So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

I started thinking about this, my last blog entry, more than a month ago. I wanted it to be a poignant thank you to the people who, in one or many ways, have made this experience better for me. I started jotting down stuff and before I knew it, I had filled a little notebook page. I stuck the page to my bedroom wall by the light switch so that it wouldn’t get accidentally thrown out or something. And that is exactly where it is today. Stuck to a wall in a house I no longer live in. In my packing, I forgot to remove it.

Yes, I am an idiot.

So I’m going to take the risk and write this blog from memory, knowing that I’m probably going to miss someone near and dear to me. For that, I apologize in advance.

I am fortunate to be able to say that there are many people who should be thanked for helping me along. First and foremost: thank you to Sheila, whose package of earplugs allowed me to actually sleep over the last 15 months in this often too noisy or too quiet country. Without them, I would have been a delirious wreck just one month in.

Thanks too to Kas for advising me to bring flip-flops for the house and to Alison for giving them to me as a gift. They have been indispensable.

Thanks to my family for their generosity – all those $20 bills came in handy and got me out of a bind in Thailand and into much-needed spas here on a couple of occasions!

Thanks to Rhiannon for being my faithful yet unknown reader, reminding me that this internet thing has the power to go way further than I think. Good luck, Rhiannon; I hope your time in Sri Lanka is everything you dream of.

To Hard Core Book Club for going out of their way to enable me to continue to be part of it in my absence and to Terry and Marlo for mailing me the books.

Thanks to Jessica and Barbara whose humour, knowledge and all-around-awesomeness made working at Sewalanka and living in Boralesgamuwa much easier and more enjoyable than it could have been. (And for introducing me to podcasts.)

Thanks to Luci and Lesley, who were my two most unexpected care package mailers. The surprise of your thoughtfulness was as wonderful as the packages themselves.

And to David, mom, AJ, Carmelina, Julie, Petra, Rachel and Marlo and Dean for all of your care packages (including right up to last week!). Those sites and tastes and thoughts from home always, ALWAYS made my day.

To Warren for making the goodbye video and to every one of the Christmas video gang for making me laugh out loud – repeatedly! – and feel so loved from 14,000 miles away. You are the best.

To the soccer/football boys for welcoming me and making me feel like one of the guys straight from the get-go. And to their wives and girlfriends for letting me cheat and be one of the girls as well. And to Previne for setting it all up.

To Leon, for the music.

To Jesus … no, not THAT one… wait, actually yes, that one, cuz I’m pretty darn thankful to Him for keeping me safe in rather unsafe circumstances.

And to my friend Jesus for suggesting and arranging our trip to Kuala Lumpur.

Thanks to Steve for all the amazing emails and facemails and for giving us his home and the VIP treatment in Hanoi.

Thank you to everyone who wrote me cards or letters (and emails) for this trip. They have made me smile and laugh and grateful to have you in my life.

Thanks to Zoe for opening her home to me weekend after weekend since Jesse left and to Ann-Sofie for her continuous generosity. I’ll miss you both.

Thanks to my employer for giving me the time off to do this and to the VSO staff in Canada and SL for their support in making it happen rather painlessly.

Thanks to those fantastic volunteers that I’ve grown close to for unknowingly reassuring me that I’m not crazy and am, in fact, quite likeable.

Thanks to Lindsey from PEI, Sarah from Edmonton, Anita and Janey from Toronto and, strangely, Lea from Chicago for giving me much-needed hits of Canada every once in a while.

To the Crackling Mozelles for reigniting my love of trivia, making me laugh and teaching me a thing or two in the process.

And of course, thank you to Jesse, my spider-conquering, laugh-inducing, goal-scoring, breakfast and dinner-making, mind-reading, self-deprecating, unfailing companion through all this. Thank you for being the highlight of the entire experience…

…and to all of you for reading about it. I’ve absolutely loved your comments, I’ve loved knowing you’re out there and I’ve loved sharing this with you.

So long.

Thanks, everybody.

Goodbyeing

I’ve been trying to write a blog entry for a few days, which was perhaps naive of me since I should have anticipated the hectic schedule in the run-up to my departure. So it’s now 4:30 in the morning. I awoke from a stressful dream about an hour ago and haven’t been able to fall back to sleep so I figured I’d use this time to blog because today, my last full day in Sri Lanka, is going to be pretty packed.

These past few days have been really terrific. And it’s made me think back to Jesse’s last few days and how they were similarly lovely. All of the troubles and frustrations of the past 15 months seem to fade away at this point and you’re flooded with only good feelings. So I wonder, does imminent departure automatically make you nostalgic, or is it the fact that people make you feel more special because you’re leaving? Whatever it is, it’s nice to go out thinking “that was special” rather than “good riddance”.

