I had to renew my visa ... and
Sri Lanka seemed the way to go. What did I know? I didn't want to travel, but I had no choice. No visa, no India. To get there, I took the train to Chennai, and then flew to Colombo, where I could get a new visa. The train ride was fine. Second-class AC sleeper. I slept much of the way, or relaxed looking out the window, taking in the scenery. I'm one of those people who love trains. You can rest, look at the passing scenery, and meet people. A few men sat across the aisle from me, and seemed to be traveling as a group. Lot's of catching up to do, and lots of conversation and fun for them. They were middle aged, and looked business-like and middle class. Not too interesting for me, and that was just fine. I was tired, and had not been sleeping well. I spent the previous day in a wild goose chase trying to find a temporary placement for one of the puppies I've been feeding. It left me with no time to rest, or pack, or prepare for travelling. So, a group of men with no interesting conversation for me seemed just fine as travelling companions.
At some point, one of them politely said hello and asked what I was doing in India. I told him of my intentions of starting an animal welfare program in
Rishikesh ... and he hopped out of his seat and in the blink of an eye he was sitting across from me. "Really?"
"Yes ..." Turns out he is a major animal rights advocate in India and abroad. He's given me lots of names of people in India who may be helpful to this cause, and a place to stay in Delhi. Sounds promising, and a future contact I will certainly pursue. We arrive in Chennai. He goes on to another train and another city, and I must spend the day and night in Chennai, taking my flight to Colombo,
Sri Lanka the next morning. Not knowing what to expect in Chennai, and not really in a mood for travelling, I'm quite overwhelmed by Chennai. It's not that hospitable to Westerners, and at first sight, just another large city with traffic, greedy rickshaw drivers, and and few Westerners to get info from. I can't say it was love at first sight. It took a while to find a suitable hotel. It was more than I had hoped to spend, but it was
ok, had an available room, AC, and, I was told, a complimentary breakfast. In hindsight, it was actually a good deal, and I would go there again, but I may be on their "banned" list and not have that option. Ah, well. It was supposed to include my complimentary breakfast.
I checked in at 9:30. The hotel clerk told me I could have my breakfast now, until 10:00 a.m., or
tomorrow, at 7:00, as I had to leave for the airport at 7:30 per his advice. Breakfast at 7:00, leave by 7:30, arrive at the airport at 8:30 in time to catch your flight. Sounds good. I'll shower now, and start the next day with my complimentary breakfast, and head to the airport. Well, not so fast. I spend a day trying to find something to do in Chennai that doesn't involve the "sightseeing madam?" rickshaw scam. They promise you an afternoon of sightseeing at what seems to be a reasonable rate. They pick the spots; what do I know? Sure, take me sightseeing. First sight ... some museum with a ridiculously
exorbitant entrance rate - for foreigners. Next to nothing for locals. No thanks. Sight number one, of the agreed upon three. Sight number two, an elaborate temple which looks interesting as we approach.
Hmm, not bad, maybe this isn't a complete scam by my driver ... but before I can fully take in the exterior splendor in the midday heat and sun of a summer's high noon in Chennai, I'm being yelled at and spat on by the fury and outrage of the self-appointed "Temple Man" who's yelling that this is for Hindus only and get my infidel feet off his holy ground. Shit. I suggest he calm down and that this fevered sentiment can't possibly be good for his blood pressure as he is of a certain age ... but he just keeps on spitting and spewing his wrath in my direction. Shit. I look at where I have to check my shoes, and it's really far from the entrance. I don't have the kind of feet that like to walk barefoot for long distances on hot cement pavement with lots of gravel and cracks, or any distances for that matter. Plus, I've had more than one good pair of walking shoes go "missing" at Temple shoe check-ins, so, I decide that I'll just put my shoes in my bag. Well, this really sets off the "Temple Man" who apparently hasn't taken his eyes off me. "No shoes inside, no shoes inside," he screams, the veins on his face really bulging out now. I try to reason with him, but, since reason is not a part of this interaction, I give in and go to check my shoes, wondering what this is going to cost me.
"Don't lose the tag" the shoe check-in man tells me.
"Don't lose my shoes," I reply.
He smiles; I glare.
