Fruit

There's a crazy huge variety of fruit here, which I know is true of lots of tropical places, but it's still delightful. Of course there are coconuts and pineapples, and a wide variety of bananas - my favorites are small firm ones that have a dense flesh that has a little bit of tartness, but no astringency.

Rambutan is in season right now and is for sale all along the roadsides outside of the city - they are red (a less popular variety is yellow), slightly larger than a golf ball, covered in soft spikes. They are similar to a lychee - white sweet, slightly tart flesh around a large seed, easy to peel and pop the edible portion out.

And I've discovered that I love mangosteen - strange purplish red fruits with small bracts at the stem end. Very thick spongy skin that covers white sweet tart flesh with very few seeds.

Another type of fruit (I don't even know the name of them) that look like largish, very round red grapes, with thick tough skin, must be rolled in the palms until soft, then peeled to reveal a tasty flesh.

I have also discovered that I am absolutely not a fan of guava - it's like a dry, astringent apple without much flavor. I really don't see the appeal. I suspect I might like it better when ripe - I think they were eating them while green.

Jack fruit is interesting - they are very large and spiky. Cleaning them is a lot of work - most people buy the cleaned inner fruit at the market. It has a white sticky sap that can be dealt with by covering ones hands in oil before scooping out the flesh-covered seed pods. They taste like a mix of mostly banana and a little bit of pineapple. And even once they've been cleaned the sap can be an issue - my lips stuck together after I ate a few of the seed pods.

And I got to try the fruit of the cacao pod - the same one whose seeds are used for making chocolate. The edible portion was thin slimy flesh covering the seeds - nicely tart. Sadly, no hint of chocolate flavor. While sharing one with the sisters, we marveled at how people managed to figure out how to make chocolate from these.

My hosts kept threatening to make me try durian, but that never materialized - whether from pity or forgetfulness, I don't know, but am pretty sure I'm grateful either way; the only thing I know about it is that it stinks terribly, which is enough for me.

Oh, and while we were in Kandy we got to pick fresh star fruit from the in-laws' tree, as well as another fruit that was kidney shaped, grew directly from the truck of the tree, and wasn't very tasty to me - cannot remember the name of it.

I was served several fresh fruit juices - usually upon arriving at a hotel, but also on a few occasions at Kalli's - and, embarrassingly, don't remember the names of any. You know how Eskimos supposedly have hundreds of different words for snow? I think that must be true of Sri Lankans and fruit.

Tuk tuks, part 2

Rode in a tuk tuk today. Forgot one really key element in my description of them - they have no doors. Which means all the exhaust from the bus in front of you goes directly in your lungs. And all street noise to your ears. And beggars can make a more personal plea. (A word about beggars in Sri Lanka - there aren't very many. I'd say about the same or less than in the U.S., and much less aggressive.)

Discovered the joy that is the nano cab - a Smart Car-sized vehicle, fully enclosed, and occupying not much more road space than a tuk tuk, so almost equally agile in traffic. And air-conditioned! So, after the one tuk tuk ride, the rest of the day was spent in nano cabs, without too much more cost. So worth it!

Breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner

I am sore and tired, tired. Since returning from my solo tour, Vinu has had us going out with her friends every lunch and dinner. And Monday we drove to Kandy with Kalli and her husband Subash for a one night visit. Kalli's daughter-in-law is from Kandy, so Aruni's parents fed us both lunch and dinner - the food was very good, just as it is at Kalli's. I think there were at least six dishes served both meals. Homemade Sri Lankan food is so much better than what I've had at restaurants here. There's always rice and coconut sambal, a combination of fresh coconut, spices and fresh chilis ground together into a fluffy, dryish condiment. And a fish curry for those that don't eat meat, plus a chicken or mutton (which here means goat, not sheep - go figure) curry for those that do. At least one vegetable curry, plus a fresh salad - no lettuce, but diced cucumber, onions, maybe some mango or pineapple, often in a dressing of coconut milk. 

