this is the land that provides..
where to even begin? there is such a gap since my last entry; though the space is empty on paper, it is overflowing in reality. in brief, for those of you with any residual confusion concerning my whereabouts: i am living on the island of dominica (in the caribbean—NOT to be confused with the dominican republic, or barbados, or cuba, or hawaii, or any other island in the world). i am studying at the Institute for Tropical Marine Ecology (where i am cramming as much science into my brain as it will allow, diving, snorkeling, monitoring, learning and contributing to the database of knowledge gathered to date on all things marine and dominican). i am living on a mountainside base with 5 other students, 2 TAs, one professor (incidentally, the director and brains behind the whole operation), and his small young family; we are a stroll down the hill to the nearest town, Mahaut (and a helluva hike back up), a short bus ride from the capital, Roseau; and pretty close to everything else considering the size of the island. the program runs until december, at which point i will go back to montreal and gear up for the next inevitable adventure.
snippets from my mental photographs so far:
the airport had half a dozen staff working. one of the girls’ bags was lost, and when she asked how she supposed to go about getting it back, the man half-giggled and shrugged.
buses are big vans that pick people up at random on the side of the road. there are bus stops, but if you want to hail a bus, you just throw yourself in front of it as it’s careening down the road and hop on.
a conversation between two intense women on one such bus: heatedly debating the relevance and importance of fighting for the rights of humanity vs. ensuring your own survival in this wicked wicked world. when they got off, i felt hopeless.
nothing can ever be expected to get done efficiently, and nothing really works properly: for example, there is one lamppost on the walk down the hill into town. it is bright and illuminates most of a long stretch of road…until you walk within 10 meters of it. it smells our human need for light and shuts off just as we come within view; a glance back in the darkness, once we’ve long passed, will reveal it contemptuously having turned itself back on.?
we were shown the local mom-and-pop bar operation in town (a small wooden shack with an open-concept slab of concrete right on the beach). the mom is happy to serve us drinks while her 5 children scurry around the various pot-smoking rastas and gambling men with shady, suspicious expressions, and the husband fiddles with his new home entertainment system (projector, burned-DVD player, and bed sheet screen). the first night he set it up, they showed the new indiana jones. we went down to see what they had playing last night, and came upon a disturbing latino soft-core porno, with violence and lesbians (and sex of course) all within the 20 seconds it took us to realize what we were looking at and book it out of there.
we met up with a local guy, kyle (who had befriended the TAs last year and was more than happy to welcome this season’s new recruits—did i mention we are three girls with big blue eyes, one of us blonde? he didn’t seem too put out by the task), and headed to one of the 3 bars in town. it was empty, save for the bartender and a DJ blaring hip hop, then reggae, then techno, and back again. [i’d like to make a note of the DJ’s T-shirt, which loudly declared: “SEX NICE…but de aids ting…”] we ordered drinks, requested a song, and within 2 minutes the bar had filled up with the town’s men, all in to get a look at the new white girls i mean students. kyle had his “eye out” for us (he assured us he had “street cred”, and if anyone gave us any trouble, he’d take care of it. i would also like to make a note that kyle is a 6’5” gangly kid with barely-post-adolescent scruff on his chin and a slow languorous swagger that intimates his chronic marijuana use). i joke-danced with an older man who was maybe, maybe 5 feet tall and who clutched an umbrella the whole time (i figured he was harmless. crazy, maybe, but harmless). the girls were hit on from all sides. it was a classic scenario in which, needless to say, i do not intend to participate often.
today was our day off. 5 of us decided to check out some waterfalls, and kyle had wanted to join us so we set off. now, bus service is minimal if at all on sundays, and really you just have to hope to get lucky. we made it to roseau, and managed to hire a taxi to take us to the falls; the drive was about half an hour through the mountains, up and up and up and up, and finally we made it to the park entrance. the cabbie said he could come back for us later, so we got his phone number and arranged for a pick-up time. there was one park guard on duty, and he looked our group over and asked kyle if he was our tour guide. he said no, and was promptly informed he would not be allowed in the park. this prompted some questioning on my part (and some very heavy cursing on kyle’s part), and this is what my dialogue with the park man went like:
Me: why can’t our friend come with us?
Guy: it’s the law. only official tour guides are allowed in the park with tourists.
Me: well we’re not tourists, we’re students. we live here. he’s just a friend from mahaut.
Guy: i don’t make the laws, i just have to uphold them.
Me: well are dominicans allowed to visit reserves on their own island?
Guy: yes, of course.
Me: so he can go in on his own then? he won’t be accompanying us, i assure you.
Guy: well…….these are the types of technical questions we try to avoid you asking.