I try to take broad steps across the hot pavement without cutting my feet. A minor cut in India can mean a scrape today, an amputation, tomorrow. I'm a walker; I like full use of my feet. I make it in. Lots of buildings inside, with lots of people. I follow the crowd thinking I can't go wrong. As the one blond westerner in the crowd, I stick out. I'm suddenly being yelled at, pointed at, and having fingers snapped at me.
Oy vey, now what? Is everyone in Chennai in serious need of
Xanax? Tempers seem to boil really fast here, and I'd been told that people in the south are easy going. This is easy going? I'd hate to see them when they're really upset.
"This is for Hindus, only." "Eh ... ?" Thinking fast on my feet ... "But I'm a practicing Hindu" I stretch the truth just a little already knowing this will not be good enough. "Get out, get out!" More finger snapping and pointing. I hold firm and ask "why"... "why"... This really gets them going. They're not in a mood for philosophical discourse. One older woman suggests "No photos, no photos." No, no, I'm not taking photos; I think I may have an ally. The priest says something to her in Hindi, and my "ally" starts
screaming at me .... "GET OUT - YOU CAN PRAY OUTSIDE! GET OUT - YOU CAN PRAY OUTSIDE!"
Yikes, a crowd is forming. Shit. I remember I have a plane to catch the next day, with the purpose of renewing my India visa. It
occurs to me a black mark on my last legal day in India might affect my visa renewal. Shit. I hold my head high, give them my most innocent and holy look, turn my head and walk away with what I pretend is dignity, trying not to burn my feet on the scorching pavement.
My rickshaw driver has been witnessing much of this. He lowers his head and knows not to ask how much I liked this site number two of the agreed upon three.
We pull out, and I'm wondering what wondrous sight he has in store for me next ... Next stop ... "Shopping?"
"No, no shopping."
"Why?"
"I don't like shopping."
"Just a little shopping." We're already in front of a shop.
"No, no shopping." When did "shopping" come into my hard-negotiated plans with this man. Did I say something that sounded like "shopping?"
"Shopping?"
"
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, No shopping!" I've gone to a museum I don't know that's too expensive to enter, a Temple where I'm not allowed, and now I'm at the mercy of some crazed
shopaholic who won't take the rickshaw another meter unless I "shop."
"
NO SHOPPING!"
Now it's his turn,
"Why not?"
I finally get it; they get a kick back from the shops for bringing in westerners. I don't shop. I don't see my third sight, and I go back to the hotel hot, tired, and spat on.
Oy; get me out of Chennai and where's the closest bar. I shower again, watch TV, and look forward to getting out of town, with that lovely complimentary breakfast at 7:00. I don't think a single woman in a bar in Chennai is the way to go, as I scout the entrants to the Hotel bar, all men, so I opt for an early night of reading and bed rest. I sleep quite well, actually, and consider sleeping late and skipping my breakfast, but then, as it's "complimentary," I rationalize that I'll be hungry later, and who knows when I'll be able to eat again, in
Sri Lanka, another country, after all. So, I shower, repack, and boldly go downstairs for my special breakfast, 7:00 a.m., sharp. Hm, I'm the first one here, still looks dark in the restaurant. I go to check with the desk receptionist.
"Complimentary Breakfast?" I ask the clerk.
"Complimentary breakfast, 7:30."
"7:30? I have to leave at 7:30, to catch my flight ...
Sri Lanka." I try.
"Complimentary breakfast, 7:30."
"But the clerk at my check-in told me breakfast at 7:00, finish at 7:30, and leave for the airport." I say in just as happy a tone as the previous days clerk.
"7:30."
I try another tact. But the restaurant is open, "See the sign says 7:00. The room service card says restaurant open, 7:00 a.m."
"Yes, restaurant open, 7:00."
"So, let's see here. I can
buy breakfast at 7:00, but I can't have my complimentary breakfast until 7:30."
"Yes."