The three Sri Lankan homes I have been in each had two kitchen areas - one with the sink, cabinets, refrigerator, and a kitchen table. The other area, furthest away from the main house, is where the hot work is done - it houses the stove and is where coconuts are dealt with, which takes a lot of physical labor; all had a pile of coconuts in a corner on the floor. There are two kinds of coconut commonly used here - green, which is the one we Americans are used to, used mostly for its meat, and King coconut, which has a yellow husk and is used mostly for coconut water; its flesh is thin and gelatinous - it's my favorite part, but most people here seem to value its water.

My first morning in Colombo, I was awakened by the sound of an ice cream truck tinkling out the tune of Fur Elise. An ice cream truck on a Monday morning seemed like a very odd thing to me, but I'm open to the fact that people do things differently in different parts of the world. Again that evening I heard the plinking sounds of an ice cream truck singing the tune of Fur Elise. After also hearing the same in various towns on my tour, I finally asked Vinu about it. She told me it is the bakery tuk tuk. I've seen them - they are tricked out tuk tuks that have had the back removed and in its place is a plexiglass bakery case with all sorts of loaves and rolls and sweets on display.

This morning's breakfast consisted of: boiled mung beans, lentil curry, fresh ground coconut, and chili paste. There was also fresh bread (purchased from the bakery tub tuk) and butter on the table, but no one ate it. And the maid brought out a plate of a variety of bananas afterwards. Fruit is usually served for dessert, and dessert is served at every meal - no wonder I love it here!

I feel like I'll have to be rolled on to the plane when I leave - we eat so much at every meal! I don't think that's typical of Sri Lankans, it's just that every friend wants to go out for a special meal, and we have to have appetizer, entree, dessert and drinks each time. Plus when we eat at "home" (Kalli's house), she makes an effort to prepare Vinu's favorie items, so each meal is special. Plus there's tea - sometimes it is only the traditional Sri Lankan milk tea, which is often very sweet, but often there is something to eat as well. One time we had "short eats" for tea, which are various versions of baked or fried dough filled with fish or meat (spiced, of course, with either black pepper or chili). One night I was so tired and stuffed from the day that I begged off from the evening's plan and went to bed early without dinner. I still wasn't all that hungry the next day.

Two nights before leaving Sri Lanka, I was lucky enough to be included in a family birthday party - Vinu and Kalli's sister-in-law's. Sri Lankans are no different from the rest of us - a party means special food. We had two kinds of rice, chicken, fish, and shrimp, and several vegetables, including lotus root which I especially enjoyed - it's very crisp. True to the cuisine, this food was spicy hot, and as I ate (with my fingers, of course), my mouth got hotter and hotter. If I were a cartoon, there would have been flames and smoke coming out my ears, with a siren sound. Thankfully Vinu noticed I was eating slowly and she was kind enough to tell me that it wouldn't be considered rude if I didn't finish my plate. I was so very grateful.

Sri Lankan food is wonderfully tasty, but I am looking forward to getting back to my relatively bland diet; plus I'm almost out of Tums.

