritage site was established in the 1st Century BC by a grateful king who sought refuge here after being driven off his throne in Anuradhapura, founding the temple after regaining his throne as  a way of thanks. Now, it is easily Dambulla’s major tourist attraction. As with many places in Asia, it has been heavily commercialized but it still retains a strong sense of the mystic, in a large part due to its hilltop location and cave functionality. At the entrance to the complex lies a large, golden Buddha, 30 metres tall, finished in glistening gold, built over the top of a garish looking Japanese constructed temple. There are claims that it is the largest Buddha in the world, apparently however, it's not even the biggest Buddha statue in Sri Lanka. Still, it makes for an impressive sight when the sun hits it, serving like a giant golden prism, scattering light in all directions.

Garish Buddha in Dambulla.

You need to walk to the left of the giant Buddha to start your journey up to the cave complex proper, which lie about 150 metres above the road. It was a reasonably strenuous but fortunately short walk to reach the cave complex. The day we went was hot; the strong sun reflected off the rock, sweat dripping off our brows to the rocks in a form of energy exchange. Colourful chameleons basked in the sun while vendors tried their luck, selling souvenirs and 'artifacts' on the side of the path-way up. As you got to the top, goats, monkeys and dogs co-existed in a precarious harmony, but it seemed to be generally understood among them that the monkeys were the overlords. At the top, you have to leave your shoes and hope that they weren't snatched away by the monkeys while you were away inside the complex. The lookout from the top was great, allowing a panoramic view of the surrounding flat plateau, and a first look at Sigiriya, the large rock fortress which was our next destination. The main part of the complex consists of 5 caves, covered by a large over-hanging rock, all rich in Buddhist imagery in the form of statues and paintings. There are over 150 statues of Buddha and numerous images of Buddha and bodhisattvas, as well as various gods and goddesses (including a couple from the Hindu pantheon).

Monkey enjoying the view.

The five caves, or shrine rooms, all differ in size and shape, style and feel. The first cave is known as the cave of the Divine King, which is dominated by a large and magnificent 14 metre long reclining Buddha statue, hewn out of the rock, its feet covered by delicately gilded lotuses. It was the first of the caves to be used as a temple. 

Reclining Buddha

The second cave is the largest one, measuring 52 metres long and 23 metres deep. In here are 16 standing and 40 seated statues of Buddha, as well as a statue of Vishnu and some of kings, one who established the monastery and one who gilded 50 statues. The presence of these royal statues gives this cave its name, fittingly “Cave of the Great Kings”. When we arrived, this temple was initially closed as the complex still serves as an active monastery and place of worship. A natural spring drips into a vessel-it’s said to run even in times of severe drought and the water collected is used in sacred rituals. 

The third cave has beautiful ceiling and wall paintings, which are relatively new (dating to the 18^th Century). Before then, it was used as a storeroom.  It also has 50 Buddha statues and a statue of the king who undertook the restorations. The last two caves are of a much smaller size and date to a later period. However, being further away from the main caves, they are relatively quiet. Lilly-covered ponds that serve as a haven for frogs are framed by the arches of the complex, giving it a more tranquil feel, a nice place to sit back and soak in the atmosphere. People stand around a tree, offering prayer and burning incense. I’m not sure what they make of the host of foreign tourists who come to gaze upon their place of worship. I guess that they just appreciate that people can see beauty in all things, including in buildings of a religion they have little knowledge of.

Outside the caves.

One of the more endearing things about Sri Lanka is that the locals will come up for a chat and then ask to trade addresses in the hope of maybe establishing a pen-pal relationship. I had a couple of overseas pen pals as a kid (I remember an American called Chad who didn’t write back to me after I asked him why the 4^th of July was a big deal and a boy from the islands in the Torres Strait between Australia and Papua New Guinea). Nowadays, with email, I had kind of guessed that people wouldn’t bother writing letters any more. However, Carla has gotten letters in the post from people we met at Dambulla that day. It’s nice to see that that sort of communication can still exist, even in this age of electronic wonder.

Lily covered ponds at the Dambulla caves.