This goes on for a while, and I'm in no mood to cave in. I got up early to have my complimentary breakfast. I make him call his manager, after being told this is "not possible," (favorite Indian words -- instructions to India neophytes when you hear this phrase, and you will, calmly reply "yes, possible"). I go through the same argument with him. Will I have lost my mind in Chennai, I start to wonder. Who will find me, will I be wandering the streets repeating the words "complimentary breakfast?" What twilight zone have I entered? I won't give in, no time to crumble, now. Finally, I get a complimentary coffee, and toast. I have to remind the waiter about the toast. I'm the only person in the restaurant, and he forgot my hard won toast. Shit. This puts me a few minutes behind my planned departure of 7:30. At 7:35, the clerk comes looking for me, demanding my hotel key and that I check-out,
now. I tell him I checked in after 9:30 ... 24 hour check-out time, what's the problem? He shows me the hotel paperwork. Yesterday's clerk had put down "7:30" check-out time ... all this because I asked him what time I should leave to make it to the airport in time. The same clerk who told me "Complimentary breakfast at 7:00, leave for the airport at 7:30, in time to make your flight." Shit.
More arguing, more phone calls, and I'm still waiting for my toast. I finally check out, and discourage two prospective clients from checking in. "Go across the street," I tell them. "Very bad hotel here." "Very bad?" "Very bad." They leave. The clerk stares at me, makes another call, and writes something on my hotel paperwork.
I think I'm banned from future entry into the "Hotel New Victoria." I retaliate; I write "terrible service" on the customer's remarks section; not something I would typically do. Oh well, I can't imagine ever wanting to return, I tell myself.
Well, well, ... maybe..., but then, who knew? But that's another story, for another time.
SRI LANKAOn the one hour flight we were fed twice. So much for my fear of "but when will I eat again?"
The food was great. Were there time on my one hour flight, I would have asked for seconds;
Sri Lanka Air, great food.
Sri Lanka began with promise. Little did I know this was to be the highlight of my trip to
Sri Lanka.
Colombo ... big city, not much character, and no good deals. Expensive, hot and humid. I meet someone at the airport ATM who recommends a hotel she regularly goes to, and as I've done no homework on hotels in Colombo, it sounds fine, and we share a taxi. We get there, and there's a problem I later find out is plumbing related. No rooms. So, he offers us rooms in his house. I'm a little dubious, but I've no idea of where else to go, so I go along to check this out. My new friend who's lived in
Sri Lanka in the past tells me this is not uncommon, and even a matter of status in
Sri Lanka ... that ones home is suitable enough in standards for a "Westerner." We enter what is probably a
Sri Lankan mansion. I'm dressed like an Indian style bum; I like to travel light. I wonder how I could possibly have impressed him; I may need to shop for clothes I'm already thinking, to not
embarrass my host.
He's some old style colonial
Sri Lankan; English schooled, plantation owner, and an avid hunter. The room I'm offered belongs to his son, who's away at school, hunting, who knows, I forget. It's filled with stuffed dead animals, family photos of sporting kills, and mounted rifles. Have I mentioned I'm a vegetarian? This kind of creeps me out, and yet my "Old English School Boy" host is trying as hard as can be to be hospitable and gracious. A different world. We talk; he learns about my plans, tells me how much he loves animals, and wishes he could do what I'm doing ....
Okay, maybe we should start with
"stop killing animals!" I want to politely mention...
As if to anticipate the obvious, he explains, these are different, they were a menace to the people and the plantation. The "trophy" photos of calm, civilized, smiling hunter and family could have been taken at a family outing on the beach. They're relaxed, easy, and routine. The dead animals are posed and propped up for the best angle for the camera. Not the style of family photos I'm accustomed to. I wonder if I need to sleep with the lights on ...
