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Published: June 10th 2005
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After spending two and a half weeks in Delhi, describing Colombo as a ‘breath of fresh air’ is the very definition of an understatement …I’d go for a hurricane of rose scented rapture!
Walking down Colombo’s main thoroughfare on a Sunday among the early afternoon promenade, dumbstruck by men and women openly holding hands and smiling. After spending the previous half-year amongst a billion of the most sexually repressed people on earth, this was a revelation - it's amazing how such a seemingly small concession to freedom can make people so relaxed and happy - enjoying life and love without guilt. There was a definate feel good factor about the place; the subtleties of which coming directly from Europe I would certainly have missed. But I hadn’t - I’d just arrived from the darkness of Delhi....
I formed an opinion of Delhi on my last visit three years ago... armed with horror stories gauged from friends and guide books, insuring me I’d be robbed and cheated by everyone I met. Upon arrival it seemed their favoured method of acquiring money from starry-eyed-petrified new arrivals was the tactless art of bullying them into submission - there wasn’t a trace of guile
or cunning - every scam was so feebly transparent and delivered with such an arrogant disrespect; I found the place needling rather than challenging. It doesn’t matter if your Rudyard Kipling, Marco Polo or Bob the Builder, everyone’s tarnished with the same brush. I left with a negative impression of the backpacker slum Parghanj... and after another two and half week stint this time, my opinion hasn’t shifted; it’s crystalised.
That's not to say you can't have a good time in Delhi... we found that staying in the hotel the whole time, ordering room service and watching football on TV worked a treat!
However you find Delhi, you certainly won’t be indifferent ...It’s Invigorating, sapping, and ultimately devastating. A war of attrition you’d be foolish to fight. In maintaining your sense of honour you’ll lose your sense of humour... never leave the hotel...trust me!
Suffice to say, I wasn’t actually in Delhi out of love, I was here of necessity. Another passport was full and needed to be replaced otherwise my trip was effectively over. I also needed visas for onward travel to Pakistan and Iran. But with my shiny new passport in-hand I was aggrieved to discover
a ‘Pakistan visa 2005’ would cost me upwards of $200! (thanks once again to my countries colonial heritage and the benevolent role it plays in today's wonderful world). I also found out the Iranian Embassy in Pakistan now required a blood test to add to their infamous rigmarole! The idea of heading home overland suddenly didn’t seem so appealing.
So, weakened physically, mentally and financially by 12 months on the road (and two and a half weeks in Delhi); the enticement of listening to Jack Johnson ‘dude’ whilst indulging in a month’s surfing on the beaches of Sri Lanka, was just too strong for my weakened constitution! Besides, I’d never been before, and I was soon find out I knew nothing about the place...
In Colombo we stayed in the The fort area (Col 1), a veritable microcosm of Sri Lankan history. Sri lanka known as "Serendip" to Arab traders, fought over by Portuguese, Dutch and British plunderers over the years…this epicentre of Sri lanka power houses govt. buildings, top-end hotels, the World Trade Centre Colombo and evidence of Sri Lankas long and bloody civil war in the form of shattered buildings from previous Tamil tiger raids -
all securely shackled within a ring of razor sharp steel. However, despite the massive military presence it doesn’t feel restrictive or intimidating in the slightest, in fact oddly welcoming - Talking cricket with battle hardened, M16 wielding, smiley paan-chewing military personnel - as a benign backpacker you breeze around unfettered.
That night in the Hilton Colombo, Liverpool F.C. surrendered the also-ran Champions League spot in the ‘little island league’ by capitulating to Arsenal. With Brad feeling decidedly lucky after winning $5 back of the incalculable sum he’d lost to me during our previous months betting, we decided to take the Hilton courtesy car to the Casino. We stepped out the chauffeur driven car dressed as a pair of feral backpackers in shorts. The doorman patched-us up in a pair of matching Nike tracksuit bottoms and we entered the profligate neon-lit high-octane reality-void that is ...Bellagio’s Casino!
