Before the world stirs, as the first light of day brushes the horizon, you gently step into a wooden canoe on a mirror-like lake. The sky is still pale — soft blue and lavender — and a cool mist rises from the water like a dream lifting.

From the boat, both Sigiriya Rock and Pidurangala Rock appear in the distance, rising like twin sentinels from the jungle. In the morning haze, they look ethereal — almost floating — ancient and mysterious. The jungle awakens quietly around you: birds call, monkeys stir, and the water shimmers with early golden light.

There’s no sound except the whisper of the paddle and the rustling of reeds. You sit still, wrapped in a sarong or shawl, sipping a warm ginger tea if you’ve brought it, watching the first sunbeams kiss the rocks — the same sun that lit the sky for kings centuries ago.