Sigiriya, the large rock fortress we had a glimpse at from Dambulla, was the next destination. The image I had in my head of Sigiriya was Ayers Rock with erotic art, an idea that was sort of right but one that also downplayed the reality of the significance of Sirigiya. The origins and original use of Sigiriya are unclear. Scholarly literature suggests that its primary function was as a Buddhist site, a hill-top monastery. Others, including the locals, deny that it was primarily a religious centre but that it was a rock fortress of a King Kassapa (477-495 AD) who ruled here after killing his father, the king of Anuradhapura, and that the obvious religious manifestations are the consequence of a king seeking forgiveness for his sins. Undoubtedly, Sirigiya has a long human history that would date back well before Buddhist times. The multitude of caves and crevices would have been appealing to all but the most sun hardened paleolithic individuals.

To the roof.

You approach the rock by walking over the old moat (still filled with water) and through the old gardens, that now show the remains of what would have been tanks, swimming pools, islands and pavilions. The gardens here are considered to be among the oldest landscaped gardens anywhere in the world. The multitudes of birds (Sri Lanka is a great place for bird-watching unless you go pay 500 rupees to enter Udawattakele Forest in Kandy, where you will probably see no birds) seem to appreciate the trees that line the way up to the rock, flitting in and out of view. The walk up the rock is relatively steep, although it’s done is stages and much of it is paved. Signs warn visitors of the treachery of coming down and also the presence of hornets who don’t appreciate loud noises.

Beware of hornets.

About half the way up the rock is a new modern staircase that has been built to allow people access to a series of famous wall paintings; bare breasted woman believed either nymphs or concubines. The modern idea behind the frescoes is that they represent Tara- a bodhisattva and one of the more important figures in Tantric Buddhism. 

Frescoes on the rock.

What is left of a once mighty lion.

The views from the top make the walk up worthwhile. The rock (technically a hardened magna plug and an extinct and long-eroded volcano) stands 370 metres above sea level. Looking down over the plains, you can see temples poking out of the jungle. Through my binoculars, I could make out elephants, probably domesticated or tame although I hoped that they were wild. Looking back from where we had walked, the intricate designs of the gardens were apparent. The view at the back was over wetlands and was one of the more beautiful sights I have seen in my life (probably one of the reasons why Sirigiya was used as a location by Duran Duran’s in the music video for their song “Save a Prayer”). It is a little unworldly, which makes sense as it was the inspiration for a mountain in Arthur C Clarke’s book, The Fountains of Paradise (the author spent most of his last years on the island). At one time, there were buildings (probably a monastery up here), although little remains now bar the foundations and what looks like a large swimming pool (but more likely used purely for water storage). It appears that this site, perfect for withstanding siege, may never have served as a palace or as a fort, contrary to local opinion. 

What an amazing view. Photos can never do it justice.

No matter what its original purpose, Sirigiya exists as a testament to man’s ability to work with nature, as well as highlighting that the ancient kingdoms of Sri Lanka were as architecturally capable as any other ancient civilisations (as a case in point, the large lion at Sirigiya would have been more than a match for the Sphinx at Giza and the Jetavanarama Dagoda in Anuradhapura was the third largest structure in the world, ranking only behind the two tallest pyramids in Egypt).

The last haul up.

We walked slowly back to the van, partly because we lost our way, partly because we wanted to linger longer and partly because we were pursued by persistent venders. On the way to Anuradhapura, we drove past a Sri Lankan airforce base that had been attacked by the Tamil Tigers at one stage during the conflict (as recently as 2007, I think). All bar one of the Tamil Tigers died that day, but they killed a similar number of Sri Lankan army soldiers and destroyed a number of planes. Razor wire still surrounds the site, a reminder that this used to be an area of conflict. Our driver said that until recently, it wasn’t always safe for him to do this drive. Tamil Tigers would shot indiscriminately, with attacks happening as recent as 2009. Now, with foreign tourists returning to this South Asian gem, hopefully the future will be brighter for people like our driver.

