Jun 7th, 2001
Trip to Tangalle
After spending a few days in Colombo, my Father and I caught a bus and headed towards Tangalla, a small fishing village on the Southern tip of Sri Lanka. It would have been relatively inexpensive to charter a minivan to visit the village, but I think my Father wanted me to experience Sri Lanka more vividly. Either that, or he was being cheap.
As I sat in the bus station, immersed in an ocean of Sri Lankans, I began to feel the earthy essence of the city flow around me. Initially, I gritted my teeth and attempted to push it and all its unpleasant attributes away from me.
All the stench from the trash which filled the streets, the sight of starving animals begging for food, the strange chatter of their language, and of course the ever-present humidity, all swarmed into one smog of quintessential muck that threatened to overwhelm me.
I had fought it since the moment I had set foot in Colombo, finding solace in the next air-conditioned oasis. I fought it off while surrounded by an endless array of strange faces and voices until I could fight if off no longer and with a sigh, I let it overtake me.
The pressure in my temples eased with the acceptance of the life around me and suddenly I felt a surge of energy rush through my limbs. A smile slowly crept onto my face as I realized the reality of the situation.
The bus ride itself was an insight I never would have been privy to had we chartered a van for the trip. Although the cramped vehicle stopped what seemed like every five minutes to drop someone off or pick someone up while my ass gradually grew numb and my bladder threatened to explode, a level of comprehension settled into me and I was able to relax and accept the uncomfortable contours of the ride.
We arrived in Tangalla in the late afternoon and found the hotel to be virtually deserted. There was an eerie hollow feeling that pervaded the empty corridors, made more obvious by virtue of the fact that it was such a stark contrast to the dirty chaos of Colombo.
There was a Jacuzzi-sized swimming pool outside, which I resolutely attempted to swim laps in although each lap encompassed all of three or four strokes.
As evening approached, my Father and I headed into the village and had dinner.
Afterwards, we were fortunate enough to stumble upon a Sri Lankan festival of some type. I became transfixed by the singer, a woman with a beautiful and haunting voice.
After we watched for several minutes, we hailed down a rickshaw and returned back to our hotel.
