COLOMBO, SRI LANKA

2016-09-08, 00:17, JASON

BUDGET, STAY: THE DEANE RESIDENCE

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As the sun set on Copenhagen and Dubai behind us, we were finally headed towards our final destination: Colombo, Sri Lanka. We would be landing in at 15:00, getting a tourist visa, and then heading into the city center for a night. We've heard wonderful things about the countryside from various friends who visited the country, but not much from the capital city itself, which is usually met with a "it's a capital city" message. This is pretty common. Southeast Asian big cities are characterized by a certain sprawl and travelers are always looking for the "less touristy" areas, perhaps as a place to relax or 'get away from the tourists,' forgetting that they themselves are part of the problem. However, big events, and economic, social, and political happenings gravitate around most capital cities, making the urbanites along the way extremely well informed and interesting. 18 hours is barley enough to capture it all.

We always make an emphasis to travel and eat like locals do, when time permits (usually, we say money permitting too, but in Southeast Asia we have privilege in that realm, although we still love cheap shit). Getting in from the airport to the homestay included three buses: one from the airport to the city center, and another from the city center to our hostel area. The first bus was easy to catch. The taxi touts that we refused kindly pointed us to the bus stop with a smile, showing off local charm. The drive into the city is beautiful. It starts with rural, equator-level green coverage on rolling mountains. With the onset of human settlement, we noticed small ponds of water with light ripples from the breeze poking through these green areas, with small shacks built alongside it, which is a testament to how humans are not so removed from their Animalia roots - we all still revolved around water. Then, when we got closer, some buildings, a bigger sign of development, until finally a cluster of them. We thought we were getting close to the city center.

At some time, we fell asleep, only to be woken up to the bus honking and trying to traverse through a market that was selling every XYZ fresh produce out there. I mean everything. Things you wouldn't even think of. Spark plugs for your car, toothbrushes, mangoes, you name it, someone probably had their niche in the market. It was overwhelming, but an excitement undermined that. The bus driver hailed for us to get out so we were thrown into that 'whelm.' We went to information to get our connecting bus route, and, luckily the bus was arriving. Seeing as there was no formal bus stop, we awkwardly flailed to flag it down. The Sri Lankan attendant on board told us to get in, quick, and so with our bags we jumped onto the moving metallic bus towards our homestay. He smiles again - that local charm. But this time, an intention behind the smile. "Money please." And we happily obliged.

A man of about 60 years, dressed in all white, glasses, and with a look only describable as "Einsteinian" began talking to Thorin. He asked where we were going and if we needed help, in a flawless English with a hint of South Asian accent. We told him our address and he says this bus doesn't go, but, he would talk to the attendant to get us to the right place. When he returned, he said that the bus we were on only took us halfway, and the drivers would direct us the rest of the way. Sure enough, when we arrived at the track-end, they pointed us to the next bus. The same bus number, just a different route. Another smile, this time we exchanged them, since we spoke no Tamil or Sinhalese. Luckily, upon crossing the underpass, the bus had just arrived again, this time at a bus stop designated by a cluster of people clearly getting on the same bus. We squeezed our way on, the heat of South Asia condensing finally again on our skin after being in Europe for the summer. In a way, we felt a tinge of home in that moment. After a sigh of exhaustion from the thrill, we took the final 0.5km on our own beloved, trusted two feet, and finally made it. 

We'd stayed in an area called Narahenpita, which was the area containing all the embassies. When we thought embassy, we thought the area would be washed out with a Western flare (not that it's a bad thing, but if it's a white ghetto then uhhh), but were pleasantly surprised when it still had a local feel. We met the owner, Akhar, who humbly greeted us after a nap and allowed us to make ourselves at a home. The hostel had a rooftop balcony that overlooked the city easing into the sunset. A building no more than three stories tall, the city in view was not as skyscrapered like when passing by the city center on the first bus. Development had slowed with the onset of Civil War which lasted for 25 years, ending in 2009. But, there was a docility in the air. The burning desire to be a country emerging from war, ready to rebuild itself. We were lucky to be here for that moment, as we would later discover. Overhead, upon stepping into the balcony, we observed some crows making the sunset roost migration -- back to their home, paralleling our migration. Akhar was quick to correct us. "Those are actually bats." In the fading crepuscule, we took a closer look. The long fourth digit stretched across the veination of the wingflap, and the ridged joints and knuckles at the edge of the wing, flapping in a clunkier manner and at a longer cycle (compared to crows) - these evolutionary traits belied nothing. He was right. Suddenly, we had this fear of guano falling on our heads.

