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Published: January 14th 2013
MAYBE YOU WANTING BUY T-SHIRT INSTEAD?
If you are going to have a sea change, it may as well be by the sea. Our 8 day Hill Country interlude was backed up by our final Sri Lanka week at Hikkaduwa, meaning one final week of surfing before the rental surfboard turned into a pumpkin.
The week's waves were standard Hikkaduwa fodder; something every day and plenty of weaving through the European beginner masses. Lots of fun but the body isn't what it used to be. A pair of joints in particular weren't holding up too well so it was time for some chemical intervention.
The sign read "Medical Centre and Pharmacy" but the shelves weren't exactly overstocked nor was there anybody behind the counter. A couple of high voltage "hellos" and in trudged the woman working in the tourist clothing shop next door. (Try to imagine the sub continental accent please).
"Hello, what you be wanting please"?
"I need some anti-inflamatories. Perhaps Voltarin or Neurofin".
I may as well have been speaking Swahili going by the deafening silence and deadpan face. So on with the actor's hat for a round of charades. Attempts to mimic
Galle Fort
March of the Muslimsswollen, throbbing elbows was rewarded with the offer of a tube of sunscreen.
Taking the reins, it seems Penny is patently more adroit at this pantomime gig than yours truly, as, from the deepest darkest depths of a rear shelf, came a promising looking box of something. Removing the cobwebs and blowing off the dust revealed - VOLTARIN.
The cobwebs and dust hinted that the use-by date might be worth confirming. Basically, the packet predated Adam and Eve. The ridiculous high end price tag sealed the no deal.
OK lady, I'll see your all purpose head wobble and raise you an equally all purpose shrug. That shrug translated to;
No more Mr Nice Guy and no subterfuge to wriggle off the hook with the sale. I'm playing with a straight bat on this one;
"Madame, those tablets are too old and their approximate value is way below zero".
"OK. So maybe you wanting buy t-shirt instead".
Is nothing sacred any more?
CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK.
Wander the back streets of Hikkaduwa and every kid will proffer a smile, a wave and usually an array of stock standard English class
questions;
"How are you"?
"What is your name"?
"Where do you come from"?
"Where are you going"?
One such lad of about 12 years of age cruised up on his bike as we were walking along the railway tracks. He proceeded to go through the same line of enquiries before Penny decided to push the boundaries of the young fellow's mastery of English;
"Do-you-know-what-time-the-train-to-Colombo-passes-through"?
Each syllable pronounced slowly and articulately as if speaking to, I guess as if speaking to someone who doesn't understand English.
Personally I thought the question may still have stumped the poor boy, until he came up with;
"What do I look like, the Station Master"? Then off he rode.
After regaining my composure from fits of laughter, all I wanted to do was find this kid and sign his adoption papers. A dead set chip off the old smart arse block.
ZORRO
Hikkaduwa is littered with westerners on voyages of self discovery; read: social dropouts who should get their hands off it.
One guy strolled past on the beach sporting his most vibrant pair of pyjama shorts,
in desperate need of a roast dinner, his bleach blond dreadlocks massaging the shoulders as he searched for a suitable plot of sand to spend the night. We were told;
"Man, that guy's a legend around here. Everybody knows him".
A few Aussies bestowed a more appropriate nickname;
The Homeless VIP.
Frank, another of these, was my favourite. A case study of this vagabond genre. Totally inoffensive, harmless, amicable and, as he put it, "discovering his inner self".
"Where are you from Frank"?
"Here man."
Noticing the white skin, blue eyes, blond hair, European accented English and the name FRANK, I had a hunch there wasn't a lot of Sinhalese in Frank's bloodlines.
"OK Frank. Where were you born and where are your social security cheques sent"?
"Sweden".
That's more like it.
One morning, Frank appeared out in the surf, floating around on a borrowed board, laying on his back absorbing the tropical rays, paying zero attention to the waves. Cut off knee length denim shorts, he looked a textbook double for The Big Kahoona from the Gidget films. After a half hour or so, up pops the absolute
wave of the day. Providence is a variable and this coincided with Frank rolling off his back and finding himself in a no questions asked position "A". Taking two casual strokes, Frank was "in like Flynn". He then proceeded to belly board down the face into the white water to the collective groans of everybody else in the lineup, the wave completely gone to waste.
