The cast of Oddamaivadi

It had been a great trip so far. Admittedly the 3am drive down left a bit to be desired but the two dives on the mystery wreck were mind blowing. An eagle ray soared past us as we hovered over the wreck and huge trevalley moved in the shadows as we swam into the ghostly ship lying scatted on the bottom and hordes of snappers swirled above us, a solid mass of fish. I’m still not sure how this was but the air from our tanks tasted of strawberries and the dives were simply world class.

As the sun set on the beach at Kayankerni we exultantly discussed our evidence on what the ship could be, the length indicated a World War II wreck but there was still much to be done the next day to further uncover the mystery. It was then that we made our fatal mistake. We decided that nothing would cap the day better than a couple of beers. Thus fortified with this foolish idea we proceeded to Oddamaivadi to get some beer. Over the Kayankerni bridge as we rattled along the newly built road we heard a thud. Shortly followed by a warning light on dashboard and the death rattle of the engine seizing up.

Rather befuddled we sat in the car for a few minutes before deciding to move it to the side of the road in case a passing combine harvester gave us a gentle tap on the back in the approaching gloom. It was then that we started to meet the inhabitants. As I pushed the Swift to the side of the road (it’s a surprisingly light car) a motorcycle spluttered to a stop and our Guardian Angel turned up to assist, heavily disguised of course as a mustachioed and saronged old man, GB Kahn. While DJ and I stood bewildered he in quick succession organized a truck to tow us to the nearest garage.

The garage, actually a large field with a shack, turned out to be the haunt of Sudu Malli, the black as night mechanic who soulfully advised us to get a new filter and he would try his best the next day. As we had reached the limit of what we could do for the night we arranged a tuk to get back to base and a jovial character by the name of Ali picked us up.

As we proceeded to buy a couple of beer bottles (to console ourselves) Ali with great gusto started talking. And he didn’t stop. His stories were various and colourful. He started off with tales of how he used to run goods for the LTTE and the army, until both were pissed off with him and he had to move to Colombo. There it turned out he was arrested for dealing marijuana and he regaled us with how he used to escape rape on a daily basis, including unwanted specifications of how the victims were chosen as they used rudimentary toilets.

Ali continued to talk and swig beer from a can while we drove on. He took a short but terrifying detour to show us a field where he as involved in a land dispute. For a second we thought we were going to be have a sticky end somewhere in a lost field. Ali continued to talk, now he was telling us about his experiences with ghosts on the road. We later learned that he loved to smoke up..which probably explains the ghosts. He also told us he transports corpses in his tuk, a sort of open air hearse. We were reassured to hear however that he washes his tuk regularly in the lagoon.

Ali was even full of political soundbites, a particularly witty statement was, mamma Thambi, appi nari, ogollong Sinhala, sinhayao…koti thang malla. Which for political correctness left a bit to be desired.

It was with a sinking feeling that we realized Ali had no intention on leaving us when we got to the bungalow. Instead he helped himself to a bottle of beer, regaled us with a story on circumcision and proceeded to show us how his belly dances. I cannot make this shit up. Apparently it was because he was quite diligent with his yoga…yoga I say again. Then just before he left he showed us another one of his life skills, twisting his ear up and keeping it balled up. He then serenaded us with a short tune before bumpily heading off into the night leaving us speechless and not a little traumatized.

The next morning dawned bright and early. The promise of a hot day was kept as instead of diving as we had hoped, we travelled around Oddamavadai, this time with a mercifully silent trishaw driver, in search of a petrol filter. Tracking one down finally in the shop of the town’s other crazy mechanic, Meegamuwa Kolla, whom we later learned had a ‘wire in his head’ (i.e. was batshit crazy) we had Sudu Malli install this and we crossed our fingers.

No luck as the engine was rock solid. Which then brought us to the tricky part of how the fucking hell we were going to get a Suzuki Swift back to Colombo.

Luckily there turned out there was a truck, Anoja was her name that needed to get to Colombo. Of course this being Sri Lanka nothing was quite that simple. The truck needed repairs to its clutch. And the driver had to come from Batticaloa with the parts. Thus we sat in the smallest patch of shade in all of Batticaloa while we waited for Saadi the driver and his unnamed squint eyed assistant to turn up. Once they turned up they and Sudu Malli dug around in the bowels of the truck until finally it seemed it was all fixed.