I like to gamble occasionally on sports I feel I know something about (namely football), but this world of pornographic chance is a mystery to me - Brad was in his element!
We had battle plan - if we could walk away at the end of the night ‘even’ (after gorging on
free food and drink) the night would be a success. The proceeding hours were an alcohol-fuelled-adrenalin-ride made all the more exciting by the realisation that we were winning. Levelling off at about $100 profit we decided to call it a night, only to discover a rogue $1 chip: Too small to play on any table except Roulette - and then it had to be a number. So off to the Roulette table we went...
‘It’s gonna be 8’ I offered as a statement of fact rather than a speculative suggestion. I Lent across the table and placed our humble little dollar chip amidst the chaos of others systems, formulas and hedgings. The ball sped around the table ‘If you look it won’t come in’ I informed Brad in a drunken knowing tone.
“Nuuuumberrr EIGHT”! was the shout.
Brad gazed at me in amazement …I’d drunkenly convinced myself number eight was coming in, so my reaction was one of indifferent expectation. A look of fear flashed briefly across Brads beaming face. Then we both simultaneously turned to the table for confirmation - and there it was, still revolving slowly around the table, our humble little chip, nestled securely in slot
no.8! Maybe it was the alcohol, but that was more mystical than the entire six months I just spent in India.
Every occurrence from now on had a tinge of destiny attached. So when Brad discovered he’d left his Credit Card in a cash machine, delaying our planned departure from Colombo by a day. We took this as a clear sign to hit the Casino again!
You could see it, feel it, you could literally touch it. At one point a crowd enveloped us - betting on the back of Brad’s every move. He was on a roll, he knew, I knew, the dealers knew, everyone knew. I’m now a convert of the supernatural - Luck is a palpable force! There can be no doubt! We downed our champagne, cashed in our chips, stumbled to the door, handed in our Nike pants, jumped in our courtesy car and headed back to our $5 room at the YMCA $175 richer. Net Profit; $300 dollars in two nights - in Sri Lanka that’s a small fortune…The next weeks merriment was on Bellagios.
From the cathartic excesses of Goa to the decadence of Colombo, I have to admit I’d had my head
in the sand for the last two months, and I was about to plummet back to the cold realities of Life with an almighty crash.
It’s a three hour trip of devastation from Colombo to Sri Lankas most popular backpacker beach of Unawatuna. Half a year since the Tsunami struck, in some places you’d be forgiven for believing it was half an hour ago.The remains of homes built of bricks and mortar blasted by the forces of nature. Their Carcasses strewn along the entire route in an eerie scene of contemporary ruin. It has none of the charred hallmarks of a modern war zone, nature has been far more methodical; there’s no trace whatsoever of less sturdier structures.
The carnage is interspersed with wilting tent cities emblazoned with the insignia’s of international renowned NGO’s and flags from numerous developed nations proudly laying claim to the plasters they’ve applied to this festering wound. But half a year on and people are still living in tents. The government has banned any public rebuilding within 100m of the sea and (200m in the East) their justification for this is the risk of another tsunami - it’s just too dangerous to live
near the sea… Of course if you run a tourist hotel or are wealthy; this rule doesn’t apply - besides, statistically, the next big tsunami isn’t due for another couple of thousand years or so. Nevertheless the government can now clear all the expensive land of the poor - relocate them to new villages in-land, and turn the entire coast into one big money spinner. Meanwhile that $3billion (double the amount requested) donated by traumatised westerners in the wake of the tsunami, helping them to sleep easier at night, sits in a bank somewhere, whilst here on the ground they still sleep in tents, awaiting the arrival of the monsoon.
Unawatuna resembles a miniature Palolem that’s recently been hit by a tsunami. Half the beach was reclaimed by the sea on the 26th Dec 2004 along with 65 western lives (the sketchy figures for missing locals we could not obtain). Looking out at the restless sea, you feel the presence of the Leviathan lurking in the depths, angrily waiting to unleash it's power once again...and I'd only witnessed the tsunami on TV...these guys must have developed a serious phobia!