Me: what??
meanwhile i am being shouldered along by our TA who doesn’t want any trouble, and kyle is waving us to go on as he’s yelling madly into his cell phone and at the guard at the same time.
cut to: the waterfall. it is absolutely beautiful, clean cold water gushing down the mountain into dozens of pools and eddies. i am thrilled to peel off my sweaty clothes and jump in, but i am also SO PISSED OFF about that useless conversation with the guard and our helplessness in the matter. we play around in the water for about half an hour but i am still feeling really badly about leaving kyle at the entrance, when suddenly he pops out from the rocky path with a big grin on his face. he tells us casually that he’d just called the prime minister and had him tell the guard that he’d better let him in or else. i was like, “the prime minister? of the country??” and he was like “yeah. we’re like this (crossing his fingers)”. i said “i don’t know who you are buddy, but your street cred just went through the roof!”
after a while, the water started to feel cold and the spray from the falls began to get painful, so we started hiking down and came upon some hot springs about 2 meters from the cold pools. i stumbled my way up a bunch of slimy boulders and came to lie in a jacuzzi-sized pool surrounded by beautiful mossy rocks and rainforest. it was unbelievable, and i meditated in my private retreat for twenty minutes (sending my thanks out into the universe) before feeling like a boiled lobster, and proceeded to throw myself back into the cool refreshing waters. ?
once packed up, we headed back out, and the guard sheepishly started making conversation with us, feigning interest in our research at ITME and avoiding eye-contact with a still-grinning kyle. we went out to meet our taxi, but he was nowhere to be found. we gave him a call, and realized he’d given us a wrong (fake?) number. ha-ha at the expense of those stupid white tourists. we started walking.
2 hours and 4.2 miles later, drenched in sweat, we popped back out onto the main road in roseau. the walk had been made bearable by my insistence on stopping at every fruit-tree we passed, and kyle’s obliging my fruity desires (in the end, he had knocked down a bunch of guavas—which i hoarded in my bag—some oranges, a banana, and very nearly a papaya and starfruit. i was in heaven). we passed a spring (some clean-looking water coming out of a bamboo halfpipe rigged upwards in the slopes)—my water bottled having been drained half an hour before, i looked at kyle in desperation; understanding my request, he brought his mouth to it and gulp-gulp-gulped it down. satisfied, i filled up and drank to my heart’s content…and funnily enough, he said he would never trust drinking-water in foreign countries (tap water in montreal was his first example). the cultural divide never ceases to amaze.
other jarring cultural occurrences:
kyle flagged down a man in a pick-up to give us a ride (on the long and winding road), and he glanced at us and said as he sped off, “i don’t collect tourists”. i pumped my fist in the dust left behind his wheels and yelled “we live here, you racist!” (much to kyle’s amusement). futile, i know, but it felt good. i was due for a good fist-pumping.
the men swarm us everywhere we go, making casual to aggressive advances and dressing us with their disturbingly brazen compliments. i got a bit huffy after one too many, and my TA cooly remarked, “hey you’re in their culture, you’ve got to take it”. i’ve been to so many countries where cat-calling and harassing women is normal and accepted—does that mean i should be used to it?? sad fact is, i am used to it. but i don’t accept being objectified on account of my skin colour and “role” (ie worthless tourist instead of human being). it’s infuriating. and the women want nothing to do with us (despite my eagerness to make some female friends) because they think we’re just here to take all their men. pah! they can keep their groping sleazeballs. i just want someone i can make real conversation with, and not have to worry about being hit on.
anyway. at the risk of launching into a serious rant, i will stop here for the night. overall, i have been processing an abundance of positive stimuli, taking great pleasure in my classes, and getting drunk on the infinite blue ocean that satiates my soul every moment i get to bask in it. i wish you all the same bliss!
kiss my S
every pleasure i have been indulging in lately begins with the letter S. for instance: i spend hours in the Sun doing Sudoku (Alex, the crazy russian garbage collector, stashes dozens of clippings in his pockets, and when we cross on the street he pushes them into my hands—he knows i’m addicted, and has taken full responsibility in being my Sudoku dealer). i’ve also been Sewing again, after a week’s hiatus (dealing with being sick and picking those notorious israeli lice out of my hair—ugh—let’s just say last week was not the best in recorded history)—i finally finished a project i started a month ago, and sold it within a few hours of hanging it up in the gallery. that felt pretty good..but also a bit bad, lord knows i hate letting my babies go. a friend of mine convinced me to eat some Schnitzel a while ago (i have been on a very long chicken boycott), and though that first indulgence was only moderately pleasurable, something happened in my stomach since, and i have been ravenous for schnitzel, particularly the chain Schnitzeliah’s sesame-coated schnitzel with chinese sweet sauce in a foot-long baguette overstuffed with tomatoes, cucumbers and hummus—no chicken has ever tasted so tender or sweet. mmmmm i’m salivating just thinking about it. and yes, i am somehow able to stuff the whole thing in my little self, which usually leads to my bloated, regretful vowing never to eat schnitzel again, but so far that vow hasn’t lasted longer than a few days. in celebration of selling my artwork today, i am taking a break from oily, fried foods (and hummus) and treating myself to some Sushi, and i’m starting to wonder if it’s not all too good to be true.
