It is late afternoon. The sky begins to slide; peaches and pinks begin to mellow in the clouds, with their pastel hues starting to dance on a few waves far out at sea. The sting of the day’s heat has left now and humidity seems to be building in the air. The sun sags down towards the ocean horizon and is about an hour away from setting. It will be gone soon. The blues in the sky deepen and are filled with moving chunks of cumulus cloud coming in off the ocean, all bloated and saturated with moisture, gliding across the heavens like icecubes in scotch.
For a while I tried to photograph this changing canvas blooming overhead. One photograph became a frenzy of many, with each one more memorable than the previous (so I told myself). Then you realise the futility of trying to capture some experiences in a photograph. You just can’t. While clouds and colours mesmerise within a private dalliance of time, birds are flying through camera frames – darting past images, evasive when wanted in shot – their songs are audible, everywhere, soft and echoed through the moving leaves of tall, thin palm trees. Row upon row of tall, thin strings of long-lined coconut trees, rise upwards, rustling and alive in this afternoon breeze. Rain occasionally sprinkles. It falls and blots some of the ink from this pen on this page. Words blur as they are written. A rainbow flashes for a moment, radiant in colour, dissolves into nothing in a second. How to capture all this? Maybe it’s better to put away everything those and to just absorb all this beauty as it unfolds, until the day ends (until the adventure ends), all the way to a tangerine twilight. The determination to hold on to the end of something can often blind us to what actually remains; easier, then, to just let go and to be amongst the moments.
Reflecting, then, on this trip. Today has been lived through a blur of concerns: checking out and checking in, packing and unpacking, haring in and out of taxis. Cannot believe how tired I feel. I left Bentota this morning around 10. It was a three-hour road trip along the coast up to Colombo (arriving some time after 1 o’clock). The driver mentioned some new highway, Express 1 or Galle Road, linking the South to the capital (there wasn’t much conversation). My flight out of Sri Lanka leaves at 1am; rather than wait twelve hours at the airport for an overnight flight, I booked a room at a hotel close to the airport. I’m glad I did. I’ve showered, slept and am now writing by a pool (only two flights ahead of me now – probably won’t be in my own bed for at least an entire day).
Sri Lanka has been an amazing experience. On reflection the trip was too short. I should have stayed for longer, a few weeks more, to travel, to have seen as much of this beautiful place as I could. And yet in the short time here I had, I did what I could. There was Galle Fort, a walled area of homes, churches, mosques, temples, shops and cafes (they even have a literary festival here each year). The journey there from Aluthagama on a train was something so special – a two-hour train line running the length of the shoreline with waves breaking as we thundered past en route to Galle (all windows were open and stayed open). There were many kind souls I met there. I hope I can return properly and spend time there. Think I need more time. Think I need to come back here again. There are many places I had earmarked months ago and wish I had seen: Sigiriya and Sri Pada (Adam’s Peak). Sometimes it’s just not practical or possible to do and see everything – better to leave room for next time. The sun is now setting. Wish I could stay here for a while longer. One more swim, then, one more, then time to let the holiday go, to gather up these poolside things and move indoors once again. Clouds continue to float in. I feel so relaxed. I have loved today so much.
Back at my room in the hotel, time is running out. I am trying hard to slow this endless march towards the buzz of an airport but already it is seven o’clock (my taxi pick up is booked for ten-thirty). Everything is ready, everything is packed, everything is on edge – waiting for a departure lounge, luggage trucks on tarmac, flashing lights, empty seats, criss-crossing lives you will never meet or see again, standing still in swirling madness, inane and endless security checks, burning eyes, aching backs, searching for seats, searching for passports. To take a break from thinking, I go downstairs for a meal rather than room service – opting for dahl, coconut sambal, fish curry and an egg hoppa. On my way to the restaurant area, between the lifts and lobby, I had to walk through a mini mall in the hotel. It had a few transit shops flanking each side. Some were open, some were already closed. One shop open sold souvenirs, silks and clothes. An elderly couple worked there and were very kind and patient when I entered. I bought a few scarves and tea towels as presents. When they were being wrapped I saw a large table cloth for sale. It caught my eye immediately. It was made from cream linen and had five large elephants embroidered on it. It wasn’t cheap, nor was it beyond my budget, but the money I needed to buy it was back upstairs in my room. The shop closed at eight-thirty. I decided to eat first and to come back and buy it.
Opposite the souvenirs was a book shop. It was hard to resist a quick look inside. As always, on entering, you immediately you remember what magical places bookshops are. Able to transport and transform you through ideas and imagination. Shelves full of thoughts, dreams and observations, willing to be shared, waiting to be heard. A man who worked there chatted as I look to choose something to take on the flight. He asked where I was from. He asked about cricket. He asked me what I thought of his country. I told him the truth; that I had loved my stay and found it to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world. He looked at me in silence somewhat taken aback. I mentioned that I hoped to visit again some day and to see other places. I named those places I hadn’t been able to see. He recommended another place. He repeated the name of the place a few times, before I asked him to write its name down in the book I’d purchased: Nuwara Eliya.
After dinner, I returned to my room. Suitcase still packed, ready. I counted out cash for the tablecloth and put it down on my bed with me. There is something so unique about a hotel room. The silent anonymity of the room and your neighbours, the sanctuary from a bombardment of so many new sensations. A corridor of footsteps and a lobby bringing other worlds together. The wonderment of being a citizen of nowhere and the deliberate choice of being somewhere else in the world for a brevity of time. The bed felt heavy. I put on the television. There was a movie on one of the channels. It was Midnight’s Children, the cinematic version of Salman Rushdie’s novel. It was on in the background as I idled time, (re)checked my departure times, repeatedly wished I could stop time and just stay here for a while longer. I watched pockets of the movie before remembering the tablecloth; picked up my money, carried my door key, caught a lift to the ground floor and walked to the shops. The bookshop was closed. Its lights were out. The souvenir shop was closed; its lights were on. I walked closer to look inside for signs of life and read a sign on the door ‘Back in 5mins.’
And so at 10.30pm I waited in my room. I was waiting for reception to call and to tell me my taxi had arrived to take me to the airport. Last minute brinkmanship; I could wait. Maybe the taxi was running late (stuck in traffic). There was no real urgency, after all, it was only a five minute drive. Maybe I had to ring to confirm first. At 10.45pm I gathered up my belongings and made my way down to the lobby. Maybe the driver was waiting there. It was empty. It was dark. It was quiet. The Duty Manager at the hotel rang the number I had been given for the taxi. There was no answer. He rang again and left a message on the answer phone. We waited for a short while, talking together, before he offered me a voucher for a complimentary taxi to the airport. It was a gesture much appreciated. I thanked him. Just as he was about to call a local driver, the one I had booked arrived out of the blue. It was now eleven o’clock. It was now time to go. We drove out of Colombo into the darkness, into the ending of another adventure, leaving behind a wonderful afternoon in the night. We drove out into unknown roads and unseen streets, moving, merging, turning, overtaking and arriving at Colombo international airport. This was it, then. The holiday was now over. Back into another airport. I checked in and wandered off towards the security checks. I stared at a flight board, found my flight and made my way to the boarding gate. Everything was on time.
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siesta del somewhere 