We asked Akhar for some recommendations on local places to eat and he suggested a place near central. On the way we would pass the Independence Memorial Hall. He offered us two sturdy bicycles to get there. In South and Southeast Asia, more or less you're expected to know how to do these things. Ride bicycles, find your way, get around. When you ask for directions, it's not about street name X or Y that gets you there. It's about making a left at the second corner, after the corner shop; going until you see the monument, then finding that "small shop on the right." Although the road infrastructure in the city is well developed in Colombo, what got us in the end were these semi-highway, large streets that would split in two for either a merge to the next road or to continue on our current path. So many times were we headed down roads where we were clearly against traffic, the headlights of the cars moving towards us blaring as we struggled to find our way by following the street signs and Google Maps. That guilt you get when drivers are probably looking and muttering "damn tourists" under their breath - we felt that shame. Or, maybe it was self projected. You take a driver from the West and put them in a place where traffic rules are more relaxed and they'll complain about disorder, when surprisingly, there's an organization in the chaos (which, to some level is a profound statement on the general nature of chaos anyway). "OK - look for the tree. At the roundabout take exit two. A small shop on the right" as we continue biking and cars keep honking. "Is this the left turn lane? Do we turn here? Too late, I can't turn, I'm going straight." Always a second guess away from our destination.

We eventually make it to the Independence Memorial Hall and it has all the ambience of a holy shrine: the feeling that 2 minutes ago you were in a crowded city, but so quickly you're moved into a pedestrianized garden and the symphony of a city plays its final stanza. The conductors are Sri Lankan soldiers patroling the peace. We attempt to park our bike just outside the main entrance and the guard insisted that we were ruining the atmosphere by making it look cheap (again, a self projection, but we had to say our bikes did look out of place). He leads us to a small parking lot and we park it behind some cars.

As colonial cities would have it, some of the buildings built during a time of imperialism have an anachronous air. I've yet to pinpoint exactly what's so off-putting. Is it our expectations of what a 'developing city' should look like contrasted with what it actually is (our own projections of mysticism); is it a massive transplant of foreign culture; is it the crowd that these buildings draw; Is it that imagery of British imperial racism and exploitation that has been physically manifested? There's always something that I can't pinpoint, but it's just weird. It's just so imperialiste. Thorin and I have gotten into the habit of saying adjectives with a "-eest" flare at the end to make it a glamorized version of the adjective. So, it's not imperalist. It's imperial-eest. It's not communist, it's communeest (communist chic). So, we set our feet into the garden after parking our bike and take a look around. The building used to be an old mental asylum that was newly built and constructed into an independence monument. Images flashback of the Raj hotel in Mumbai with the wonderfully structured, rigid columns allowing a breeze to pass through hallways with a high ceiling. There's this beautiful merge of culture - the British architecture inspired by an imperialeest Ceylonese look. And then, we see it. If we had any doubts that this building wasn't reconstructed for some artificial redevelopment of history, or for commercial purposes, this singular small shop qualified them. Down the hall, across from one of the most expensive restaurants in town, was a Burger King. 