DANCE OFF AT THE BORDER

Ever since independence and partition which split British India into 2 parts, a Hindu dominated India and a Muslim majority Pakistan, the border between the two has been one of the more disputed and contested borders in the world. At the time of partition, many parts of the subcontinent, including the Punjab area where we visited the border, were rocked by sectarian violence. The Punjab was split leading to the creation of two Punjabs; one Indian, one Pakistani. The partition led to the mass migration of people with Muslims living in India migrating to Pakistan and Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan migrating in the opposite direction. The end result of this was horrific intercommunal violence; Muslims killing Hindus, Hindus killing Muslims and everyone it seems, killing Sikhs. The in fighting among people who were once neighbours cost up to 1,000,000 lives and has left wounds not fully healed today. Add in disputes of the Kashmir region further north of the Punjab, wars (like the one where Bangladesh became independent of Pakistan with Indian help in the early 1970s), nuclear tensions, religious fundamentalism on both sides of the border, terrorist bombings and attacks like the one in Mumbai in 2008 and it is clear that the relationship between India and Pakistan, and hence the border, is still volatile.

We visited the border at the Wagah crossing close to Amritsar, the city famous for being the home of the Sikh’s famous Golden Temple. This crossing has sometimes been called the “Berlin Wall of Asia”, although I would think that the DMZ that divides North and South Korea to be a better fit for that title. It was the only open border for a long time between the two rivals and porters would (and still do) ship goods from Lahore into India and vice versa. Even given all the history between India and Pakistan, it’s still unclear how the Wagah border closing ceremony has managed to become such a draw-card for tourists, local and foreign alike. On average, 8,000 people a day visit the Indian side of the border, a few less on the Pakistani side.

We arranged a trip to the border from Amritsar, about 50 kilometres away, in what turned out to be a cramped minivan, the only foreigners in a van of interested Indians. Indians are never backwards when it comes to talking to foreigners, (especially if you can talk cricket-speak) so it was easy to start up a good conversation with one of the Indian guys who was visiting Amritsar and the Punjab from India’s I.T capital, Bangalore. He was one of the rising Indian middle class that you hear about, with a good, well paying (by Indian standards) job and with materialistic dreams and ambitions that would have been beyond all but the wealthiest Indians a couple of generations ago. He was excited to see the border, witness the pomp and the ceremony. He told me about how Indians feel about Pakistan, the old bitterness and anxieties seeping through although he was one of the new guard of Indian society, with their own independent thoughts that weren’t necessarily linked to race, religion or caste.

Indian guards.

The draw-card at the border is the flag-lowering ceremony each evening, which is preceded by an energetic and over-zealous parade. We arrived at the border carpark a little late, so we had to walk the kilometer or so to the actual border quickly. Our new Indian acquaintances bid us a cheery farewell, warned us to stay vigilant and then took off into the crowd. Security was tight along the road but not overly so, certainly less than what I thought and much less than at the cricket game we would attend the next week in Mohali. The road was hemmed in by barbed wire on both sides. I guess this was to prevent curious tourists wandering off (the area may be mined) as much as to prevent terrorists from getting in. We rushed to the border, dodging people selling and waving Indian flags, vendors selling corn, running past women dragging children along to get a good spot at the paradet. However, when we arrived at the border, our rushing was for nought as foreigners are automatically sent to the front. We were gifted front row V.I.P seats to the spectacle.

Full crowd for the show

It is a spectacle. On both sides of the border, grandstands have been built. The atmosphere was comparable to the tension you feel before watching a rugby game. Maybe even more so, because both sets of fans if you carry on the analogy, are there and represented in force. On the Indian side, people had painted their face in orange, white and green, large Indian flags were being waved, cheers were raised. The grandstand was a cacophony of colour, the green, white and orange against a colourful backdrop of saris. On the Pakistani side, things were less raucous. Men and women were divided, with separate grandstands for both genders. Both sides had loudspeakers that were used for the purpose of distilling patriotic measures. On the Indian side, they were loud cheers in response to “Hindustan Zindabad” (which means Long Live India) and Bharat Mata Ki Jai (Hail Mother India). On the Pakistani side, the announcements managed to sound sinister and rousing at the same time. It had cries of Pakistan, Pakistan and what I think was God is great, Pakistan is great as well as a similarly themed “Pakistan Zindabad”. Of course, it was hard to hear what was going on over on the Pakistani side as the noise was deafening on the Indian side. Periodically, they would play Bollywood songs over the loudspeakers, no doubt expressing some form of patriotism.

Pakistani and Indian guards: I can kick higher than you.

