I
look out of tinged windows in Bandaranaike airport, Colombo – the clear blue skies
tease my eyes and prickle my skin as I think back on the most beautiful holiday
that I’d been thinking about for months, and now it’s come to an end. The smell
of cinnamon and cardamom waft around my computer screen as I sip on a chai
latte in coffee bean and reminisce…
We
started off here in a very different zone, our ‘4’ hour journey (that ended up
being about 10) was delayed about 5 times before we landed. The one runway in Male (the capital of the
Maldives) proved quite troublesome when there was more than one plane that
needed to land, so we waited in the air until it was our go, with regular 3
minute updates from the talkative pilot.
After
a conversation at dinner the other night I found out that the Maldives have
made an agreement with the US to move there once the islands sink, I think they’re
predicted to last for another 40 years? How bizarre though, imagine being from
this side of the world and uprooting to a totally different country because
yours was underwater..
So
we sat in Male, confined to our cabin on the plane without being allowed to
leave as they walked up and down every 20 minutes spraying that horrible air
freshener, it
beginning of our
holiday…
felt like a scene from Auschwitz – we entertained ourselves
playing drawing games and making lots of noise with the onset of cabin fever
and slight insanity that was relieved a few hours later when we reached
Colombo! Excitement soon turned to panic as dad realized he’d lost all three of
his bankcards at the
My
brother mooched around the airport pushing trolleys and asking us all to hurry
up, I comforted dad with extreme empathy for his situation – was it 3 or 4 bankcards
I’d managed to lose over 6 months of travelling? Mum wandered around asking the
people behind the travel booths how to get her sim card to work and then we
received the good news that the cards had been found! So we all waited in
anticipation for another 40 minutes, to then discover that someone else’s cards
had been found… booo!! With the stress of the situation, the heat from outside
and the
long journey, everyone’s
temper was on the rise. We all crammed into a car with our mounds of luggage
along the new and pristine highway that made us feel like we were back in KL –
it’s a beautiful highway, appropriate with the increasing tourism in this
country post-civil war, but half the country can’t afford to drive on it! On
top of that, it was built for
free by
Chinese prisoners, as the money to
build the
bridge was borrowed from China hence they’ll reap half the profit for the next
20 years while not having spent anything on the labor to build it! A recent
response from a Singhalese taxi driver on the issue was ‘It’s ok though! They
were put in prison for petty crimes, they’re not murderers!’ haha, love a bit
o’ positive thinking.
 |
| Morning yoga |
So
we got to our friends place, showered up and got ready for dinner, to find dads
cards stashed in a ‘secret’ zip of his wallet, dear.oh.dear.
We
walked over to ‘The Lagoon’ in Cinnamon Grand, our favorite seafood restaurant
in Sri Lanka, for a reasonable price you get to sit next to a beautiful garden/
pond adorned with fairy lights, the fresh seafood is lain out on beds of ice
with the ‘cooking styles’ chalked onto a black board next to them. You choose
your seafood and cooking style and then watch the chefs cook up a beautiful
meal of tamarind prawns, red curry fish, black bean oysters etc. with a few
complimentary chocolates to take the edge off after the meal.
 |
| The boys chilling |
J
was arriving on a later flight so instead of dossing on the computer I went out
for a drink with mum and a few mates, the Asian glow set in pretty fast but
thanks to the dim lighting it could be played off as over-done blusher :p. R.
was an interesting man, despite his financial success he took the greatest joy
in living on $300 a month in a little town on the border of India where he went
back to basics and enjoyed life, void of society’s stressors. He could only do
that for half a year before having to return to Colombo to work for another 6
months – but what a dream! We discussed the value of money vs. time and a 'In Time' was
mentioned in which time was the currency – the rich always had too much and
the poor are always running out, doing anything to gain even a few valuable
minutes, living in panic until they realize it’s too late.. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdadZ_KrZVw), Interesting
concept eh.