This Hall was posh. You could see the elite class of Sri Lankans dining in a fancy restaurant. Food wasn't eaten with hands anymore - no, they used a proper knife and fork. Wait staff carried around trays and were serving them, making a pretty penny off of them. Again, so much of these developing countries are influenced by the West but sometimes it's hard to feel that local culture is not washed out in places like the Independence Hall. But, it's hard to make that statement without relegating them into staying in that developing sphere. All I'm saying is that 'development' shouldn't always have to follow the western model. Or, that development or having things that the west has doesn't equate to status or prestige. The Independence Hall was lovely, and being a tourist there I think was an even deeper experience. Next to us, a couple - mixed, one South Asian descent and one European - were taking their wedding photo nearby a fountain of lions. Heteronormateest. 

Then, we began the bike ride of our lives, winding down the busy, non-stop traffic of Colombo with cars honking at us not to get out of the way, but to alert us of their presence. So many times, the road would split and the left and right lanes would beer off in different directions. So many times we had to dismount and just walk our bike across the central divider and reorient to get to the Sri Lankan restaurant. Finally, we made it in two pieces, just us and our trusted bicycles. The concierge for parking insisted that we park our bikes behind the cars in the parking lot so as to not ruin the aesthetic. Fair enough. We'd just gotten off a plane and ridden about 15 minutes in the heat on a bicycle, and the bicycles were looking more glamorous than we. I'm surprised they even let us in.

The food was very tasty. We're all quite accustomed in the west to western-inspired Indian food, but Sri Lankan food has a certain subtle quality to it that I can't quite delineate. If anything, it resembled Maldivian food moreso in that it had kind of a more island inspired flavor, and so fish curry was popular. We also had a baby jackfruit curry that was cooked just right. All that with a bit of their salad and jasmine rice and we were good to go.

Across the street from Upali's, where we ate, is Viharamahadevi Park. The sun had already set and the city had begun to settle into its most exciting time, night. During the day, it's far too hot to do anything, but at night is when street life really takes on its own personality. People are out with picnics on the grass, men are out holding hands, women and children are playing on the playgrounds, and people are just enjoying the cool air, qualifying any stress or heat from the day. There is a small bike loop that circles around the park and so Thorin and I pick up our rusty bikes and decide to bike it. Along the way, two notable structures face each other: a large Buddha statue within the park, and, across the street bordering the park, the town hall, with it's colonial flare. The two erections are facing off, both asserting their presence but in deep respect for the other. The Buddha, thin, is sat with its legs crossed in a meditative position (is there any other one for Buddha, really?). The Town hall stands there in its rectangular, stocky base and a couple national flags stake the front, the rotunda jutting out proudly. We walk our bikes and decide to check out the Buddha, when a police man stops us.

"Sorry, No bikes" is what we get from his gestures, and so we push our bikes back to the bike path bordering the park, park them, and walk towards Buddha. I stated earlier, Sri Lanka is recently emerging from a civil war. There's not enough time (or, patience on my part) to detail the specifics, or perhaps even take a dogmatic stance on the issue, but it had left a lot of the region undeveloped and pretty tense. The Tamil minority fought to create an independent state, while the dominant Sinhalese ethnic group attempted to gain control. Throw in a bit of language politics, ethnic identity, British Colonialism, and you have yourself a civil war. What Thorin and I noticed was that there were guards generally everywhere we went, guarding national monuments, statues, and parks. Perhaps this is a remnant of the War, perhaps it's just a larger police presence to protect against any vandalization of their national structures. Whatever it was, this was markedly different than the Indian or Maldivian case. Most authority in these two countries are pretty relaxed when it comes to regulating human behavior, at least for tourists, but in Sri Lanka -- Colombo, in particular -- we noticed it. Not being able to park our bikes in the courtyard of the Independence Hall, parking our bike in the back of a car lot in Upali's, and now the park. It's fine things like these that draw distinctions for countries in our mind. Although it's quite easy to lump 'brown folk' into one umbrella category, national, ethnic and political molding still has a special way of carving out autonomy in identity. And, as far as we were here, we sure as hell were going to follow the rules. 