None of this is happening the way I expected it would though. I wanted to slip out under the radar without any fanfare – instead, I’m essentially having four good-bye do’s (more on that later). I talked about “lasts” a number of blog entries ago, and the lasts are piling up now. They just keep coming but they do so without me noticing. For example, I always imagined that my last morning walk to work would be significant. I’d see the little kids who have befriended me, maybe give them some candy; I’d wave at the tri-shaw drivers and the shopkeeper next to them one last time; I’d pass the old lady who sits in the street waiting for money and I’d actually give her some because I wouldn’t need rupees anymore… and all of it would have weight and would be noted and imprinted on my memory. Instead, when the time came last Friday, I didn’t even realize that it was my last morning walk. Even if I had, it kind of didn’t matter because I was still working this week and would be popping into the house at lunch to do last-minute stuff so the significance of that last walk would be undermined by subsequent visits. Today I did walk back to work at lunch for the last time and I tried to take in everything on the street but I felt strangely detached. I was doing it just because I felt I should be, not because it actually held any significance for me. Strange.

Anyway, back to the good stuff. This weekend was lovely. On Friday night, VSO held a cocktail party to introduce the new country director, Patrick, to volunteers, partners, funders and friends of the organization. He seems really nice and I think he’ll be a good fit here. The party was the perfect opportunity to say goodbye to the volunteers and partners that I know but am not particularly close to while also enjoying the company of those I really like… all in a nice social setting with food and free wine! After the VSO event, many of us headed to the Cricket Club, where a friend of ours, Beth, was holding her casual goodbye drinks event. Again, this allowed me to say goodbye to some lovely people I’ve met over the last 15 months but don’t know well enough to invite to my own good-bye things. I had a good time and some great conversations with folks there.

Me and some of Sri Lanka's loveliest volunteers

While others made it a late night, I snuck of because Saturday was the big packing day. I packed and tossed and cleaned and inventoried… and got addicted to a home renovation show called The Million Pound Property Experiment during a much-needed break. (Damn you and your thoughtful care package, Petra!) When all was done, I loaded my stuff into a taxi and I moved out. I’m sure it felt great and bitter-sweet somewhere deep down – but mostly it felt exhausting (my suitcase is too heavy) and frustrating (the taxi was 45 minutes late) and, again, not at all significant.

I headed over to Zoe’s, where she, Ann-Sofie and I drank wine and got ready for a charity fashion show and ball that night. Colombo has lots of balls, none of which I’ve ever attended because the tickets cost five days’ allowance for me. Zoe and Ann-So bought me a ticket to this one though as a goodbye gift, and they brought a bunch of their dresses for me to try (it never occurred to me to pack a fancy dress for this experience). The night was an absolute blast from start to finish and I’m so glad I got to do it. The fashion show was good, the food was yummy and we got gift bags to take home. I inexplicably got a pair of underwear in my gift bag (the only other person to have a garment in her bag was Zoe and it was a t-shirt). The undies were cute and white and they fit so I was happy.

Zoe helps Ann-Sofie get ready

Zoe, Ann-So and I... just having a rotten time

All the girls gather before the outdoor fashion show

Unfortunately, the rich food or the alcohol (every table was furnished with a large bottle of whiskey) made me feel ill for most of the night once we got home. But it wasn’t enough to dampen the memory of the good times.

On Sunday, I threw some clothes, including my new underwear, into the wash and then we went for a hangover breakfast at Park Street Mews. It was delicious. The bacon was actually salty! Then I came back to Zoe’s to discover that the fisherman pants I’d purchased in Thailand had dyed every piece of white clothing in the wash bright pink. I tried to rewash them with bleach but it did nothing. Thankfully, only there were only two real casualties – a couple of work shirts – as everything else was undies and stuff I just wear around the house. Putting aside thoughts of my new pink wardrobe, I did some work and fed my new addiction.

In the late afternoon, I went for my second good-bye do: high tea at the Galle Face Hotel. I had thrown out an invitation to the VSOs and a couple of other low-income friends and, much to my delight, several people accepted. In all, there were eight of us and it was just one of those times when everyone clicks. It was a really lovely afternoon of getting to know each other (or getting to know each other better), enjoying a gorgeous all-you-can-eat meal and talking at length about scones (apparently the proper pronunciation is “skons”.) It made me sad that I wouldn’t get to spend more time with these folks.

The high tea-ers

When I got back in the evening and eventually went to bed, I felt ill again! It’s like my body can’t handle good food anymore. So that night wasn’t particularly restful. I almost didn’t go to work on my penultimate day because of my dodgy tummy but I had to go back to the ‘burbs and the house and take care of the last stuff. When I walked in, I was surprised to find that a bunch of mushrooms had sprouted in the corner of my ceiling where it’s been leaking. Yeah. Not going to miss that house.

This morning I was feeling 100% again for my last day of work. As I waited for the bus on the busy street where the stop is, I watched the many vehicles converging from two directions around a corner at breakneck speeds (particularly the buses). I marvelled at how the didn’t smash into each other, when BAM! A bus and a BMW collided literally right in front of me. No one was hurt but the back corner of the BMW was torn off. The most interesting thing was watching how all the passengers immediately got off and dispersed into various other buses careening around the corner. It was almost like this happens every day at this time. And it might. When I got on my bus, the traffic was completely snarled and when we eventually snaked out way past the issue, it was another bus-car collision.

