Kandy Perahera (the final rondoli)

Two weeks ago, we travelled to Kandy for the annual Perahera with three other Canadians in the car. Shawn Humphries is a VSO from Saskatchewan and his mother, Judy and his father, Rob had been up visiting us in Nuwara Eliya and so we shared luxury travel in a van equipped with a driver (this is how ex-pats travel about the country). Us poor volunteers, living on VSO salary, cannot afford such expensive costs, so in pure luxury we travelled to the town with the grandest parade in the country – the Perahera).



The Perahera is a nine day parade. It clogs Kandy town with thousands of tourists for this nine days. In order to attend you need to secure accommodation months in advance and secure a seat for about $5,000 rs ($50). Seats consist of plastic deck chairs placed so close together you can feel the person behind breathing on your neck and the chair arms are virtually overlapped to ensure placement of additional chairs. It is a racket. Basically promoters try and sell as many chairs as they can get away with (likely some regulation they need to comply with). However, they all seemed to produce a dirth of extra chairs available and these chairs could be placed further and further into the street, depending on how magnanimous the attitude of the police was in allowing another row of chairs.

In order to reach your seat, you need to be there about 5 hours before the parade starts, otherwise you cannot proceed along the streets. Every inch of sidewalk space is crammed with Sri Lankans sitting on the concrete with entire families waiting since about 9am on the sidewalk (free seats).

We paid for front row seats in March. We bought seats for the most expensive perahera, the final rondoli (the final evening of the parade). We arrived at the pre-arranged site of our chairs and Laal, the chair seller, promptly placed us in seats five rows back. I complained. He moved us the front row. Chairs were placed in front of us. I complained. Laal ushered us into the front row. Chairs were placed in front of us. I complained again. Laal placed us in the front row, near the police barricade. The police angrily made us move. Lal argued his case to the police, but they insisted we move. Lal moved us to the front further away from the barricade. Then the people behind began to yell at us. Then, meekly, we accepted the seats placed five rows back. Laal promised us money back. We watched the rondoli from there. That Laal owes us some money.

I am not sure if this side show we found ourselves in spoiled the rondoli for me, but it was the longest, most repetitive and boring five hour parade I have ever seen. I mean it was magnificent for about one hour: whips cracking, dazzling dancers, decorated elephants and drum beats. For the next four hours it was whips cracking, dazzling dancers (same dance), decorated elephants and the same drum beat. Then, whips cracking, dazzling dancers, decorated elephants and the same drum beat. Then, again, whips cracking, dazzling dancers, decorated elephants and the drum beat. Oh that drum beat (kind of like the drone of disco). In our section, people were falling asleep all over the place. Bill and I often caught our chins hitting our chest as well. The best part of the rondoli was people watching; the crush of the crowd trying to get home at midnight, watching the monks in their saffron and turmeric coloured robes hurrying to their designated (and probably free) section for clergy. We also enjoyed sneering at the officious police.

The next day, we were able to catch part of the final day-time perehera. The colours were fabulous and we realized we were too far back and it was too dark to really appreciate the color of the parade. Would we go again? No. Would we have wanted to miss seeing this spectacular event? No. And that reminds me. I need to email Laal and demand some money back.

pics