Tuk tuks

A tuk tuk (also known as a tri-shaw) is a cross between a motorbike and a small car. It's a three-wheeled vehicle with handle bars for steering and gas and brake pedals like a car has. The driver sits in the front center, and passengers in the back seat; I believe they are all for hire, but I can easily imagine them being a step up from a motorcycle as the family mode of transport (with regular frequency I have seen a family of four crammed on top of a single motorcycle; and it's distressingly common to see the parents with helmets and the children without). They clog the streets here, and come in a variety of colors, though the vast majority are either green or red. The proud owner/drivers of tuk tuks use their vehicles as a medium for personal expression - they often have a statement of some importance to the owner on the back ("I'm a Buddhist and I'm proud to say that" in a thick italic script, or "You never know when death will come for you, so make each day count" with added graphic of the grim reaper - possibly an unwitting expression of the risk a passenger takes even getting in a tuk tuk?), plus various decorative elements on the passenger seat, on the exterior sides, hanging from the rear view mirror, and even on the rivets that attach the carriage cover to the body of the vehicle. Sometimes they'll have a custom paint job - I've seen pink, gold (the color of a monk's robes), and even metallic purple - sure to catch the eyes of potential customers. And I have yet to see a driver of a tuk tuk wear shoes. A pair can usually be spotted placed neatly to the side on the floor next to the gas pedal. I have yet to ride in tuk tuk, though I think today is the day - Vinu and I have errands to run and shopping to do, but no car with driver available. I'll report back if the experience is memorable.

Aaahhhhh

Well, I asked Vinu about Sri Lankan massage. It is normal to massage the breasts, but she doesn't have her masseure Lali do it because he's a man. So I didn't have to cancel my massage after all - just had to say no front torso massage.

And thank goodness, because she's right - he *is* "Mahvelous!"

In which Madame gets played like a violin

Thursday, July 16, 10:30; between Dambhulla and Matale

I like plants. I find their variety fascinating and their many uses pleasing.  When I encounter a new plant, I want to know about it - it's name and uses, at the very least. During our many hours in the car, I had a constant stream of questions about the various trees, shrubs and vines whizzing past. My ever-patient driver Sunil would answer to the best of his knowledge, which was solid, but given the attention that driving in Sri Lanka demands, I tried not to distract him too much. As a result, there were several very intriguing but poorly located (at a hairpin turn on a narrow stretch of road, for example) plants that I did not get to learn about. 

Rather than spend hours languishing at my eventual destination of Nilaveli beach, I asked Sunil if there were any gardens we might visit nearby. He knew of just the spot. It was not on our way, but neither was it too far off our path. 

After a somewhat longer drive than I expected, we pulled into the dusty car park (that's what they call parking lots here) of the No. 25 Highland Spice Garden ("Ceylon Tourist Board Approved"), where several men were loitering. My driver got out and I followed suit, whereupon one of the loiterers approached me and shook my hand. My driver motioned to him and informed me that this man would be giving me a tour of the spice garden. 

My guide introduced himself by placing his hands on his chest, tilting his head and smiling demurely - "Aye yam Magesh." Mr. Magesh was a tallish, trim man in his late fifties, neatly dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved button down shirt. He possessed a full head of well-oiled black hair dotted with a few stray grays, dark skin, teeth that were somewhat crooked (and a few broken) but all very white, and unbelievably long black hairs sprouting from his ears. "Madame will pleece follow me." He led me to the other, empty end of the car park, stopped, and began his lecture. (Frustratingly, I cannot relate Mr. Magesh's voice well - his Sri Lankan accent sounded more Indian than most, and he conveyed a very knowledgable air.) One of the first things he shared with me was that he was a botanist - or an herbalist, I can't remember which - and I knew at once I had found a comrade in my love of plants! 

I think the No. 25 Highland Spice Garden would best be described as a sort of Disneyland for people like me. A fabulous collection of very interesting and useful plants, all jammed up next to each other - turmeric! ("used to dye the robes of the Buddhist monks"), then ginger! ("veddy good for stomach ailments"), peppercorns! ("all four colors - white, green, red and black come from the same plant, just different processes"), vanilla!, cacao! ("cocoa butter is veddy good for the skin"), and on and on. The thing about being at your own personal Disneyland, you sort of lose your common sense. You get so wrapped up in your own wonder and delight that you just don't pay close attention to things that you usually would. And I think Mr. Magesh could see quite clearly the effect this garden had on me. In retrospect, I can see the effect as well, because under normal circumstances I would have caught whether he was a botanist or an herbalist. A botanist would be someone who has made the study of plants their focus, whereas an herbalist would be more interested in their effects and uses. And of course there's the educational difference - a botanist would actually have a degree, whereas an herbalist - well, I suppose anyone could call themselves an herbalist.