This morning the office held a goodbye meeting for me. “Party” would be a bit of an overstatement as the mood didn’t quite achieve festive, but there was lots of food and good intentions. It was the world’s worst-kept secret and kind of amusing since no one would talk to me directly about it. They kept going through Jenni who would then ask me and relay the information back… only to be told she was wrong. They wanted to celebrate me during the monthly staff meeting – which is a meeting I have never attended. No one ever tells me about it and I don’t attend because it’s conducted entirely in Sinhala. Since I’m unaware of these meetings, I’d scheduled another meeting with VSO for that time. Jenni told them this but they were set on hosting it then. In the end, my VSO coordinator and I attended the meeting-party for about 10 minutes. There were sweet and awkward speeches and I was given a gift of jewellery (they noticed that I wear a lot of rings) and card. I was flattered and mildly embarrassed to be appreciated in that way.
The day was crazy busy and I could have used another hour to get stuff done, but alas the office closes at 5 p.m. no matter what so I’ll be finishing up some stuff when I’m over in London.

In the evening, Zoe, Ann-So, Naomi and I went for goodbye number three: a goodbye dinner at Summer garden. They’d never been there before (it’s low rent, but good) and they were happy I’d introduced them to the place. We all enjoyed ourselves again with lots of laughs. I will miss them. Zoe’s Australian, Ann-So is Swedish and Naomi is British. One of the sad things about saying goodbye here is you’re not likely to see people in this context again or, possibly, in any context together again. We’ve been brought together in this strange world and we’ll all leave it eventually to our own separate worlds. I wish I could hold a reunion of everyone I’ve met in a few years’ time, and actually have everyone show up.

Tomorrow (which is actually today, since the sun is now up) is going to be a busy one. Lots of last minute running around followed by my final goodbye: a drop-in drinks event at the Cricket Club. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone one last time.

Hold This

I had to go into town today to the VSO office to wrap up some volunteer placement things. After picking up some take-out dinner following the meetings, I caught the bus for my suburb and home. As usual, I was carrying my heavy knapsack, along with various other miscellany: the bag of food I’d just purchased, original copies of my university degree and college diploma (which the Sri Lankan government required we bring for our placements) and an umbrella.

Unfortunately, my timing wasn’t ideal and it was rush hour when I caught the bus. The small A/C bus was crammed with people and I had to stand by the door. Once we got moving, the money-taker tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that I should remove my knapsack. He then took it, climbed to the front of the bus and rested it between a passenger and the driver. I could barely see it and it would be completely obscured if (when) any more passengers got on.

Now I come from Toronto. Being separated from my belongings on a public bus (my wallet, cell phone and computer, among other things, were in there) is not a situation of comfort for me. Whether justified or not, we Torontonians have trust issues in public. When you’re in such close proximity to strangers you watch your stuff (and honestly, I have never been as close to strangers as I have in various situations in Sri Lanka. For most of today’s ride, a woman behind me and I committed our butt cheeks to a rubbing duel. She ain’t got nuthin’ on this jelly so I’m pretty sure I won.) Anyway, handing my bag over to this man felt tantamount to throwing it out into the street, without the satisfaction that at least throwing it would have been my deliberate decision.

A few minutes later, he tapped me again and pointed at my degree, which I’d been holding clutched to my chest. “Uh, it’s okay,” I said as he carefully took it from my arms and handed it to a guy seated near the front of the bus to hold. Bye-bye Bachelors. Hope you enjoy your life as Jo-Anne Liburd, English Graduate, Mr. Random Man at the front of the bus.

As more people came on, the bus took on the quality of those circus clown vehicles. It lurched and braked, throwing everyone back and forth and off balance together, our damp bodies pressed like sardines, but not as pleasant smelling. Another stop and even more people joined in. I thought “Seriously? You can’t even properly open the door because there are two bodies wedged in the space it needs to go! It’s time to call it “full”!”

As folks got on though I noticed that those who had shopping bags or other items would just hand them over to a seated stranger. The strangers took them without question and held them for the people standing. As my bag of food swung from my arm above a seated woman’s head, she indicated to me that she could hold onto it. I reluctantly gave it up. And with that, the last of my belongings was released from me.

While I felt uncomfortably naked, I also thought that this was an awfully nice practice. It is practical – you really need to hold on to the “holy sh*t” bars on these buses with the way the drivers drive and two free hands are better than one – but it’s also just friendly and a simple demonstration of community that we just don’t have in my big city. Heck, where I come from, people barely offer pregnant and old people seats.

I watched the seated people who were holding stuff for the standers, and there was never any sly peeking at what was in the bags or surreptitious transferring of stuff into their own bags or any runners (not that you could run… exiting a bus this full is as complicated as extracting a brain tumour.)

I am happy to report that as my stop approached, the money-taker reached over the four people pressed against me and tapped me on the shoulder to let me know. Then he somehow got people at the front to hand my knapsack back to him. The kind lady beneath my arm gave me back my dinner and when we got to my stop, the money-taker hopped out, scooted to the front and had the guy with my degree pass it to him through the window. He handed me with my bag and my degree and hopped back on the bus. Away they went.

It was really sweet, and shaking off the general discomfort of the ride I felt a glow at these considerate gestures. Glow or not, though, old habits die hard. I’m still from Toronto so I checked to see that everything I owned before I got on the bus was still in my bag. It was. Way to go, bus people.

The Countdown

When I left Toronto, my friend Petra went onto the World Clock website and created a personal page, the Countdown to Jo’s Return. Periodically, I go onto this page just to see how many days are left and to watch the seconds tick down. Sadly, it’s my idea of fun.

