Smiling, but being careful
Sri Lanka is very beautiful. But it is wary too.
I’d been asked to go and share the vibe in Sri Lanka at a celebration prompted by the national airline joining with a group of other aviation operators. This, it had been explained, was a Big Deal.
The country has only just crept out from under the pall of a vicious civil war that pitted religious and language-separated groups against each other despite them having lived together for generations previously, so any celebration was good news.
As an international guest, I strode out of the passenger terminal to an expected limo welcome, only to find myself engaged by a man who was more keen to chat about his pepper seeds. He was part of the group of people that Knew About Me, but him and his mates were a bit busy right then sitting on plastic chairs and talking seeds. He said that the man who knew more stuff would be here soon. After ten minutes or so, he was.
That gave me the opportunity to browse the Bandaranaike International Airport Duty Free mall. Sri Lanka doesn’t mind selling you booze, fags and perfume, but it has loftier ambitions. All the high turnover shops weren’t selling piffling stuff like that — no sir. That’s for tourists, not travelers!
“Samsung 42” TV? Bit small, I agree — how about a Hitachi washing machine? We can throw in a free hose if you like . .
“OK, I see what you mean sir — the Samsung two-door fridge-freezer is more to your liking. Absolutely. We will wrap it and pop it in the plane’s cargo hold right away.” The place was more home appliance warehouse than duty free shop, with people queuing up to buy white goods like there was no tomorrow’s kitchen.
I wandered outside, just in time to catch my driver Bernard, who jumped at my suggestion we stop for a snack on the way to the hotel, as the 20 km journey was a little delayed by three-wheelers, trains, motorbikes, dogs, people wheeling carts and lots of various humanity. Everywhere was astonishingly clean — no litter at all, and beautiful gardens at every turn. But not that many smiling people.
I was a day early so I spent a limp and sun-baked day looking for a t-shirt. No luck, but one guy in a coffee shop asked me for my phone number as he wanted to move to Singapore. “No good work here.” And a woman beggar outside the hotel, sitting crookedly in the full beating sun, thanked me profusely but with a sad look when I added a 100-rupee note to her tiny pile of old coins. I passed a leper woman walking on the side of the road. Everywhere was quiet, nobody was being noisy, old men cycled quietly. It was all very different from the 24-hour life-riot you get everywhere else in Asia.
Eventually all the other guests arrived, we got ready for the celebrations, and set off for the location — and got a safari trip thrown in as a bonus. The guides really talked it up.
“Leopards, oh yes. Elephants and buffalo — for sure. Probably hyenas and macaques too.” After waiting about 20 minutes outside the ticket office under the stern gaze of a stuffed leopard (would there be any left in the park?) we set off to explore virgin territory. Well, almost virgin. We formed a convoy with about 50 other jeeps, all tricked out to look Kenya-savannah style with high seats and protective bars to ward off disturbed Kings of the Jungle, no doubt.
Looking out keenly from under our safari-camo tarpaulin roof, we saw nothing at all until we swerved abruptly off the road next to a buffalo wallow, where our driver said there might be a leopard in a tree nearby. He backed up his hunch with bushman’s cunning, years of tracking expertise, local park knowledge — and the fact that twenty other jeeps had already stopped there. It was like Hyde Park Corner at 6pm. There apparently was a leopard in a tree, but it was either asleep or stuffed. I couldn’t see it. We saw more animals once we had extricated ourselves from the jungle jam; crocodiles, monkeys, hornbills, deer and hyenas. Even a flatulent warthog, so we did get our share of the great outdoors.
Next stop was the beach, where the 2004 tsunami had swept in and killed tens of thousands of people. Huge sheets of steel represented the waves that had simply erased a park hostel and the nineteen people and three guides in it. Around the monument, a small tidal wave of rubbish had been left in the otherwise pristine park by lazy tourists. I did the enviro-goodie-goodie thing and picked up an armful of bags and bottle litter, and threw it in our truck to take back to the hotel. I felt really good when the driver joined in, picked up a couple of bottles — and smiled at me.
Next day at the big joining event, we waited a couple of hours for the start of the celebrations. Then another hour because of a delay. Then about two more hours for the dignitaries to arrive. The only consolation was that the traditionally clothed warriors (Sri Lankan Army squaddies) were even more bored and grumpy than we were — and they had to wear dresses and makeup too. They definitely weren’t smiling when I took some photos. I got the impression if they’d had spears I’d have been advised to put my camera someplace else.
Thanks to all the waiting and standing round and the heat and the noise of ramp-it-up music, one guy next to me had an epileptic fit. With a couple of local journalists, I grabbed him and we carried him outside, jerking violently, rolling up, jaw spasming and dribbling. We asked anybody and everybody if there was a medical centre anywhere. One official in a suit advised that we put him on the tarmac outside the terminal so he could recover. In the full midday sun. We eventually found a nursing station, and a nurse took over and helped him slowly recover.
Once all the ceremonials were over, we finished our luxury meal and returned to the massive hotel pool for a gin and tonic or two. Plump elderly businessmen waxed generous with hospitality, leaned proprietarily over young girls, and spoke of overseas investments. We took photos, promised to come back one day and nodded agreement that Sri Lanka was a beautiful place, and lucky not to be at war any more.
At the airport as I left, I was in the queue with a man carrying a thick wad of passports in his hand, looking agitated. As I had a couple of hours spare, I motioned him to go in front of me. The great big smile he gave me was memorable for its rarity as well as its size.
More pics : HERE
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