Sri Lankan Journal - Entry #8

(Note: Scroll down for earlier entries.)
Today is Tuesday, 24 February 2009, and I opted for the car trip to the city of Kandy in the hills about four hours from Colombo. This area is Bhante Wimala's birthplace, a vast sweep of mountain valleys robed in the many shades of green you find in the tropics. Coconut palms spread their green fingers everywhere, and beside them I saw towering trees which resemble species which in the USA are kept as itty-bitty houseplants, like Joseph's Coat (below). I had one on my office window at Unity Institute, but it died in the Missouri winter.
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I saw monkeys along the roadway, fighting over some trash. Not a very common site--monks, yes. Not monkeys. As we passed the lake in Kandy I couldn't resist snapping the silhouette of a monk by the water (below).

Sometimes they walk in two's, or line up in single file processions with adults guiding elementary school age boys to or from the local monks' training school. The boys wear the same red or orange robes and sport the same shaved heads. (Are they monkettes?)

I also saw kids marching to public schools, uniformly in white, often moving in protective columns with their classmates. The air is thick with curry and jasmine and diesel exhaust. There are billboards written in Sinhala script, curly-Q letters in a row, like someone spilled a box of Cherrios' across the page.

The smiling people in the streets are dark brown, some very dark, Asian dark chocolates. The smiling people on the billboards--obviously Sri Lankans or Indians--are uniformly lighter, like CNN reporters.

Women in bright saris flow past our car, dark jewels wrapped in gossamer red, yellow, tangerine, spring green.

We arrive at the hotel (left) and I step backward in time to a colonial world like British India. Bell hops in white and "Yes, sir!" and too many servants, suggesting low salaries for eager natives. Decadent, air conditioned, exploitation. God help me, I loved it. I slept, ate, watched CNN and BBC World News. NO mosquitos. Yes, central air. And more of that delightful Sri Lankan brew, Lion Lager. By dinner that night I discover that I am a colonist at heart. The locals smile and pocket my money. Who's exploiting whom? I haven't a clue.

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As a group the Sri Lankans are the kindest, most polite people I have yet encountered. And the friendliness comes without a fee or a hint of resentment. In plenty of places I have visited, you get the superficial smile that has to do with the dollars you're about to spend. I never had that feeling while in Sri Lanka. These people are just....nice. I left my notebook with all these notes and my passport in a shuttle car. The driver circled back to the hotel and brought my prescious, rubber-band-wrapped package directly to the desk, where I was checking in. And he steadfastly refused a "thank-you" tip. What a nice bunch of people! Again, I think Buddhism has a lot to do with it. Funny how I had to travel to the other side of the earth to find a nation of people who live by the "do-unto-others" principles of Jesus Christ.

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My feet are badly swollen, at least twice their normal size. My sneakers are loose and baggy, thank heavens, and I loosen the laces even more. Bhante had said it happens to him whenever he flies long distances like this. I prop my feet up and spend a glorious, mosquito-free evening with air conditioning and cold drinks and English TV. There's a sermon somewhere in this one-day excusion, but I'll figure that out later.