(9) When You’re A Stranger AND All Alone Again

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When You’re A Stranger

Wednesday, July 28th

We visit the world heritage-listed Dutch fortress at Galle with some building dating back to the 17th century and still being used for the same functions. On the drive to the Bentota, an upscale beach community, we saw the stilt fisherman hanging on wooden poles off shore.

Thursday, July 29th

Mom woke up for her customary 2 hour walk on the beach before commencing our epic bike ride. On “proper” bikes we rode through the back roads of Bentota, passing school children, farmers, and fruit venders (I even made a friend with one and she asked to take my picture on her cell phone). We passed people tapping rubber sap and saw others climbing between coconut trees on suspended ropes. In general people wear fewer saris choosing more westernized attire.
The rocky road that we’d been traveling emotionally metamorphosed into the most treacherous rocky road we’ve ever seen. I now sport calluses on both hands and my arms were sore the following day from gripping my breaks so hard. For a good part of the way I seemed to be riding solely with my steering wheel and breaks because even when I gripped my breaks all the way the wheels kept turning. Since they don’t make bikes for people as short as us, stopping with our feet wasn’t an option either. Nevertheless it was without a doubt the highlight of the trip as biking is the best way to see the country. At the end of the bike ride the Goodfriend Girls were the only two females to have made it and less than half our group crossed the finish line - we had never felt better! After a quick lunch to regain our energy we climbed into canoes for the next part of our triathlon (I did a duo and mom did a quad so it averages out to a triathlon…) Accompanying us was the very dapper Paul who serenaded us with The Doors song “when you’re a stranger” in an irresistible Yorkshire accent. We spent the following hours randomly choosing adjectives to inspire songs. Mom ended her day with the usual swim.

All Alone Again

Friday, July 30th

As soon as we said goodbye to our group we were greeted by a man asking to read our palms. He took one look at mom’s hand and said “Oooh, the last 6 years have been hard!” Mom looked back in shock and sat down. During OUR palm readings he felt the need to tell us all about mom’s incredibly powerful son with a good memory and during my palm reading he insisted on talking about my incredibly smart brother who has a wonderful future ahead… We had gotten our horoscopes read in India and had ruefully disregarded them as they included more of the dreaded D’s then we ever dreamed possible. Now in retrospect we are giving them more credit. Having survived death and disease Mom is facing another unspeakable D*. Traveling has always been about self exploration and discovery. Last year we went on a spiritual quest through India, China, Nepal and Thailand. On the road there are eternal new beginnings; new paths and we are trying to become immersed in a new life and alien culture. It is an opportunity to reinvent oneself, loose oneself in endless meanderings on buses, trains, walks, and living simply. There is a challenge to try and find a balance between the superficial and the significant in allowing our lives to intersect. It is about being and becoming and the equilibrium between drifting like flotsam and being self assertive. When one is confronted with the reality of tsunamis and cancer one is forced to question the nature of faith and God and naive gullibility. One feels how life is precarious when we confront the insanity of the cosmos that recklessly creates havoc. We are suddenly vulnerable as we tackle the things that we thought would never happen to us. Are we responsible or are we just pawns in the games of the Gods? Are we naive to try and preserve our innocent optimism? My days are filled with utter sadness, a deep sense of mourning and much soul searching in the face of the gaudy fact that things will never ever be the same.
*Thus begins mom’s soliloquy…

We then strolled on the beach and met our new guide for the rest of our trip. His name is Waldo and he’s green and we presume he’s always smiling through his beak. A little good energy is always welcome and we have become accustomed to resting him up on the dresser in our rooms to help feel a little more settled in, even if we’re only there for a night.

We loaded up our backpacks, walked out onto the road, and flagged down the local bus. By the fourth try we managed to get the bus to stop and we hobbled on, dumped our luggage and wide eyed looked out the window as we clung to the handles to balance.

We jumped off the moving public bus adorned with backpacks on our backs and fronts and immediately followed the flow of pilgrims walking toward the temple. Every couple of minutes I looked back to make sure mom was still following but mostly I was trying to take in the scene around me. Loud speakers were posted every 50 meters or so and the sound of the chanting filled the air. Venders lined both sides of the streets selling everything from sweets to sandals, brooms to bowls and incense and ice cream. We dropped our bags off at the hotel the Lonley Planet recommended and spent the rest of the day moving with the pilgrims crowd through the temples where we exchanged emails with a group of young monks around my age (to practice their English of course). The peak of the procession was at night when a parade of girls covered in glitter danced in circles behind a group of men harnessed with hooks in the flesh of their backs and were slung around like lasso’s all led by men beating the ceremonial drum in rhythm. We went to sleep amidst the cacophony of these sounds and a beggar’s singing in counter point to the call to prayer. This was accented by the tinkle of coins hitting the brass cup and the tune of the fleur de lys on the ice cream truck. In contrast with last years festivities in Rishikesh there were many women and children in the streets and we felt very safe. It was a very calm crowd. Sri Lanka is not known for its bawdy drinking.

Unawatuna is not known for its tuna but for Hanuman who was supposed to collect special herbs from the Himalayas to save the life of Rama’s brother. But the absent minded Hanuman forgot the name of the plant so he ripped an entire chunk of mountainside off in the hope that the required plant would be found somewhere on it. Then he carried it back to Sri Lanka but dropped a piece at Unawatuna.

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