hikkaduwa

humid. my lungs, my pores, every open part of me is full of this moldy humidity—the only respite is beneath the blast of cold air from our AC machine, but then i feel cool and dry and unnatural; stepping outside is always a harsh transition. the beach is beautiful; we walked for hours this morning, discovering sleepy fishing boats scattered along the coast, and local people anxious for us to return their enthusiastic waves. i dipped my toes into the indian ocean for the first time, and felt the elation of breaking new ground, once more—only this time treading in new waters. by high noon we decided it was time to get out from under the sun, so we walked all the way back to a place called Funky de Bar, which offers surf lessons in addition to its food and drink menu. in fact, the main surf instructor reminded us of our old costa rican friend, Erly—it was a strange deja vu, or more like a been-there-done-that; i nixed the idea of surfing, but we lounged for hours under a thickly thatched palm roof, sipping fresh fruit juice and appreciating having shelter from the mid-afternoon torrential downpour. an old woman selling clothing out of an ikea bag took refuge there as well, and thought while she was at it she’d try to make a sale—well, Ruta took the bait, and in less than 10 minutes about 6 other old bag ladies (selling the same stuff) had appeared out of nowhere, all pulling their wares out for us to see. it was such a desperate scene; the owner had to shoo them away, like stray animals. one of them, the eldest and by far most decrepit, was persistent; she refused to move on. i felt so sorry for her, i gave her 50 rupees—all i had on me—but still she insisted that we buy something from her. if i’d had the money with me, i probably would have, just for her sheer determination. i’m sure she’ll find us again tomorrow; the people here spend their time hunting for tourists like bloodthirsty zombies, because there’s not much else for them to make a living. these tourist towns have fallen on hard times, what with the tsunami and current civil war—it was a real sad sight, because the hotels are open and ready to accommodate, and there are only ghosts passing through. i don’t know which is worse, though; a dilapidated, empty tourist town in shambles, with people banded together in a sort of collective despair, or a thriving shiny commercial tourist trap (like cancun for instance) with a dark and ugly underbelly—which is more real?