Petra based the countdown clock on 15 months from the day I left. I personally have been using my arrival date two days later as the starting point for my 15-month countdown. In the end, it turns out that neither of us was right since I extended my stay because of my holidays to KL, Vietnam and Thailand and I’m doing a stopover in England before going home. But even knowing the clock’s inaccuracy, I still liked referring to it because it gave me a ballpark return date… and there was the aforementioned fun thing.

Last time I checked it was at 33 days I think. So today I decided to check the site, not really thinking of today’s date. And there it was on my screen, the number anyone checking a countdown clock is waiting for. The much anticipated 1 Day Left.

1 Day Left!

Even though I know it’s not right – I actually have 9 days left— it made me break out into a big smile. I’m glad I caught it before the time (and presumably the page) expired. What a rush! In a few days, 1 Day Left will actually be right. Seeing those words gave me a flutter of the excitement and feeling of surrealness that I can expect in a week’s time. I’m ready for it.

Full

This is my second posting for today so if you are in the habit of reading everything, see below too.

I have been spending a lot of time at home lately, as you know. Anxious to fend off complete stir-craziness, I decided to reward myself this weekend with a visit to the Cinnamon Grand Hotel. I’d heard that their weekend all-you-can-eat lunch is to die for so I figured I’d splurge and then maybe lounge by the hotel’s pool.

Unfortunately, I went about this all wrong. On Saturday night, I had dinner with a friend, Natalie, at a place I knew served big portions. We had a lovely meal and I ate heartily from the bounty before us. As a result, when I woke up on Sunday, I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t think this would be a big problem. I didn’t plan to get to the Cinnamon Grand until noonish – ample time to develop a hankering, I figured. I was wrong.

I headed out at 10:45 and took the bus. The first leg of my trip was uneventful (other than being ogled at by everyone because my full-length sundress had exposed shoulders). When I hailed down my second bus, I hopped on it only to discover that there were no other passengers. This was odd, but I assumed that it had just started itsroute. I didn’t have far to go but the ticket guy half-indicated-half pushed me into the seat next to him eyes I’ve grown to detest. . Then he sat with me giving me those hopeful lusty eyes I’ve come to detest.

He asked where I was from and what my name was. Then he put his arm around me and took my hand in his. I shrugged him off and remove my hand. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable blocked in on the inside seat. He pointed at my rings and said they were pretty in Sinhala. Then he asked me to give them to him. I laughed and said no. He insisted. I insisted back. He grabbed my hand again and started seriously trying to remove the rings. It was no joke now. I clenched my hand and said no. Then he indicated that he could get food (I think; he put hand to mouth) if I give them to him as a gift. He didn’t look hungry and I told him that they were gifts for me. He grabbed my hand again and there was more uncomfortable hand wrestling.

At this point, we had reached where I wanted to get off. “Bahinawa” I said. “No, no,” he replied. “Stay, stay. Go farther,” he said. “No. This is where I want off,” I said as the bus flew past my stop. “Stop, please! That was my stop. Let me off.” “No, you want to go more,” he said, but thankfully he told the driver to stop anyway and I got out. Not a pleasant trip. Damn shoulders.

I walked the rest of the way to the hotel and found the restaurant within it that served the brunch. “You don’t have reservation?” the Maitre d’ asked. “No… But I’m just one person.” A look of concern fell over his face as he scanned the almost empty room. “Will you take a long time to eat?” he asked. I had planned to sit the full three hours of the buffet. “Yes.”

“Well you see, we’re completely book,” he said. I looked at the empty tables and back at him. He suggested that I could eat out on the patio. This was perfectly fine with me. It was hot out, as always, but the patio was fully shaded and overlooked the pool.

After being shown to my seat I went back inside to peruse the buffet. My friends weren’t kidding! The spread was incredible and I had to stifle giggles as I walked around.

Round One: Sushi!! Several pieces of sushi and glorious sashimi. Cheese! Some cheddar, blue and crackers. And a remarkably tasty and tender roast beef.

Round Two: More roast beef, large succulent shrimp in a garlic sauce and battered shrimp with an herb-butter sauce.

Round Three: seafood risotto, more beef, mussels in the shell, more cheese and an assortment of specialty crackers/breads. (By this time, the restaurant had indeed filled to capacity.)

Round Four: Salad

Round Five: A surprisingly moist and delicious cinnamon raisin Danish, more cheese.

Round Six: White chocolate mousse (infused with some kind of alcohol that made it oh-so-delicious) and warm bread pudding with dates.

It really was all delicious but I felt handicapped by my lack of hunger beforehand. There were many food stations that I didn’t try just because I was trying to be strategic about the limited room I had in my belly. I am considering going back next weekend just to conquer the beast… or the beef, if you will. (It’s unlikely I’ll go, since the meal cost two days’ salary… although since you don’t need to eat before or after, it’s almost worth it.)

