Date: Tue, 4 Jul 2006 (delayed)
To: touring@phred.org
From: “Michael Ayers” <michael@terminalia.org>
Subject: Gondwana - Screwed-up, but Lovely Sri Lanka
Ayubowan Phreds,
My 15th country,
and the last of the new ones in Asia, was the small island nation of Sri Lanka,
a lush tropical land with an ancient and vibrant cultural past and a troubled
present.
Sri Lanka is an island just
east of the southern tip of India, and a small fragment of Gondwanaland. A
mid-sized island of at most 380 km long and 200 km wide, it contains a ring of
broad coastal plains surrounding a surprisingly high central
highlands. This implies a geological history somewhat different from
neighboring India, but I have no idea what that may have been. Situated well
into the tropics, in the warm waters of the Bay of Bengal, the
marine-influenced climate is significantly pleasing with temperatures much more
moderate than on the Indian mainland which was sweltering in the low 40’s. The
air is noticeable damper than the mainland as well, feeling about as humid as
Malaysia was at the start of the Stage, with the southwest monsoon starting to
build on the island’s southern coast. All of that moisture makes the island one
of the greenest places I had seen in a very long time, which is always lifts my
spirits.
Touring facilities in the
country were, all in all, the best that I had seen in a long while as well,
with one notable exception. Many of the cities and towns have sort of a modern
feel, but with a bit of a 01970’s appearance which was rather refreshing.
Services were plentiful in many places, and real supermarkets were common, a
pleasant situation that I had rarely seen in the previous few months. Accommodation, was usually of a slightly higher standard
than neighboring countries, though that was not always the case. Roads were
consistently good with fairly light traffic in the countryside, though the
larger cities were as clotted as they are in most other parts of the world. All
of that, not surprisingly, means that the country was noticeably more costly
than most others I’d been through in Asia. Not nearly as dear as Australia was,
but a big step up from Nepal and India.
However, currently the most
important factor for touring in Sri Lanka is the two-decade long civil war
which has plagued the country. That particular conflict revolves around the
most pointless and insoluble of situations, ethnic differences. The
protagonists in this case are the majority of the population, the Sinhalese,
Buddhists who have been the islands traditional inhabitants for centuries, with
the federal military they control, and the smaller Tamil community who live
along the northern and eastern coastal areas, with their home-grown military,
the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, the LTTE, or
Tamil Tigers, for short. The Lankan Tamils are mostly descendants of Tamils
brought to the island from southern India by the
British during their occupation in order to serve as a cheap labor force, a
situation that the Sinhalese refused to take part in. Since independence the
two groups have apparently not gotten on so well together, with the Tamils
feeling neglected and held back. That feeling seemed to have a basis in fact to
my eyes, though I only had the briefest of glimpses. The Tigers, who run a de
facto state in the region they control, have developed a fairly fierce
resistance movement, with guerrilla fighters, regular troops, and even a
makeshift navy. However, they are a nefarious lot indeed, often recruiting
teenage soldiers including girls, a practice that usually makes me root for the
other side. They also hold the dubious
distinction of having been the inventors of the practice of suicide bombing.
The conflict has raged with
moderate intensity for most of the 01980’s and 90’s, but in 02002 a cease fire
was brokered by the Norwegians, and calm had returned to the island for the
past four years. Of course, with only a couple of weeks to go before I was to
visit, and after I had finalized my travel plans, all of that changed. A
suicide bombing in the capital was attributed to the LTTE, and the government
launched a retaliatory air bombing attack. Subsequent days saw continued back
and forth violence with hundreds of people being killed. The media kept
reporting that “the cease fire was technically still in effect because either
side had to give two-weeks notice before withdrawing from the accord.” How
ridiculous, I thought, for it seems to me that a cease fire is over when people
start shooting and bombing one another.
