Archives for February 2015

As Sri Lanka prepared to celebrate its independence day, I wandered around the central city near a large public park. Sri Lanka is a multicultural country, a fact that was hard to miss. There were Hindu families dressed in bright pinks and greens, Muslim women dressed entirely in black, and Buddhist and Christian families looking pretty much indistinguishable from what you’d see on the streets of any American town.

A dance troupe rehearsed on a stage set up by city hall, while across the street a large Buddha statue watched placidly over the proceedings.

Further down the street was the Nelum Pokuna Mahinda Rajapaksa Theatre, a striking contemporary building.

Someday I would like to live in a house with a front door like this.

In the Sri Lankan capital of Colombo, I stayed at a hostel near Mount Lavinia Beach. During my time there, I made the café at La Voile Blanche my home base. From its cool white interior I ate and drank and watched the ferocious swells of the Laccadive Sea pound the beach.

The café backs up to the railroad tracks. Every fifteen minutes or so, the floor would tremble as a train sped by. At first I thought this would spoil the ambience of the beach experience, but I quickly grew to welcome the trains. Something about the contrast between other people traveling hopefully while I rested peacefully made me happy.

I was here:

When I wasn’t in the café, I was camped out on a lounge chair in front of it. There I baked the Tunisian chill out of my body and watched the ebb and flow of beach society while sipping Lion Lager.

Sometimes I would bestir myself to walk along the beach. These fishing boats intrigued me. They are so very narrow that no one could actually fit inside them. The boats themselves are made from milled lumber, but the outrigger is jerry-rigged from simple tree branches. I wish I had seen one of these in actual operation.

I took my dinner at a beachside Chinese restaurant, the Loon Tao. Their corn crab soup was excellent.

As I ate, I was entertained by a fire twirler who spun two flaming kerosene-soaked balls in elaborate patterns.

After my trip to Anuradhapura, I returned to the beach in time for Sri Lankan independence day celebrations.

The Sri Lankans don’t seem to go for a big rah-rah nationalistic independence celebration, though there were more than the usual number of flags in evidence. The Sri Lankan flag, by the way, is probably my favorite of all the nations.

On the way back to the hostel, I would often see this tuktuk bread truck parked out in front of the hotels. When it was on the move, it played a computer-tone version of “It’s a Small World After All” from its loudspeakers to let everyone know that bread was here.

I don’t usually go for beach vacations. I generally like to be more active. But the beach at Mount Lavinia, in its unpretentious down-home style, was just what I was looking for: a spot to relax, reconsider, and recharge.

I took a four-hour train trip upcountry to the city of Anuradhapura, the ancient capital of Sri Lanka from the 4th Century BCE to the 11th Century CE.

The Buddhist shrines, temples, monasteries, and other religious sites there comprise a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I was interested in seeing the ruins. I was here:

I started out at what had been a monastery. There were unusual rock formations at this site: giant boulders leaning against each other, creating keyholes and caves. Clearly the rocks there had been shaped by people, too, but the place was so old that I couldn’t tell where nature’s handiwork ended and human architecture began.

In one of the natural keyholes, I found this monitor lizard looking like something out of prehistory.

There wasn’t much by way of informative of descriptive signage — at least not much I could read. But I thought Sinhalese script was fascinating.

I went to some of the temple complexes, which are still visited by the faithful. I was wearing cargo shorts that came just to the middle of my knees. Signs — in English this time — advised visitors that their clothing must be modest and respectful, that pants and skirts had to cover the knees, and that dark colors were frowned upon. I slid my shorts lower on my hips hoping I could pass muster, but no dice. The guards at the entrance gate stopped me. Fortunately, they have some sarongs available for stupid Americans to use, so I wrapped myself as best I could. I’ve seen Indian hippies looking cool and elegant in their batik sarongs. I looked neither. And why does this sarong make me look fat?

Perhaps I was expecting another Angkor Wat or Angkor Thom, but I came away from the ruins at Anuradhapura unmoved. What remained of the sites wasn’t particularly beautiful, nor was it displayed and preserved in a very artful way. You’ll have to take my word for that; photography was forbidden in some spots and discouraged in others. The sites obviously had great meaning to the many Buddhist pilgrims I saw gathered there, but as an outsider they left me disappointed.

At one of the shrines, people had laid flowers on the altar as offerings to the Buddha. These were promptly devoured by a pair of macaques (tentatively identified by my zoologically-minded friends as macaca sinica sinica).

After taking in the ruins, I went back to my hotel, a cozy little place on a rural/residential road, right next to this institution.

Maybe I should have taken more time in Anuradhapura and the surrounding area to find some sites that really spoke to me. It didn’t happen on this trip — but there’s always next time.

I was wandering around a park near a Buddhist temple in Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka. Suddenly I sensed I was being watched. I looked around and saw nothing. Then I looked up.

The first thought to crackle across my synapses was something like, “He must have escaped from a zoo; I need to tell someone!” Such is the reaction of a man who has rarely seen animals in the wild, especially without expecting to do so. I looked around and saw more, including this sweet little family. I almost missed the baby the first time I looked.

They casually watched me apparent unconcern. Slowly I realized: this is real.

Later I realized I had no idea what I had just seen. I posted a query to my Facebook friends, and crack researcher Lori Seubert ID’s them as gray langurs from an article on “Diurnal Primates of Sriu Lanka.” Apparently, they are an endangered species.

I was glad to have met these distant relatives of mine. It still fills me with a sense of amazement. But my own amazement saddens me a little too. It just shows how removed from the natural world I am.