Sri Lanka Tsunamis, Sacred Mountain, Delicious Food, Ancient Buddhism, Sublime Beaches.

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A GREAT WALKABOUT IN SRI LANKA:

Sri Lanka, Serendib, the resplendent isle, the teardrop, the story of my trip. I have been back in Seattle a few days and am clearly the victim of continued jet lag, pecking at the computer at 5AM. I spent the first 30 minutes this morning researching Sri Lankan restaurants and recipes, my heart aching for the food and culture I just left behind. So many thoughts swirling, so much emotion, let me give you a taste.

I had worked incredibly hard all year, it was time for an adventure travel break. My last trip abroad was to Belize and Guatemala was in the spring. The time had come. On a cold and typically drizzly Puget Sound day in December, I packed my pack, gathered my goodies, packed some food, tickets, money passport, eliminated half (travelers will understand!) and with excitement thumping in my chest, headed for Seatac airport.

My parents Rita and Warren had been traveling across India for a couple of months, my original plan was to meet them in the south of India for some time and then spend a week in Sri Lanka alone. I got a chilling e-mail a week before my trip; my father had stepped in an uncovered sewer hole on a dimly lit street and shattered his knee. He quickly made the rather prudent decision to come back to the States for medical care. After feeling sadness for a day or two, it was time to travel. What to do? What to do? After reflecting, dreaming for a few days, the answer suddenly became clear. Where I had been excited to see my parents in India, Sri Lanka was a place I had dreamed of my whole life- elephants, tea plantations, spices, sacred mountains and now, tsunami survivors.

I left two days earlier than I had planned, only my transit to Bangkok assured. Beyond that, I was cautiously hopeful that I could adjust my ticket. Excited, I left Seattle at 3AM on a direct EVA Airlines 13 hour flight to Taipei, Taiwan. When I travel, I release pretty quickly. As the plane left the ground, I felt great. I looked around, very quickly noticing mostly Asian people, a few travelers and English teachers headed abroad. The hospitality on EVA is fantastic (I had flown them years ago to Thailand). The warm towels come out immediately, the seats are comfortable and the food delicious. I slept quite well, awaking for a mesmerizing view of Mount Fuji when flying over Japan in the early morning light. Before I knew it, we were on the ground in Taiwan and on to Bangkok. Bangkok is beautiful, noisy, mixing good smells with bad. I hopped off the plane with a six-hour layover, caught a local bus downtown to the Sri Lanka Airlines office. Miracle, I found it and they were there. It took a few hours and much cajoling, they changed my ticket and I would be off to Colombo, Sri Lanka in a few hours. What a day, much travel. I was a bit tired but my senses alive.

In the Bangkok Airport, Sri Lankan people surrounded me for the first time. They seemed quite happy, peaceful, and dark in complexion. Their faces looked like a combination of Indian, Indonesian and Arabic. Also evident were a number of traveling tsunami relief workers from various aid organizations. Sri Lanka had 70% of its coastline devastated and lost 45,000 people by conservative estimates in the big wave.The three-hour flight to Colombo over the Bay of Bengal left Bangkok at 7PM. As we landed, a tsunami relief video played in English with famous Sri Lankan musicians and hauntingly beautiful pictures of the country. I felt tears and deep connection in my heart.

We touched down in Colombo at 10PM. I hopped off the plane with no commitments, no reservations, and no fixed plans. My Lonely Planet Sri Lanka travel book in hand, I went outside and felt the warm humid air for the first time.I was tired, I hopped in a rickshaw tuk-tuk (motorcycle taxi) and headed for Negombo town, a little fishing village near the airport on the West Coast facing India. Not many travelers are in Sri Lanka right now, due to fears about the Tamil conflict (most people don't know that it is very isolated in the north) and the perception that the tsunami left nothing in it’s wake. I found a room, covered myself with a hanging mosquito net and fell into a deep sleep.

