I was not aware I was in Sri Lanka during the traditional New Year's celebration. I knew about Poya, the monthly Buddhist holiday of the full moon, but the New Year's festival was a complete surprise. The night before, Benjamin's dad told me villagers were setting up for a festival, and when I went to bed I could hear workers singing drunk, so loud the neighborhood dogs howled in tune but I did not register how big a festival it was. By the time we returned from Sigiriya it was after dark and the festival was already in full swing. Benjamin and I left our Vietnamese companions and raced down the hillside on foot, passed the market I visited the night before and onto a field lit by the headlights of a half circle of cars. The entire village, and the neighboring villages, were on the field witnessing Sri Lankan fire dancing. Flaming batons were twirled, fire was blown from the mouths of boys and various feats of strength and bravery were performed. Not for the faint of heart there was some check and arm piercing. Being the only white person, I was bit of a novelty and was quickly shuffled to the front of the "stage" surrounded by wide eyed children grabbing my leg and pointing to the spectacle before me. Within a few minutes there was a lump in my throat; It was that special. After the fire dancing, school children performed traditional dance in brightly colored costumes. This was followed by fireworks. Sarah, Benjamin's sister told me villagers spend all their money on clothes and things for the festival only to start saving again for the festival next year.

Before the fireworks there were awards for various competitions performed earlier in the day. Awards were handed out for the best costumes, for winning the eggs toss and for running the "marathon" around the village. It was remarkable how polite the children were, some bowing and touching the feet of award presenter. It reminded me of when I was waiting for the flight from Kuala Lumpur to Sri Lanka; the British kids were riding luggage carts around and screaming while the Sri Lankan kids were sitting patiently waiting for their flight to be called.

Both Benjamin and Sarah presented awards solidifying my earlier assumption they were respected members of the community. I got to sit under the presenter canopy. I am not sure how well that was deserved.

Later we had a dinner of chicken curry, a kind of pasta pancake, dahl and palsambul, a common condiment made of shredded coconut and lime. I went to bed soon after, falling asleep to the quiet sounds of Benjamin's dad cleaning the night's dishes.