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| Ulpotha |
We
got home, swaying slightly, and after half an episode of ‘Orange is the New
Black’, J walked through the doors buzzing at having had a great conversation
with the taxi driver. A glass of water, PJ’s, snuggle time and finally, sleep.
In
the morning J and dad went off to Kolpethi fish market, an experience within
itself if you’ve never been to a hot, smelly, loud and busy fish market in
Colombo. Haha, I laughed at the prospect that this was their first bonding
activity, I guess they’ll remember it well. I did my yoga, met up with J and
tuk-tuked around Colombo, pointing out all the familiar sites, vijithayapa
bookshop, the national museum, my old house, shops and restaurants. I couldn’t
believe how much was changing – the Shangri-La has taken up a massive portion of land, right next to
the ‘ECT hotel’ (whatever that is…), the Marriott’s round the corner from that
and TGI Fridays has moved into town! When I lived here our one hang-out hot
spot was the Coffee Bean! That’s old news now… A quick stop in Odel and then
Liberty Plaza to buy a camera for the trip before rushing home to make our deadline
– 10 minutes before the van pulled up to take us to Kegal that was about 4
hours away. Up the windy roads we drove, playing ‘who wants to be a
millionaire’ on the iPad while noticing the light outside dimming to darkness.
The van couldn’t quite make it up the steep hill to Guava House so we jumped
out, grabbed our bags and walked up to the fairytale house of wood and glass
that R. had designed. Big hugs were in order with our second family who’s house
it was, all of whom looked absolutely knackered post-hike up Adams Peak – a
gorgeous site that we didn’t manage to conquer this time round. The darkness of
the night hid the rubber trees that surrounded us and as J hadn’t seen it
during the day I nattered on about what would be revealed come sunrise.
 |
| Guava house |
We
sat down to a yummy Sri Lankan dinner that left our lips swollen and noses
streaming with the hot green chilies and after a few flower fumes and a glass of
wine we were chatting and laughing away until our eyes began to droop. I
crawled into bed while J and J managed to stay up with a bottle of Arrack (Sri
Lanka’s local rum, made out of coconut) to accompany them until 3am, only to be
awoken by me a few hours later tehehe.
Our
days in Guava house included drunk rounds of charades, some heated debates, hot
curries, muscly fish, frisky walks in the forest, cold swims and morning yoga –
a fantastic start to the holiday ahead.
Ulpotha
was our next destination, a ‘5-star hippy commune’ that was created by our
friends G and V. No electricity, organic vegetarian food, yoga, Ayurveda, a
fresh water lake for swimming, natural outdoor showers, bicycles, mud-huts and
mountains – we’ve been coming almost-annually for New Year and I was excited to
share this experience with J. As it’s
such a hugely spread out place, it’s always disorientating arriving at night
and walking around with a little light while trying to stamp your feet loud
enough to scare off the snakes on the path. We made our way into our little
room in the mud-hut by the cade – a little ‘snack/ drink’ hut that always has
something yummy to munch on but is packed
with enthusiastic yogis at about 7.30am – a natural alarm! Hmm..
We’d
made the mistake of leaving our kerosene lamp burning in our room with no
windows, so re-entering our hole after leaving it greeted you with a strong
waft of kerosene gas, no wonder we slept so well…
The next night was the attack of the mozzies
so I suggested sleeping on the 1-person swing chair next to the rice paddy
outside. We dozed in and out of shallow sleep until the yogis wondered past us
at about 6am and we grumpily slid away into our den. As though we’d paid off
our karma by sleeping on the swing, that day we had the choice to move to the
lake hut that required a boat to access it, or the tree house that was about 25m
off the ground in the top of a beautiful tree overlooking the lake. We chose
the tree house, not realizing quite how scary it was to climb up it. I dreaded
thinking what would happen after a few drink on New Year – luckily we managed
by not going back until 8am the next morning while we were dysfunctional with
fatigue but not too intoxicated/ wobbly.
 |
| The moment it turned NY! |
The
ambalama was near us so we knew when meal times were, grabbing a clay plate you
fill it up with all the delicious organic curries and red rice, eating gracefully
with your right hand and pushing the food into your mouth with your thumb.