I woke after only six hours of sleep, excited and ready to get on the road. Sri Lanka was a British crown colony from the early 1800s to the 1940s, I quickly leaned that the sport of cricket is almost religion in this country. During my early morning walk, kids were sharing the grass with cows and playing cricket in an old field. The outrigger fishing boats were coming back to shore in the dim light, I drank the milk from a whole coconut, had the first of many good cups of Ceylon tea with milk and surveyed my surroundings. The boats reminded me of the sailors who had come to Sri Lanka (Ceylon) years ago in search of riches. Sinbad the Sailor got rich trading in elephant tusks before returning home to Baghdad. Marco Polo called this the finest island of its size in the world. The earth is fertile; the rivers run deep, the mountains stretch to the sky, the people smile so big.

After a search all over the village, I caught a ride with a man and was off to the sacred caves of Dambula. Sri Lanka is 85% Buddhist, the amazing relics and ruins nearly 2500 years old. Sri Lankan Buddhism is considered to be a very pure form, many Buddhists from all parts of the world pilgrimage here during their lifetime to pay homage to the history. Buddhism here just exists in the day to day. Friendly horn beeps happen when people are passing on the road but there is no aggression. People visit and smile, quiet exists too. People don’t need to hear themselves speaking all the time; they seem very centered, non-judgmental and secure. They treat each other as brothers and often live very much as a community. The principles "right living" and “right speech” are evident.

My ride the first morning was beautiful, the air seemed clean; the little towns charming. I was instantly struck with the fact that there didn’t seem to be destitute poverty in Sri Lanka. We passed rice paddies, batik shops, and people making furniture from wood. People lives simple lives, seemed to have enough to eat and quite happy.

In a few hours, we rolled up to the beautiful caves of Dambula. I hiked up countless steps with hawkers charming cobras and selling crafts. Near the summit, I took off my shoes and hat (as is customary when visiting a sacred location) and entered the cave complex. The caves are ancient, filled with colorful large Buddhas, frescos on the walls and ceilings. I had never seen anything like it in my life; imagine being surrounded by 40 life sized (and larger) Buddhas in a cave. It was so beautiful; I bowed my head and said a prayer for my family and this country I was about to see.

I descended from the caves feeling light of spirit, caught a ride onward and soon looming in the distance was the immense mountain fortress of Sigiriya, rising from the surrounding plains like Ayers Rock of Australia. A famous king had a complex on top years ago, the area was known for early advanced water gardens. I found a room, dropped my bags and walked a mile in the very hot sun over to the rock. I climbed many steep stone steps and after a fantastic look at the famous frescos and ancient graffiti on the way up, I summited. I passed some people struggling with the climb on the way up, I felt refreshed and like a mountain goat. My time on the top plateau of the rock was all alone. I could see for many miles in all directions, exactly why this was a fortress. On the way down I met Filip from Slovenia, who was to become my good friend on this trip and will be for many years. Filip lives pretty close to the Italian border in a historic town called Ptuj. He was between jobs and traveling Asia for a few months. We had a most excellent visit on the side of the rock hanging from steep stairs. He told me it was his birthday; I decided we must celebrate.

Back at the guesthouse, we had big Lion lager beers and stared back at the giant rock we had just climbed. He had planned on leaving back to Dambula where he had a room; I slipped away for a few minutes and somehow found a birthday cake in a tiny store with one big candle. It was 5PM, this convinced him to stay for a while. In short order, six people who worked at the guesthouse and a visiting Austrian-Australian couple had joined us, the table was filled with delicious curry and we had one heck of a birthday party. In the dim moonlight across the street, Sigiriya loomed happily over us. About 12 midnight, we all called it a night. Filip went back, we made plans to meet at the ancient city of Pollonaruwa. What a fun night!

The next morning I arose and had a walk over to the little Sigiriya town. The air was thick with humidity, monkeys chattered nearby, people were catching buses and getting their day started. I sat on a big rock and took it all in. I hopped a ride with a man down a long jungle road. We passed some crazy looking porcupine and must tropical vegetation. By the way, the trees are jacaranda, huge rubber trees, tamarind, and mango. This land explodes with fresh fruit, pineapple, papaya, and mango. We stopped after a bit in a small town. I had an egg rotte, some dhal fritters and my first of many delicious ginger sodas.