On our way back to the hostel, as we were too broke to go out, we wound our way across the chaotic traffic on our spokes and passed through the route connecting again to Independence Hall. All throughout the night we had heard fireworks going off and cheers off in a distance, sounds that had become quite familiar after a while in any city. "Probably some festival" was usually the response, but that day we actually had the opportunity to find out what was actually happening. You'll never believe it. We rode our bikes around further inward from the main road, passed by some small pond, and came upon a pitch lit up with stadium lights. It was a rugby game. Lateral to the long edge of the pitch were the spectator stands, and around the edges of the pitch, the camera crew, and outside of the boundary of the field, Thorin, me, a bunch of locals, and, of course, policemen. They gave us a look but no hassle this time, as we parked our bikes and just stood watching the same. Now, normally I don't have much to say about the sport, and still I don't, but it was nice being a general spectator without having to pay a ticket. We stood there in a bit of recondite emotion, still not really believing that we just came from Europe to this. One of the team members scored, and the crowd cheered, with the techno music blasting, a flash of ads going across the screen. A slow motion replay of the score, and, at last, the murmur of the fireworks that we had been so accustomed now exploded in front of us, pairing the loud bangs with the visual spectacle. We really were in Sri Lanka. 

Swinging back around after the game, we take some pictures at the Independence Hall - the Parthenon-esque structure just next to the Independence Square. There is a man with his family there, and three kids playing hide and seek between the pillars of this historical structure. They stare at us in a bit of wonder but always with a smile in their eyes, as kids often do. And, in that moment we smile back immediately the smile disappears, and a wave of shyness brushes across their face as they begin to hide from us. The man and his woman smile at us, as we take our last ride on the bikes back to the hostel.

Akhar is a humble man. He speaks in a soft voice, but so full of force that his face -- deadpan and expressionless, a heavy lid behind his glasses -- despite obscuring any emotion, seems to light up when he talks about his native country, Sri Lanka. "I have Sinhalese friends, and I have Tamil friends, and I love them both," he says. His English is very good, because he grew up in the country at a time when the British Education System had enforced the language as means of instruction. "I think Sri Lanka was confused at a time, because Sinhalese wanted to make Sinhalese the language of instruction, but Tamil folk didn't want to learn it. I was educated in English, and back in that time the two groups got along very well. It wasn't until the British left that a vacuum of power was generated, and they didn't know who should rule. The Sinhalese took charge." From this, he traces out a history of oppression and hegemonics that what he believes led to the civil war. He kept referring to the Sinhalese and Tamils as them. They did this. They did that. So, when we asked him about what ethnic group he was, tastefully mind you, he said he was a minority, a mix of something and Malaysian blood. And so, perhaps he wasn't as heated about the conflict because he wasn't initially invested, ethnically speaking. He did, after all, have Sinhalese and Tamil friends! At the expense of not writing his entire story out, I want to emphasize that this man has a powerful way to construct a narrative with so much cohesion but also take himself very lightly. He'd taken time off to work on a ship back in the 90s and sailed for a decade or so, enjoying his time and exploring around. He said he wanted to "be the guy operating the radio" because it, quote, "was the easiest, and paid the most." He is survived by wonderful children and grandchildren ("Do you like the painting of that over there? My granddaughter drew it!") who are scattered all over the world now, but he occupies this space in Narahenpita, "Home." he calls it. Thorin and I sit in amazement as he tells us his stories, ranging from serious to light. A man joins in halfway, a Pakistan-born man now living in Kuala Lumpur, who used to work in oil but now has fulfilled his passion of dealing and selling rare and precious gemstones. These are the stories that are worth keeping and remembering. The personal accounts give the fireworks, and the culture so much more life. The dorm is 8 to a room, with a set of fans blowing loudly to circulate the stale air. Delicate sounds are drowned out as we tiptoe to bed. The bats have all finished migrating to where they need to for the night. In the night, another group wakes up. You know what time it is - feeding time. The mosquitoes are out now, one bite after another on my ankle. But, it's so worth it.

