The atmosphere was tense, as one might expect when prey and predator convene in close quarters. Two spotted deer edged their way closer and closer to a pond teeming with crocs. A few reptiles lounged nearby, thoroughly uninterested. I couldn’t say the same for one drifting toward shore submarine-style. Bambi and Rudolf took nervous sips from the water’s edge before moving on, forestalling doom.
Seaside Yala is equally compelling. A swift breeze conspired with a setting sun to solidify the park as one of my favorite places in the Sri. You could say the beach is haunting and haunted, poetic and tragic. On December 26, 2004, a tsunami killed forty-seven people (tourists and locals) at the site I visited…
Explore. Explore. Explore. That was my mandate. I drove the Baja down random side roads, across open pastures, and navigated woodland paths littered with thorny brush. (I had the scratch wounds to prove it.) Ah, the freedom of motorcycle mobility. Trail rides and empty beaches were my rewards. My stops included Crocodile Rock, a series of rounded stone formations by the beach. I saw none of the landmark’s namesakes, but did spot two Asian elephants on a stroll and couldn’t resist getting a closer look. Ill-advised? Yep. Rather than stomp my stupid ass into dust, Team Dumbo scampered off when alerted to my presence.
South of Arugam Bay, I found the real treasure…
Alone (mostly) with my thoughts on a sacred mountain in Sri Lanka… I’m in Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka. A month ago, I knew nothing of the place. And now? I’m humping it up Adam’s Peak in the dead of night with a strange mutt? What the fuck am I doing? Shouldn’t I be working? Am I pathetic? Why am I so pathetic? Time to get a life? What the fuck’s wrong with me?… I went on like that for some time. Just me and my puppy in search… in search of… what exactly? Meaning? Purpose? Inspiration? Enlightenment? Dunno. Sure, I felt the weight of an uncertain future bearing down on me, but I also felt free, or at least as free I could feel. Then again…
Nothing like an archeological hissy spat to get the juices flowing. I’d be lying if I said the uncertainty hasn’t kept me up nights. But it doesn’t have to, no? Could it not be both? Monks arrived around the third century BCE. Mayhap, a palace was built in the 5th CE and the site became a monastery (again) sometime after that until abandoned in the 14th CE. Bam, everyone’s satisfied. Peace on earth.
Sigiriya isn’t without its perils. Wasps. Colonies of killer flesh-eating wasps. Okay, maybe without the “killer” or “flesh-eating” part. (Also, technically they’re giant honey bees.) Still, I was told they can be a real…
A gauntlet of military checkpoints stood between me and Jaffna in the far north. Solo travelers required special permission to pass. I had no clue how to obtain said permission and a pessimistic outlook on my chances of receiving it. Public transport was a viable option and guaranteed my passage north, but this was suboptimal in a “defeats the whole purpose” sort of way. No route deviations. No unscheduled stops. No bueno. No way I would’ve seen the camps from public transport, at least not in any depth. And give up the Baja? Not a fargin chance.
With all that in mind, I capitulated, driving east to the seaside city of Trincomalee. My disappointment in light of the “lost road to Jaffna” quickly faded…
Dost thou believeth in Fate? I’m a definite “maybe” though my definition is more in line with the Stoic logos "rigidly deterministic single whole" sort of deal. If I hadn’t lost my motorcycle key, Chandana never would’ve come to my aid. Never would’ve met him or Chari. If I hadn’t unintentionally passed the museum, I wouldn’t have encountered my friends again and would’ve missed a wonderful experience (i.e. Mihintale, Ruwanwelisaya by night, and a host of deeper historical and cultural insights). Now that would’ve been a tragedy. Anuradhapura touched me in a way I have trouble describing. It was rare and special. I will treasure it always. It’s why I did what I did (i.e. set out without a plan, sabotaged my “career”, alienated close friends, so on and so forth), and it provided fuel for further exploration…
I’ve heard the “off-putting personal personality theory” before and since. On the road, I can say it was somewhat of a construct. I tried to balance the line between friendly and unapproachable in a doomed effort to attract the cream and discourage the miscreants. Still, I’d be lying if I said this aura didn’t attach in situations where hindrance outweighed benefit. I loathe to admit it, but my unapproachable nature has often put up a social defense shield. And though I was (am) acutely aware of my social shortcomings, something about hearing it from Chari and Chandana hit home. I shudder to think how many interludes I’ve missed along the way on account of my gruff aura. I resolved to substitute less “Grrrrrr” for a little more “Purrrrrr”
Something about standing next to a thousand-year-old ruin…
I arrived in Puttalam por la manana, secured lodging, and went for a spin on the nearby peninsula. Destination: Kalpitiya. I surmounted my first military checkpoint without incident. The soldiers asked where I was headed, but the question felt more like a product of curiosity than regulation. The peninsula isn’t a tourist hotspot. Mr. White Stuff on a dirt bike is a rare event. I received many familiar “What the hell is that and why is it here?” stares I was so accustomed after my Indo sojourn, it almost felt like coming home. There wasn’t much to see in the way of attractions but this was fine by me. The ride was the destination. Old Dutch fort commandeered by the army and closed to the public? Ain’t no thang.…
A single month wasn’t ideal. I had to economize my time, make shit count. Best way to do so? Get your own goddamn wheels. Worked wonders in Indonesia. Worked wonders in Sri Lanka. I’d already made inquires via the interweb regarding motorbike rentals and found a shop ready and willing to fulfill my mobility desires. It all looked kosher on the agency’s webpage, but you just never know. I was cautiously optimistic.
Optimism? Justified. Suranga of Sha Lanka Negambo kindly offered to arrange an airport transfer to his shop. Upon arrival, I was united with my new travel companion—a Honda XR 250 Baja. Two hundred fifty cubic centimeters of pure adrenaline…The 250cc’s was more than adequate for my purposes. They had 400cc and 650cc engines available, but I didn’t see the need for more firepower.
1505 - Portuguese arrive in Colombo, marking beginning of European interest.
1658 - Dutch force out Portuguese and establish control over whole island except central kingdom of Kandy.
1796 - Britain begins to take over island.
1815 - Kingdom of Kandy conquered. Britain starts bringing in Tamil labourers from southern India to work in tea, coffee and coconut plantations.
1833 - Whole island united under one British administration.
1931 - British grant the right to vote and introduce power sharing with Sinhalese-run cabinet.
1948 - Ceylon gains full independence
1949 - Indian Tamil plantation workers disenfranchised and many deprived of citizenship…
The equatorial breeze and Dutch colonial flavor forced me to remind myself I was still in Sri Lanka. Long ago, Galle’s fortress held back invaders, now it serves to attenuate the creep of modern development. The walls encompass the peninsula’s bulk, so patrolling the ramparts means tracing the coastline. When I wasn’t monitoring the ocean horizon, I was inspecting the lighthouse from a rooftop café or rambling the streets for postcard-esque photo opportunities. I’ll admit it, Galle charmed my pants off (figuratively). Why, exactly? I posit three essential elements: Set and setting (i.e. colonial backdrop), a dearth of tourists, and Ramadan. I credit low per capita tourist density to the recently concluded hostilities (i.e. the civil war hangover effect)…