We drove past many lakes, vast jungles and I saw the first of many “tanks”. Ancient rulers of Sri Lanka were incredibly advanced in their dredging techniques and development of water control, reservoir and water storage. Many of the systems developed are still in use today. As we reached the outskirts of Pollonaruwa, I felt a special feeling. Draped in giant rubber trees and sitting on huge lake, this town was the center of Sri Lankan power for many years. I dropped my bags at a small room near the lake, rented a very old one-speed bike with a basket and peddled off to the ruins. I spent all day in the searing heat riding down ancient paths in awe of the architecture. Many times I was alone at remote sites. So many times, my shoes and hat came off, pouring water on my head to cool off.

I had heard there were monitor lizards in this country; I had no idea how big. Peddling peacefully in a mango grove, a huge six-foot lizard ran across my path. I swerved, it scared me to death. My wife is joked that it was playing tricks with me. On the way, back, I stepped into a vibrant spice and vegetable market for some photos.

I was starving, stopped for some local food. Sri Lankan food is quite unique, tasty and often fiery hot. Often rice is the base, piled on top are all manner of curries, vegetable, meat and fish. Ground coconut and chilies together are called coconut sambol, a nice balance to the curry. Sometimes a coconut pancake, or rotte, is served alongside. Meals often are ended with huge amounts of fresh fruit. The food is eaten with the fingers, Sri Lankans believe that it really isn’t possible to enjoy the food unless it is mixed and eaten by hand. After the meals, a water dish magically appears to rinse fingers.

I was tired, back to my room and relaxed for a bit. Filip showed up and we had a nice dinner together of lake fish, curry and rice. We walked up by the lake and watched the sun go down, remembered our fun at Sigiriya, had a beer and talked about meeting up to climb Adam’s Peak, the most sacred mountain in Sri Lanka. For tomorrow, he was off to Trincomalee on the east coast; I was headed south in search of the indigenous Veddah people, who had come to Sri Lanka 25,000 years ago. We parted with plans to connect.

The next morning I caught a ride south with a driver who seemed to have some knowledge of where to find the Veddah people. He remembered seeing them in 1982. We drove past endless rice paddies, in the agricultural heartland of the country. Near the town of Mahiyangana, we started asking the locals questions. After much searching, we were directed down many dirt roads. We parked, trekked in a while and came to a small village with thatched huts. In a matter of minutes, I was sitting with the chief, wow! I learned much this day. The Veddah truly are the indigenous of Sri Lanka, the “people of the forest”

For years the Sri Lankan government has tried to claim that their lineage has been watered down and they shouldn’t be considered an ethnic group with special rights. It turns out the main goal was to expropriate their tribal lands for national park. I will tell you that they exist; I saw them. There are a few villages, about 1000 people. The famous chief showed me pictures of when he went to the UN in Geneva in support of his people’s cause. They are hunters, live off the forest. They use plants to make herbal cures, are very community minded and do not assimilate very well into normal Sri Lankan society. It was a good day; I took some herbal medicine and a drum for my daughter away. When I left, the chief took both of my hands in his, looked in my eyes and said a blessing for me. He invited me back to hunt; perhaps I’ll go.

As we headed south, the flat terrain gave way to hills and then bigger hills. On the right in the distance was the famous Knuckles mountain range. We had come to the land of waterfalls, the road got steep, and the air cooler and the trees were teak, rosewood, and beautiful hardwoods. It was time to eat. We hiked with our lunch 2 miles to the base most revered waterfall in Sri Lanka, Dunhinda Falls. Poya, or pilgrimage season, didn’t start for another week, so the trail was pretty quiet. There were a few young Sri Lankan couples looking amorous on the hike. We got to the base of the falls, surrounded by jungle and so powerful. We sat for awhile, enjoying the moment. On the way back, we found some rough benches and dug into our rice curry packets.

