Diabolic Digest
Sri Lanka part
1 –
Serendipity
and the city
By Khaled Diab
Arriving in Sri Lanka, the view of the fabulous land of ancient Serendib is obscured not only by the mists of time, but by the noxious diesel fumes and poverty of Colombo. But once you venture out of the capital, serendipity takes on its true meaning.
Based on the available
etymological evidence, it is not unreasonable to assume, at least for an
English speaker, that anyone seeking serendipity should naturally head for Sri
Lanka. But as we were to
discover, such happy and enchanting coincidences are hard to find in Colombo
but once you venture out of the noisy and dirty capital, you get tantalising
glimpses into the spice-rich and ‘begemmed’ island that captured the
imagination of generations of medieval Arab merchants and seafarers.
Sri Lanka contains myriad pleasant surprises –
pilgrimages to the beginning of time, views over the edge of the world, ancient
Buddhist cities, dagobas galore, stunning nature, echoes of the colonial past
and, of course, cricket. But, first, we had to face Colombo.
Echoes of home
Starting a holiday in distant lands with a
little reminder of home can help ease you into the flow of things. However, when
that memento happens to be the famous ‘cabbie crawl’ from the airport’s arrival
hall to the kerb, the familiarity factor quickly loses its appeal. Of course,
for two Cairiens – one veteran and one native – shaking off hawkers comes as
second nature.
But after more than ten hours in the air and
having become accustomed to the relative orderliness of Brussels, we felt the
urge to glide surgically through the infantry cabbies trying to cut us off at
the pass. One early communication difficulty we encountered was the toss of the
head to indicate agreement which – although endearing – was to prove at times a
little perplexing.
On the journey into town, we ate up our new scenery with hungry
eyes. Unfortunately for Sri Lanka, Colombo is not a good billboard for the
charms of the country. It is essentially a sprawling village minus the rustic
quaintness, although, as we were to discover, it feels like a true metropolis
compared with other Lankan towns.
We waited in vain for the ramshackle buildings – including some multi-storey structures without walls – to end, but even the supposedly ‘upmarket’ town centre is pretty grim. The pollution and stiflingly high humidity are no help, giving the town’s crumbling architecture a mouldy appearance. To get a clearer picture, many of the city’s buildings look like soggy bread that has been left out in the open for a few days!
Capital cities are often showcases in poorer
countries and so, we wondered, if Colombo is so desolate, how bad must it be in
the rest of the country. However, we were to discover that, in many ways, life
in the countryside and small towns in this predominantly rural country is
actually better than in large urban areas.
It’s not that Colombo – and Sri Lanka as a
whole – appears poor compared with Europe, it seems poor by developing world
standards. Even some Indian cities look rich in comparison, although the Sri
Lankan capital hold fewer of the extremes of deprivation and wealth you find in
parts of India. Twenty years of civil war and a shaky peace have obviously
taken their economic toll. The extent of the poverty and hardship endured by
such a friendly and mild-mannered people would prey on our conscience on
several occasions during our journey through the country.
Spicy starts
Luckily, Katleen had had the foresight to book
a room ahead of our arrival and we found our guesthouse without any trouble,
receiving a warm welcome from the wise-looking proprietoress. It was a quiet
and pleasant looking townhouse shaded by lush foliage. Our room had its own
private section of the terrace which was blanketed in the agreeable shade of
yet more plants. Keen to get our trip off the ground, we took only a short nap
and then headed out to explore the city.
For our first taste of Sri Lanka, we
decided to have lunch in a traditional Lankan eaterie – quaintly named the
Green Cabin – surprising ourselves by how little we were burnt by the country’s
famously hot curried concoctions. A typical Sri Lankan meal comes on a large
tray with a huge dollop of rice in the middle, encircled by small bowls of
vegetable curry. Using your fingertips, you mix them in with the rice, and lob
the contents into your mouth. Sri Lankans believe that to taste food properly,
using your hands is vital. Being an Egyptian, I don’t feel particularly
compelled to keep my food at arm’s length. However, not being able to use bread
to scoop up my food did add a new dimension to the eating experience – and it
was something of a runny affair with all the various curries.
Although Katleen is also not loath to eating
with her hands, she had an added hardship. In Sri Lanka, our guidebook told us,
it is really quite unacceptable to use your left-hand. Being of a sinister
persuasion, my good wife had some difficulty undertaking some of the delicate
manoeuvres involved with her right hand. When she followed my suggestion to use
her left hand, some other patrons in the restaurant gave us discreet looks of
disapproval – now who was being sinister?