Once we had finished viewing the plants, he led me to a covered pavilion. In the center was a card table arrayed with bottles and jars filled with various oils, ointments and tonics. A lone chair faced the table. He led me to the chair, sat me down, and offered me a cup of hot tea an assistant had magically appeared with. And Mr. Magesh commenced the second half of his presentation.

He handed me a very informative list of each of the products, all helpfully numbered, with their uses and benefits laid out in strange English, typed by someone with an affinity for the space bar  ("King Coconut Herba Hair  Tonic is made out of  pure  ingredients derived from  herbs. It ensures  health of he hair   and  promotes the hair growth , stops hair  dropping,  improves  the beauty of   hair by  reaming those condition  that make hair thin and lifeless.") Beginning with item number one and moving his way down the list, he presented each product to me, occasionally grabbing my hand to dab a sample ("Jasmine essence - calming and good perfume for the lady"), rubbing something or other on my face ("Green oil - effective against the migraine"), or demonstrating on himself ("Hair cream; I use it on my ears and you can see - veddy effective!"), and asking me if I suffered from this or that ailment. And I, in my Disneyland trance, responding to his questions with some enthusiam - why yes, yes I do suffer from lower back pain. "Ah, Madame, then red oil is just the thing for you." No, no I don't think I have any varicose veins. "Well perhaps your mother?" No, I don't believe so.

And then he put his palms together in front of his chest, gave a slight bow, and told me that this was the end of our tour of the spice gardens. I did have a moment of clarity and asked him if I was supposed to tip him or if he earned a commission off of sales. "It is up to Madame to decide whether to tip or not." I assumed he hadn't heard the part about a commission and gave him a tip that I suspected Sunil would not recommend.

Thanking me, Mr. Magesh ushered me into the shop in front of the gardens, where the same products he had just demonstrated were all stocked. He pointed out that the products were all in their number order ("You may refer to your sheet Madame") with their prices clearly marked, though the bottles were all turned so I could not actually *see* the clearly marked prices. He then led me down the aisle, picking up select items and suggesting that "perhaps Madame would like this one, for the back pain?" Oh yes, yes I need that one. "Or this one for the hair removal?" Well, it is all natural - yes, I think that would be useful, too. "And this one for the dark eye circles?" Ouch. And then he made a small error - the bottle slipped and I saw the clearly marked price - 8000 rupees. And I did the math. $60. His spell was starting to come undone and I knew it was time for me to go. I paid for the items in my hand (I had to use my credit card - not enough cash on hand) and said my goodbyes.

Once I was back in the car with my purchases, Sunil asked "What did you buy?" Red oil. "Ah, yes, Ayurvedic." And hair removal cream.  He suppressed a smile and looked at me sideways. "Did you test it?"

And it was then that I realized - Mr. Magesh was neither a botanist nor an herbalist. He was a violinist.

White

There is a unique product here called curd, a dense yogurt made from the whole milk of water buffalo. It has a thick skin on top formed from the cream that has risen to the top and dried a bit. It is sold by the roadside in clay pots, which I imagine are very useful once the consumer has eaten the curd. Curd sellers will often paint these emptied pots white and stack them upside down in a lattice pattern, forming a small wall outside their curd shack as an advertisement to customers. The white paint makes the assemblage more eye-catching, easier for the passing motorist to spot. 

I feel like one of those white curd pots. I have never noticed my own whiteness so much, but here, compared to the beautiful warm caramel and mahogany browns of Sri Lankans' skin, I am blindingly white. 

In which Madame goes "the full Sri Lankan"

Thursday, July 16; noon. Habarana. 