I was a little concerned
about an escalation, but as most of the violence was occurring in the Tamil
areas, which were supposedly well away from the major tourist routes, I did not
feel it necessary to change my plan. The biggest inconvenience of the whole
situation is that the conflict many years ago ended any sort of sea transport
between Sri Lanka and India. Regardless
of the fact that, at there closest points, the two countries are a mere 20, or
so kilometers apart, the only way to get to the island is by air, a fact that
disturbed me no end.
Despite all of this, I
still wanted to go, and in fact, I wanted to make this section more relaxing
and restful, another, vacation from my vacation. As seems to happen whenever
I’m looking forward to such a situation, things seem to get in the way. This
time I was slowed considerably by a mild but lingering illness caused by
another dusty road the previous week, my poor worn-down bike which had suffered
greatly from all the gritty gravel roads in Asia, and also the annoying
political situation. These all combined to effectively squash any ideas I had
of taking a few extra days off in some of the best places on the island. My
route plan was to ride north right out of the Colombo Airport, up the coast for
a while, then head east to an area known as the “Cultural Triangle” which
contains four World Heritage Sites in a 75-km radius. From there I wanted to
touch the east coast, and spend a day or two sleeping on a beach, before
turning toward the center of the island to the highlands and the sacred city of
Kandy. From there I would decide which route to take
through the hilly region back to Colombo, tough I hoped to head south to see
the old Portuguese town of Galle.
The first couple of days
were pretty good, but my pace was slow and after taking longer to get out of
the airport than I expected I fell behind where I wanted to be right away. The
coastal highway was lined with services for a considerable distance with
moderate traffic, but then thinned out a bit north of the town of Chilaw. Turning inland, things became quieter still, which
was nice, but I was still late when I reached Anuradhapura,
the first of the cultural triangle sites. The sacred city there contains some
nice, large stupas, some in good condition with
others being restored. There is also another Bodhi
tree there which was said to have been propagated somehow from the one I saw at
Bodh Gaya in India. It was
considerably larger than its parent, so apparently the damp conditions are more
favorable to that particular species. I only planned on spending a brief
morning sightseeing there, but by the time I saw the sights and wasted more
time searching out the only internet café in town, it was late enough, and I
was feeling poorly enough, that I decided to spend another night, pushing me
even farther behind.
The next two sites in the
area were quite interesting as well. Reaching them was even slower than the
previous few days had been. My bike was really limping along at that point, but
eventually I made it to the Golden Cave Temple at Dambulla,
which is notable for its numerous Buddha statues contained in a number of
limestone caves, and, even more so, the beautiful frescos which cover the cave
walls. Later that day, I arrived at the next site, the rock fortress at Sigiriya. The fortress is a ruined complex atop a 300-meter
high granite monolith. I had just enough time to climb to the top from where
the view of the surrounding forest was very impressive. This was probably my favorite of the areas
sights. I would have liked to have stayed there for longer, as the mid-range
hotel that I chose, had a great shower and a truly excellent dinner buffet.
The last of the northern
sites was the ruins of a former capital at Polunnaruwa.
That site was a little more archeological in nature so there wasn’t as much to
see there. That was fortunate, as with my slow pace I had barely enough time to
reach the east coast before nightfall. The road to the east skirted near, or
through the area controlled by the LTTE, a fact that at was given away by the
government soldiers who were standing every kilometer, or so, along the
otherwise lonely road. Most of them waved or said hello as I went by, some took
no notice at all, and a few insisted that I stop. The later type always made a
half-hearted look inside one of my bags, despite my non-understood sarcastic
comments, to see if I had any “bombs” with me. Invariably, they asked if I had
any cigarettes, which prompted more sarcastic comments, though it became clear
that they were just bored and wanted someone to talk to. At that point I
usually just rode off, and fortunately, none of them decided to shoot at me. With
yet another unintended slow down, it was after dark when I reached the tiny
beachside town of Kalkudah.
I wanted to spend a full
day and a half there, but being one day behind, I could only afford a half day
the next morning. That may have been for the best, as there were now few
facilities in the town, not to mention few townspeople. I stayed in one of the
two guesthouses in town, which were set back a kilometer from the beach. They
were built back there because like many of the island’s coastal towns, Kalkudah had been devastated by the December ‘04 tsunami.