Two thirds of the way through our meal, we were surrounded by nearly 20 chattering monkeys. In a deft maneuver, some of them distracted us with acrobatic antics while a few others unknown to us scurried behind us and stole our lunch. I looked up and a monkey was in a tug-of-war with me for my food. I lost; they ran off happily with the spoils. It was hilarious.We passed through Badulla, turned east and began our long car climb into the real mountains toward the Hill Station very British tea town of Nuwara Eliya. It was raining, water pouring down the road. It got quite cold; the mountains are 6000 feet. Dark was coming. As the last light disappeared, we passed miles of tea bushes into Nuwara Eliya.

Nuwara Eliya was “the” British Hill station during colonial days. It was where they made their tea fortunes and also where they came to have respite from the heat. This area has a significant population of Tamil Hindus, who were brought to pick tea. They are louder than Buddhists; there was a buzz on the street. The cafes served samosas and some foods that were more typically Indian. Pulling into, town, I had an idea.

There is an old beautiful hotel called the Hill Club, founded in 1870, that succeeds in being more British than Britain. The wealthy of British have been coming and staying for years, members of this club still have reciprocal membership in some highbrow London social clubs. The inside of this place is a living museum to colonial, male British privilege. There are hunting trophies (heads of animals) on the wall; a huge room with snooker tables and manicured lawns with croquet about.

I had to see this place. I somehow convinced the white-gloved butler to look beyond my grubby travel clothes, native drum and smelly body and within minutes I was escorted to a sweet room. As I walked across the lobby past the visiting upper crust and Sri Lankan socialites, I garnered a few good looks. The room was full of old antiques and gorgeous.

The strict house rules call for men to wear jackets and ties after 5 PM anywhere in the hotel, I slipped into the cloakroom and found a grey velvet smoking jacket, a tie and some shoes. This was funny, very funny. I sat at the old gentlemen’s bar before dinner and had a tasty stout beer. Next to me was a visiting British couple (about 60 years old) who own an aerospace company in London. We shared stories of their trip to Alaska to search for gold, my trips to jungles. He used to be a captain in the British navy, was lamenting the fact that the British didn’t have the colonies anymore. This place made him feel quite nostalgic. They were interesting people, he an engineer.

When they spoke of former colonies like Kenya, Rhodesia or Sri Lanka falling into disrepair they didn’t do it in a judgmental way. They spoke practically that the Brits were superb at setting up infrastructure, building railroads, bringing civility to the legal system. He was right. The Brits of course benefited immensely when carting off natural resources, but to say they didn’t contribute to the countries they colonized would be revisionist history. After our drinks, we decided to dine together. They were amused when I told them I had just thrown my pack down, scraped off the travel dirt and snuck into this fancy club. The five-course dinner was carried off with delightful panache, white-gloved waiters; old candles on each table. It was quite enjoyable; we had a great evening talking then I was off to bed and slept like a rock!

Again I slept well and was up with the first light of the morning. I walked across the perfectly manicured grounds of the Hill Club and felt like I wanted to get the heck away as soon as possible. Great experience, but time to move on. I walked into town and made my way into a raucous Tamil breakfast place. I sat next to the man with the big machine making milk tea. I was the object of curiosity, many people stopped by my table to offer a slap on the back, a little food and a greeting. The common people in Sri Lanka don’t speak much English, most of them ask “where from?” “America”, I answer. The Sri Lankans say “oh, American good” with big smiles.

After a bite to eat and some fun talks, I hopped a tuk-tuk up to The Pedro Tea Estate, the biggest in the country. It has been in tea growing and production for over 100 years, I had a private tour of the grounds and factory on a sunny, quiet morning. I saw everything, machinery, drying racks, tasting room (got to be a temporary taster). I learned a lot about tea, I appreciate it certainly more now. The worst quality tea goes to Arab countries, which lace it with sugar and drink. The middle grade goes to America (we don’t truly know tea) and eastern European countries. The best, of course, goes to those tea snobs the Brits. I bought some tea, packed up my goodies, ran to the station and waited at platform number one for the train to Kandy.