also: today i learned how to weave using a loom. this is something i have been wanting to do for ages, and lucky me, now i get to! i really can’t believe my luck, it’s been one thing after another and the whole universe is conspiring to let my creative juices flow and set me on fire. i feel like i’m winning the lottery every day (except the day i found out i had lice).
so that’s my life these days, blooming right along with springtime; i have been reading like a fiend (i am ambitiously undertaking the lord of the rings, after finally getting a good dose of the bronte sisters), the scalp itching has (almost) stopped completely, and i am planning to dance my head off at a techno-trance party in the forest this weekend.
bring. it. on.
purim sameach!
happiness is..
sitting in the sun all day reading a good book, the kind that makes you laugh out loud on almost every page. the boys (my adopted brothers) thought it unthinkable that i could get so much enjoyment out of—*gasp!*—a book. [but here i must send thanks to my mom for having ruta schlep said book out to sri lanka to hand over to me, which i then grudgingly added to my weight to schlep back to israel, and left sitting on my desk for 2 months as i periodically cast furtive glances in its direction, pitting its recommended content against its poppy bestseller public status…finally i bit the bullet and threw it in my overnight backpack, figuring it might make for a half-decent read this weekend away at friends…so i apologize to my mom for having doubted her, because i am gobbling it up at the speed of light, it’s so delicious (ok i’m still in the italian food section—for those of you whom i’ve lost here, pick up a copy of elizabeth gilbert’s “eat, pray, love”), and i would also like to take this opportunity to apologize to the book, by whose cover i ruthlessly judged.]
i lay out in the grass, surrounded by flowering almond trees, trees exploding with juicy oranges and lemons (and smelling even better than they look), beautiful red and yellow flowers popping up everywhere in the green, and the sound of chipper birds chirping away…yes, you could call it paradise. it got so hot, and i was so inspired by this spring garden, that i felt compelled to take my T-shirt off and sun my shoulders—not that lying in a private backyard in a sports bra far less revealing than any bikini top was anywhere near scandalous—still, it so happened that the youngest of the brothers felt it his gentlemanly duty to conduct further communication with me by cell phone, as he no doubt chivalrously grumbled from inside at my brazen monopolizing of his outdoor space. i’m a relapsed beach bum, what can i do? the slightest bit of sun and it’s all i can do to combat my exhibitionism. the shirt was a compromise, i seriously considered the indispensability of my pants..*sigh*
anyway…the boys organized a barbecue with all their buddies, and the only thing they put on the menu was…MEAT. well for a borderline vegetarian, i sure attacked it with a vengeance—you’d think my body was protein-deprived or something..wait..nevermind. 2 beers in, and i sat there grinning at their wild gestures, guessing context through their animated storytelling but losing all detail in the blur of Hebrew that splattered through my brain—i keep waiting for that magic moment when it will all click and make perfect sense—but, alas. it serves me right for spending 6 months here and not bothering to study the language properly. so as i sat there surrounded by a small sea of young men, fairly isolated by my language barrier, i got to thinking. contemplating each face, each personality, i realized i was happy to be among these good people (in fact, there was a small ceremony of indictment when one of them farted and started swishing the air in, well, my direction—it was clear i was officially one of the guys. i secretly thanked my own brother for the many years of experience in this department)…and i saw something endearing in each one of them (except, maybe, for the farter), and found myself imagining them in a few years’ time—and then it hit me like a truck. no wonder i found them all adorable, and yet somehow unattractive—i’m TOO BLOODY OLD!!! ok, i am not panicking yet, i am ripe at 22 and that’s what i get for hanging out with 16-18 year olds, but still, it was my first taste of what many women must go through at any given time in their life…and it was strange. and interesting. so i thought i would share it.
that’s all the insight for today; elai is going to teach me how to make shakshuka, an israeli specialty which consists of fried eggs (sunny side up) in tomato sauce…sounds kinda gross, i know, but come on, if i can love something like poutine (which, when described in words, sounds nothing short of disgusting), then i’m sure i can learn to appreciate shakshuka. yum, breakfast, here i come!
spring has sprung..
well, almost. the grass is rizz in tel aviv, at least. i spent last weekend there with the family, celebrating arbel’s bat-mitzvah and running out of time too quickly; it felt like a whirlwind affair, where every conversation was cut short by another
“kisskiss-hello!-howareyou?” lead into catching up with another beloved relative..as usual, yoni is the only one with whom i spent a considerable amount of time talking to, seeing as i stayed at his apartment and bummed around with him in the off-hours between family duty. i didn’t manage to get to the beach, though i longed for it; a stroll down rothschild boulevard and a good long sit in the sun on a bench were all i could squeeze in. but no matter; i got drunk off the smell of flowers blooming and luscious spring hanging heavy in the air.
