You start before dawn, when the first buses have not yet pulled into the dusty lot and the air over the plains still leans cool. The rock of Sigiriya rises like a blunt fist from the flat paddy fields, its vertical face catching early light and outlining the metal staircases that wind toward the summit. By the time you reach the terraced gardens, the sun has nudged the morning mist aside and the ancient water tanks mirror a sky that feels impossibly wide. Later in the day, the Dambulla Cave Temple waits, cool and dim, its painted Buddhas watching centuries of visitors with the same composed expression.