The nice ladies who ran the house told some of the details of that bad day.
Their family lost their husband/father and two daughters-in-law. In the town
itself 400 people out of 3,000 were killed, many of the survivors are still in
temporary housing or have left the area. Few structures seem to have survived
as well. A large hotel up the beach was completely destroyed, as was my host’s
original beachside guesthouse. I don’t think that Kalkudah
was ever a large place, but when I was there it seemed like a ghost town.
In the morning I did spend
a few hours at the beach. With thousands of kilometers of coastline belonging
to the countries along the route of Stage 2, I was a little disappointed that I
only managed to see a beach three tines before, and it rained most of the time
on those occasions. On that day the Sun was in full force, and the sea felt
like a hot bath, but the bottom was covered with sharp rocks, so it was not the
best place for swimming. So, it may have been for the best that I could not
stay as long as I’d planned.
In the afternoon, I wanted
to cover a considerable amount of territory, but that didn’t work out. It was
about 210 km with some climbing to Kandy my next
destination, and I wanted to get there in a day and a half. Leaving Kalkudah at
midday there should have been plenty of time for that. The coastal road ran south for a short while
to a junction with a road that ran due west to Kandy.
I turned on to that road and after a few kilometers encountered a government
army checkpoint which appeared just like many I had rolled past already. This
time the guards were considerably more insistent that I stop and seemed to be
saying that I should not go ahead. After a few minutes a commander who spoke
English joined the discussion, flipping through the pages of my passport as if
there might be something vaguely interesting in there, and asking me the usual
pointless questions. Where was I from? Am I married? What is my job? How much did my bike cost? And so on. What
they expected to learn by any of this I still don’t know. Eventually, they
admitted that the territory ahead was not under their control, but run by the
LTTE. That surprised me, as everyone said that the Tigers ran the “north and
east” of the island. Since the road from
Polunnaruwa to Kalkudah was
open, and I was now well to the south of that road, I assumed that I was out of
the Tiger zone. Apparently, the
government only controlled a narrow strip along the highway while the Tigers
owned the countryside. Not having any argument with either
side, and only needing a couple of hours to cross the 40 kilometers of
Tiger territory I had no particular concerns about going ahead. After all,
there was a cease-fire in effect, right? It took several minutes of persistent
complaining before I got them to return my passport and let me go ahead.
For several kilometers,
things seemed quite nice. The road was ok, the countryside was attractive, and
people working in the fields seemed friendly enough. After a while, I passed a
roadside hut with a man standing there and tossed a “hello” his way as I went
by. Shortly after, another fellow rode up on a squeaky old bike and motioned
for me to stop. Complaining a little, I
said that I really needed to get to Kandy, which of
course was true. He made a charade that I needed to sign something, or
register, or something, in order to go ahead. Ok, so I went back to the hut
with him and waited for a while. Slowly, friends of his
rolled up, each with various amounts of “hardware” dangling from their jackets.
These were, of course, LTTE
guys, and they were not “regulars” but obviously part of a local cadre. They
fit the part, too, somewhat resembling Tamil versions of the good ol’ boys from the movie Deliverance. However, that particular combination seemed a
little more pathetic than threatening, except for the weapons. No one spoke any
English except for one guy who was slightly better dressed than the others, and
knew a few phrases and words. In all honesty, none of them seemed to be the
Sharpest Carrots in the Garden. That included the apparent leader of the bunch,
who had appeared moments earlier, and who wore more hardware than the
others. I, rather pointlessly, made my
case to him that I just wanted to get to Kandy and
was not a spy, nor had any particular quarrel with him or his Tiger mates. That
got nowhere, and I was informed, through the guy who spoke a little English,
that the road had been “cancelled.” I inquired if there was a “tax” that I
needed to pay to go ahead (the Nepali Maoists were once known to take fees from
tourists and then give them a receipt allowing continued passage,) but I got
nowhere with that either. If anyone had spoken English I would have tried to
“hire” one of the flunkies there to be my escort through the zone, which might
have worked, but I didn’t think I’d be able to explain that proposal to anyone
present. Eventually, I gave in, and turned around, hurling a few insults at the
group, which I knew no one would understand, as I rode away.
