Tranquillity abounds

It's the sort of problem that might hinder Nepal's attempts to attain Test status: the more breathtaking the scenery, the less chance of there being anywhere flat and boring enough to house a cricket pitch.

So it is with Kandy, Sri Lanka's second city, whose dusty streets are wrapped around and through the magnificent forested uplands of Sri Lanka's Hill Country, and whose centrepiece, the beautiful Kandy Lake, laps against the steps of the famous Buddhist Temple of the Tooth. It is a city where tuk-tuks fear to tread - as often as not, they fail to negotiate some of the more eye-wateringly steep roads that lead out of the centre of town. But if these intrepid little creatures can't hack it, what hope a heavy roller?

Fortunately, as is often the case in Sri Lanka, help from the schools' system is close at hand. The Asgiriya Stadium began life as the home ground of Trinity College, who carved straight into the hill behind the pavilion before levelling the entire ground by ten feet. The end result is one of the most delightful venues on earth.

If it weren't for the steady stream of traffic heading in its direction, it would be easy to miss the stadium entirely. Access is from below, where the road takes a sharp jink across the Kandy to Colombo main railway line, before rising viciously and twisting to its left towards the Buddhist Research Institute that neighbours the ground. On a match-day, the outside of the ground is an incongruous mix of monks and machine-guns, as the ever-zealous police force keep an eye out for troublemakers. But once you step through the huge green gates and into the ground, tranquillity abounds.

Of course, it wasn't so tranquil on England's last visit in 2001, when anarchy reigned in the middle. Back then, the monks watching from the hillside were forced to see and hear plenty of evil being spoken by both sets of players, but they have not been put off and are once again sitting attentively outside their quarters high above the grandstand.

Where Galle was all open spaces and grassy banks, Kandy has a more enclosed feel, and the opportunities for free glimpses of play are strictly limited. A Red Cross hill-station peers down on proceedings from midwicket, while anyone with a powerful pair of binoculars could obtain a decent sighter from some of the larger houses on the far side of the valley, as they peer across a sea of corrugated-iron roofs. But the rest of the ground is bunched up tightly against the hill, where the seating runs in steep cascades down little garden walls.

On the far side of the ground, an unused section of the outfield provides an area for the fans to congregate and the ale to flow. Here, an impromptu cricket match has started, with six or seven children being egged on by the England fans, who have kindly leant an inflatable killer whale for use as the stumps. There are one or two suspect actions on show, which the ICC might want to take a closer look at, although the English are generously lenient with their cries of "no-ball!"

At midwicket, and set back beneath the cool of the trees, is a solitary Brit sitting among a section of more sedate Sri Lankans. It is her first day of Test cricket, and she had not quite known what to expect. But her recent text-message exchange with a friend in England sums up the experience. "At the cricket in Kandy. Trees and hills everywhere. Loving it!" she taps.

"Stuck on the M25," comes the reply. "Hate you."