The heat of the day is a lot more tiring than the cool nights in Colombo. We hail a tuktuk and negotiate the price down to go to Gangaramaya Temple. We pay the entrance fees for foreigners (after initially deciding not to since we thought the price wasn't worth it, but I was just being dramatic), and wind our way through the Temple. Perhaps the most interesting aspect is that the Buddhist temple contains a hodgepodge of items from the various sects of Buddhism throughout the world. I really mean hodgepodge. There are the skinny Thai Buddhas gifted from Thailand, etched out from jade; some Korean regalia of Buddha scattered around; and, also pictures of Queen Elizabeth II when she was younger, signed by the Queen herself. Then, you can walk into another room and find the Chinese Buddhas. But not only that, a lot of the Chinese ancient gods had appeared as well, and their statues stood proud next to the Buddhas, meditating in a cross-legged position. Continuing through, there are various halls with people praying around, as well as lazy dogs lounging in the heat. At some point I think there was a stuffed elephant as well. It's as if all the Buddhists in the world threw their collection of things together into a room and decided to erect a temple in its honor. Needless to say, it was definitely worth the entrance fee. I've never seen such a succinct presentation of DIY Buddhist faith. The pictures will probably do the place more justice, as in general, the temple still carried that temple feeling. You know, when it gets quiet and holy -- that one?

There was an additional temple across the way that was floating on water, built in almost a Japanese temple style. There was a same entry fee for this one as well, so we decided not to go in otherwise we'd be broke for the rest of the day. After all, there was so much good Sri Lankan food left to be had. We did, however, manage to snap a picture outside of it before the man collecting tickets slowly maneuvered towards us with a sparkle in his eyes. That's when we knew we'd have to leave. Otherwise we'd have to have that awkward "we don't want to pay to see your beautiful temple" conversation. That's the subtext, anyway.

As the temples were further south from the city center and the airport, we decided to walk our way back up towards the general market area to catch a bus back to the airport. Thus began the long, grueling process of walking in the blazing Sri Lankan heat. With a large backpack strung on our backs, carrying the weight of the wedding and our recent travel experiences, it was the final stretch of our trip, and so we hitched on for the final stretch. It's always our philosophy that a city is best explored on foot.

In Gangaraya a la mode, Colombo itself is also a mixture in terms of architecture and people. As mentioned before, there are two distinct ethnic groups on the island, and this ethnic conflict has led to a bloody civil war in the modern century, having persisted for nearly 30 years. A pocket of extremely insular Tamil culture arose in the northern part of the island from the war, and was closed off to much of the world -- including the rest of Sri Lanka -- until the War had resolved in 2009. What follows now is a kind of pseudo Sri Lankan version of the famous Chinese Reform and Opening for them as they slowly crawl through the dregs of bloodshed. Prior to this, the British were here and so architectural traces of them are found throughout the city, as well as their old institutions. And so, invisible lines drawn along ethnic, cultural, and architectural boundaries have delineated the country. It's created a kind of complicated, maybe slightly chaotic culture as a result, but it's one that's in the works. Like most of this global region of development (South Asia, Southeast Asia), you also notice that dynamism, or that thirst to become the next big global economy, following along the footsteps of former giants India, China, and a newly successful Singapore. And, you notice it in the young folks as well. That desire to achieve something great because opportunity is there to be found, seized, and capitalized. 

There is a long stretch of beach from Narahenpita up to the central area near the airport, along the west coast, and after walking about two hours we finally reached it. One thing that was particularly unusual was the many kites that were still flying, kind of a tribute to old school beach activities. Not many people had jetskis or boats out on the water, but most people were out with a picnic and kites. We've generally found Indian culture to be quite relaxed (chaotic, but nonchalant), and have found the same in island states like Maldives and Sri Lanka. There's something very calming about the activities these people engage in, which often in the purest since is just hanging out. You can find them sitting outside and chilling along the beach, any time of the day. Anywhere there's shelter from the sun, they will be chilling. It's completely unlike Singapore in that the pace is a lot more relaxed. In a sense, the kiteflying and picnic-having seemed to capture that aura. There was something serene about watching people fly kites and spend time with family under the South Asian sun. Some, even with the accompaniment of a mobile phone.