It got louder still when the parade started. After all, national prestige is on the line. It’s hard to explain the parade. Part farce (recalling Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks), part menace (Michael Palin described it as “chauvinism at its most camp”) and a large dash of pomp. It is a kind of high-stepping dance-off as members of the Indian Border Security Force and Pakistan Rangers (generally very tall men) march towards one another, snorting and stamping like a crazed and drugged rodeo horse. They wear turbans topped with huge fans, strutting up and down the tarmac in shiny black platform boots, crazed eyes blazing, waxed moustaches twitching. The high kicks they do where they touch the turbans with their boot in a remarkable display of dexterity are pretty amazing, although I would have to take a guess and say that a few pairs of trousers have probably been split in the process. Bear in mind that as the Indian soldiers go through this bizarre parade, basically, the same thing is happening on the Pakistani side of the border. I didn’t know this until later but apparently; the participants are imitating the pride and anger of a rooster. All of this cockiness is in the name of a ceremonial lowering of the flags, a tradition that started in 1959. After the strutting ends and the sun is about to set, the iron gate on the border is opened and the flags are slowly lowered with great cheering, at exactly the same speed, so one is never higher than the other. The flags are then folded and the ceremony ends with a handshake.

Lowering the flag ceremony

That handshake, as well as the co-operation between the guards, serves as a barometer for feelings between the two countries. The repercussions of the decision to divide India are still felt now (I’m not saying that one country would be better, just that there are still a lot of disagreements between the two). The partition of India was opposed by most senior members of the Congress Party, including Gandhi, who believed that Hindus and Muslims should live together in harmony (ironically, Gandhi was assassinated shortly after the partition by a Hindu nationalist who believed that Gandhi was appeasing Muslims at the expense of Hindus). Whatever the feelings, the fact remains that Indian and Pakistani soldiers are able to come together, plan and synchronize a bizarre dance-off. If they can do this here, at one of the world’s most contentious borders, there is hope that India and Pakistan can share better relations. Maybe all we need for peace is for the head of states of India and Pakistan to dance like roosters.

BARB WIRE KISSES

We live only two kilometers from the last remnants of the Cold War, the Demilitarized military zone (DMZ) that runs across the width of the Korean peninsula, dividing north from south, separating brother from brother. Close by lies an observatory where you can go to look in on North Korea and buy products made in the north. At night, the divide is highlighted by lights; lights that illuminate the south side, including the independence highway that would link Seoul with Pyongyang, highlight the prosperity of the south. The lack of lights across the river shows more than the darkness hides, a lack of lights highlighting the electricity and infrastructure problems that the North suffers from.

View through the barbed wire to North Korea.

The north-south divide puts the capitalist South up against the Stalinist North. The division of the country at the 38^th parallel was performed arbitrarily in 1945 by a member of the U.N force stationed in the peninsula. Legend has it that he only had a Korean map obtained from a National Geographic magazine to undertake this duty. While roughly dividing the country into two equal parts, the North was left with precious little arable land while the south missed out on the mineral wealth and the industry of the North. It is now a 4-kilometer by 250-kilometre scar that divides the country roughly in half along its entire length. Military from both sides are (supposedly) excluded from the area, which ironically now consists of the best-preserved temperate zone in Asia. Birdlife including rare cranes and waterfowl breed prolifically in the DMZ, a situation environmentalists hope would continue after reunification. Some people swear that tigers may still prowl the area, but no convincing proof has been released publicly. As the two Koreas are still technically at war, there is still a large military buildup on both sides of the border with North Korea boosting one of the world’s largest standing military while the South still has compulsory military conscription for all men that lasts two years.