Ocean view
We were within a stone’s throw of
the Indian Ocean – not that this was immediately apparent. Although the ocean
was no more than 150m down the short avenue on which our hotel, and the
restaurant, stood, no buildings point towards the beach. This is mainly because
an ugly railway line – built by the British more for expediency than aesthetics
– hugs and hogs the capital’s coastline.
Determined to succumb to the allure of the Indian Ocean’s azure, we walked along the train track, dodging oncoming – but hardly speeding – trains. One friendly local found our presence on the railway line quite entertaining. Dressed in a traditional sarong and no top and standing by his three-wheel tuk-tuk, he smiled at us brightly but that was the limit of our conversation as he spoke no English and we, obviously, spoke no Sinhalese or Tamil.
We then turned into the infamous Galle Road
which makes the crowded Ramsis Square in Cairo smell like a pleasant orchard.
Slithering down most of the island’s west coast to Galle, it is Colombo’s main
traffic artery. As we strolled through the choking fumes, we were ambushed by a
rainstorm – so much for fleeing wet Belgium! But most Sri Lankans are armed
with umbrellas – a handy weapon against tropical rain and searing shine. It is
also a good deterrent against prying eyes for smitten lovers.
Geopolitical crisis
Although Colombo is, at first sight,
surprisingly sparse when it comes to eateries and drinkeries, we ducked for
cover in a nearby café. As we sipped on our drinks waiting for the downpour to abate,
the friendly waiter finally plucked up the courage to stop throwing us glances
and to ask us where we were from. Belgium and Egypt, we told him and he wiggled
his head in assent.
“Welcome,” he greeted us in a friendly if
somewhat miffed voice.
“Do you know Egypt and Belgium?” I asked him.
“Yes, of course…. No,” he admitted.
“Belgium is a small country in Europe,” Katleen
explained to him in a practiced voice. “Between England, France and Germany”
she added for further clarity.
For me, however, this was a novel situation.
“You know, it’s the country with the pyramids?” Still blank. “The pharaohs?” I
tried a little more desperately. Still nothing. “It’s in Africa.”
“Africa?” he looked a bit perplexed, perhaps
expecting my skin to be darker.
“It’s an Arab country,” I finally managed.
“Ahh, you are Muslim?” he asked. Recognition,
at last, to which I nodded enthusiastically.
“Me, too. My name is Muhammad Amin,” he told
me, pronouncing it as one word: “Moamatamin”.
Although we found that educated and
better-heeled Sri Lankans have an impressive knowledge of the world, Egypt and
Belgium for this poor waiter were so far away from his sphere of reference that
they were both submerged in some obscure and distant fog. In fact, even our
mixed coupling did not appear to stir his curiosity.
Later, when I expressed my surprise to Katleen,
she told me that, coming from a small country, she was used to it. “Now, you
know how it feels,” she added. It’s not that I have any particular
misconceptions about the importance of Egypt on the global arena. It’s simply
that I’d always assumed that the fascination with my country’s ancient history
– and all the cheap kitsch that involved – was a global phenomenon and that,
even if someone couldn’t locate it on a map, they could at least nod knowingly
and say: “Ahh, yes, the land of the pyramids, pharaohs, Tut-Ankh-Amoun, etc.”
Tripping down
memory lane
Intrigued by the idea of becoming part-time
sleuths, we then decided to dig up the childhood teacher of an Egyptian friend
who spent a few years as a child in Colombo. When we told him about our travel
plans, Hatem had sounded almost as excited about our trip as we were – perhaps
it stirred fond childhood memories. At the address he had given us, perhaps
unsurprisingly, the school no longer existed and the security guards had not
heard of the teacher.
As we ducked into a chic Colombo shopping
centre to find shelter from another sudden downpour, we speculated that, with a
name like Pereira, it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate her among the expat
community she had taught.
But we were soon to discover that her name is
one of the three most common names among the countries Christian minority, no matter
what their denomination. The others were De Silva and Gomez – obvious remnants
from the days of Portuguese rule. Although we didn’t have time to go to the
education ministry – as one helpful chap had suggested – we tried again the
next day and asked some people we ran into, but to no avail.
Anyone for
cricket
That evening, we decided, for the novelty of
it, to have dinner at the Colombo cricket club, where we received our first
taste of Sri Lanka’s inexplicable passion for this dullest of sports which I
avoided like the plague at school. The club – with its imitation colonial décor
– even has a signpost pointing out the direction and distance to the most
important cricket grounds around the world.
Had I been DS Senanayake, the country’s first independent prime
minister following 443 years of European domination, instead of
disenfranchising the hill Tamils, I would’ve asked the British to take their
cricket bats and wickets with them as they departed. Instead, the island
recognised the British monarch as its head of state until the 1970s.