One not-so- urprising sight was the amount of development that had begun to envelope in slowly around the beach. The entire city was under development it seemed. Again, that thirst to have the next big economy. Everything you would look, you would see cranes, cranes, cranes. Skeletons of buildings that were bigger and better, probably soon to be resorts, capitalizing on another 'island paradise' to have money be made from. As we walked along the stretch of beach, this became more and more evident. We were no longer in the small-rise area of Narahenpita. Now, we were looking at the high rises peering over the ocean at Galle Face Beach, soon to be marked with brand names like HILTON, FOUR SEASONS. More cranes, as we walked along with the beach to our left and development on the right. I thought to myself: is this the future of development for these countries? And, so what degree will these resorts be sellouts to the wonderful culture that Colombo has to offer? The cities are often avoided, we've said, but they are also the center of social, economic, and political development. If they allow more areas like these to expand, will local culture get washed out to cater to these big, imported brands? 

And then, just as the scene of construction became trite, we noticed something that completely summed up the definition of globalization for us. It happened out of the blue, and we weren't expecting it at all, but there it was, stood at the base of a construction site, peering out of an ajar door from the small blue wall with the company name plastered over it. A Chinese laborer. If there is anything that sums up development, it's the presence of modern China in these developing countries. They have outsourced an entire population of people -- its biggest resource -- to engage in construction activities across the seas. Consider it the dawn of the new Chinese empire, where investment in foreign land and waters has become its new hand in foreign politics. After doing slightly more research into the matter, it seems the Chinese want to invest in an entire manmade offshore island on the western Colombo coast and have it be a new version of the man-made islands in Dubai. The key here is to attract investment into the Sri Lankan region and hopefully boost their economy. There is a deeper political extend to these projects as the Chinese have gotten tied up with Sri Lankans on the matter, but I won't detail that here. Again, echoes of that thrive for development. I wish I had gotten a picture of that Chinese laborer, or at least had a chance to interview him. He must have one hell of a story.

The rest of the time was just us making our way back to the central bus station and finding the market from which we were dropped of the day before. We walk through the old Fort Railway Station - remnants of the British - and it's still kept its colonial shell and ambience: Cute people saying goodbye to their loved ones as modern open air trains shuttle them out of the terminal, except this time the passengers have modern luggage and a certain gusto to them that can't be placed. And, of course, the Chinese tourist group also getting on the trains. As we pass by the station and make our way back, we finally find the old street market again. Everyone has gotten up to work again, and it looks familiar. Still that everything-you-can-buy market. Every person specialized on one item, one vegetable, one fruit. Everyone had filled their place in the market, and things that you never would have thought you used was sold: Those twist-on dispensers of lotion heads, the tiny mechanical parts to a TV remove, maybe a fan blade here or there. Although the place was familiar from yesterday, they still remolded the meaning to the word interchangeable parts. 

There are stories of the past of British folk in India. That story about going east along the trading routes and sailing on a ship to get there, about the exoticism of their culture. And, even to this day, there's a certain romanticization of the former colonial world of India and "Ceylon." I don't know what it is that draws people to these places; that drive for Westerners to find themselves in these exotic lands. In a way though, without actually subscribing to their doctrine, there was a kind of mild profundity to our experience, one that stretched so much deeper than just exoticization or romanticization. Something more at the core and so much more dense in Sri Lankan culture that permeated through its people and culture, contrasted with the modern rising culture: which would win out? We were here for a day and a half and the deep impression Colombo had made on me could not really be explained. There were interesting stories to be heard there, a kind of living history that was meant to be understood and learned. Or, maybe it was the bomb ass food.

We got on the bus back to the airport, and in reverse order it was the development of the big cities -- the hotels, the resorts -- fading into the background and the humble, dense brush of jungle engulfing us. The small ponds of water interspersed among the low weeds. The small rise houses built out of sticks and a tarp. And then, lastly, the ultimate sign of development: Bandaranaike International Airport.

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