After a few kilometers,
going back the way I came, I reached the end of the Tiger zone. There, I saw a
faded yellow sign on the roadside that said “You are warmly welcomed to the
Cleared Area.” That sign represents a clear example of why this conflict will
be so hard to end. After going on for so long, the fight has become
institutionalized. An entire generation of Tamil young people have grown up
knowing nothing but fighting, police checkpoints, hastily built right in the
middle of highways now have a look of permanence, with mature trees shading
their lookouts, and many government military officers must fear an end to their
careers when peace finally comes. Shortly after, I passed through the big
checkpoint again and the same officers I talked with before made a few “we told
you so”-type comments. I joked with them a little, but had to restrain myself
from making disparaging and sarcastic comments about what I thought about them
and their stupid little war.
After all of that, it was
almost dark and I had to spend the night in the seaside city of Batticaloa. The next day the only thing I could do was to
go further south, well beyond the Tigers, then turn inland, then north, and
finally rejoin the road I had been on the previous day. That whole detour added
a full day’s ride to my route, which messed everything up completely. On the
bright side, the added section ran through some exceptionally pretty
countryside. Eventually, I began to approach Kandy,
and started the last big climb of the Stage. No one could tell me how high the
summit was, only that there were 18 switchbacks along the way. Indeed there
were, and they were even labeled with numbers on stone markers. However, the climb continued on well beyond
the 18th, finally topping out at 860 meters, which was not too bad.
However the heat and humidity really wore me out, and
I was glad to finally get to Kandy. Unfortunately,
one day late to see the main day of a big Buddhist festival. If I had not been
delayed by the Tiger Boys, of course, I could have seen it. Kandy
is a fairly attractive town, and another World Heritage Site, with its main
attraction being the Dalada Maligawa,
the temple which houses one of Buddha’s teeth, one of Buddhism’s most sacred
relics. Once a year a replica of the gold- and jewel-covered
casket containing the tooth is paraded through the town on the back of a
lavishly costumed elephant.
My next plan was to
continue south trough the tea-growing highlands and to the south coast at Galle. But I was late, still a little ill, with an equally
sick bike, and the weather was turning bad. Additionally, I was forced to waste
most of a day in Kandy trying to search out a place
to do my laundry, a quest that was ultimately unsuccessful (one place said that
they could do it but I wouldn’t be able to pick up my clothes for 4 days).
After that, I wasn’t as interested in try to cram too much else into my
remaining days. So instead, I went
strait back to Colombo, which, though it caused me to ride on the
traffic-choked Kandy-Colombo highway the worst on the
island, gave me a few days to rest before going back to India.
I did make a day trip down
to Galle on the train, which was a good thing because
it rained all day long. The train runs right along the coast often just a meter
from the sea. That section of coast was also hit by the tsunami, but there were
few visible signs of damage, except for several crumpled train cars from the
same route that I was on, which have been left beside the tracks as a memorial.
Back in Colombo, I stayed in a hotel right across the street from the container
terminal. I must confess, I thought more than once about finding a ship heading
for Africa, and stowing away somewhere on deck.
Not this time, however, and
my actual ship was only two weeks away, in any case.
Sri Lanka was a real
contradiction, with many compelling sights, nice people, and good touring
conditions. However, the constant threat of war, not to mention actual violent
acts significantly spoils its better qualities. I can’t really see the situation
improving any time soon, unless the general population on both sides demands
peace. Though it’s hard to judge after such a short visit, I don’t think such a
change is imminent, and that is rather sad.
Istuti,
Mike
--
The Tour
of Gondwana
May 02005
- Oct 02007
http://www.terminalia.org/tour