They then proceeded to take us for a slow tow to a service station so they could load the car. The rather innovative process was to put the car up on a hydraulic jack, back the truck up and then push the car in. Of course the first service station refused to let us do this, so we proceeded back into town, the townspeople regarding us with interest and possibly a sense of déjà vu as we trundled past them again, this time heading to Meegamuwa Kolla's service station. Suffice to say the plan of how to get the car into the truck was not quite as easy as it sounded but much sweating and pushing and jousting, not me of course, I was too busy taking photographs, we finally got the car in.

All that was left was the drive back to Colombo. We squeezed into the back of Anoja’s cabin where there was just enough leg space to give us hope but not enough to allow for a comfortable ride. For one brief, terrifying moment Saadi played some South Indian tunes at full blast, before catching our looks and interpreting them as meaning that we would happily kill him and his assistant and drive the damn truck back to Colombo if he continued with the music.

In blessed silence we proceeded towards Colombo, a 9 hour odyssey where I learned something interesting. Transport trucks do not have anything in terms of suspension so you could feel every single jolt from the road. Needless to say by the end of the trip I had reached a level of pain that I had not thought possible.

So there it is, strawberry flavoured air, giant trevalley, a crazy tuk driver, even crazier mechanics and a temperamental truck called Anoja.

The moral of the story…don’t drink beer? Random I know.

Rainy Night...

The rains coming down hard outside. A thin line of concrete and curtain are all that separate me from the wind and water. Such night showers tend to raise me to despondency or contentment depending on my emotional state, fragile as it is most of the time. But tonight its comfort, something akin to what I feel when I remember a carefree, sun-kissed, mountain-blessed childhood. One that sometimes seems but a dream in the harsh glare of adulthood.

But random nostalgia aside, this weekend I felt comfort in the warmth and soft impress. I’ve had enough of the highs and lows of the last four years. I know its useless asking for a steady course from herein out but I am grateful for the past few months and would hug a whole lot of wood to keep it going. The tune seems a bit redundant given the current state of affairs...but it's still a nice one.


P.S. Thanks to Seesaw for the heads up on the KOL cover.

Life according to Snow Patrol

I’m a sucker for a meme, even when I’m not tagged, so word out to T for spreading the idea of the post on her life according to those rockers from Calabasas.

Of course since I do have ‘multiple Snow Patrol themed blogs’ it’s only natural for me to pick…well…Snow Patrol.

Using only song names from one artist, cleverly answer these questions. Try not to repeat a song title. Repost as “My Life According to (band name)”

Pick Your Artist: Snow Patrol

Are you a female or male? Last Ever Lone Gunman

Describe yourself: Ways & Means

How do you feel: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

Describe where you currently live: Days Without Paracetamol

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? An Olive Grove Facing the Sea

Your favourite form of transportation: Lifeboats

Your best friend is: The Lightning Strike

Your favourite colour is: Chocolate

What’s the weather like: How to Be Dead

Favourite time of day: Crack the Shutters

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: When It's All Over We Still Have to Clear Up

What is life to you: Wow

Your current relationship: Firelight

Breaking up: Whatever's Left

Looking for: Signal Fire

Wouldn’t mind: Grazed Knees

Your fear: Same

What is the best advice you have to give: You Could Be Happy

If you could change your name, you would change it to: Starfighter Pilot

Thought for the Day: Make This Go on Forever

How I would like to die: Downhill From Here

My motto: Open your eyes

Neutral Buoyancy Nirvana

After the personal buoyancy seesaw of the previous dive I did something I had been having an inkling for a while that might work. I took one of the grey leaden weights off the belt.

The result was a breathtaking nirvana. Initially I thought I had fucked up because as J moved down the nylon line disappearing into the big blue, I had issues getting myself to sink. Remembering S’s words, I arched, hugged the BC and pressed the release valve to get all the last vestiges of air out of it. The descent was one of the most controlled that I’ve ever had.

A quick burst into the BC at 23 meters (which incidentally according to Pissu is about 7 stories under water…who knew?....gulp) and I was beautifully buoyant. The feeling was exhilarating and it was all I could do not to whoot! into my regulator as I finally found freedom below the ocean.