The patio seemed to be the place for people dining alone. A man at the table behind me struck up a conversation with the rather bizarre opener: “Whoo, it’s so hot here! I don’t know how you can read in this heat!” (Dean, I’m reading The Polysyllabic Spree — a collection of book reviews by Nick Hornby. I think You’ll really enjoy it. It’s already doubled my “to buy” list. I’m bringing it to you when I get home. I also have the follow-up Shakespeare Wrote for Money to lend you.) Anyway, too-hot-to-read guy asked me if I was on vacation and I explained my situation. His name was Najib and he was from Yemen, attending a conference here. Eventually he was joined by Mohamed from Jordan. After I was done round five and contemplating round six, they asked me about Colombo.
“What things are there to do here?”
“Um, not much really.”
“Is there good shopping?”
“No… not really. There’s a couple of good stores but that’s really it. What are you looking for?”
“Clothes.”
“Hmm, no. Not really.”
“So you have done no shopping while you’ve been here for 15 months?” they laughed.
“None. I’ve done all my shopping when I’ve travelled to other countries,” I said sheepishly.
They invited me to join them at their table. I don’t think they believed me when I said there really isn’t much to do in Colombo. They wanted to go shopping so I told them the places that might be worth their while and, after more conversation, they asked me to join them on their outing. I could be their tour guide. I thought “what the heck.” (Admittedly, I may have just been charmed by the idea that Mohamed earnestly thought I was a recent university grad. I was so amused by this that I didn’t bother to clarify whether 16 years ago constitutes “recent”.)

We hopped into a cab to Barefoot – the place you go if you’re getting gifts for people. When we got there, Mohamed was disappointed. He thought it would be bigger. “Is there a mall or something we can go to?” The only real mall is three blocks from Barefoot but not really worth a tourist visit. We walked there anyway. They were disappointed. “You weren’t kidding that there’s not much good shopping here.” “Nope, no I wasn’t.”

After half an hour of mall walking (the air conditioning was the draw) we parted ways and I headed back home, probably several pounds heavier and with two new business cards in my possession. They invited me out to meet up with them again tonight but I think I’ll pass. But if ever I want to do a post-grad internship with a defence company in Jordan, I have an in.

It’s All Relative

I have less than two weeks to go in Sri Lanka (no really, how did that happen?! I’m not baffled by a feeling that it flew by, I’m just baffled by the passage of time at all. How did 15 months become two weeks? How is my 9-year-old cousin a mother of two?! Because she’s in her late 20s and somehow that happened while I wasn’t looking.) Anyway, my impending departure has me thinking about what I’ve learned from this experience.

Not much. The End.

No, just kidding. But wouldn’t it have been great if that was the entire blog entry?

I’ve learned lots actually, about myself and about the world. From the beginning I’ve enjoyed the “internationalness” of my life here. It started with just liking the idea, the sound, the mystique of living abroad and quickly moved to a love of always meeting new people who have lived in a wide variety of countries I know nothing about. This makes sense to me, since cultural diversity used to be my favourite thing about Canada (now it’s a tie between sidewalks, the healthy respect for manners we Canadians have and the availability of any food I want within a 10 minute drive.)

My exposure to all this “internationalness” has now affected my world view. I’m not going to lie to you, I am sorely geographically challenged. Have always been so. (Bangladesh is a country? I thought it was a city in India!) But I feel much less so now. I’m more interested in where places are, how they relate to their neighbours and how their people live. I’m inclined to read The Economist without falling asleep, and I have a greater understanding and interest in international conflicts and issues.

I have also learned a lot about international development – much of which I’m still processing. I’d like to say I’ll keep you posted on my ultimate conclusions, but I probably won’t since I don’t plan to write this blog beyond July 1 and I suspect I’m going to be ruminating on development for a while yet.

I have also wondered about the changes I’ve seen in myself. Not the deep emotional changes, which paradoxically, I think ultimately won’t have that great an impact on my life. No, I’ve been thinking about the more superficial things. Before coming here I was, um, a messy person to put it lightly. I was physically incapable of putting something back where I picked it up from and I would let dishes pile up in the sink. Vacuuming was like a birthday – I thought about it once a year or so. Living here has meant changing those habits. You have to wash your dishes immediately. And now I make my bed every day, something I’d reserve for occasions like, oh, renting out the apartment. I now wonder if I have actually adopted these habits. Will I bring them home with me or are they are just the product of necessity, like wearing sunscreen? If it’s rainy, do you keep putting on the sunscreen? If I don’t have the threat of ants on my dishes or big spiders making themselves comfortable under mussed up sheets, will I slip back into my old ways?

Similarly, I think about tolerance of bugs, another thing I’d hoped to gain from this experience. Having met some of the world’s biggest spiders and roaches on this experience, will seeing a spider or feeling a web on my skin not faze me or make me paranoid for an hour as it used to? I am inclined to think, sadly, that I will return to my terrified state within a few months. I think my current perceived tolerance is a ruse. I suspect I’m not any less fearful, I am just more guarded all the time, which helps me manage that fear by keeping me prepared for the worst so that normal sized spiders don’t freak me out. I think returning to a place where I’m not constantly on the lookout will relax me to the point that I’ll become a big old fraidy cat again when I do eventually encounter something, no matter how small. It’s all relative, you see.