Large finger bowls with pieces of fresh lime were set out to clean your hands
after eating so you could grab a slice of fresh pineapple and a cup of ginger
tea. In our hut we had a secret stash of goodies that I’d share out when red
eyes appeared, the novelty of English sweets wasn’t so high anymore now that I
lived there, whereas the others reacted with ‘Real MnS sweets!? What!’ bursting
with excitement as they fumbled with the blue toffee wrappers.
 |
| The first fireworks of new year |
After
dinner we’d go and sit with the adults to sip on Patron in the little courtyard
that was bathed in candlelight. Flower fumes rose over to the swinging chair
that hung over the lake, as we thought about the crocodile that’s bright eyes
stood out against the darkness very close to where we were sitting a few months
before we’d arrived. They’d managed to catch it and release it into a different
lake by dangling a poor puppy as bait... survival of the fittest?
This
year the lake was very low as the rains hadn’t come as planned, the water mark
could be seen about 1.5m up the ancient stone rocks that stood in clumps in the
water. Trees that were usually completely underwater now stood tall and where
we had once swam was now land dressed in grass that we claimed as our private
beach, laying our towels over it and roasting in the sun. The peace was
occasionally disturbed by the odd BANG as A.’s son scooped together mud to
create bombs that he filled with firecrackers, left in the sun to dry and
ignited with a quick shout to warn us all. ‘What’s your son planning on
becoming?!’ Dad said jokingly, A. turned to his son ‘There are bigger
firecrackers in the car, just warn us before you set them off so we can run’ this
is when computer games get taken too far... But a pretty cool skill for a 10
year old I must admit.
 |
| Ambalama |
Once
we were sufficiently roasted we’d wade into the water, the bottom of which
can’t usually be felt at all but now you could walk across the whole thing.
‘Let’s
play water polo!’ G suggested, the oldies against the teens. It’s hilarious watching
adults get competitive as the mature demeanor fades and everyone’s inner child
comes to play, wading through the lake with thick squidgy mud sifting between
our toes, it got everyone panting soon enough! After a while I called half time
for a quick beauty-break during which we lathered the mud all over our bodies, it rapidly turned into a mud fight. Mmm, muddy
hair, muddy body, muddy everything and rinsed off with only a few wriggles underwater
leaving your skin soft and clear – how’s that for a new product slogan :p. A
side effect that must be mentioned is the slight ‘fake tan’ look that for some
reason only appeared on dad haha.
 |
| Outdoor showers |
I
went to wash off the residue in the shower and as I put down my soap on the
stone beneath the palm tree I heard a big thump, as though something had fallen
from above my head, I glanced up to see the second half of a 2m long rat snake
slithering between the dried palm leaves and out of the showering area. Ugh, I
shivered and got under the cold water to rinse off the memory, at least they’re
not poisonous…
On
the last night we treated ourselves to a romantic hot shower. You ladle out the
hot water that’s boiling in a huge cauldron outside over fresh flames and mix
it to your desired temperature into your own little cauldron. While one soaps
up, sitting on a large rock, the other pours water over them with a coconut
ladle until the cauldron’s empty and then you swap over. It’s always more
convenient having one before the sun goes down so your imagination doesn’t go
too wild with creepy crawlies emerging from the depths of the forest.
As
we were the ‘friends’ and not the ‘paying guests’ at the retreat, the yoga
classes were always full to the brim so we took over the empty yoga shala once
everyone had left, stretching into our body gloves and filling up as much space
as possible. One afternoon we engaged in a deeply intimate meditation called
‘____’ in which you look into your partners eyes continuously for however long
you can, I wriggled at how uncomfortable it was for the first few minutes and
soon followed J’s lead and got into the flow, watching each others faces
distort and change color with the intensity, it was an interesting experience
to say the least… So the ‘calm’ box was ticked off, now the craziness was due,
it was New Years eve after all.