here in tsfat, i catch a faint whiff of the cold damp earth on the early morning breeze (but the days are only getting warmer and more pleasant), and it’s enough to put a spring in my step (hah). since my bathroom is practically outside (separated by nothing but thin walls of wood, which are pine or cedar or neither (not so accurate on my tree-identification skills) but smell amazing might i add), i have the pleasure of accommodating those creatures who enjoy its cool, moist climate: the usual array of spiders (whose webs i grudgingly tear down—they’re back up within days anyway, it’s a losing battle…sometimes i get flashes of ruta bounding out of the spider’s lair, that is, our bathroom in sri lanka, screaming her head off, and i chuckle and almost enjoy my tiny crawly friends); a snail who occupies my ceiling, and has not budged from her post in weeks; and just yesterday, i made the acquaintance of a rather large slug who keeps himself fit by tracing circles of slime up and down my tiled walls (i am tempted to call him Speedy, and yet Bob is so much more fitting). actually, i haven’t seen him today, and have to do a quick reconnaissance mission before stepping into the bathroom, for fear of a squishy landing and the untimely demise of dear bob. i don’t mind these freeloading housemates so much, i mean, i like bugs; what really irks me is the mouse/rat (please oh please let it be a mouse!) who’s been nibbling on my vegetables (through the plastic bag no less—i have officially triple-wrapped everything, and hidden it all behind closed pantry doors), and leaving me delightful little poops on my counter top. i am trying to be one with nature here…but rodent feces is where i draw the line. (i just thank my lucky stars the cats haven’t found a way in yet…though it might solve the mouse issue…)
yes, yes, no bother, it’s all well and good, i am getting along just fine, don’t you worry…i’ve got to stock up on stories to tell my grandchildren you know. none of that wimpy “when i was your age, i walked 5 miles to school, in the SNOW no less”; no, no, mine will be in for much worse.
so that’s that. part of me is longing to be on a sunny beach somewhere; part of me is excited about exploring new ground in europe; another part yet is aching at having to leave israel, and wishing for more time; and yes, i admit it, it’s true—there is a part that is wildly anticipating rushing into the arms of all my family and friends waiting patiently at home. soon, soon…it will all be over before i know it, and soon be staring all over again.
storm’s a brewin’…
…but life is beautiful!
i have settled quite nicely into my apartment, and it feels cozy and very much my own (although it is freezing cold, and my fuses blow anytime there’s rain, so it has a bit of an edge to it). i have accommodated a few stray cats recently (girls passing through who needed a place to crash; i provided beds, they made delicious food—good trade if you ask me), and have had a couple of “dinner parties” which consisted of throwing together whatever scraps of food i had in the cupboard, and everyone for themselves when it came to divvying up my 3 plates and 5 items of cutlery. eating pasta from the pot with a knife? no problem! (one thing i’ve learned: people aren’t picky when they’re desperate)
otherwise, work has been great, i love sitting in the studio all day by a heater that is actually exothermic (as opposed to my heater in my bedroom, which somehow seems to suck in heat), letting my ipod set the tunes on random, and sewing or reading or writing. i make my own hours (and get paid accordingly…it’s on the honour system, and it’s not like i’m going to screw the people who take me into their home and feed me anytime i’m sick of the tsfat routine), and the absolute best thing about my job (which is definitely ruining me for the future) is that i can sleep in until ANY time i want. it’s amazing!!! not having an annoying boss breathing down my neck is the best thing in the world; my so-called employers (the artist’s parents) come in mostly to praise whatever i’m doing. i really could get used to this.
so now i am at their house in rosh pinna, the next town over, gearing up for the “huge” snowstorm that’s supposed to hit tomorrow—i put “huge” in quotation marks because last time they had a big storm, they closed down the highway and all of tsfat for 2 inches of slush. but i’m not taking any chances, better to camp out here where there’s fire and food and company (and internet!) than hide under my 4 blankets for 2 days without electricity. yep. smart move, alex, smart move. also, the two younger brothers (17 and 19) have adopted me as their “little” sister (yes, of course they’re bigger than me…who isn’t), and we have been spending much time engaging in sibling rivalry that borders on the physically abusive (i get my kicks in too, but like i said, they’re bigger than me…i told them when their big brother comes home there’ll be hell to pay). it’s all in good fun, and when i wear them out verbally and physically, they become quite sweet and docile, and we enjoy each other immensely.