The train stations in Sri Lanka are old school. I walked into the station master’s office, he wrote my passage ticket by hand. He stepped out onto the platform and blew a hand whistle to announce the trains. As I waited for my train, I drummed on my drum a bit. Sitting just near me on the platform was a young British woman named Philippa. She smiled big, we had a chat, and would end up spending the day riding the rails together. She was off to Kandy also, the cultural heart of Sri Lanka. She is in the country volunteering for a few months way out in the country as a teacher, was finished with her obligations and traveling before she returned home.

We hopped on and settled in for a five- hour ride through the heart of tea country. It was beautiful, the conductor often called us over to see a waterfall or excellent vista. He called a station ahead at one point and had one of his buddies bring us cold drinks. These are the old trains, the ones you see in films of Africa and India. They screech, bump and wiggle. Walking from car to car during the ride felt like a step back in history. Local boys (and me a little) hang from the side of the train during the trip, yelping and urging each other on to feats of bravery like grabbing flowers on the fly. It was a great trip.

We pulled into the Kandy terminal; I dropped my bags and headed off around the lake to see the famous Kandy dancers and musicians at the cultural centre. The show was great, very old style dynamic high energy dancing and music with elaborate costumes.The finale was men swallowing fire and walking on hot coals. How do they do that?

Kandy is the second biggest town in Sri Lanka, a bit of a shock after being in the country. It has a lovely setting on the lake, many trees and gardens about. Phillipa and I had very hot curry that night, she chastised me for reverting to a fork. I switched back to my fingers and ate that way the rest of the trip. I slept very well that night with dreams of riding the rails in my head. It had been a good day.

I woke quite early and walked over to The Temple of the Tooth, one of the most sacred places in this culture. It is where an actual tooth of Buddha that was snatched from the pyre at his funeral is kept. By the way, the knees must be covered when entering spots like this. I had on shorts that were above my knee, what to do? Taking a lesson from American youth culture, I pull my shorts down low over my briefs, strapped my belt tight to help them up and covered it with my shirt. It was hard to walk, I did a bit of a penguin waddle, but it got me past the guard checkpoints. The temple was very special at 6AM in the morning light, the Kandyan drummers loud to make the morning, many deeply in prayer next to the chamber holding the tooth relic. As I left,the morning was fresh. I gathered my things, got back to the train station and was off to climb Adam’s Peak.

I settled back into a train seat, vendors selling spicy fresh peanuts and dhal fritters in the aisles. I got a coffee-milk-tea mixture that was delicious. Sitting next to me were two French guys Thomas and Richard who were doing tsunami relief work, one in war-ridden Jaffna in the north, one in Batticaloa on the east coast. We started chatting and decided we would climb Adam’s Peak together. On our four-hour train ride to Hatton, using my limited French and their very good English, we relaxed, visited and hatched a great adventure plan that would keep us together for the next three days.

Back into the tea country, we got off at the station and caught a ride to The Green House Rest House in Dalhousie, at the base of Adam’s Peak. We pulled in about 1PM, ready to relax for the day before attempting to summit in the middle of the night for sunrise. Adam’s Peak (Sri Pada in Sinhalese) is the sacred mountain that all Sri Lankans endeavor to climb in their lifetime. They believe that Buddha’s footprint is on top, during pilgrimage season the trail is packed with people. We threw our things in a pile and sat down for some tea and cookies. I wanted to nap but I never quite could.

Richard and I took a walk; a young monk beckoned us down to the temple at the base of the mountain. He invited us in, blessed our journey and us. We shared cookies, stories about the building of this temple. He tied a special string bracelet around our wrist for good fortune and we walked back to the rest house.

Throughout the day, other travelers wandered into camp, all would walk after midnight. I met Rob and Anne from Britain, who I would spend much time with on the southern beaches. The rain came hard, pelting down as 14 of us huddled around a little table for a curry meal. We talked with the owner about our plan. Almost all the people who climb Sri Pada climb from this side; it is a grueling 3-hour summit followed by a leg-aching descent of 2 hours. You leave at 3 in the morning and if luck is with you see a mind-blowing sunrise at the temple on top. Our desire was to summit with the group but to head down the ancient pilgrimage route grueling six-hour descent through jungles and streams (leech infested) to Ratnapura. Our host said that with a guide it could be done.