Our choice of hotel no longer existed, or indeed any
evidence that it ever had, so we picked one of the recently rebuilt offerings on the beach-front that proudly boasted zero fatalities. We were the only tourists in Unnawatun amongst the tens of NGO’s and volunteer workers who made this beach resort their base. Many of them were American graduates who'd paid $2000 for the privilege of being here on a two-week volunteer course putting up tents, banging nails into wood and plastering walls. Now I’m no building expert - but I know it takes more than two weeks for your body to fully adjust to that kind of jet-lag…how long does it take to become a proficient plasterer? Some of the volunteers admitted as much, some thought they were saving the world, some seemed more interested in getting a tan…”Join us” they said, “it’s great fun… you’ll get to meet the real people… we’re going on this big trip at the weekend”…I declined.
Natural Calamity cannot be blamed on anyone. Allowing the media a free reign to unleash raw emotion and stimulate compassion in the masses. …and yet today, in 2005, nobody has any idea the impact war has on ordinary peoples lives! Where were all these volunteers
and all this Aid during the civil war the past 20 yrs?
Furthermore our ignorance of nature is astounding… the ‘primtive tribes‘ in the Andamans knew of the tsunami. And here in Sri lanka there were reports of birds and even elephants fleeing from the sea before the tsunmai struck…some people even reported climbing trees to find them already full of snakes and lizards. In stark contrast, civilized westerners were busy taking pictures of the wave before it swept them to their death.
We headed back up to Colombo since Brad was off home to Oz. A few days of him drooling over the prospect of 'MB's' and 'chicken Parmas' upon his return, (whatever they may be???) had me dreaming of home aswell. A news story on the radio at the time further riled me: 500 innocent people massacred in Uzbekistan by the American sponsored dictator Islam Karimov. How was it reported in the International Herald Tribune the next day? On page 5. ‘atleast three people reported dead! The weltshmerz was welling up in my soul! So not to be outdone, I went to the airline office and changed my flight...leaving me just over a week left in Sri
Lion Rock
Sigiriya. Lanka...now I could start dreaming of home aswell. But with a week left I had to get a move on if I was to see any of this island.
After a a scenic train ride up to the historic capital of Kandy to visit a temple and watch some traditional dancing (yep!). I headed over to Sigiriya, which is basically a huge rock sticking out the ground that some megalomaniac built a palace on top of some 1500yrs ago as defence against his brother. Looking down from the top, on birds flitting between the trees like grasshoppers underfoot, there is no denying it's defensive qualities. Problem is, when his brother turned up for a fight, he got so excited, he rushed out to confront him on the back of an elephant with his army in tow and got stuck in a swamp and had to take his own life...However, he did leave behind some ancient (and thus rather cultural) porn - making the TWENTY DOLLAR entrance fee bearable...just!
My next destination was Trincomalee: ‘It’s mix of Tamil, Sinhalese and Muslim populations lends an multi ethnic flavour whose subtle intermingling of religion and traditions is unique in Sri Lanka’
Celestial Nymph.
1500yr old frescoes, Sigiriya. The Rough Guide To Sri Lanka.
I jumped off the bus in Trincomalee during a hartal (strike) in what would have been a ghost town I it weren’t for the massive military presence on display. It was apparent that something was going to happen... and as I stood haggling with an auto-rickshaw driver over the price of fuel, the distance to my destination and the subsequent cost per kilometre ratio a bomb went off just fifty metres from where we stood.
As the sound reverberated through the deserted streets, I looked over and saw hundreds of ravens rising ominously from the scene in a giant mushroom cloud. Troops proceeded cautiously toward the epicentre, passing fleeing bystanders who likewise moved gingerly in what seemed more like some kind of drill, than a reaction to terror; but I suppose 22 years of civil war will do that to you… the first thought that came into my head was ‘that should get me the 30 pence discount I’ve been working on the last few minutes!’