Although this is a mansion, it's still in
Sri Lanka in September. It's hot, and oppressively humid. I don't think I've ever
sweated so much in my life, while sitting still. Whirring overhead fans just don't cut it. Open gardens in the middle of the house are common, too. Lovely to look at, and the bugs like them, too. Quite a few of them landed on me my first night there, although my host insisted no mossies can touch you when the fans are on. Okay, these weren't mossies; they were much too big and landed with enough of a thud to wake me several times in the night. Shit. One was a slow moving giant cockroach lumbering up the side of the bed. Not as big as the one I had as a roommate in my first hotel in
Laxman Jhula, India, but that guy was friendly after we had come to a certain understanding. Upon our
first meeting, my giant cockroach roommate in India scared me and I him. He hissed and turned white, and froze in his tracks as I opened my bathroom door and startled him. I froze in my tracks and couldn't believe he was hissing at me. Later I found he could fly, as well. No end to the talents of my giant cockroach roommate in India. We came to an understanding that he was to stay in the bathroom, only the bathroom, and only at night. If I entered the bathroom door during the night, he was to freeze, I would close the door, and he would have enough time to hide in the drain, or wherever. When I opened the door again, he was to have removed himself from sight. It usually worked, except for the night he ventured beyond the bathroom and got caught in my mosquito net. It was that day that I learned he could fly, as I took the mosquito net and him outside and shook him out. I expected him to fall down to the garden below, but insted he flew a good 25 feet onto an opposite courtyard wall. Bye, bye. But I digress. Anyway, the
Sri Lanka giant cockroach didn't have nearly the size of my India cockroach roommate, nor the personality. I slept with the lights on after that, as this one seemed to hide when the lights are on, and according to my host, "it's impossible for the mossies to land on you when you have a fan on" ... So, even though he'd already had a few when he said that, I preferred to believe that principle, and I slept with the lights on, to keep the
Sri Lankan cockroach at bay. The thought of pinning him to the wall, mounted next to the
stuffed "trophy" animals almost never entered my mind. I'm kind.
The humidity takes it's toll on the street dogs, as well. They look pretty well fed in Colombo, at least the ones I saw, but mange was rampant. The moisture and humidity collecting on the skin makes it a good breeding
ground for skin infections. In this, they looked miserable. But one very positive sign I did see was donation boxes for the Blue Cross, an animal spay/neuter program, everywhere. Graphic photos of dogs being dragged away, with a caption of avoiding scenes like this by spaying and neutering and controlling the population, and hopefully to better the quality of their lives, covered the boxes. They were big
plexiglass boxes, and
looked to have decent amounts of money in them. They were found in grocery stores, and upscale department stores, which even had employees wearing hip T-Shirts with spay/neuter slogans. Very cool. An animal awareness program in
Sri Lanka; Colombo, anyway. Also as a pleasant surprise, lots of animal care products in the grocery stores. From dog vitamins to shampoo to flea and skin control products.
I was eager to get to the India High Council, to start my visa process. Got there early Monday a.m., and it's already mobbed. Using the unstated
privilege of being a westerner, I head to the front of the crowd straight up to the door. I feel more than a bit odd about it, but no one objects, and well, if I don't have to wait in a line for hours and hours ... The guards let me right in. This is a pattern I'm starting to notice in Asia. Western and white ... straight to the head of the line. The guards let me in, but the men at the first desk are not so accommodating; fill out this form and come back Wednesday. Wednesday? But it's Monday; "No, no, no" comes quickly out of my mouth sounding much like a seed mantra. I can only think of more days in the Colombo heat, giant bugs in my Sri Lankan mansion's dead animal trophy bedroom, and a ridiculously high cost of everything, and nothing to do. "No, no, no ..." I plead.
"Okay, come tomorrow." I come tomorrow, they want to take five working days to get my visa, the place is mobbed, lots of lines, and people desperate to get out of
Sri Lanka. I angle myself to the front of as many lines a
s I possible can, and convince them to give me my visa by Friday. I plan my escape from
Sri Lanka by Friday night, assuming I have my visa by Friday evening. Close timing.
I leave for Kandy, thinking it can't be any worse than Colombo, and I'm really bored and hot in Colombo. I've seen the Buddha's foot prints, the Old BuddhistTemple with lots of giant Buddhas, and a museum like gallery of Buddha
paraphernalia from all over Asia. I'm asked if I've seen the Buddha's tooth; I answer, "... Uh, maybe, ... I think so. I've seen quite a bit of the parts of the Buddha ... or life-like replicas ..." I try to politely answer. The Old Temple has one section of an army of Buddhas. They're lined up in tiered rows and remind me of the
terra cotta army in China. It's kind of creepy. It looks more like a warrior army than any kind of spiritual rendering. Strange; I'm also surrounded by armed guards where I'm staying. It's not far from where the President, or Prime Minister lives, and much of
Sri Lanka is heavily guarded, especially the main
politicians residential area. Then I learn about the politics with the Tamil Tigers, and that there was a bomb in Colombo a few weeks earlier, in the south part of Colombo. "Which part is this?" I ask.
