We left Colombo early Friday morning, escaping the weekday grind in search of something simpler, older, wilder. Kuruvita lay just a few hours away, but far enough to feel like another world. As the city skyline dissolved into misty greens, the road stretched ahead like a promise. This time, the ‘getaway’ group comprised of a lively, diverse mix: the ever-enthusiastic De Mel family—Hemanthi, Manilal, and Tashiya, a Mihipedia Getaway veteran Anoma and newbie Maninda, whose monster truck was a welcome addition, and our gracious hosts Kiran and Nimmi, who somehow always knew exactly when to feed us, hydrate us, and throw us into a river.

Breakfast was a spontaneous roadside affair just outside Kuruvita – homemade sandwiches, perfectly crisp fish cutlets, hot flasks of coffee, and yes, the banned bananas that somehow made their way out anyway. 

And then, the rambutans began. Trees on either side of the road were bursting with them, blood-red, sun-ripened, and dripping off branches like rubies in a tropical crown. We stopped to gather, gorge, and laugh. The season was in full gluttony mode, and we had zero restraint.

By mid-morning, we pulled into Heaven’s Gate, our base for the weekend tucked away on a hilltop at the end of a road that tested both nerves and suspension which left me choice but to dub it “For Heaven’s Sake.” 

Our first outing was to the Diva Guhawa, a sacred cave with whispers of history etched into its stone. It’s believed that Lord Buddha rested here during his visit to Sri Pada (Adam’s Peak) and as the story goes, he paused in this very cave sheltering beneath its granite canopy and meditating beside its stillness. Inside, the cave is cool and echoing, carved by time and softened by reverence. Outside, the forest hums quietly, as if it too remembers.

From the cave, we took a steep trail that led down to the river, a hidden cove where sunlight filters through tree canopies and icy mountain water rushes over mossy rocks. And that was us, for hours. Frolicking, floating, slipping, shrieking. It was blissfully cold, absurdly fun, and completely timeless. Not to mention, the G&Ts and beers that helped lighten the moment!

Saturday’s adventure was steeper, both in gradient and intrigue. We set off early to climb to Batadomba Lena, the prehistoric cave associated with the Balangoda Man, a skeletal ancestor who roamed these jungles some 30,000 years ago.

Hidden beneath the thick canopy of the Peak Wilderness rainforest, an ancient trail leads to the Batadomba Lena, a cave that once sheltered the Balangoda Man, Sri Lanka’s earliest known human ancestors. Their skeletons, discovered in 1955 during an archaeological study, revealed a fascinating glimpse into prehistoric life.

The Balangoda Man is believed to be the creator of the Balangoda Culture, a Mesolithic civilization known from numerous artifacts found throughout the region. Their toolkit was surprisingly sophisticated, daggers carved from sambar antler, hand-axes fashioned from elephant leg bones, and geometric microliths, tiny stone hunting tools dating back some 27,000 years. These microliths are among the earliest known examples of such tools outside Africa. Archaeological excavations also uncovered evidence that these ancient people regularly used fire and camped alongside domesticated dogs, offering rare insight into early human-animal relationships on the island.

One of the most intriguing discoveries was the frequent presence of marine items, shells, shark teeth, even traces of sea salt found at sites over 40 kilometers inland. How the Balangoda Man accessed these distant coastal resources remains a mystery, but it hints at a surprising connection between the forest dwellers of the Peak Wilderness and Sri Lanka’s distant shores.

Batadomba Lena stands today as a quiet portal to a world tens of thousands of years old, a place where survival, innovation, and adaptability first took root in Sri Lanka’s lush wilderness.

After retrieving Tashiya’s drone and misplacing her beloved yellow water bottle, it was time to leave.

Descent meant one thing: more river time. This time, a rockier stretch of water, deeper, darker, but just as welcoming. Tiny fish nibbled our toes in an impromptu spa session while we soaked in the sun like lazy river gods and drank lots more beer.

Of course, no trip is complete without a dash of drama. On our way back from the river, Maninda’s jeep gently slid into a soggy gulley, one side stubbornly wedged against a rock, the side mirror left dangling as collateral damage. It sat there, wheels spinning helplessly, while the rest of us stood around in the pouring rain, leeches gleeful of some unexpected dinner. Horror, concern, and barely concealed amusement made the rounds. Mud flew, advice flowed (mostly unhelpful), and eventually with a winch, some muscle, and a lot of cheerleading, the jeep was finally restored.

Back at Heaven’s Sake (oops, Heaven’s Gate), lunch had long turned into dinner served by candlelight after the previous night’s rain brought down a tree and with it, the power lines. In that soft, flickering glow, frogs croaked in the distance (save for one unfortunate amphibian lying belly-up on a ledge and decidedly dead to the world), and rain clouds gathered again overhead. Everything felt perfectly in place. We sat around, the remaining G&T’s in hand, and let the stories meander. No signal. No distractions. Just the hush of the hills and the comfort of good company.

Kuruvita was more than a getaway. It was a return to water, to stone, to stories buried deep in the land. And sometimes, that’s all we need: a river to cool our bones, a cave to humble our hearts, and a weekend that reminds us how little we actually need to feel whole.

p.s: that yellow bottle was retrieved the next morning by a kind villager)