Swooping and swirling over the reef, breathing out deep to sink down and check out a moray in a cave apparently being given a shave by a couple of shrimps, smaller breaths out to cautiously lower myself next to a blackspot electric ray under an overhang and controlled breaths in to rise over a dip in the reef.

Pure bliss, this neutral buoyancy nirvana.

The safety stop was beautiful, instead of my usual yo-yoing in the water as I pump air in and out of my BC, which drives my dive computer up the wall. I hovered with minimal adjustments to the BC and my breathing and surfaced oh ever so smoothly after one of the best I’ve ever had.

Today was a significant step forward and I have an uncontrollable itch to keep going down into that deep blue.

Learning to Fly

R yelled over, ‘it’s a water snake’ as we clambered over to the rocks where he was pocking around with his reptile catching stick (please do check that link for a shot of a ‘pretty girl catching a snake.’ I shit you not).

As a word of explanation, S and I were in Sinharaja along with a bunch of peeps and R was one of the newly met said peeps, who was very into his wildlife. Hence why he toted the reptile catching stick everywhere.

Now I have seen water snakes before, a generally shy, slim brown creature with languid eyes that looked like it couldn’t hurt a fly. Finally getting to where R was near a rock pool into which a waterfall rolled into, R informed us that the snake had retreated into a hole amongst some rocks and he was going to get the guide to roll a rock down so we could get a good look at the critter. S and I eagerly agreed and made sure our cameras were on.

The guide rolled the rock…and then things moved on quite rapidly.

The snake came gliding out.

And it wasn’t brown or slim or exceptionally languid.

Instead it was black and white striped with a virulently red tail. It all but roared as it came out mouth agape straight towards me. I noted all this with some interest of course and came to the rapid conclusion that:
a) R got the ID wrong, I have no idea what this snake is…but it looks poisonous.
b) It’s coming straight for me.
c) Fuck, I was dead.

I could hear R yelling in the background, ‘Don’t panic’

To which I said (mentally), ‘Fuck you. There’s a great big snake snapping at my ankles, seemingly intent on making sure I never reproduce. And fuck you again. I’m not panicking. I’m just looking to get far, far away. Quickly’

It is surprising how many things go through your mind during these life or death moments.

Suffice to say I flew and/or levitated, loaded with kilos of photo equipment, up a sheer rock that was at least five feet high. Unfortunately in my excitement both during the event and post event, I couldn’t get a photograph of the snake. R was also so engrossed in taking a picture he accidentally released his grip on the snake which smoothly slipped into the water never to be seen again. Presumably he’s requesting Canadian refugee status right about now.
I later learned that the snake was in fact the Checkered Keelback, not the regular keelback and quite non-venomous. Of course better to be safer than sorry is what I say when there’s a snake trying to go at you like a demented Pekinese.

Better safer than sorry.

I still know what you did last night

He tried revenge last night. I stepped on him. Goo on the mat, will wash out with the dawn. He was conniving but still lower down on the food chain (not that I ate him or anything).

I know what you did last night

It was murder most foul, but I had no choice. As I switched on the lights his feelers twitched in surprise and I noted with distaste that he was precariously close to my toothbrush. Using the only deadly weapon at hand, my Bata health slipper (the bumps give an extra zip to its zap) I cautiously moved the cockroach over to a more accessible location, playing him quite adroitly if I do say so myself. Once he was on the door I leaned over, pulled back and slapped him with the Bata health slipper, the one with the bumps.

As he lay twitching I gave him one more tap on the head…then for good measure folded the mat over him and stepped down. Still he twitched…but thinking it was his death throes I congratulated myself and went in for my shower. Drying myself off I stepped into the bathroom area.

For a moment I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the familiar scene. The blue-green mat looked oddly bereft. Then it struck me.

He was gone…feelers and all.

Now all I can think of is that he’s out there, plotting sweet revenge, all 5 centimeters of him. And everytime I switch on the bathroom light I do it with caution. After all..he lives where I live.

Does a bear shit in the woods?

Of course and last week so did I. admittedly it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had to do that, camping in the US generally involving quite posh toilets even in the backwoods. I was extra careful due to lack of practice, digging a hole deep enough that I swore I heard Chinamen echoing up through there requesting for more tenders. A bottle of water, a quiet secluded spot for said hole and an adroit sense of balance were all that were required in the end.