I’ve also been anticipating the inevitable questions I’ll receive from people who haven’t been following this blog. I expect the most likely ones will be “how did you like it? What was it like?” I’ve wrestled with this. It’s hard to encapsulate this experience in the neatly glib way that I know people are looking for. I expect they want to hear, “Oh it was incredible! Just fantastic, eye-opening and life-changing.” To say anything less feels like I’m letting them down.

And I guess it has been all those things, but I just don’t feel like they are the dominant adjectives. I haven’t loved Sri Lanka. (And I feel awful saying that because it’s like insulting a host while I’m at their party.) Many, many people have come here and totally loved the place – it has great beaches, great weather, friendly people – so I think it’s a case of “it’s not you, Sri Lanka, it’s me”. Culturally, we’re just not a good fit. You’re prim and kind of a homebody and rather rude at times, frankly. And I know you think I’m a tart, spoiled and more than a little bit superior. Fair enough.

Someone recently asked me if I’d have extended my stay here if I didn’t have a job to go back to. My immediate answer was no but I deconstructed it a bit more and I realized that while SL and I will never be best buds, I probably could coexist with it quite amiably if I had more money. The more I thought about it, the more I saw that the major factor affecting my view of this experience was being poor, not the country’s faults (and I use “poor” very loosely, knowing that I have never been truly poor). So all of my bitching about this country – take it with a grain of salt. I’ve actually just been doing a crappy job of dealing with the pecuniary challenges that millions of people around the world live with without the escape hatch I’ll be jumping through in a couple of weeks.

As much as I struggled with the staring and the expectations of women and the food, if I was living in a more comfortable house here with a some spending money to go out regularly, I’d have very little to complain about. I know it seems so obvious – we’d probably all be happier if money wasn’t a big concern – but I think it has been an important take-away for me. The problem with having such comforts here is they aren’t simply things that make life more comfortable. Here, a nice house, the ability to take a taxi or drive your own car, etc. make you elite. They separate you from the majority in a way that doesn’t happen at home and is tied to class and imbued with all sorts of social dynamics. It has kind of ugly connotations to me, and while most Sri Lankans probably share my desire for these comforts (so I can’t be totally to be deplored for having them), the negative connotations that come along with it leave me feeling a bit dirty anyway.

Regardless, I signed up for the struggle, and I am glad I got it. It has reminded me again that I am blessed to have the comfortable life that I have always had and to be returning to it; that I should continue to work hard to keep that life if I want to be happy and if there’s any way I can, I should try to bring some other less fortunate folks along with me.

So Very Slow

Time is taking its sweet old self when it comes to passing this week. Despite being sufficiently busy at work, the minutes crawl by. My evenings have been spent at home, which means they aren’t particularly entertaining or speedy either. What they have been though is productive and I’ve been able to scratch a few VSO and other volunteer tasks off my list. I’m afraid this is how the rest of the week is likely to play out as well. I have no plans and figure the upside of boredom is cost savings.

There are a few things I’ve wanted to write in my blog – disjointed minor things that were probably better suited in other posts but which I forgot to include. So I’ll add them here.

When we were in Thailand, mom and I were on the hunt for a place to eat. Most restaurants had their menus on pedestals out front or on large signs with pictures of their more popular dishes and their prices. At one restaurant, there was an array of exotic and run-of-the-mill chicken and pork dishes, including Chicken with Blockery. While I’m a moderate foodie, I’m not familiar with blockery so I took a closer look at the picture.

Broccoli. They were trying to spell broccoli… and I guess they did so, as a native Asian speaker might pronounce it. I got a serious kick out of that. It reminds me of when I was young and all my relatives and their friends used to talk about St. Kitts’ Prime Minister Bratcher. He was like Pierre Trudeau, very divisive but bigger than life from what I gathered. For more than a decade I’d been listening to stuff about Bratcher from my mom. Then one day I saw his name in a book and discovered that she and everyone else with their Kittitian accents had been saying “Bradshaw” all that time.

There was another cafe we passed that offered “Pastries * Coffee * Tattoos * Dinner * Desserts * Piercing * Ice Cream”. It was appropriately called Tattoo Cafe.

I’ve decided that if I don’t make it out of Sri Lanka alive, it will likely be at the hands of a school bus driver. The road I walk along to get to the main street is two cars wide and very twisty. It is a relatively popular road in that it is the only access to many lanes and houses that shoot off from it, but it is most definitely a residential street. As a twisty, narrow-ish residential street, you’d think the men carrying the precious cargo of children would exercise some caution as they drive. No such luck. The tear down the road at breakneck speed, often coming within inches of my shoulders or feet. I’ve been forced to press myself into many a bush because of an impatient or terrifying school bus drivers and have had my umbrella knocked out of my hand as I walked. Honestly, folks, trust me on this one: sidewalks are possibly the third-best invention ever (after the dishwasher and down-filled coats).

