The plane from the emerald island took off the ground and landed at its destination in less than an hour, even before I could finish off the can of beer served onboard; like having sex with a woman, without any foreplay.
Gamunu Dissanayake, my friend, philosopher and guide for the next one week waited for me at the Arrival Lounge, holding a placard announcing my name on it.
The Nissan – Sunny drove me to the beach resort, 20kms south of Katunayake airport.
A few formalities later, I check-in to my room on the third floor overlooking the turquoise waters of the Bay of Bengal, only to be disappointed that the room had no view!
The lunch at one of the four restaurants in the resort was splendid. Lion lager was a treat to the palate. The tangy taste of King Seer and chips continue to linger in my mouth even after a week. I retire back to my room to catch up with sleep. The rest of the day is disturbed by the live recording, by the beach, of a TV show from some local channel.
Travel north or travel south. I had no idea of time or space. All I did was sit at the back of the car and go where it took me. After all, I had come with no direction or no great expectations!
The temple of the tooth relic, even after 30 years hadn’t changed much (that’s when I was there, last), except for the hordes of cops and soldiers guarding the temple and the town of Kandy. The terrorist attack, a few years back had caught the authorities unawares. The Swiss Residence, where I had a room to spend the day, was a far cry from the open-walled school building where I had slept without blankets or a sheet during my last trip!
The otherwise vibrant capital city that was three decades ago veiled a pall of gloom amidst tight security at all nooks and cranny. The harbour-view room at one of the older colonial buildings by the port of Colombo was nothing to write home about, despite its spacious layout and stately furniture. The security instructions and warnings issued by the hotel was enough to put off my orgasm I had hoped to derive by occupying a harbour-facing room. The only other alternative, worth its salt that I would have loved to engage myself in was thwarted right there at the sight of the bar-door that announced ‘CLOSED’ due to the Muslim religious festival.
Boy-oh-boy!!! Wrong place at the wrong time?! Back in my swanky colonial-style room, I decide to sit and watch the hustle and bustle out of the window. The national Police headquarters to the west, the Sea Port Authority to the north and the naval presence to the west sides gave me the creeps. I felt, for a moment, like a prisoner in a high-security penitentiary. The ship at its port of call would take another night to get loaded up before setting sail to its next destination. The eerie silence all around was calm and soothing but the police and military patrols, on constant vigil to spot opening windows or flash-bulbs in neighboring hotel rooms missed out on the actual terror that took place a few blocks away in one of the city’s crowded streets!!! Two people died and a few others were injured.
The endless journey through the never-ending stretch of green-carpet tea gardens, the stop over at a make-shift mechanic’s shop to fix the burning front break, the tea factory where I picked up a rough idea of how we get the tea we drink, the authentic fish-curry that came along with lunch at the road-side restaurant, the Plantation hotel by the river Kelani (where the movie “Bridge over the river Kwai’ was shot) that came out of nowhere like a dream come true and the Rolls Royce museum hidden inside the two-acre property were all memories that will stay with me for a long, long time.
The drive to Bentota was a short one hour! How I have come to terms with time!! One hour seems so short!!! I have two days and one and one half of nights to spend here before the journey ends.
The corals and sea turtles of Hikaduwa, mask-making at Ambalangoda, gem mining at Ratnapura, orphaned elephants of Pinnawela - I have much more to do, much more to see.
My hostess, Mrs. Dissnayake at the Nuwara Eliya Forest lodge informs me that I have a call from India. I come back to find out if anything was burning, back home. “Where are you?” screams the voice on the other end. ‘Not dead, yet. Still alive and kicking’ I say. The voice was cracking, the signal failing. ‘Next time I go out like this, I’ll take you along’ – I say to myself, like I was talking to my mysterious woman. I was already falling into a state of depression. I was beginning to miss some one. I was feeling lonely all on a sudden.
The trip that started by an hour past midnight to reach the airport early morning was frightening. The deserted roads offered a pleasure drive but the feeling of loneliness aggravated. With uncertainty looming all around the respite comes in the form of police check-posts asking for my identification and intention to journey at odd hours was fun to deal with. ‘Aah, Indian’. They appeared to be happy at the sight of seeing an Indian in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night!