So as a group at 3AM we walked with flashlights up Sri Pada in the dark. Magically, the downpour stopped just as we started walking, we were greeted with a most excellent sunrise on top. After an hour or so to enjoy the morning views, the others turned back; we headed on alone with our guide and two dogs that belonged to the owner of the rest house.

The old stone trail going down took us through jungles and over streams. There were leeches in abundance, we tucked our long pants inside our socks but each still managed to have a few attach, they are vicious. The path was VERY slippery; we passed monkeys, deer and nice views of the lush backside of Adam’s Peak. About halfway down, our legs were shot, and I
mean really shot. Urged on by our mountain dogs, sheer will and the desire for a warm shower, we stumbled on. I don’t think my legs have ever been this tired; somehow we made it. There was a little town at the base of the mountain. They looked at us like we were aliens. This being the grueling, historic route, they have seen very few foreigners. We collapsed at the bottom, guzzled water and coconut milk and watch the cute little school children coming home in their proper uniforms.

Limping like old men (and to be truly hobbled for the next four days), we caught a one-hour ride into the wild gem town of Ratnapura. It was about 3PM; we got some rooms, the French boys crashed hard. I looked about, went into town. Ratnapura is a decent sized town well known for its mineral deposits. The three biggest blue sapphires in the world (including the poorly named Star of India) have come from this area. Most of the mining is done by small family operations, deep holes dug in the ground. The profits are split evenly between the person who finances the venture, the crew and the person who goes deep in the mud to pull out raw stones. It is fascinating. Each morning the miners come into the main square with raw stones wrapped in little towels and barter with the gem dealers. Add vegetable markets, trucks, tuk-tuks, mist-shrouded hills and the smell of spices to this mix and it is fascinating. Besides my two French buddies, I saw no other Westerners while I was here.

I had some delicious food (meals were usually less than $1) and then headed back to rouse the French boys. The rest house where I was staying had gardens of hibiscus and mango trees; overlooked the town below and the surrounding mountains. The next day was an auspicious day in Sri Lankan culture, they were preparing for a wedding. I had dinner with the boys, heard about their plans after we were to part and collapsed in bed. The next morning Richard came with me to see the gem market. We had some very interesting conversations with people and took some very unique photos. I said goodbye to the boys, caught a lift south to Embilipitiya, got a room and had some food. I relaxed for the afternoon, had some good food and went out to buy some shorts.

The next morning I found a guide with an open air Land Rover and made an early morning entrance into most amazing Uda Walawe National Park for a safari. This place is known for elephants; soon I was surrounded by them. Just a few vehicles were in the park; it was quiet. This park is very savannah like-described as the most African feel of any of the parks in Sri Lanka. There were deer running through the bushes, mongooses, small jungle cats and peacocks sunning themselves high in the branches of trees. It was a very special morning that was punctuated when I was surrounded by six elephants that had a two-month old baby. I was alone with my guide; it was a very nice morning.

The time had come that I was eager for and dreading at the same time. I got a ride and broke out to the southern coast at Matara. I knew it would be gorgeous, I knew the tsunami damage would be shocking. Some other travelers had briefed me but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see.

Theses waves were big and bad, they got quickly to Sri Lanka. It had been nearly a year since the wave hit, I remember when it happened feeling a strong urge to go to Sri Lanka. It seems so unfair that so many beautiful people were sent to their death, families separated and property destroyed. The waves were often 50 feet high; they came quickly and with force as far as 2 km from the sea. Most of the structures along the coast were destroyed instantly. I would learn over the next week that almost everyone I met was affected, loved ones lost, people hanging onto trees in the raging surf for survival.

It seemed so calm when I got to the coast; Sri Lanka on the sea is very special. The waters are blue, the sand powdery white, coconut trees everywhere. The surf curls gently in, fishermen and surfers are near each other. The skies are clear, the sunsets at the end of the day bright red. I went by a well-known blowhole; soon I started seeing signs of devastation. Huge boats had been washed well inland, buildings were crumbled everywhere. NGO sponsored refuge tent camps soon appeared, water tanks and newly donated boats with big logos from aid organizations abounded. Life was getting on.