what else…oh! i bit the proverbial bullet, and booked my flights. i put it off for so long because i didn’t want to make it real; a part of me feels sick to my stomach thinking that it’s all winding down, and i will soon have to say my goodbyes to my family and new friends here. however, the other part of me is buzzing with the final chapter of the adventure i will be launching myself into come april. first destination: budapest, on a whim. i had a hankering for europe after my trip to sri lanka, and as fortune would have it, a good friend from university happens to have relocated there for the time being…so i thought a visit was in order! i’m guessing 10 days will be enough, and then i’ll hop a train to switzerland and drop in on another pal from school (it’s great to befriend the exchange students). i plan to kick it to paris as soon as i’ve outstayed my welcome, at which point i will be meeting up with one of the best traveling companions i could hope for…my mom! not only will she make sure i am fed, and properly at that, but i can already hear her condemning my grungy travel clothes to the trash as she sneakily but successfully replaces my entire wardrobe with paris couture. mom, i love you, i love you, i love you. i want to have a contest to see which one of us can get fatter (more fat?) off the cheese and patisseries.
a lot of intense and wonderful things to come, that’s for sure. but, for the time being, i am trying to milk every moment here for what it’s worth, because it is amazing and beautiful and i have never been more in love with life. hip-hip-hooray, three cheers for life!
that’s all for now. i guess i’ll write more when something interesting happens.
much ado
so i spent a whole morning and a half apartment-hunting in Tsfat, and am now the proud renter of my very own place. this russian guy who randomly approached me and started speaking to me in russian (apparently i look it…hm) told me i should speak to this woman who would put me in touch with another woman who rented rooms out. raaaiiight, i thought to myself…but she turned out to be my lucky ticket, because after meeting with my current landlady, i knew it was meant to be. i’m moving into a cozy little nest tucked away on a street facing the mountains; i have a bedroom ALL TO MYSELF (i have not had this luxury in the 6 months i have been traveling—just saying it is music to my ears), a separate kitchen, and an upstairs balcony/lounge area with sofas and a view. the lease-signing was my favorite part: i brought my israeli friend Eden to help sort out the details (because my landlady doesn’t really speak english), and she tore out a piece of notepaper and proceeded to write out my “lease” (a one-month contract outlining what our responsibilities are) in hebrew. after 10 minutes of her and Eden yak-yak-yakking away (and me standing in the corner with a stupid grin on my face), she handed me the paper to sign, and with utmost trust in Eden’s consent, i signed my name to my very own, official, israeli lease. which i can’t even read or understand, if i tried. only in israel. only in israel.
other than that, i spent the day helping Eden finish up some commissioned sculptures he needs to ship off by the end of the week, so it’s a throwback to my portfolio days in university when life consisted of cramming art into every spare second of the day not wasted on sleep or snacking. forget about going to the bathroom; we become superhuman in these times of extreme stress. while he is still figuring out some engineering technicalities, i have been designated star painter and fixer-upper, lucky me, i get to breathe noxious oil-paint fumes all day in a cold and unventilated cave. reminds me so much of those long nights in the printmaking studio, i’m almost heartsick with nostalgia for sackville, and going down for that well-earned pint at Ducky’s covered in ink and paint and scraps, and feeling like a million pennies.
anyway, my own work has taken a temporary back seat, but will be resumed as early as next week, once i scrub down and clean out his filthy studio, and make way for my own junk. i am gearing up for a long 5 weeks of hardcore creativity, and something like solitude…and hopefully, hopefully, i will break even in the financial scales that glare at me from my bank account every time i dare steal a glance.
i’m still dreaming of the sri lankan beach as i stare out at the misty almost-snow; my memories are over-exposed and over-saturated, technicolor on LSD, and i’ve been finding myself retreat into my head while the grey happens on around me in a fog.
too much, too much…life is too much.
livin’ the life
well well well…so this is my first blog. i’ve avoided it like the plague because, first of all, the word “blog” is hideous and having to ascribe a possessive pronoun to it annoys me to no end. second of all, it is strange to be sending out thoughts and words into the void for all to see; i mean, i am doing so willingly, but it still feels like an invasion of privacy. i like the chaos kept private in my head; well i’ll get over it. third of all, i was lazy i guess.
so i’m here now, and where “here” is i’m never quite sure these days, but today i find myself sheltered cozy and warm against the rainy grey haze of winter in the northern mountains of israel, letting my creative juices flow freely into the beginning stages of a few art projects that will hold my attention for the coming weeks. i have been left in charge of a gallery, and given free reign to do as i please in the adjoining studio space; needless to say, i wake up happy, go to sleep happy, and spend every moment in between rapt in the ups and downs of the emotional turmoil that feeds the beast of the creative process.
all in all…i’m livin’ the life.
kandy
after checking out every lower-end guest house listed in our lonely planet, we were depressed and decided to spend the extra few bucks (thanks, Ruta) to stay in a proper hotel. when i woke up the day after our pilgrimage, my entire body was stiff as a board; i pried myself out of bed and did a sort of frankenstein-hobble to the bathroom; it was obvious that that was as far as i was getting. we pampered ourselves like the crippled princesses we were, ordering room service and lying in bed reading all day.
