By Dan
Thursday 3rd of August 2017
Goodbye India. Hello Sri Lanka. After paying our $40 entry fee into the country we haggled our way onto a tuk-tuk. Things were starting to feel a lot like that big beast we’d just left behind. But it stopped at the tuk-tuk ripping us off when the country assumed an air of relaxation as we made our way along the streets.
We arrived at our home in Negombo for the next few days and discovered that we’d hiccuped the reservation, booking for the end of August not July. It wasn’t a problem though, and our host made room for us. However, we were to spend the next few nights hopping from room to room, so we kept our bags fairly packed.Our home was the standard sight in Sri Lanka: an old dwelling styled with the times of British rule now reborn to hold thousands of tourists each year. We were staying in rooms without air conditioning and it was sweltering during the nights, which proved a challenge with the delegation of mosquitoes that met us in our room each evening. We slept covered in sweat and insect repellant.
After dumping our bags we headed for the beach, with the slight hope of going for a swim. It wasn’t to be, as the water was deemed too dangerous and choppy by the flapping red flags stuck along the sand. The beach was expansive and the sand boiled under the sun, so our thongs stayed underfoot. Bits of plastic stuck out from the sand, buried and unburied by the wind. We found ourselves the targets of all the pedlars that tried to sell us their varying wares. They carried bulging plastic bags and wandered up and down the long shore making eye contact with travellers and using this as good enough reason to approach them with their practiced routines. We politely refuse them all. It leads me to wonder how much they actually sell and if it’s their only source of income.
We avoided tuk-tuks if we could and wandered the lane ways in between our house and the beach. Children frequently popped out of windows and cracks in the walls to say hello. There were smiles everywhere we turned. The Sri Lankans seemed grateful of our presence, unlike India, it didn’t feel like every single one was importunate. There was a general friendliness and you felt like you could walk into any house and be welcomed as a member of the family.
Negombo is named as little Rome for it’s assemblage of catholic churches, which frequent the street corners like a booming restaurant chain in America. The town seems set up for tourists and at the northern end you’ll find yourself surrounded by exclusive beach resorts and restaurants that separate menus and prices according to the colour of your skin. Needless to say we aimed for the cheaper places in the southern part of town away from the towering resorts which the tourists seldom left and only then in minivans and private cars bound for one sight or another.
We heard the fish markets were one such a sight and endeavoured to rise early and make our way down to see the fish unloaded from the boats. We passed through the neighbouring fruit and veg market on our way and watched the locals barter for goods that they then took back to their restaurants for a healthy markup of five hundred percent. Unfortunately we arrived at the fish market just in time to see the fleet heading back out to sea and the fish being packed away for the market in two hours. It seemed the locals weren’t as fussed about the freshness of their fish as they were their earth-based products.
A friendly man led us around the market revealing us the inner workings of the fish mongers. After ten minutes we caught wind of a fishy smell and discovered his ploy to separate us from our cash for his “hospitality”. I told him where he could put it and walked off. In hindsight, It probably wouldn’t have hurt to tip the man a hundred rupee. I just personally don’t like being taken for a ride and have developed a sensitivity to it after our time in India.
We wandered the surrounding area and discovered the ruins of the old Dutch fort in front of the new Sri Lankan prison. We also discovered the more sordid side of Sri Lanka as we passed the hovels and oil slicked water hidden far from the sparkling eyes of tourists and their children. However, within the mess you can still find the glistening smiles of the friendly locals, who seem immune to the filth. Their nature not allowing their temperaments to be muddied, for if they were they surely wouldn’t survive.
We came back across to the fish markets as it was slowly coming to life. There was a man practicing discus on the field across the road. He was accompanied by a group of young boys half-heartedly playing cricket and some equally young dogs chasing each other in circles. A man with a monkey on a long chain had appeared and was trying to use the monkey to pull in unsuspecting tourists. We watched a few ladies laying out fish but were soon put off by the growing presence of the touristic hordes with their gaudy clothes and giant lenses. There was a moment when a group of tourists had lined up to capture a woman laying out fish. It gave the scene the feeling of a zoo and I could feel her embarrassment as she tried to smile and continue her task. I also felt embarrassed myself as a tourist sniffing about with my lens. Richelle and I had a brief argument and swore to ask locals for permission before taking a photo.
We walked back through the fruit market where the new light of the day made everything soft and ethereal and we tried earnestly to uphold our recent vow. When we arrived home our host and also our newly adopted mother made us a traditional breakfast: rolled pancakes with a sugary granular substance within, Sri Lankan toast (kind of like a thick chapati), butter, jam, thick yoghurt, papaya, banana and a steaming thurmace of coffee, which I drank most of. We spent the rest of the day at an italian café on the beach where we ate baguettes and drank milkshakes balanced with a tepid coconut on the way home.
The next day we headed for the nations capital, Colombo.