During our holiday, we were to witness many examples of Britain’s lasting influence in its former colony, and the country’s nostalgia – particularly among the moneyed classes – for that bygone era. This Sri Lankan eccentricity sometimes appeared quaint and harmless but, at others, it seemed self-defeating and dangerous.
Although the British left Sri Lanka more than sixty years ago, nearly five centuries of European rule have left an indelible mark in the landscape – the Dutch introduced vegetables and the British, tea – the economy, and the culture. After Vasco de Gama had fulfilled European ‘good hopes’ of finding a route to the fabled Far East that cut out the Arabs, the lure of the island’s spices drew Ceylon, as it became known, into the imperial domain of Portugal, Holland and, finally, Britain.
Motion studies
The next morning, we set off in search of the
city’s nicer side. One thing that becomes quickly apparent is that Sri Lankans
have different passing conventions between pedestrians. Whereas in Egypt and
also in Europe, men tend to stop on a narrow pavement to let a woman pass, in
Sri Lanka they just shove past her. Although Katleen found the locals to be
friendly, this was one trait she didn’t find very appealing. “It’s as if women
are invisible here and the men just don’t see them,” she complained.
With time, I had to adapt my street
etiquette because stopping to allow women to pass would, sadly, shock them into
immobility or incomprehension. It was also impractical to let Katleen walk
first down the street since she was always being held up by pushy men, whereas
they would stop deferentially for me.
Despite the ongoing peace process, nerves are
still frayed, and Colombo’s government district is still heavily fortified. In
particular, no risks are being taken with the president’s official residence
which is surrounded by three layers of mean-looking barriers, watchtowers, and
armed guard. The two or three streets that constitute the business district have
a number of ultramodern high-rise office towers. Colombo even has its very own
World Trade Centre, like many cities – except the original New York – around
the world.
On our jaunt round the city, we
walked around the old forte area, visited our first Buddhist shrine, went to
Colombo’s misnamed botanical gardens (where we saw our first fruit bats and
elephants in Sri Lanka), the so-called White House, savoured our first short
eats, became acquainted with the three-wheel tuk-tuks and even managed to dig up
the abandoned Iraqi embassy.
We also explored the upmarket neighbourhood of
Cinnamon Gardens – which, in the time since it received its name, has lost most
of the spice and much of the greenery. We also strolled round a couple of
markets and uncovered a nameless mausoleum. We couldn’t find what our guidebook
described as the ‘architecturally interesting’ new parliament and a few other
places in this poorly mapped city.
We were intrigued by Sri Lankan cinema and the
promise of naked souls screaming out from its posters. A completely different
sort of spiritualism also caught our eyes, with the brightly coloured Buddhist
monks, in their orange costumes, matching golden umbrellas, and funky bags –
what we came to refer to as Buddhist chic.
Cunning disguises
After some aimless wondering, we decided to plan our departure from the capital. We soon discovered that the tourist information office at the railway station is, in fact, a cleverly disguised travel company inside which we made the acquaintance of the polished Mr Lindon who, it transpired, ran his own mini travel empire.
Having read how difficult it was to get round
the mountain area at the centre of the island with public transport, we decided
that it might be a wise idea to go on a semi-organised trip for that leg of our
holiday. After some toing and froing, and quite a bit of haggling, we settled
on a package and a price, breathing a massive sigh of relief that we were about
to leave Colombo.
After a delicious South Indian dinner and a
bottle each of the local brew, Lions Beer, which measures in at a roaring 660
ml, we turned in for an early night, because we would have to get up at the
crack of dawn to catch the train to Kandy which lies an enormous 150 km from
Colombo.
A new dawn
Dragging yourself out of bed at the unsociable
hour of 5.30 is not much fun, but we were rewarded with some fantastic views of
the sun rising over Sri Lanka’s beautiful hill country from the Observation Car
– a name that must’ve been coined by Victorian landowners wishing to observe
the natives at work in the countryside.
Despite its grand name, this first
class carriage was creaking and on the verge of collapse, as is the entire rail
network. Nevertheless, it was charming, comfy and pleasant. Our train crawled
along the tracks, strained up the steep hills, and nearly caused us
asphyxiation in some of the longer tunnels. But its leisurely pace does allow
visitors to savour the scenery and exchange pleasantries with other passengers.
Some hours later, we arrived in
Kandy where we were due to meet the driver who would accompany us around the
hill country. Raja Gomez, surprisingly, greeted us with a ‘Salamualikum’.
Although he is a Christian, and his wife a Buddhist, he spent several years
working in the Gulf where he learnt some stock Arabic phrases. The next leg of
our trip was due to commence with a pilgrimage and we were keen to join the
other pilgrims and herald in a new dawn for our holiday.
ã2004 K. Diab. Unless otherwise stated, all the content on this website
is the copyright of Khaled Diab.