It was only after the deed was done that I realized my secluded spot was indeed secluded, the camp was completely hidden from view.

And I had forgotten to come up with a contingency plan in case a bear actually did decide to shit in the woods.

Hey Jealousy

No this is not a personal post, it's juts that this popped up on my Genius playlist and it took me down memory lane. Whatever happened to the Gin Blossoms?

Suba Anagathayak Akon

Sitting at dive center waiting to head off in the boat. One of the students rolls up ready for his class. As usual these days the conversation drifts off to politics.

Ah Mahinda’s won, I’m so happy.

Oh (me being non-committal)

Now Akon’s going to be here!

…eh? (somewhat confused by the rapid change in subject)

Well since Mahinda won

…EH? (much, much more confused)

Well he’s going to have a concert in Hambantota, if Sarath won he said he was not going to come but will now since Mahinda won!

……(that’s me being speechless)

And I thought I had heard everything this election

Quote for January

"It looks pretty deep there and there's a lot more water than I thought would be there"
- Pissu Perera's sage observation on being confronted with the Indian Ocean off Patanangala.

So this is Christmas

Damn another year has passed. It seems like yesterday, that sunkissed, stormy holiday.

How change has been wrought by a year.

I finally achieved something I have worked towards for so long. And found it wasn’t the end.

I looked across a table at someone I thought I wanted for years, and realized I didn’t.

I had a moment of utter calm and happiness on a boat in the Pacific Ocean.

I spent a month in despair and will more in my fight to move on from the past.

Became the citizen of two countries (and just remembered that I haven’t finished the whole process).

Did a crash course in patience.

Realized that some friendships, however brief are meant to last. Some however long aren’t.

Broke my previous road trip record of a 1,000 miles in a weekend.

Almost followed my genes a couple of times, but came back every time.

Still didn’t figure out what I want to do in life.

Though the most important thing I realized this year is that there really is no light at the end of the tunnel. But that the tunnel itself is not dark.

Merry Christmas and a safe and happy new year to all!

Baffling

This is going to be a relatively short post. Primarily because I have a splitting headache thanks to my sinuses and am feeling proportionally lazy. I was watching a short movie on the SL conflict and reading the (remarkably) balanced comments below the movie when I noted mention of the Holocaust. That’s when I kind of wandered, in a meandering, lackadaisical way.

Are we blowing the difficulty of what we are doing out of proportion?

Let’s think about World War II for a moment in terms of total human cost. The first war where civilian casualties outnumbered military casualties. Also the war where the Holocaust took place. Germany not only launched a war on most of Europe but also single handedly tried to eliminate the Jewish race, failed, but managed to kill six million of them. Of course if you count the other ‘minorities’ that they killed including gypsies (Romani), people with disabilities, homosexuals and Jehovah’s Witnesses of all people, then apparently the toll goes up to between 11 or 17 million.

That’s the equivalent of depopulating the majority of this country, give or take a few million.

11 or 17 million people.

Yet barely a generation later, the country was back at normal. If anything more than normal but ridiculously industrious producing BMWs and large jugs of beer. Does anybody else find that odd? That a country as a whole were a bunch of Aryan domineering murders (and lets be frank, you can’t kill 6 to 11 to 17 million people without a whole bunch of willing and able helpers) but a few years after losing a war, apart from 24 people being charged for war crimes and around 11 hung at Nuremberg, the country went back to pretty much normal.

Not to belittle the level of human suffering a 30 year war and 100 thousand casualties has brought to many people, but it is kind of baffling why normalcy escapes us so when you compare the relative amount with WWII.

Right, I’m going back to my headache.

On Familiarity

*Honk, honk*

Cab’s outside to take me to the Rowing Club to hang out with D. The rattley door closes as I sink into the seat.

“Evening Sir”

“Evening”

“Mona dawasada awey?” “When did you get in?”

Blank….silence….

“Ermm….Wednesday”

“Acchiee kohomada” “How’s your grandmother”

It took me a few minutes of surprised silence to put a face to…well…if not a name then a familiar face and a few more than a few excursions. There’s something ironic about a cab driver who both knows about your grandmother’s health as well as what you did with that girl in the back of his cab on the way back from Sugar.

The possibilities for blackmail…they make the mind boggle.