I  had my first, and possibly final, Ayurvedic massage today. The price was certainly attractive - I got a $30 package that included a 60 minute massage, 15 minute steam bath (puzzling that anyone would want to do that - simply passing time in Sri Lanka is not dissimilar to taking a steam bath), and 15 minutes in a dry sauna (because it just isn't hot enough here!)

The spa lobby was nice enough - shallow pool in the center with sounds of trickling water, "Sssst" signs with an image of someone covering their closed mouth with their index finger, and the few staff members around speaking in hushed tones. 

Once I had paid for my package, I was handed over to my masseuse. She was a short, bow-legged Sinhalese woman in her early to mid-thirties, dressed in nurse's whites. I have to assume she had rickets as a child; I don't know what rickets are, but I know they are something only the very poor get, in childhood, and they cause bowed legs. Her command of English was minimal, but she had a pleasant smile and patient air. She led me out of the lobby through a dim hallway to an equally dim changing area, and instructed me thru single words and pantomime to remove all but my underpants, which I dutifully did under her watchful eye. I tried to be cool with that, assuming it's a cultural difference. 

She then carefully wrapped my torso in a sarong and led me towards the treatment room, a private space that was snugly furnished with two massage tables (which were just that - tables; no fancy cushioned face rests here), a chair, and what looked like a wooden iron lung. The room was warm and humid, as so many Sri Lankan rooms are - a clerestory window allowed in light, air, and the sounds of both passing traffic and an apparently distressed cow. The woman gestured, indicating I was to be seated in the chair. 

She placed two small bowls on the table in front of the chair - one bowl containing green tinged oil, the other, red. She proceeded to pour the green oil on my head, and then gently scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. It wasn't an unpleasant experience, but I prefer the firm, circular motions I typically get with a "regular" massage (what is the kind of massage I get at home - deep tissue, Swedish, other? I haven't rally paid attention.) The oil had a maddeningly familiar scent. I could recall the taste of it - a savory food that involved sesame seeds and had a lemony tang. It wasn't until I was strolling the beach in Nilaveli later in the day that it hit me - zatar! Just like the zatar bread from Droubi's, which I haven't had in ages; must remember to get some when I get back.

My massage "nurse" then had me stand up and remove my sarong. She "told" me to lie down on the table face up (the gestures being: sweep hand towards table; thumb under chin; tilt head up), all while smiling encouragingly. Odd to me to start face up, but I complied.  She then dotted the red oil over the entirety of my torso and placed her hands on my belly and commenced to kneading. 

The skin on her palms was surprisingly rough - more what I'd expect from someone who worked in agriculture than who rubs oil on people daily - but I decided to focus on the benefit: an added exfoliation treatment, no extra cost!  The kneading was a circular motion, pushing up from my sides towards my mid line, then pushing up the center of my body, then back down the sides. At this point the similarities between white bread dough and my belly became sadly and strikingly obvious. 

The placement of the red oil was a clear clue, but I was still startled and discomfited when, upon finishing with the doughy lump that is my stomach, she began to massage my breasts in the same manner. I am nothing, though, if not committed to an authentic Sri Lankan experience, including its famous and ancient art of Ayurvedic medicine, so I soldiered on. Which is to say I struggled to suppress self-conscious giggles. 

When finally that awkward bit was over, she repeated the same oil dotting and massaging of my arms and legs and instructed me to roll over. While I was rather ungracefully doing so, she walked over to the lung and lit a match. I couldn't see what she was doing with the flame, as her white-clad bottom was aimed squarely in my direction and blocked my view, but I assumed it was preparations for my steam bath. 

Once I was face down, the remainder of the massage went without incident. My nurse did rub the backs of my knees, which was a new  experience, though not awkward like the other. 