the next morning, Ruta was showing off her limber limbs, laughing at my mountain-ravaged misery; i could walk, but stairs were still ambitious. so i humoured her as we visited the royal botanical gardens (i especially loved the trees inhabited by thousands of fruit bats, clicking and squeaking above us; it gave me the willies), and explored the marketplace and the streets of kandy. we made our arrangements to see the “cultural triangle” (three ancient cities in the north: Sigirya, Polonnaruwa, and Anuradhapura), and after hiring our driver and buying our site tickets, i was begging to go lie down. we did manage to squeeze in a performance of the kandyan dance troupe, a performance of traditional dances with full regalia and masks and drums and everything; the highlight was at the end, when two guys came out and walked on a bed of coals and fire, then took fire sticks and rubbed them all over their bodies, bringing them to their mouths and joining their tongues to those of fire; it made my skin crawl, and i was in pain and horror just watching. it was insane.
the next day we visited the famous Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic, where a tooth belonging to Gautama buddha (smuggled to sri lanka in the hair of a princess) is enshrined. what i’ve learned of buddhism is philosophy, so i was sort of surprised to see so many people bringing offerings to little idols littered about everywhere; then again, the mix of hindu and christian belief systems have lent themselves well to the creation of an idol-rich culture. the dagobas (or stupas) are my favorite—the perfect symbol of Faith: in each one there is (supposedly) a secret relic of great historical/religious significance, but nobody knows exactly what’s inside, and nobody can check (because they are completely sealed structures). as our guide so poignantly put it, “we don’t know. we just believe.” another weird/freaky temple in the compound was the oldest one there—750 years old—and the outside was a beautiful mahogany-pillared (all hand-carved) roofed complex that led into a little antechamber that felt like an indian pawn shop in Park Ex. there were a few cases of gaudy silver and gold offerings, two dilapidated ceremonial procession baskets, peeling pastel paint on the sparse walls, and the magnificent centerpiece: a back wall with a hanging glittery painting of some deity, framed by an altar with plastic flowers and…christmas lights. unbelievable. it was actually hard not to laugh, because i was suddenly faced with the absolute ridiculousness of humanity and i myself am part of it, it’s inescapable; i wanted to laugh, because otherwise i would cry.
the inside of the main temple was made of beautiful latticed wood, but also contained a certain tackiness in its religious decor; the wildly coloured resin statues clashed with the ancient stone carvings. i loved the family of wild monkeys who had claimed the roof as their home; dozens of people praying and chanting at the altar of the hidden tooth, and screeching monkeys banging on the tiles and pounding the grated walls, trying to get a piece of the action (or a piece of food). we checked out the national museum and toured the slightly depressing displays with a guide; we both felt torn between absolute boredom and curious interest. our intrigue soon won out over our indifference (and sore feet and rumbling tummies), and we humoured our guide, who ended up giving us loads of cool information about everything ranging from kitchen utensils to ancient ola books, to the royal family, to national fugitives and war heroes. we hobbled out (finally) and decided to have lunch in the hills at an eccentric hotel, Helga’s Folly (temporary home to 1950s hollywood stars, eclectic high society, and well-to-do vagabonds alike). the place was right out of a fantasy, with each room a moody dreamscape boasting a collection of bizarre art and cultural oddities. we wandered through with our jaws agape, and enjoyed a fabulous lunch; our stomachs satiated, we moseyed down to the Weda-Madura Ayurvedic Massage Treatment Center, where Ruta treated us (and my still-sore muscles) to the Supreme Royal Deluxe treatment. i had a girl no older than me massage the hell out of my head, face, body, feet; stick me into a wooden casket posing as a steam-bath; and giggle and ask, “pain?” every time i howled as she karate-chopped my aching calves and thighs. in the end, it was worth being rubbed down in herbal oil (hair included) and scrubbed with an exfoliating natural mix of i-don’t-know-what; i still smell like cloves and molasses (though i’m sure i just made that up, and the oils consisted of altogether different ingredients). after a hot shower and a junk-food dinner, i have unpacked and repacked for the umpteenth time, and am preparing for tomorrow’s final excursion north to the cultural triangle. just a few days left…i am ready to head back to familiar ground. sri lanka has worn me out; i’m tired of the constant attention and “hello? where from? take my tuk tuk!”—the men are on top of me at every turn, and it’s exhausting. at least in israel i can be a tourist in peace (except for in Eilat, but that’s a different story). either way, thoughts of europe have been dancing around in my head, and though i scorn western civilization, i could sure use a healthy dose right about now.
