When you land at Colombo's Bandaranaike Airport, the first thing you notice are the military bunkers - oildrums and sandbags painted green, with a menacing anti-aircraft gun or two peering out. But once inside the terminal building, there is nothing remotely intimidating about the immigration officials who wave you through with a cheery smile once you mention the magic word - "Cricket." The Champions Trophy is cause for some excitement here, and much of the talk still centres on India's participation, or otherwise. At the foreign-exchange counter, one of the guys asks me, with furrowed brow, "There is a chance Tendulkar and the others might not play, macha [the Sri Lankan equivalent of mate]?"

Once you step outside, you could as well be in India. It's hot, humid and worse: cabs are as rare as Saharan snowflakes. Everyone is most apologetic about the situation. "Government peace rally, macha. Drivers haven't come. They scared they will be stuck in Colombo all day. But I find you one if you can wait some time." You have little option but to kill the minutes and talk cricket while the promised cab takes its own sweet time arriving.

The local population is all geed up for the game against Pakistan, victory in which would more or less guarantee the hosts a place in the semi-final (Holland being the other team in the group). It's a measure of the remarkable progress that Sri Lankan cricket has made in the past decade that the people now expect to win such matches, especially at home. "Sri Lanka very good team at home," my cab-procurer tells me. Aravinda de Silva and Arjuna Ranatunga are his heroes, though he informs you solemnly that "Murali is a magic man."

The drive into the city takes hours and we pass hundreds of people waving placards and carrying cardboard cutouts with pictures of politicians. The scenery is extraordinarily similar to Kerala in the south of India, with palm-trees everywhere and a small shop on every corner. Even the political rally looks the same, only the red flags of the communists that you see in Kerala have been swapped for verdant green.

There are differences though. In Kerala, you don't get to see too many soldiers carrying semi-automatic weapons that, in some cases, dwarf them. You're reminded of the movie Toy Soldiers as you pass people wearing fatigues and wiping the sweat off their faces. For an Indian, the betting shops that pop up with the frequency of wild mushrooms are another surprise. Sporting Star are the most prominent, though there are dozens of others dedicated to horse racing.

The bunkers and military presence escalate as you near the Galle Road, and for all the posters welcoming the cricket teams of the world, you're reminded that this is a country that until very recently was in the midst of an especially bloody war. With half the teams having already arrived, it's no surprise that the security has been beefed up. I go for a walk in the evening in the direction of the teams' hotel - the Taj Samudra - and am politely reminded by a policeman that I'm walking on the wrong side of the road and that I would be better off carrying some documentation. Aimless strolls will have to wait for another day.

The usual slew of team press conferences has started, though every Tom, Dick and Jane seems tuned in to the events in Kolkata, where the Indian problem is nearing resolution. They may not be the best team in the world, but everyone here - media and layman alike - knows the star value of Tendulkar, Ganguly and Dravid. As for me, I have weightier matters on my mind. String hoppers and chicken curry or baked crab for dinner ...

Dileep Premachandran is assistant editor of Wisden.com in India.

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