Two Cakes, One Birthday, and a City Called Kandy
Since turning 30, I haven’t really had the urge to celebrate my birthday anymore. Partly because it falls in that strange, in-between stretch of time between Christmas and New Year, and partly because I’ve grown comfortable letting the day pass quietly. So when my birthday arrived while travelling through Sri Lanka, I assumed it would slip by much the same.
Instead, Kandy had other plans.
My birthday began on the road, travelling from Dambulla toward the hill country. The tour bus was appropriately decorated with balloons and banners, which immediately set the tone. Our first stop was the Cave Temples, where the learning gears really kicked in. We were introduced to the Buddhist flag and the meaning behind each of its colours, and our tour leader jokingly suggested there might be an end-of-tour test. Said lightly but taken seriously… curiosity sharpened, questions followed, and suddenly we were all leaning in like model students.
Inside the caves, we learned the difference between reclining Buddha statues shown in rest and those representing the Buddha having passed from earthly life. It felt like one of those moments where context changes everything. Where something you’ve seen a hundred times in photos suddenly carries weight and meaning.
From there, we stopped at a local fruit and vegetable market. It was vibrant and full of life, produce piled high and voices rising over one another, but there was something else that caught my attention. Every stallholder was a man. We learned that selling produce here is traditionally considered men’s work, a clear example of the gender roles still shaping daily life. As a feminist, it tugged uncomfortably at me, but it also felt important to witness culture as it is, rather than through a softened lens.
The road into Kandy wound steeply upward, curling through mountain inclines and dense greenery. Partway up, we stopped at a local dance school (The Soorasena Cultural Dancing Academy) committed to keeping Sri Lankan cultural dance alive. A local family welcomed us in, sharing their art with generosity and pride. Traditional masks, rhythmic movement, and even fire play performed right in front of us. It felt intimate, like being invited into something living rather than staged. Also mildly alarming, in the best possible way.
And then came the moment I hadn’t seen coming.
We stopped at a viewpoint overlooking Kandy in its entirety, the city spread below us, busy, layered, and alive. As the sun lowered, a cake appeared. Candles were lit. And suddenly, “Happy Birthday” was being sung. First in English, and then again in Sinhala. I stood there, candles flickering, looking out over a city I’d only just begun to understand, surrounded by people who had felt like strangers not long ago. I hadn’t planned to celebrate. I certainly hadn’t planned to be celebrated like this. But it felt right, and also a little bittersweet, as solo travel moments often are.
The surprises didn’t stop there.
By the end of the day, I’d been gifted not one but two cakes, the second appearing after dinner, because one is simply never enough (according to Prabarth, my tour leader). Even the hotel joined in, greeting me with a “Happy Birthday” message waiting on the bed in my room. None of it was expected, which somehow made it all the more meaningful.
The day itself had been full to the brim. Temples, markets, learning, long hours on the road, and moments of joy stitched together between movement and stillness. My belly was just as full as my heart. I tried unfamiliar foods like Uggala and rambutan, a close cousin of the lychee back home, and ended the night sharing dinner with my fond, mostly retired travel family. I later discovered that one of them was not quite retired yet, just softly transitioning, so I wasn’t quite on tour with the retirement village I’ve mentioned previously.
Somewhere between cake and conversation, I realised that getting older doesn’t bother me nearly as much as missing out would. Making memories, learning from the people around me, and letting myself be surprised, that’s what matters now.
The following day, Kandy continued to reveal itself.
If Sri Lanka is known for anything, it’s temples, landscapes, and gems. And guess what? Kandy delivers all three. We began the morning at one of the city’s most significant temples, where we were fortunate enough to witness a ceremonial offering. Several times a day, monks enter the inner chamber where the Tooth Relic is housed, the doors closing behind them as offerings of rice and curry are brought inside. Drums, flutes, and a trumpet filled the air, echoing through the temple in a way that felt both extravagant and deeply reverent.
Kandy itself is busy and bustling, with traffic jams that test your patience and reward you with excellent people-watching. Later, we visited a gem factory overflowing with moonstones, sapphires, and every gem imaginable. I didn’t buy anything, but I did make a very serious mental note about smoky quartz for future me.
Move over gems, because lunchtime was the absolute highlight. We ate at what appeared to be a university canteen, part of an agricultural centre dedicated to preserving local food traditions. The spread was generous and deeply local: dosa, jackfruit cutlets, vegetable rolls, wade, pani walalu, and mung guli, a mung bean and coconut dessert I am still thinking about. It was the kind of meal that makes you wish your stomach had no limits.
We finished the day wandering through the Kandy Botanical Gardens, guided by a Sri Lankan botanist and author who knew the land intimately. It felt like the right way to close a chapter so full. Plus, I didn’t mind the walk after stuffing my face silly. The digestion was necessary.
That evening, I sat quietly with a cup of tea in hand, finally still. Kandy had been loud, generous, ceremonial, and kind. A city that celebrated not just my birthday, but the act of moving through the world with curiosity and openness.
Thirty-two arrived wrapped in cake, culture, and connection. And honestly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.