"The southern part."
"Oh."
"You didn't know?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Yup."
Okay then, on to Kandy.
CASH COW IN KANDYI get to Kandy. It's not far, and the scenery changes favorably along the way. It's in the hills, lush and green. The countryside and the towns look more "authentic" and not "wannabe western" styles. That's the good news. The rest is, hold onto your wallet, get used to exhorbitant rip-off attempts, and oh yes, no one looks you in the eye except to see how much money they can get from you. You are their source if income. You are not an individual, you are of no individual interest. It's your suspected cash flow that is of interest to them, and competition for your western dollars is fierce. Rickshaw drivers and hotel managers compete with one another and offer bad raps against each other. If you'ld already made plans for an event, take a room from someone other than the latest person who is after your cash, well, be prepared to hear how low and degenerate that other person is, and that you've undertaken a deal with the devil and you travel at your own risk. I don't exagerate. So, lovely scenery scarred by ugly sentiments and words. And, are the people with whom you've made arrangements pleasant and polite? No. They are busy telling you how much more you should be paying them than the previously agreed upon price, and how would you like to go shopping. NO SHOPPING!! And yes, I want to go to the Elephant Orphanage, like we said, not your friends elephant farm. Everything is argued, over and over. Frustrated and disgusted, I tell my rickshaw driver I will never come back to Sri Lanka. People are only looking at tourists as money machines. He wholehartedly agrees; ... never admitting to being a part of this.
The economy is bad, and inflation is high. Tourism never picked up from the Tsunami, and government spending on the military to fight the Tamil Tigers has escalated. But instead of treating the few tourists that are there graciously, we seem to be fought over, and never mind that spoiling the spoils will do no good, but only further damage the tourist trade. The general consensus with the five fellow travellers I met in Sri Lanka was, no thanks, no more Sri Lanka and how fast can I get out of here?
I do make it in time for the end of the Perahera!. Elephants get dressed up and people crack whips, dance and play music, all the time passing around the Buddha's tooth. [Another one?] Something to do with a long ago drought that the Buddha's tooth fixed. What the body piercings on the dancers were about, I wasn't sure. Anyway, it gets packed with locals, and usually tourists. This year however, packed with locals, and not so many tourists. Standing room only, I get a good deal on a completely tourist seat on a private balcony. I want to take photos so I figure a birds-eye view on my private terrace will be worth the price. "How many people?" I ask my salesperson as I gently test the security of the tin balcony I'm on. "Only you, maybe 3-4 more." Okay.
Only me, until the parade starts. The family that lived in the apartment politely carried on business as usual before the festivities began, seemingly quite respectful of my paid for space. That is, until the Perihera! actually started. With the first sound of the cracked whip signalling the start of the processin, child after child was hoisted over the window wall onto the tin second floor balcony. Did I mention
"tin" enough times? This is not a real balcony, just a tin roof suspension built to hold some advertising signs. Where they hid these children in that tiny one room apartment, I'll never figure out; but they kept coming and coming. This family of Houdini's were a marvel unto themselves. Child after child, magically produced. I was now surrounded by a pack of happy squeeling children.
"Eleephant, eleephant!" 
"Eleephant, eleephant!"
"Eleephant, eleephant!"
There were over 100 elephants, and they went around the route 23 times. It was a long night. Not even enough elbow room for photos, and too many bouncing heads in front of my lens. One couldn't leave, there was no space to move on the street. People were packed together, and in for the long haul.
Body piercings; no explanation of what this had to do with drought and the Buddha's Tooth.
The next day I go to the elephant orphanage. The handlers scam you for money for taking photos, and the elephants graze. Bath time is fun to watch; here the elephants look relaxed and free. They are taken to a river and they spend a long time there, and can play and roam about. It was fun to see their personalities and interactions. Pre-historic looking beauties.