We pulled into Unawatuna Beach, where I would spend the next week and a half. I soon connected with my friends Rob and Anne from Adam’s Peak. We got places near each other, mine at Upul’s where all the Sri Lankan surfer boys hung out. My $20 room (a lot for Sri Lanka) had a balcony right over the surf, each night I went to sleep with the sound of waves. Reggae music played softly downstairs, a hammock hanging near the water and the seafood was delicious. I settled in for a good long stay.

Unawatuna has a way of sucking you in, easing you along while you pass time. Most people who come stay a lot longer than they had planned. People make plans each day but many times they don’t happen. It is a very good place to relax. This town was hit hard by the waves but is quickly rebuilding because its amazing location is too beautiful not to fix. The beach is a half moon, curling about a mile in full. At one end are brightly painted fishing outrigger boats, at the other end a beautiful dagoba on a hill overlooking the town of Galle. Little guesthouses, beach shacks and seafood and curry places are clustered throughout the village mostly near the beach.

The fishing, scuba and surfing are excellent, as are walks in any direction. Woodcarvers, ayurvedic massage healers, Internet shops, diving and surf instructors and little souvenir shops line the lanes. You must turn off of the main road to smaller ones to get to this village; this is one thing that makes it special. People from all over the world amble about, no one in a rush. The day starts with a cup of milk tea, some egg curry with coconut rotte bread, maybe some eggs and toast and fresh fruit when you are “curried out”. After breakfast, I would take runs in the sand, looking at all the brightly colored boats.

I learned much about aid organizations while I was here. A number of aid organizations are
noble and endeavor to only put the people back to where they were before the disaster. There are many more washing in money, however, who drive around in $100000 trucks, stay in fancy hotels and compete with each other to show who is the biggest donor. Many times they buy things that are totally impractical for the local populace. I’ve heard a number of stories about people who have scammed the aid system and have become rich and built villas in the hills. It is a mixed bag. I will tell you that there are stories of loss, survival, rebuilding that bring you to your knees, then lift you up again. It is raw, real life being played out under your nose.

Mornings become afternoons, the locals kick soccer balls on the beach and frolic in the surf. The water is very comfortable and provides a respite from the heat. As the light fades, bonfire beach gatherings take form. You don’t wear shoes much, no need. During my time there, I took a trip 5 miles away to Galle, the Old Dutch fort town. I saw women making batik and lacework, walked on the ramparts and by the cricket grounds, saw fish markets.

My tuk-tuk driver told us that 850 people perished in his little village, his vehicle was crushed, and he was thrown out and hung 20 feet up on a pole to survive. I met a restaurant owner named Sunil who saved a British child in the swirling waves. When I was in town, the parents and baby came back to thank Sunil. Many people come back to make peace with what happened. On a dimly lit night, I walked up and laid my hands on the well-known train that is still near the tracks as a memorial to the 2000 people who died (worst train disaster in history) in it when it was overwhelmed and flooded by the wave while traveling down the tracks.

I had some very nice diving while here, I forgot my diving certificate card but they believed me. The fish were colorful; we saw lobsters and nice coral. Anne and Rob and I went out on an outrigger and caught 10 fish in 2 hours, cooked up for us with loads of garlic and ginger. The
seafood by the way was fantastic. Giant prawns, lobster, fish, calamari…prices so good, wow! Fresh fruit, curries, coconut desserts, truly paradise.

So days became days. Filip came into town, Phillipa too. Other people who I had seen along the way showed up, it was quite festive with plenty of time to visit. I took a ride to an amazing peace temple and down to a jungle beach, walked up to the rocks at sunset and had a great time. I learned about efforts to build a children’s center for kids orphaned in the wave. There was time to read, write and reflect. Then one day, it was time to go. I had a farewell dinner with a number of friends I had gotten to know pretty well. With a heavy heart and wonderful memories, I said “ayubowen". Good bye.

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