the trail to the top
though time felt suspended on our perfect little beach, it steadily charged on, impervious to our pleas to hold on just a little bit longer. We carried on much in the same way, sunning ourselves and enjoying our swedish company, but we felt the pressure of soon having to pack up and move on; the new year was brought in over bottles of wine and arrack, and much love dancing around a big beach bonfire. i joined my swedish crew for another day trip to unawatuna, this time by local bus (insane, insane, insane—if i thought israeli buses were insane, i was terribly terribly confused); our morning mission was to go SCUBA diving off the coast, and though there wasn’t much to see and the current had us huffing and puffing our way through our air, it awakened the old flame within and i realized how much i missed the sport. alas, the day came when we had to bid our teary farewells to our much-loved gang, and set off on our next adventure.
we took a rickety train through the jungle back to colombo, and i would have been vomitaseously nauseous had it not been for the open window i hung out of most of the ride, and the sweet ginger i bought off a man for 10 cents. back to the polluted chaotic hustle and bustle of the city, we grabbed a tuk-tuk (whose driver wove through rush-hour traffic like an expert video-gamer) to our hotel and adjusted to our new roomscape, preparing for the next few days ahead. we were picked up at 4:30am by our new driver, Ravi, and set off to pick up Ruta’s sri lankan friend-of-a-friend Suresh, with whom we had planned a trip up to Adam’s Peak, a mountain pilgrimage hiked by the devout and curious alike (http://sripada.org/). but first, a day of exploring the hill country, driving through towns whose names i couldn’t pronounce and waving at people hanging out of doorways. we went to Udalawe National Park/Wildlife Reserve, and enjoyed a jeep safari guided by a very able and very fit old man. we saw wild elephants, buffalo, and an extremely rare sighting of a leopard chasing a peacock into a tree.
we wove through the windy roads of the hills, astounded by the beauty of the lush mountains that were part palm jungle, part tea plantation, part pine forest (with hints of eucalyptus and dashes of mango and avocado, papaya, and banana), and part rice paddy—it was magic, and smelled even better. we visited a tea factory, and i was drinking tea through my nostrils; it was intoxicating and wonderful. we arrived at our guest house a few minutes’ walk from the base of Adam’s Peak a little after sunset, and i immediately fell asleep; good thing, too, because a few hours later (at 1:30am), Ruta was shaking me awake to get ready to climb. i groaned as i rolled over and looked out the window at the eerily lit up mountain that stood not too far in the distance, and mentally prepared myself for the arduous trek i was about to stupidly embark on. the things Ruta gets me into, i tell you.
we knew the stats: 5900 stairs, 7500 ft, 3 1/2 hours—the swedes had whined about how cold and awful it was, so we were ready for war. it started off on a slow incline, and we passed many statues of deities and prayer flags (and monks working the night shift tying strings around climbers’ wrists) before coming to the real stairs. the route was lit up, but the higher we got, the sketchier the layout of the stairs became, and the more gloomy and chilled the air. everything got cold and damp, and after an hour and a half, i broke from my companions to set myself into a solitary meditative mode, and focus my thoughts on sorting through the beach memories still swirling through my head, while my legs took care of the rest. soon thinking became an added chore, and my brain shut off to give all my energy to my body; i pushed onwards and upwards, repeating to myself “each step is the first step”. i think i understood something of the nullification of Self, or losing myself in the pure moment of Being; either way, i was caught in the eerie mist of a damp dream, climbing the neverending staircase to the top of a friggin’ mountain at 3 in the friggin’ morning in the middle of friggin’ sri lanka.
it astounded me to walk past groups of families carrying their sleeping children up the precarious stairs, or 90-year-old barefoot grannies smiling half-mocking toothy grins and laughing “ayubowans” at us as they sailed by; i was relieved to be reunited with Ruta and Suresh at the last stop before the top, enjoy a hot cup of tea, and coax my tired body up the last stretch to finally reach the temple at the top and join the crowd of the familiar faces of our fellow pilgrims. i sunk into a stupor, amazed that we had actually made it, and drifted up and up and up as the big orange orb of the sun rose and the clouds rolled by below us…and then the spell broke, and i realized with horror that now i had to climb down.
the soundtrack was replete with moans and grunts and yelps of pain as our muscles gave way beneath our lagging weight and we tumbled down stretches of stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life and yelling at the people ahead “make way! no brakes!”. we had a shred of humour left in us to laugh at our sorry state, but i found it far from laughable when my bladder was exploding and i had to use every ounce of willpower left not to fall over as i squatted over a disgusting hole in a smelly bathroom stall. once again, i will say it…the things Ruta gets me into. i tell you.
the rest of the day passed by in a haze; i drifted in and out of sleep in the car ride to the town of Nuwara Eliya, where we stopped for lunch, and continued on our way to Kandy, where Ruta and i would set up camp for the next few days.