Once she was finished massaging me, she walked over to the lung and lifted the lid. It was like a long wooden barbecue with a hole in one end. In place of the usual wire grill, there was a sturdy wooden lattice. Nurse Ayurveda motioned for me to climb on, then gently closed the lid over me, ensuring that my head was securely outside the hole. She draped a towel so that steam wouldn't escape around my neck and said "15 minutes," smiled and left. Despite the towel, some steam did escape - I could smell that it clearly was spiked with some sort of strange-but-not-bad smelling herb.  Thankfully she came back in time for me to ask her to turn the heat down, as I felt the backs of my legs getting close to scalded. When finally she lifted the lid and I wobbled my way up and out of the contraption, the room felt positively air-conditioned! Too soon, she led me out of the room and down the hall to what looked like a large clay oven of a room - the dry sauna. 

The floor was covered in the same sturdy lattice as the steamer table. The interstices were filled with various woody seeds, nuts and barks. Sections were blackened, apparently from the heat of the sauna. There was a red heat lamp in the very low, round ceiling, but I don't think that was the sole source of heat - it couldn't have been, given the extreme temperature. I believe there probably was some sort of fire lit underneath. Before closing the door, she said "come out when you like," the longest and most complete sentence I'd heard from her so far. I would have liked to come out right then, but I was committed - Sri Lankan Ayurvedic experience!

The room was a spherical shape with a flat bottom, its  walls black and crusty peeling plaster. I bided my time to get my full 15 minutes worth, then clambered out and was shown to the shower, a worn looking place with cold water and a communal bar of soap. I removed my steam-soaked underpants, realizing I had to wear them for the rest of the drive to Nilaveli, and gritted my teeth under the relatively frigid tap water. Hot water did finally make its way from the ancient dust-covered heater, but by then I was done. I was handed a dingy, greige (gray+beige) towel, dried off, donned my damp underwear and was led back to the changing room. 

Once I was dressed, Nurse Ayurveda led me back to the lobby where I collected my things, tipped her, and finally exited to find my driver and be on my way. 

Before I left for this tour, Vinu had scheduled us not one, but two massages - one at a spa, the other at home with her masseur, whom she described in very glowing terms. Now I'm very curious what she's talking about when she says "He's just marvelous!" And I'm afraid I may have to cancel. 

Tour Day 2

I am currently between locations - this morning was spent ticking off the major highlights of the complex of ruins in Anuradhapura. And my general conclusion - I think I have seen enough stupas to last a lifetime. For those who are unfamiliar with what a stupa is, it is a sort of Buddhist shrine/monument, a dome topped with a spire. Inside are kept relics of the Buddha, as well as gems and gold. And they are usually entirely built of brick, then plastered on the outside. And when I say entirely of brick, I mean they are a solid pile of bricks. The relics and riches are inaccessible. The riches are there so that should the stupa ever need repair, there is money to pay for it; of course, the repair need would have to be major, as getting to the financing requires serious disassembly. The relics are what make it worthy of religious attention I suppose. 

This is an extremely religious country - there are stupas and temples and mosques and churches everywhere. I don't think they are generally as rabid about their religions here as in the U.S., but what do I know - everybody is speaking in Sinhalese or Tamil. 

Today's driving adventure included a near miss. I only know this because my driver got extremely irate at a fellow driver. The offense was unclear to me - I could not distinguish this near-miss from the constant stream of others - but it certainly raised Sunil's hackles. The series of events, as best I remember, involved the offending party, in oncoming traffic, pulling in front of us; Sunil slamming on the brakes and making guttural sounds, then much glaring and *very* slow driving while continuing to glare, and finally passing on our way, with irritated silence for some while after. I saw a similar display earlier in the day between two of the countless stray dogs inhabiting this island, who are usually very mellow and too hot to fight, but occasionally find some reason to become aggressive with one another. 

I just finished my lunch - a buffet at a "hotel," much like the one I had yesterday. Apparently drivers who bring guests to these establishments are given a free meal. The clientele here is exclusively, suspiciously, white. I haven't encountered any other Americans so far - they are primarily Australian, Dutch, German, French and Chinese. I don't think I've see any British, which seems strange, given that this was a British colony until the 1940's.