My lax stalker – the one I met on the bus who wanted to invite me over for dinner with his mother and sister – found me today. As I walked out of the office he came up to me. He was nice again, just as he was on the bus and I didn’t get the sense that he was trying to pick me up romantically. It felt more like he was looking for a friend, but Sri Lankan courting is very different from North American courting and I’m no good at picking up the signals. Hell, I’m no good at picking up the North American signals either. I did learn in the course of my conversation with him that my co-worker gave him my email address and the street I live on. Part of me was appalled by this and part of me wasn’t surprised. I’ve received non-urgent calls at home on my personal cell phone from Sewalanka staff I’ve never met or heard of. Somehow, they’ve tracked down my number from someone at work. There seems to be no taboo about sharing this kind of information. Knowing my street name, stalker guy asked me how to get to my home and I told him (truthfully) that I couldn’t explain it (there are no road signs and “turn at the house that looks like someone abandoned it mid-build but people are living there” is sadly not specific enough). I have a feeling stalker guy is going to be meeting me at the office regularly in my last days here.

Two More to Go

I had a remarkably nice weekend. On Thursday night the British High Commission held its monthly quiz (trivia) night. A couple of our regular Crackling Mozelles couldn’t make it so we had two untested substitute players who had a lot to live up to. I mean, there’s serious pressure joining the defending second-place team… okay not really but humour me. It turns out the subs weren’t really needed – Fiona and I basically carried the team this time. The night’s overarching theme was movies, something I didn’t realize until the third round — no wonder I was doing so well! The categories were all rejigged to fit the theme, so the Music category was all songs from soundtracks, for example. Fi and I nailed everything and got perfect scores on three out of seven categories. Alas, we were bested by another team by just one point. This was a lot less disappointing than I thought it would be. It was my last quiz and even though it would have been nice to win, it felt appropriate to come in second place again and to have felt like I carried the team. I leave with my head held high.

I stayed at Zoe’s place that night (and Friday, Saturday and Sunday… jeez, I might as well just move in.) When I got to work on Friday, both my coworkers were sick. When I came back after lunch, it seemed like everyone else had decided to bugger off too. It was so empty I actually had to ask the receptionist if the office was closed and no one had told me. She just smiled and did the head bobble. I took that as a no.

Friday night I went back to Zoe’s and she, I and a few of our friends went out to dinner at a “Sri Lankan institution” called Beach Wadiya. It’s a 30-year-old seafood restaurant right on the beach (Zoe and I were cursing our stupidity for wearing heels as they just sunk into the sand) and it’s apparently been patronized by Princess Anne and the Nepalese royal family, among others. The reviews on Trip Advisor were lukewarm though, and I was skeptical. Plus, the reviewers said it was expensive and I am on a tight budget so I kind of wasn’t looking forward to forking over three days’ salary for a mediocre meal.

The meal did end up being mediocre, but it was made better by the copious amounts of red wine I drank. I think I earned the nickname Drain-the-Bottle Liburd that night. And the price ended up being less than I anticipated, which was a very nice surprise. We were all having a great time and decided to move the group to our friend Larry’s place. After arriving there, I realized that my passport was missing. I’d had to slip it into my back pocket because it didn’t fit in the little purse I had and it must have fallen out at the restaurant. So after some calls, Zoe and I headed back to the restaurant and then back to Larry’s for a second time. They found the passport quite easily which was a relief. We drank more wine at Larry’s and listened to his “guilty pleasures” CD, which was great! Between the music, the wine and this guy John’s visiting girlfriend, who, like, totally speaks like…um, yeah… like a stoned like valleygirl, y’know? I was very entertained.

The next morning, I wanted to die.

Holy hangover, Batman! All I can say is… Wow. So much pain, so much weakness, so very, very punished for my fun. Zoe gave me a “baracca” (sp?), which is this fizzy vitamin B drink. It’s tasty and seemed to work for about 20 minutes and then I felt like poo again. I basically spent the majority of the day on Zo’s couch or in bed. We did some groceries and then in the early evening when I was feeling better I headed out to the Galle Face Hotel for “sundowners” (yes, more drinks) with another group of girlfriends. The Galle Face, as I explained many blog entries ago, is this stately looking colonial-style hotel on the waterfront. It’s nice for drinks at sunset because you can watch the sun go down over the ocean. The girls ordered numerous cocktails and wine. I had one apple juice. After sunset, we all headed to Number 18, a swank restaurant where Jesse took me for my birthday.

It was a fun, delicious night with the girls and I was reminded of how much I’m going to miss people here. I really wish I could take them with me. They are lovely. I’m feeling that a lot lately. The meal turned out to be reasonably priced as well, which made the night even better. I left the girls around 10:30 and headed to the Bayleaf restaurant and bar to join the good-bye party of an acquaintance of mine, Michaela. It was in full swing and people were enjoying themselves. Her close friends had put together a slide show of pictures from her time here (4 or 5 years) and it reminded me of my own goodbye party 15 months ago, although my video was far superior.

When I arrived, a guy named Shamindra was making the moves on Zoe – hard. He’s apparently very wealthy and, as the hanger-on friend, I benefited from the many, many drinks he was buying to ply her into forgetting about her boyfriend. As the hanger-on friend, I also got in on the free ride in his car when the party moved to another bar and the free burgers he bought us when we left that bar at 4 a.m. after a night of dancing. It was really fun. Although he succeeded in getting her very drunk, that was all Shamindra succeeded in when it came to Zoe.