This is just the beginning of the journey. There is much more to come. No directions; no expectations, though.
Gamunu Dissanayake, my friend, philosopher and guide for the next one week waited for me at the Arrival Lounge, holding a placard announcing my name on it.
The Nissan – Sunny drove me to the beach resort, 20kms south of Katunayake airport.
A few formalities later, I check-in to my room on the third floor overlooking the turquoise waters of the Bay of Bengal, only to be disappointed that the room had no view!
The lunch at one of the four restaurants in the resort was splendid. Lion lager was a treat to the palate. The tangy taste of King Seer and chips continue to linger in my mouth even after a week. I retire back to my room to catch up with sleep. The rest of the day is disturbed by the live recording, by the beach, of a TV show from some local channel.
Travel north or travel south. I had no idea of time or space. All I did was sit at the back of the car and go where it took me. After all, I had come with no direction or no great expectations!
The temple of the tooth relic, even after 30 years hadn’t changed much (that’s when I was there, last), except for the hordes of cops and soldiers guarding the temple and the town of Kandy. The terrorist attack, a few years back had caught the authorities unawares. The Swiss Residence, where I had a room to spend the day, was a far cry from the open-walled school building where I had slept without blankets or a sheet during my last trip!
The otherwise vibrant capital city that was three decades ago veiled a pall of gloom amidst tight security at all nooks and cranny. The harbour-view room at one of the older colonial buildings by the port of Colombo was nothing to write home about, despite its spacious layout and stately furniture. The security instructions and warnings issued by the hotel was enough to put off my orgasm I had hoped to derive by occupying a harbour-facing room. The only other alternative, worth its salt that I would have loved to engage myself in was thwarted right there at the sight of the bar-door that announced ‘CLOSED’ due to the Muslim religious festival.
Boy-oh-boy!!! Wrong place at the wrong time?! Back in my swanky colonial-style room, I decide to sit and watch the hustle and bustle out of the window. The national Police headquarters to the west, the Sea Port Authority to the north and the naval presence to the west sides gave me the creeps. I felt, for a moment, like a prisoner in a high-security penitentiary. The ship at its port of call would take another night to get loaded up before setting sail to its next destination. The eerie silence all around was calm and soothing but the police and military patrols, on constant vigil to spot opening windows or flash-bulbs in neighboring hotel rooms missed out on the actual terror that took place a few blocks away in one of the city’s crowded streets!!! Two people died and a few others were injured.
The endless journey through the never-ending stretch of green-carpet tea gardens, the stop over at a make-shift mechanic’s shop to fix the burning front break, the tea factory where I picked up a rough idea of how we get the tea we drink, the authentic fish-curry that came along with lunch at the road-side restaurant, the Plantation hotel by the river Kelani (where the movie “Bridge over the river Kwai’ was shot) that came out of nowhere like a dream come true and the Rolls Royce museum hidden inside the two-acre property were all memories that will stay with me for a long, long time.
The drive to Bentota was a short one hour! How I have come to terms with time!! One hour seems so short!!! I have two days and one and one half of nights to spend here before the journey ends.
The corals and sea turtles of Hikaduwa, mask-making at Ambalangoda, gem mining at Ratnapura, orphaned elephants of Pinnawela - I have much more to do, much more to see.
My hostess, Mrs. Dissnayake at the Nuwara Eliya Forest lodge informs me that I have a call from India. I come back to find out if anything was burning, back home. “Where are you?” screams the voice on the other end. ‘Not dead, yet. Still alive and kicking’ I say. The voice was cracking, the signal failing. ‘Next time I go out like this, I’ll take you along’ – I say to myself, like I was talking to my mysterious woman. I was already falling into a state of depression. I was beginning to miss some one. I was feeling lonely all on a sudden.
The trip that started by an hour past midnight to reach the airport early morning was frightening. The deserted roads offered a pleasure drive but the feeling of loneliness aggravated. With uncertainty looming all around the respite comes in the form of police check-posts asking for my identification and intention to journey at odd hours was fun to deal with. ‘Aah, Indian’. They appeared to be happy at the sight of seeing an Indian in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night!
This is just the beginning of the journey. There is much more to come. No directions; no expectations, though.
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