After eating my salad course, I went back for the main, and my fork had been cleared along with my salad plate. I was tempted to simply dig in like a Sri Lankan - they just use their fingers, no matter how saucy the curry (I was offered a fork at Kalli's for the family meals Monday, but decided to "go native" and after a few pointers, now feel quite confident in my new skill) - but decided it would be easier for all if I just maintained my tourist role, or "Madame" (*not* madam - what kind of woman do you think I am?!). All the people I have encountered in the tourism service industry have addressed me as "Madame" - "Would Madame care for some tea?", "Welcome Madame", "Thank you for coming Madame" - it is very strange to be addressed, and generally treated, so obsequiously. 

Tour Day 1

Well, I started my tour with a private driver today. Our first stop was at a phone store - for about $1, one can purchase a SIM card that will allow local mobile service. Unfortunately, it didn't work with my phone (I will spare you the technical details) and left me without any access to the apps on my phone, including the camera, so no photos from my drive from Colombo to Anuradhapura. Thankfully, was able to switch back to my original SIM card and at least access my phone apps, so can send this email. Sadly left my iPad at Kalli's house, so am tapping this out on my phone. 

The driver seems nice enough, but not much of a talker, and we have occasional mutual difficulty understanding one another. And I think he's a little miffed at me - I asked him how much I should tip my server at lunch. He said 100 rupees was good (about 75 cents), but my bill was 2800 rupees and that just seemed far too little, even considering it was a buffet, so I left 200. He seemed somewhat disgusted by this. So to make up for it, I asked how much to tip the bellboy and followed his advice. 

Driving here is a crazy thing - lanes are regarded as mere suggestions, and drivers keep a *much* narrower clearance around their vehicles. Pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles, cars, buses, and the occasional cow all share the single lane provided for all traffic in each direction. The first three hours of my drive was constant swerving to avoid hitting or being hit, and lurching forward to pass, or back to avoid crashing. It is a thrilling experience to be sure! Thankfully the last two hours were much smoother - the road from Puttalam to Anuradhapura is much less populated. 

Am still adjusting to the time change - still experiencing everything with a vaguely stunned sensation (though that is probably in part due to the drive) - my ears ring a little, and my eyes feel uncomfortable. 

It is so hot here. Thankfully I can retreat to my air-conditioned room, though all wifi is near the lobby, which is "en pleine aire." I need to stay awake until bedtime - took a nap yesterday and learned that wasn't wise, as I was still wide-awake at 3 this morning - but have nothing to do until the morning. I think I'll take a walk around. 

A bit of background

I decided about six weeks ago to come on this trip, at the invitation of a friend who is Sri Lankan, Vinu. She would be staying at her sister's, Kalli, who lives in Colombo and had an extra room I could rent thru Airbnb. At just $25/night, it seemed like a great deal. So as to allow Vinu time to visit her family and friends without me hovering about, and so I could see more of the island than Colombo, I decided to take a tour. With the help of one of Vinu's many friends in the travel industry, I settled on my itinerary - I would be gone for four nights and five days, and would set off on my solo adventure the day after arriving in Sri Lanka.

To blog or not to blog

I'm starting this, my first blog ever, in the middle of a trip to Sri Lanka. I've been writing email accounts to a few family members, but have had friends ask for tales of my adventures. I'm pretty sure they were just being polite, and I'd hate to clog their in-boxes with my blatherings, so have decided that maybe a blog is the way to go - they can read if they like, or not, and be spared feeling an obligation to respond to a stream of too-long emails, and I'll be none the wiser. It's a win-win! My only concern is that this might reach a wider audience than I anticipated and I might inadvertently cause some offense. If I do, please be gentle in your criticisms. Also, I'll be changing some of the names in my stories to protect the innocent, the not-quite-true-to-life, and honestly, because Sri Lankan names are difficult for me to remember.