In that white water, Frank then struggles to one knee, places a forearm across the board, then points the other leg towards the sky in some bastardised yoga pose as he made a beeline for shore and up onto the beach.
I caught up with him later and quizzed;
"I'm all ears Frank. What exactly do you call that ludicrous pose"?
"I call it The Spanish Fox Man".
"Look Zorro. Your connection to the real world seems to be on life support. Maybe it's time to step back into this universe before the point of no return and rigor mortis sets in".
He just smiled, shrugged and wandered off with the fairies.
Or is it that Frank is onto something with that tuned out demeanour and I'm the
one kidding myself? Who am I to judge.
INDIAN PRE-SEASON TRAINING
Apart from the delights of this country, we also used the month in Sri Lanka to ween ourselves onto India, a nation with a doctorate in beaurocracy and frustration. In reality, although geographically neighbours and the faces similar, Sri Lanka is in a different universe to the chaos of Big Bro up north. For a genuine precursor, try applying for that Indian visa in Colombo. (I expect the same scenario exists in all their consulates world wide). I swear the authorities here use the rationale that if you can survive this process then you may stand a fighting chance in India itself.
In hindsight we should have paid an agent to go through this routine for us. No, we are too shrewd for that. We would rather spend two full days in Colombo, a city painfully shy of redeeming features, putting ourselves through a red tape wringer.
Our photos weren't the correct size. We hadn't completed the online forms and then printed out a hard copy of those forms to be presented on the day. We didn't have enough photocopies of our passports and
the last two blank pages remaining in those passports weren't on facing pages.
I bet you thought carbon paper for forms to be completed in triplicate had all been carted away in a hearse way back in yore - wrong. Your mother's maiden name is still relevant. So too is the number of your previous Indian visa in your previous passport. This entire runaround is carried out with the background drone of rubber stamps thumping forms.
The visa office in Colombo closes at 6.00pm. At 6.30 pm on the second day, 30 or so westerners with steam hissing out of their ears, glared at the poker faces behind the counters as names were read out. It was as if we were waiting for lotto results to be announced. Everything flows like wet cement uphill.
Our month in Sri Lanka has felt like a holiday from the holiday. India already feels the exact opposite and we haven't even arrived yet. We are ready for them though. The visa rigmarole has toughened us up.
Colvin/Yeates, mano a mano with India. Don't touch that dial.
Yeatesy
Sri Lanka has been one of those destinations that
was on my list of "must sees" for some time but has been a long time achieving. Added to that has been Gary's stories and encounters of the Sri Lanka of his youth, elephants, monkeys galore and the one dollar curry. Granted, he was last here in his early twenties and possibly some things may have changed!!
So after 4 weeks immersing ourselves into Sri Lanka, all be it a very lazy and relaxing immersion, I am happy to report I did see elephants. Sadly they were not roaming free in the countryside but in a temple with large chains around their feet. I also saw plenty of monkeys up in the mountains hanging from the power lines and swinging in the trees. There were even a few not so fortunate bats that met their fate fried on the power lines.
As for the one dollar curry, "The Cool Spot", once frequented by all the surfers, does still exist but there were no surfers within cooee of the place. It cooks a nice vegetable curry and rice, only now it's $6.
Sri Lanka has been one of those destinations that "gets under you skin" as another Aussie
tourist expressed to me. After a few days you slow the pace, and you enjoy taking all day to do very little. It's a very relaxing and laid back destination and easy to see why it is in the top ten of holiday destinations for Australians. It reminds me of Bali in the 80's with tea plantations instead of the rice paddies.
It has changed somewhat but not completely sold its soul to tourism. It still has its local charm, nice climate, warm water, great food and it provides good bang for your buck. I am already working out when we can return, hopefully before too many more changes.
Ps. The slow train to Colombo with no reserved seats could change without a complaint from me. Never have I felt more like cattle being delivered to the slaughter yard and the locals commute like this daily. Give me the air conditioned, reserved seat express train any day.
Penny
More images at:
www.colvinyeates.zenfolio.com
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The Travel Camel
Shane Dallas
Lovely photographs
Especially those sunset ones - gorgeous!