Still, that was enough. Sunday morning, poor Zoe had my Saturday morning. The evil demon liquor had done its work on a new victime. I, however, felt fabulous having tea-totalled for most of the night. It was a lazy Sunday and around 4 p.m. I made my way to meet my friend Lea at the monthly jazz in the park. The music at this event is always mediocre to bad, but you’re always going to see most of the people you know in Colombo at the event. It attracts all the wealthy Sri Lankans and all the expats. It’s also where all the western-style, scantily clad Sri Lankan girls make an appearance in gaggles, making me wonder “why don’t YOU get stared at like I get stared at when dressed like that!?!” (The answer is they don’t ever have to be in the street where non-wealthy, western-style people congregate – they all have drivers to take them everywhere. Seriously.)

It was a beautiful afternoon – just the perfect temperature and nice to see everyone and catch up. It was also great to have a few laughs with Lea, who’s from Chicago and therefore can relate to my sense of humour and I hers. After a few hours of jazz, I headed over to my friend Eve’s place for dinner. She’s another VSO who’s been here just a few months. She’s really nice and I’m sad I won’t get to know her better. We had a really enjoyable, funny night.

Overall, it was a great third-last weekend… and sort of within budget! Miracles do happen…

Bob, We Hardly Knew Ya

When I got into work this morning the front page story on the Daily Mirror newspaper was that the Sri Lankan government deported Canadian MP Bob Rae back to Canad on his arrival in Sri Lanka yesterday. (Dean, I’m hearing every conceivable snarky comment you’re thinking.) Apparently Bob is considered an LTTE sympathizer by the SL government. “We have intelligence information that he is supporting the LTTE,” said a minister.

Bob was involved in the Norwegian-brokered ceasefire agreement that was launched in 2002 and fell apart by 2005. He was retained at the airport on Tuesday night and then deported Wednesday afternoon even though he’d cleared his visit with various ambassadors and obtained a visa from SL’s high commision. “The deportation comes as Sri Lanka toughens its stance against its mainly-Western critics, in particular countries and agencies that are pushing for a probe into suspected war crimes committed by troops,” says The Island newspaper.

It goes on to say that Sri Lanka’s diplomats have enlisted the support of China and Russia (stalwarts in the area of human rights those — that’s me talking, not the newspaper) to block any UN Security Council action. The activities of foreign aid groups have also been restricted, which I’m sure is very helpful for the hundreds of thousands of displaced people in the north.

In other news, I have exactly three weeks left here. Wee!

Back in the B’muwa

I’ve been back in Colombo for four days now and have settled back into the usual routine here. It was a bit of a difficult adjustment but a quick one.

I arrived at about 11:30 p.m. on Saturday. I had another challenging cab ride from the airport. The pre-approved set fair was almost double what I’d paid to get to the airport and more money than I had in my wallet. I asked the driver to stop at a bank machine but the machine didn’t work so we had to go to a second one. When I got to my destination, I gave the driver the fare plus tip and he asked me for Rs. 200 extra because he’d stopped twice. He couldn’t speak any English and I was tired and pissed off by the request. Stopping shouldn’t cost anything, especially with the exorbitant fee they were already charging me. Finally I just walked out of the taxi, grumbling and cursing my way to the door.

I’d arranged to stay at Zoe’s place because I didn’t want to face any animals that I might meet at home in the middle of the night. Zoe’s place, as usual, was blissful, and it turns out it was a good plan to stay there because when I got back to my house the next day (heart sinking as I put the key in the door) I was greeted by six dead roaches. That’s a record. Hey, at least they were dead, although some were kind of melded to the floor and I have no idea how or why. I think it’s best not to question these things. Just like it’s best not to look behind a bookshelf here.

Dead roaches, a bunch of ants and various insect and gecko detritus was all I found around the house, but it just felt like too much to take. I didn’t want to do it again, even if it’s just for three weeks. The first night was hard but by the morning I was fine and back in my normal headspace. But I have spent the last four days braced for my next giant spider encounter and calculating just how much of an imposition I can be to Zoe. I’m hoping that if I spend enough time at hers, I’ll be spared that next terrifying arachnid meeting.

I’m beginning the process of mentally packing up my life – figuring out what stays and what goes and whether it’s possible to fit it all into a suitcase (I’m pretty sure the answer is no). I must have an aura of unloading about me because on my walk home yesterday some little boys came up to me out of the blue and requested that I give them my rings. They seemed genuinely surprised when I wouldn’t. If it was an attempted mugging, they were the friendliest (and youngest) muggers ever. If not, whatever happened to sweet-talking a girl? Maybe buying her a drink or dinner before trying to weasel her prized possessions from her?

People have been asking me about a goodbye party. Now those of you who know me personally know I love to throw a party, but I’m just not feeling it this time around. The majority of the people who I’ve been closest to here won’t be available to send me off. There’s a kind of perfect storm of people leaving Sri Lanka permanently (about half my close friends) and people leaving for holiday (about one-quarter). There are still some great friends here so the absence of my closest ones could be overcome. But then there’s the expense. I made the mistake of assessing my finances last night, and all the “what the heck, let’s splurge” decisions I’ve made over the last 15 months have caught up with me. I’m not one to throw a BYOB party, but that’s really the only option at this point.

The bottom line is I’m waffling about a good-bye event. Perhaps I’ll just say “I’m going to be at this bar at this time, come have a drink and say goodbye if you want.” Maybe I’ll buy the first 10 people their drinks.