The
Sri Lankan drummers made their appearance in full traditional dress with
anklets jingling and their hands moving against the drum faster than anyone
I’ve seen before. Caught in a mesmerizing trance, the girls came out to
elegantly dance to the rhythm followed by the little ones that moved in
impressive synchrony. And then, dinner was served. Spread out across a huge
rock by the beautiful banyan tree that was adorned with flags and hanging
lanterns, we sat and ate our New Years meal, drinking beers and arrack to keep the
spirits high. I was told about an hour before this, that I was to DJ part of
the evening with no playlist planned
whatsoever,
how bloody stressful, flicking through all your songs one by one with total
despair even though you’ve heard them all a million times before. But despite
the stress it was a musical success, we all danced and jammed and lay on the
straw mats, looking up at the array of stars and down at the lotus lights
floating in the lake. Fireworks went off every hour until 8am by which time the
village shaman had arrived to give the blessing for the New Year by boiling and
eating the notorious ‘milk rice’. We’d spent the last few hours sitting with
the remaining party animals around a fire with a few spliffs, watching the
light of the sun sl
owly mask the stars, we climbed our way back up to our tree
and crashed out till lunch. New years eve wasn’t a very messy night besides my poor
brother’s first drunken spew all over dads white trousers, you gotta learn
somehow…
The
evening of the 1st was a little more eventful, I paced wide eyed between the
huts, guiltily trying to avoid the game of charades that I’d organized earlier
for all the yogis in the ambalama. They all soon went to bed and we created our
own games that were paired with funny conversations until the room began
spinning in various directions and the night came to an end after 3-glasses of
wine and my head in the toilet. J lead us back to our tree with the help of the
little Belgian man shining his torch up to us so we could avoid a terrible fall
on our last night in Ulpotha… Avoiding confrontation with people from the night
before, we left with heavy heads at 6am the next morning for a 6-hour drive to
the beach down south. ‘http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M36OGCfYp3A'
Another day is dawning as we glide over a
patchwork quilt of dark olive and mustard yellow land; the colour scheme now shifting to dark ocean blues as though a paintbrush was slowly waking a piece
of art out of its deep sleep. I take a swig of the last few drops of my 4th delectable cup of aeroplane coffee and lean back against the rigid headrest to reflect upon the manic week just passed. My body clock is completely out of whack, minutes and hours merge, days have been skipped and nights forgotten. The tell tale sign was when I was handed back a form I'd just signed at the airport that I'd wrongly dated '8/12/2014', it took me a good few minutes to realise what the issue was... a pretty representational result of the last
4 months of madness. The deep rumbles of the engine begin to stir stagnant memories back to life into a stream of incoherent movie clips. The first scene to pop up is accompanied by the soundtrack of a new favourite (https://soundcloud.com/mono-massive/sunday-jazz-party) played at our pretentiously suave house party that was so Young & Fuller Sol as everyone leisurely swayed past each other in long dresses and suits, champagne flutes in hand.
I went to my first protest to not bomb
Syria the other day after conveniently having just had a seminar on crowd psychology. L and I cycled in a dramatic haste through sheets of rain, feeling excited and purposeful as we raced to join the crowd that was blocking off the
whole high street in our wage against war (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztZI2aLQ9Sw). I observed the many splits between groups: the
transgressive lot demonstrating their disobedience as they skanked out to D&B playing from their mini-rigs, while another group chanted “1,2,3,4 WE
DON’T WANT NO TORI WAR, 5,6,7,8 STOP THE BOMBING STOP THE HATE” waving their signs above the masses.
just as
smooth as the air lifts the wings of this huge machine, my heart settles down from the mass of caffeine with not a patch of grey in the sky to be seen.