On our 35 kms drive up the coast to Sri Lankas most beautiful beach at Nilaveli, the rickshaw driver informed me this was the 16th
grenade attack in two days...fatalities were not known but surprisingly small. We passed many checkpoints on the way in one of the largest military presences I have ever seen. Soldiers were posted at 20m intervals at every turn the entire length of the route. They were expecting trouble alright and it was all down to a 5ft tall Buddha which had been placed slap bang in the middle of this predominantly Hindu Tamil town in preparation for the biggest Buddhist holiday of the year.
For 3,000 yrs the Singhalese and Tamils have lived at odds in Sri lanka. The North and East is populated by the Hindu Tamil. Elsewhere the Singhalese Buddhists dominate. In 1948 what was then known as Ceylon achieved independence from Britain. At the time there were 11million Sinhalaese Buddhists and 3million Tamil Hindus. The subjugation and repression of the minority began in earnest. Singhala was made the official language with Tamil banned from Government and road signs. Tamil land in the north was claimed by Buddhists and non-violent protests were crushed by the STF (Buddhist Gestapo).
It became desperately apparent that the only way the Tamils would be able to preserve their culture was to
create their own state by force: Eelam (precious land). Trained by Mossad and the Indian equivalent of the CIA, the fanatically disciplined, ruthless, and suicidally brave Tamil Tigers were born. Over 65,000 people have been killed since the powder keg finally exploded in 1983 and Sri Lanka descended into full-scale civil-war. For the past three years there has been an uneasy cease fire.
The ceasefire came about primarily due to the international clampdown on terrorism after 9/11, battle fatigue on both sides, and the ultimate realisation that the Tamil Tigers couldn’t be defeated. Since the tsunami however, divisive politics are on the rise, with wrangling over the distribution of Aid to Tamil regions since some of the pledges are conditional on improved coordination, and progress in the fragile peace process. The highly influential right-wing monks want nothing to go to Hindu areas, giving the people on the ground, once again, reason to believe the Buddhist Government is not being entirely even-handed with them.
The hotel of my choice again no longer existed ...most of the larger one’s fronting the beach were being rebuilt. I was the only tourist in town owing to tsunami damage and the ethnic war-zone
down the road. There was no denying the beach was beautiful, but this had an abandoned beach resort feel, so I headed back towards Trincomalee in search of something else.
French Garden Pragash Guest House in Uppuveli charges Sri Lankans more than tourists…their justification for this is that tourists continued to frequent the Guest House during the civil-war when Sri Lankans stayed away. Low and behold, hemmed in by the Hartal (strike), ethnic-strife and their pursuit of the perfect tan, Nia and Mae (Brits) were waiting expectantly for me to entertain and protect them in their quest. Fortunately they were also ending their trip; so we were pretty much on the same wavelength - excited and apprehensive about our return to Europe and above all glad we weren’t in India. Days were spent on the beach, whilst evenings revolved around eating Gordon Blue drinking G&T’s and performing handstands in the pool. Oh, and one night whilst re-living Indian-masturbating-man experiences, right on cue we spotted our Sri Lankan security guard strumming merrily in the shadows!
On our penultimate day Lara (also bloody British) turned up in a red cross van. I'd met her previously in Kandy and foolishly she
had taken my advice of checking out Trincomalee (in her defence she didn't know my full track record;-). After speaking to some Scandinavian 'salmon eating busy bodies' (Sri Lankan presidents words...not mine) from the Sri Lankan Monitoring Mission...she decided to leave with us the very next morning, after they had told her that the whole country was about to explode and the British foreign office was advising everyone to leave!
So bright and early the next morning we were off. Of course it didn't take long for our driver to crash the car and leave us stranded - And me with a plane to catch in a couple of hours! Though in 5 minutes we'd commandeered another ride and were on the road again... and I was off home...well almost...
Epilogue.
I'm in Germany now...and was watching the BBC the other day when an advertisement came on singing the praises of Sri Lanka. Their pitch was "Sri Lanka's raring to go!" ...I think they may have left the word 'off' from the end of that statement?
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anonymous
non-member comment
your trip
Was (still is?) amazing. Thanks for the fantastic reads... Warren - Warren Shaw