The road to Nyala

Usually an antelope that is apparently uncomfortable in open spaces but in this case a rather charming, finger licking good (and not in the bullshit KFC way) Ethiopian restaurant that P, IW and I headed off to last night to partake in some communal Injera bread and other assorted wonders. The road to that restaurant though is a tale that needs to be told, a geographical mishmash of ethnicities and random encounters.

Three Sri Lankans met up, one came from Scotland to Los Angeles, where the other two lived (much to their dismay, the living there, not the friend visiting). From LA it was a road trip to Las Vegas which was followed shortly by one very sexpensive venture. Following which was a cab ride. Said cab being driven by someone who was wearing a cap with what I thought was an Ethiopian flag, which in fact turned out to be an upside down Ethiopian flag (so I wasn’t far off). The cap was in fact being worn by an Eritrean who despite living in the City of Sin knew of the best places to eat Ethiopian food (a personal favourite of mine), one of the best which was Nyala, in Little Ethiopia in Los Angeles.

In short we found ourselves, three Lankans, one from Scotland, two from LA, going for an Ethiopian meal at a restaurant recommended by an Eritrean who we met in Las Vegas. Gotta love continent hopping.

A walk in the woods

Unfortunately this tale is not going to be as epic as Bill Bryson’s jaunt on the Appalachian Trail. Instead it was a rather gentle 4.2 hike to Escondido Falls in the early am. Most of the path, after passing some truly gargantuan McMansions, was pleasantly through a patch of riparian forest, rock hopping over some streams and a rather strenuous ‘rock climb’ to the top of the falls.

It was during the latter part of the climb up that I realized I had become a big pussy, there was a nervousness in sighting the next rock, sweaty grasping of branches and a definite lack of certainty in jumping from rock to rock. A couple of years of mostly sitting behind a desk has had its toll. Even just five years ago I happily trekked miles a day in the heat, well if not happily quite effectively, up and down the mountains of Maragalakanda counting birds and dodging vipers. Now a brief jaunt in the woods was a challenge. It’s not even a question of fitness, it’s more that the hand eye coordination is lacking, I guess bushwacking is not like a bicyle but needs some practice.

Of course as gentle as the hike was, with us, nothing is quite as simple. On the way down from the head of the falls, P somehow managed to lead us off the trail and down a much rather entertaining rock fall down to the base of the hill. Carrying a couple of thousand dollars in camera equipment on my back didn’t exactly increase my levels of comfort either. To add insult to injury on getting to the base of the climb and finding out that we still had plenty of time on our hands we headed enthusiastically up another upwards running trail in pursuit of the gal short girls that P had seen going up. It was when all three of us took a second look at a tree on the path that it was indeed the original path we had climbed up earlier and the way we came back was most decidedly non-convential.

Apparently navigation skills take some practice as well.

What a surreal weekend it was

As D put it so eloquently in his first twitter post. And indeed it has been. Of course my trip was more sedate than the rest of the boys considering my taste in chemicals is decidedly more sedate. The weekend had started before hitting up the usual jaunt with some more trips and a marathon of Audrey Hepburn. Heebejesus, the girl is hot, something else. I did however feel that she played a pretty weak character in Sabrina and Roman Holiday, and what was up with falling for old, old dudes. Geez.

The night later progressed in its usual, trips taken, arrack drunk and the most bizarre conversations had. Somewhere in there was drivebys, bestiality, crossfit, strange attempts at pushups, bitching about Portishead, loving Portishead, animalknappings at the local petting zoo and finally in a common consensus, a trip to the local strip club.

I swear she looked like J…it was such a brilliant coincidence that I had to text R know that a J lookalike was currently wrapping her legs around my neck and giving me the kind of anatomical lesson that one always wanted in high school. Of course with my iron clad will I spent exactly twice my budget, but lets just say it was well worth it. I of course will not be able to look J in the face again…well maybe with a slight leer.

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, blindingly some might say after the two hours of sleep that was had. As expected with the randomness that befits us, the morning saw P and I role blearily to a volunteer gig feeding the homeless. Absolving for some of our sins of the past night, we engaged in a whirlwind of stuffing bags for a brief 20 minutes. Eventually heading back after the world’s shortest yet somewhat efficient volunteer efforts it was to a Brazilian barbeque for a belated b’day lunch for S. He had also come of Lent so anything bovine within a hundred miles was in mortal danger. The food was brilliant at the Sampa Grill with the green shaker up most of the time. Succulent sections of cows, garlic chicken, some polish sausage, beans, cheesecake, brownies and bread pudding passed before us.