unawatuna
i know there’s no escape from cross-cultural globalization when there are “La vache qui rit” (“the laughing cow”) stickers on sri lankan tuk-tuks. i have been doing nothing but enjoying the days melt into one long stretch of Just Being, playing and talking with friends while sipping spicy ginger beer and dancing in my chair to the techno interspersed with jack johnson piped through the sleepy cafe’s tinny speakers. Ruta and i visited the more touristy beach town of Unawatuna today, and walked the length of the crescent waterfront, ate a wonderful pizza (we were tired of rice and curry), and shopped along the twisting stretch of pothole-infested dirt road. the dogs here are as abundant as the cats in israel—and they’re nowhere near shy when it comes to parking themselves next to your table while you eat (be it on the beach, or in a restaurant—they are pretty much everywhere). they sort of just stare you down with sweet obstinate desperation, and when you make it clear you have no intention of sparing a scrap, they proceed to impertinently scratch their fleas onto your feet, and gingerly saunter off to try their luck at the next table of gluttonous tourists. what shocks me every time are the people who actually PET these mangy dogs. i feel itchy just thinking about it. hand-sanitizer is my best friend here.
swedish christmas presents
i went to a beach party last night (merry xmas!) that blared techno late into the early morning; Ruta abandoned me promptly at 10pm, and the only person i knew there was a local beach bum we had met earlier that day, who had appointed himself as my guardian after Ruta jokingly told him to look after me. (i could’ve killed her). it was all well and good until he told me he loved me and would i please be his girlfriend—then i needed an out, and fast. thankfully i caught the eye of a friendly foreigner, and immediately set about making friends with him and the couple he was travelling with (a bunch of swedes, it turned out). they were great, and we were heavy in conversation when it became increasingly apparent that i had not shrugged off my guardian-turned-stalker just yet. he started hassling me, telling me my new swedish friend was no good, to watch out because he puts pills in girls’ drinks…it was nuts. we decided to leave the party (and the slightly psychopathic unwanted company) and continue our conversation down the beach, which would’ve been pleasant under the radiant full moon had it not been for my loyal guard dog tagging along. there was no way around it, he knew where i was staying; he followed me to my door, and proceeded to tie a palm leaf around the gate (to lock me in, presumably), and guarded the door for 15 minutes before drunkenly stumbling back to the party. i was shocked and appalled, and gave Ruta a real what-for when she asked how it had gone (well someone had to take the blame!). i would have been really pissed about the whole misadventure if it hadn’t been for our wonderful new friends, with whom we ended up spending the next 10 days, sharing meals, stories, dice games, and a lot of laughter.
mirissa
last night, walking through hikkaduwa, we passed a few tuk-tuk drivers and enquired about prices to Mirissa, our next destination. the one Ruta started bargaining with was a bit of a creep, so we decided we’d pick one in the morning when we were ready to go. then, the quiet one of the bunch piped up, and matter-of-factly pointed at Ruta and stated, “i know you from funky’s. i made you your fish”, and then turned to me and added “and you—pumpkin curry. how was it?”. a man of many trades, not only was he a tuk-tuk cabbie, but a chef and hotel concierge as well—he spent years working in switzerland—and Ruta and i had to have him. he picked us up at 11am SHARP (as we’d agreed the night before—we loved him already), and started our long and leisurely drive down the coast. he took us on detours to show us Galle market (which we’d missed), the tourist town Unawatuna, and a local shop where we stopped to eat vegetable rolls and he recounted his experience of the tsunami. he said the water rose and flooded the shore by a few meters inland, which was rare but had happened before, but then sucked itself back out far far far to sea—and he knew it was time to run. he found himself 20 feet up in a tree, and after he had collected himself (and various freaked out people around him), set about tirelessly working to help his fellow victims. 6 months, day and night, collecting and delivering food packages, helping children find parents and parents find children, rebuilding schools and houses—and only spending aid money on fueling his tuk-tuk, so he could get all his jobs done—he was already our hero before, but he blew himself out of the water with these stories. he dropped us off at the bungalow/guest house Ruta had booked online in advance (nestled in the jungle, 10 minutes away from the purported noisy beach filled with tourists at christmastime), and we dumped our bags and rushed to the bathroom—only to run back out again, shrieking (well, Ruta anyway). the bathroom had apparently already been claimed by a giant, leggy spider the size of my outstretched hand…and its offspring. i chased it around with a frying pan (i wanted to relocate it, not smash it), but it was too fast, and when i had it (for a second!) in the pan, it came dangerously close to crawling up my arm and i reflexively freaked out and flung it (pan and all) across the bathroom, directly into the toilet! we couldn’t find it after that—it might’ve been flushed, or might’ve narrowly escaped—mind you, we didn’t stay long enough to find out. we grabbed our bags and hit the beach, determined to find a reasonably-priced guest house. after having appraised the entire property value of Mirissa beachfront, we realized they were all about the same (and there were hardly any tourists around), and settled on a place right off the beach with an oceanfront view and very temperamental amenities. i was too tired to complain; the owners were friendly, and the mosquito net kept the bugs out, so i unpacked.