The split was supposed to be a temporary one, with reunification under one government through elections in 1947. These elections were opposed by the Soviet Union and hence the Soviet North and elections were held only in the South the following year. Later that year, the north was formally declared a communist state. For two years, the two sides shared an uneasy peace with both claiming sovereignty over the whole country. The peace was shattered in June 1950 when the North launched a surprise attack, sanctioned by both the Soviet Union and China. The communist forces quickly took a large chunk of South Korea, including Seoul, and would have taken the whole country if it wasn’t for the intervention of UN forces led by America. By August, the allied forces clung to only a small portion of the peninsula called the Busan perimeter, centred on the South’s second city in the southeast corner of the country. The communists mounted several attacks but could not cut through the allied defenses, which included soldiers from sixteen different countries, the majority (480,000) from the United States. In September, the war had a major change in direction with the Incheon landing, a surprise move led by General McArthur that landed behind enemy lines near the port of Incheon in an amphibious attack. The move was initially criticized but the doubting Thomases soon had to rescind their criticism as the tactic cut the communists off from their supply lines. The invasion swiftly gained momentum and by the 1^st of October, not only had North Korean soldiers been ejected from the South but the 38^th parallel was crossed and several North Korean cities taken. The allied forces pushed on, trying to achieve a complete surrender before the harsh winter set in. Before they could achieve this end, Chinese forces swarmed over the North Korean border, eventually repelling the allied forces and pushing them back to set up a stalemate around the artificial border created around the 38^th parallel. Seoul changed hands a couple more times before the opposing forces dug in along a line just north of the 38^th. Two years of often bitter and violent fighting continued with little material gain for either side. 

General McArthur is both respected and reviled in the Republic for his war-time deeds.

During this time, McArthur pushed for total war, advocating dropping bombs on Manchuria and northern Korea, a push that put him in direct conflict with US president Truman, who eventually terminated McArthur’s command. McArthur’s willingness to use nuclear warfare in China and North Korea has caused a revision in the revered status he holds in the South, particularly in the older generation. The war meandered on with little gains for either side until an armistice was signed by representatives from North Korea, China and the UN Command in July 1953. South Korea played no active part in signing the armistice, with South Korean President Rhee attacking the peace process. However, the uneasy peace has survived since 1953, not withstanding multiple infractions on both sides, but mainly from the North. At the conclusion of the war, a million South Korean civilians, half a million allied forces and one and a half million communists troops had been either killed, wounded or MIA. Atrocities had been committed by both side; the north killing prominent South Koreans and committing a couple of large scale mass killings of captured American forces on their excursions south while the South massacred communists and their sympathizers, real or alleged, in both North and South Korea. Some of these indiscriminate killings predated the war, like the mass killing of alleged communists on the southern island of Jeju in 1948 in an event now known as the Jeju massacre. Some of these atrocities have only come to light, with questions asked on the compliancy of the United States in these proceedings. Recent documents may suggest that American commanders failed to protect civilians properly and at times may have ordered the strafing of refugees fleeing the North for fear that included amongst them would be communist sympathizers.

Razor wire is a feature along the DMZ

People can visit the DMZ on organized tours and a visit to the DMZ may be the most surreal experience I have had, definitely in my time in Korea. Visitors to the DMZ are asked to dress respectfully with no shorts or T-shirts with slogans or logos (in case the North used images of shabby foreigners in its internal propaganda). South Koreans are only allowed to go under exceptional circumstances. Security was strict with multiple passport checks, both at the USO office where we left and before our arrival at Camp Boniface, the US army base at the DMZ. First stop on the tour is Panmunjeom, a village that lies on the South Korean side of the DMZ, which is where the Armistice Agreement was signed. Here, discussions between north and south take place in UN blue buildings that straddle the DMZ. On arriving in Panmunjeom, you can see what is billed as the world’s most dangerous golf course, a par 3 that runs alongside a live mine field. Etiquette and protocol is taken seriously and you are educated on what is considered to be correct behaviour in a briefing that is part warning, part safety and part propaganda. You sign waivers that state in part ”that the visit will detail entry into a hostile area and possibility of injury or death as a direct result of enemy action.” After signing your life away, you get lead down to the border, to the blue meeting houses where the demarcation line is marked by concrete blocks. 

Looking towards the North Korean side.

