An invisible threshold between the ordinary world and something much less so is what I had just crossed. It was strange, eerie, a decomposing life-giver, a myth-making jungle.
The Sinharaja Rainforest – A Creepy Crawly Tale
The Sinharaja Rainforest is, in truth, a spell-maker steeped in folklore. I did not read about these myths; they came by word of mouth, in almost unheard whispers as we walked: the devil bird whose screech foredoomed human death, the tangled roots writhing like semi-sleeping serpents beneath the earth we walked on, that would bite if you got too close, bringing your life to a speedy end followed by rapid decomposition. The colossal trees, the canopy above, and the insects of the forest would hide these crimes in minutes, leaving no evidence whatsoever.
As we sat with our sour sop welcome drink and pulled on our leech socks in preparation for our walk in the wild, cockroaches clittered through cracks around our feet, driving a profound shudder through me – but they were just cockroaches.
Once socked-up and our thirst quenched, my guide and I set off through the thick, moisture-laden air. Every breath tasted of damp leaves, my tongue felt moss-laden, and decay filled my nostrils to their depth. Sweet birdsong and screeches echoed through the forest like fragments of myth. Tiny movements flickered at the edge of my vision.
The deeper we walked, the more the forest closed around us, although there was little mist. Ferns thickened and brushed against my attire. I had little flesh exposed, just my face and hands for most of it. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy in pale golden spears, illuminating clouds of drifting insects suspended in the suffocating air. Purple Langur monkeys smiled down at me from above with unsettling intelligence, their pale faces appearing suddenly between leaves before vanishing again. Massive spiders hung motionless in webs stretched like traps between branches, silently waiting.
I was absorbed in it all. Every sound felt amplified by at least tenfold. A drip of water from a leaf was a waterfall. Every smell as strong as a stale pit. The rustle of unseen and unknown creatures crashed around like a falling house. Distant croaks hidden beneath the foliage battered my ears. The floor was alive, breathing beneath layers of leaf litter and centuries of decay.
Hollow trees stood tall, concealing possibilities probably best left undiscovered. The forest delighted in threat and uncertainty.
As we wandered into its depths, reality and imagination began to blur. This was where myths were born. Fairytales and nightmares shared the very same path I was walking on, where every shadow concealed a story and every story might be true.
Beware, then, if you choose to cross the threshold into the Sinharaja Rainforest. If you make it out alive, part of you will remain tangled among its serpent roots.
And something of it will come back with you. It will have claimed a part of you, whether you know it or not. You will have absolutely no choice but to feel compelled to return.
As it is for me.
If you’d like to read more about this visit to the Sinharaja Rainforest and trekking across Sri Lanka you may be interested to read my book with other stories from the wilder side of Sri Lanka – Trekking Sri Lanka: More Than a Travel Guide. Profits from all book sales go back to supporting grassroots projects I’m supporting out there.