We left lunch bloated and with a possible house visitor to Sri Lanka next year in the shape of a friendly Brazilian waiter (male unfortunately). It was to one more of those afternoon naps and then a somewhat nervous drive in the new wheels, courtesy of N. I’m pretty sure all of us are resting our tired bones this evening, on our respective trips. One more Monday to come and what’s keeping me going is that there are only to be around 8 more of these to go.

Wanted

One companion for U2 concert

Qualifications:

5’ 3.25”
Dark mocha skin
Broody, shuttered brown eyes
32b
Endearing affection for general knowledge
Ability to wield a handbag with unerring accuracy
Legs that go on forever
Closet Gorillaz fan
Seafood enthusiast, especially the Japanese variety
Disconcerting ability to waiver between unbearable cuteness to complete looniness
Smooth, lilac scented hair (maybe with the random brown streak for old times sake)
Annoying habit of ignoring texts and endearing habit of blabbing for hours on the phone
Always there when needed

Yes I’m a sucker, but hey one can always hope…if even a bit foolishly.

Willingness to negotiate on the above…open to suggestions?

It’s a documentary, it’s a social statement, it’s a comedy!

Seriously, what is it? I remember the first time I saw it, at the impressionable age of about 11. The National Gegographic nudeness, the strange clicking sounds and the baking heat of the Kalahari. I’ve watched the Gods Must be Crazy (and part 2) many times since then and I’m yet to figure out what the hell it is. The tale of the little bushman trying to throw a coke bottle of the ends of the earth because its sudden appearance from the clear blue sky (courtesy of a thirsty pilot with a penchant for littering) causes feelings of envy and want to turn up in their tribe.

It starts out with a documentary style tale of the Bushmen in the Kalahir….documentary as I mentioned.

Then all of a sudden there occurs what is possibly the worst planned yet close to successful coups ever shown on film. The elaborate plan involves a bunch of armed people in two jeeps pull up to the presidential palace, charge in unchallenged and blow the cabinet up in a hail of machine gun fire. Of course the presidential guard shows up inoppurtnely late shoots a few people and then gives chase in a Mercedes gazzguzzler, which promptly runs out of gas.

By this stage I’m scratching my head, theres a fat rebel leader who looks like he was outsourced from Cuba and a bunch of joker rebels. What part they play in a documentary I know not. A lot of banana trees promptly get the fuck blown up, a positive banana smoothie. All through this the little bushman wanders, walking to the end of the earth.

Baboons and Bushman talking, now it’s like a social/nature documentarty on crack. There’s a great white hunter (though an awkward around ladies great white hunter), a beautiful blonde teacher in distress. Oscar award wining drama written all over it by this stage. A grand rescue, machine guns, a romantic liplock and of course all through this the little bushman walks to throw the coke bottle off the end of the earth.

My favourite random quote from the movie:

That’s funny, this elephant’s dung is completely missing Boron.

I personally think this movie in terms of interpretation beats out the best of David Lynch. Mulholland Drive aint got shit on Gods Must be Crazy. It’s a social statement on the evils of materialism and the modern world with a random lovestory, third world coup, adventure tale thrown in for kicks. I have no idea who produced, wrote or dreamt up this movie…but I think I should look them up. Cos I want whatever they’ve been smoking.

And my newly rediscovered catchphrase: Ai, ai, ai, ai

Out...out...out

There are times when the (almost) 10 years of struggle seems to condense and vanish into nothingness. When those six months and endless things to do seems so overwhelming before I start a new stage in life. A day of working my ass off, having requests and responses piled on top of me, surfing this site while stuck in a freezing office makes me want to just ball up and smash my LCD screen into smithereens. To scream..."I want out, out, out....get me the FUCK out of here...NOW!!"

But of course I don't...because it is only six months, because there is a lot to be done and I have...for the past 10 (or so) years...gotten up every day and done what I had to do to get here and move forward.

P.S. T and PP, you better not give me grief about that being emo...it's not...