I prepare to leave the next day, back to Colombo in hopes to get my visa, early. I finally meet the two other guests at my hotel, and they are great. They are Swiss "from the French part!", funny, kind, and they know how to party. "Theiry" pronounced "Cherry," and "Harriet."
"Hello Cherry, Hello Harriet, Nice to meet you."
"It's 'Cherry' not 'Cherry,' Everyone thinks I'm saying 'Cherry'."
"You are." I say, silently.
They go back to Switzerland the next day, and have planned to prepare a Swiss Fondue for the Sri Lankan hotel staff, and me, as it turns out. I'd never seen more than two members of a hotel staff, and neither had they, but at the Fondue Table, there were seven. The owner/manager, the cook/cleaning woman, and five more ... Our Swiss hosts had all the fixings from Swiss Cheese, garlic and wine to a follow up with hard pear liquor. A couple of unintentional fires, lots of liquor, and tiny squares of bread that you dip in melted cheese perplexed the Sri Lankan guests. They politely indulged in the dipping of soft white bread into bland melted cheese. When more bread was needed, "Uncle" went into the kitchen to re-stock. Why waste time dipping and re-dipping? "Uncle" (no one seemed to be sure as to just who he was) came back with four slices of bread folded in quarters, all stuck on his fork, and proceded to dip. We all had a good laugh, and "Uncle" seemed to be pleased with his cleverness of economy and efficiency in showing us how to eat Swiss Fondue in Sri Lanka. I got up very early the next morning to catch my train back to Colombo. "Uncle" was there, asking if he could have a lift. "Sure," I said. We rode off together, he exchanges some words in Sri Lankan with the rickshaw driver, and he hops out, just before the train station, and says "Thank-you." "You're welcome, Uncle." I have no idea who he was, but he was adorable.
Back in Colombo, I make it in time to finish my visa proceedings. This did require some careful slithering to the head of more than one line. No Sri Lankan objections, but not so from a tall, weary Spaniard who admonishes me under his breath. "You know what you did."
"Yeah, I made it possible to get the hell out of Sri Lanka and onto tonight's flight ... " I silently reply. This is wartime. Every good woman for herself. I was pleased at the prospect of leaving, and happily made it to the airport express bus; or so I thought ...
"Express Bus?"
"Express Bus."
"Airport?"
"Airport."
I jump in and get the last seat. The heavens open, and monsoon returns. A quick thought of, "will I be spending the night in the airport due to heavy rainfall?" is quickly dismissed. We take off, a little delayed, but I still think I have plenty of time to make it to the airport. One hour later, we're still in Colombo. I'm getting a little impatient, but still, it's Friday, rush hour traffic, and we are in quite a downpour ... and ... I start to notice,
we are stopping every few minutes to pick up more passengers! EXPRESS? This is no express! They're standing on top of one another! I decide to stay calm, I am after all leaving Sri Lanka; this thought alone is enough to keep me happy, for a while. I'm on the way to the airport. Finally, really close to my departure time, we stop and everyone gets off. I look around, a little deja vu ... uh oh, where's the airport? He points to a rickshaw. "Trolley."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" I scream. "You take me to the airport, now." The radio is blaring, I'm incensed and this guy wants to throw me off. He heads back towards Colombo. He is stopped at a security check point where the guard speaks some English, and I tell him I'm being kidnapped. Words are exchanged in Sri Lankan, and the bus is turned around. He's driving furiously on the shoulder of the road in the rain. I make it to the airport. Lines are not long, as most people I assume have checked in already. I get on the plane. Finally. We sit a while, and a bit longer, and then still a bit longer. I'm happy to be getting out of Sri Lanka, I keep reminding myself. Although this will put me later into Chennai, past midnight, and I don't have a hotel room reserved ... still, I'm getting out of SriLanka and I'm going back to
India!
Finally an announcement comes on. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we had to remove six passengers from the plane ..." They had gotten excess, unchecked cargo onto the plane, and the captain wanted us to know what a good job security was doing in getting these six people off the plane. [Hyderbad had been bombed that day.] "
They got unchecked cargo from six people onto the plane?" I couldn't help but immediately think ... Oh well, what will be will be, certainly at this point.
We take off without further incident, and arrive in Chennai. Again, the food was good, and I'm back in India. Make that Chennai.