In between the buildings, armed soldiers from both sides stand and face the enemy. The South Korean soldiers stand in bizarre, protective Tae kwon do poses with unflinching facial expressions, clenched fists and sunglasses. They are supposed to be at least 177cms tall and will have a black belt in either Taekwondo Do or Judo. The North Koreans have two soldiers facing each other in rigid military posture. They face each other so neither can defect while a third stands with his back to them to try and deter others from defecting. South Korea and North Korea both have buildings here whose heights have been added to so each side could claim the bigger, more impressive building. You can then walk down from the South Korean building to a UN building where meetings between the UN forces and North Korea are still conducted. There are two doors into these small rooms, one leading into North Korea and one coming from the south. A table where meetings are held holds the laminated flags of the participating countries (legend has it the flags were changed from cloth to plastic when some North Korean soldiers used the flags of the allies as toilet paper). A South Korean soldier stands between you and the door to North Korea, lest you get kidnapped and drawn down the rabbit hole, into the wonderland that is the North.

In one of the UN buildings. Here, I'm standing in North Korea but I'm protected by a ROK soldier.

From there, things maybe get weirder. You go to the area where North Koreans hacked to death three American soldiers with tomahawks, who were trimming a tree that blocked the view from a lookout point. You go past the bridge of No Return where captured soldiers could cross after the war either to the North and South, probably aware that their choice would mean that they would never see their family again. Then, you see the world’s largest flag near a phantom village; a village where it is claimed villagers are shipped in and out of daily. All around is the conspicuous birdlife, conspicuous because of the lack of birds seen in Seoul. Majestic Manchurian cranes, rarely seen now, were commonplace in the air and in the wetlands. They were spectacular, a reminder what interrupted human interference can have on nature. From Panmunjeon, we went to the Odusan lookout observatory for views over North Korea to the industrial city of Kaesong. Using the telescopes, on a clear day like we had, you can pick out a giant statue of Kim Sung Il, gold or copper plated, a monument to megalomania, standing proud in a park. There wasn’t the same tension here as at the DMZ, apart from the tall ROK soldier who told Mary that if she took photos over the banned yellow line one more time, he would confiscate her camera. It didn’t matter that she was taking pictures of the South, he said. It was still a matter of national security. The day’s final step was a trip to the three tunnels, discovered by the South, dug down from the North. The tunnels would have allowed North Korea to infiltrate deep into the south, bypassing the fortified DMZ. An estimated 10,000 soldiers could apparently march through these tunnels (these 10,0000 must have been small, small people because I had to duck my head all the way along and I wasn’t carrying a rifle or pack). The North initially denied the tunnels were their doing, until the South pointed out that the drilling marks definitely pointed south. Game, Set and Match, South. Further tunnels have subsequently been found popping up into the south, some disarmingly close to Seoul.

The tunnels are small and claustrophobic but could have allowed North Koreans to swarm across the border.

In what I call the war trifecta, (a DMZ tour and a visit to the national War museum in Seoul that has in-depth displays on the Korean War), the third leg is a visit to the U.N cemetery in Busan. As you may recall, Busan had been the last stronghold for the South Koreans and allied forces in the early part of the Korean War and was the only major city not to fall to the communists. In 1951, the South Korean government gifted the land to the U.N, for use as a cemetery to bury foreign soldiers. 2,300 men lie here from Canada, Australia, France, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Norway, South Korea, South Africa, Turkey, the UK and the US. Many others were originally interned here but were subsequently repatriated to their respective home countries. The cemetery remains the only one in the world maintained by the UN and they do a great job in maintaining it. The lawns are immaculately groomed and trees well pruned. The cemetery lies on a hill above the port, peaceful but unbelievably poignant. It was especially moving when we found New Zealand’s section. 

New Zealand's war memorial at the Busan War Cemetery.

Of the 6,000 New Zealand soldiers who served here, forty-five soldiers died; 34 have found permanent residence in this cemetery with two others whose bodies were never found also commemorated here. A granite memorial had been raised, with messages in Maori, English and Korean. It features a design based on a moko, a Maori woman’s chin tattoo. This design was chosen as a moko was traditionally conferred as a sign of obtaining adulthood, an indication that the woman could take pain and also take on responsibilities. Here, it is used as a symbol of the loss felt by women in war, both literally and in the sense of New Zealand as the mother country losing some of her sons. There are 45 cuts on the stone, each one marking the life of one of the dead countrymen. Each country had similar memorials, although we, of course, focused on New Zealand’s part of the cemetery. Times like this always leave me grateful that I’ve never had to endure the horrors of war and always makes me wonder what I would be like under fire. Hopefully, I’ll never know.