The Lair

Life takes on a fairly surreal quality whenever I visit Sri Lanka. The first few weeks and months are a long series of meeting folks (some of whom didn’t know I was back in town, because I’m fairly pathetic at keeping in touch with people).

After the first month or so, I’ve met most of the folks I’m likely to meet. Extra special meetups shake themselves down into fixtures [like the jukebox/pub outing on Wednesday for example]. My uncustomarily busy social calendar becomes more manageable (by which I mean that I go out maybe once or twice a week, if that - which suits me just fine). Life assumes a thankfully slower and more relaxed pace. I feel less out of place among the kids experimenting with alcohol for seemingly the first time and the almost obnoxiously energetic party animals.

I get the chance to do stuff that I used to do before I left - impulsively paying off the three wheeler in Bambalapitiya close to midnight and eating a late night meal at the grimy all nighter place [vague rumours of a Hep outbreak be damned]. Remember a vestige of street sense sufficient to peer down the straw they give me to sip the Pepsi - the inside looks distinctly dodge. Discard straw and take my chances swigging from the bottle. It’s completely pointless to worry about the cleanliness of a straw, I know.

I notice things that have passed me by the first few weeks - the random street cat comfortably nestled for a nap between a decorative pillar and a wall, the numerous hilarious (perhaps not for the reason that their authors intended) posters adorning most of the city walls, the subtle changes to the skyline of the streets as new buildings (mostly get-rich-quick apartment blocks) spring up.

Inboxes everywhere start to pile up as my internet access reduces to a few hours a week wrestling with a spotty connection hogged by random porn fiends at the local cybercafe (not altogether affectionately dubbed the Filthy Internets, in their defence it is also filthy cheap).

This is possibly the longest stretch of time that I’ve actually had to enjoy a holiday without having a part of my head worrying about work or some random academic activity. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.

It started innocently enough.

[psylog] But you are the loverlord
[psylog] Oops. I mean overlord

Then it got worse.

[@tezcat] you could replace the entire Ach front page for the day, with a giant drawing of you. Scowling.
* tezcat suggests radical ideas
[@tezcat] The Loverlord Is Displeased.

And now -

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The general state of the universe, I vaguely recall, is of increasing entropy - that is to say that things usually get worse.

So how does one begin to explain the fact that private bus conductors in SL (notoriously some of the sharpest operators around) have actually started giving back more change than they should? At least 5-6 times in the last few weeks, I’ve been given 10 bucks change from a 20 for a 11 buck fare. I know this is an unfair generalization, but these are the guys who usually swipe change from hapless travellers.

I’m mystified about this phenomenon and still find it hard not to gawk. But almost as a defense mechanism, I’ve actually become more careful about carrying exact change for the fare now.

It’s not every day that I can claim to being woken up by the sound of explosives. Exploding, as it were. So today was different. It didn’t sound like a flat tire (there was no whooshing exhalation at the end), it didn’t sound like some clumsy construction worker dropping a paint bucket. It sounded like a bomb and that’s what it was. At least in this instance, the paranoia about explody business turned out to be true.

A few glances out the window - traffic was stacked up on the bridge, but that’s not unusual for just before 0700 on a Monday morning. No ambulances. I opened up one of the large pane glass windows, just to hear the noises of the street below - but the blaring bus horns and traffic noises drowned out any other noises that I had expected to hear (like sirens).

No radio in the house. No TV either. The family had officially moved to the boondocks the day before and I was playing night watchman of sorts. Bare house. I was quite relishing the solitude. But voluntarily becoming a hermit in the urban sprawl has its drawbacks when there are flowerpots exploding nearby.

Wondered if I had imagined it all. No one seemed very alarmed that I could see.

First hint of something that might have gone wrong - vehicles on the northbound lane into Colombo were reversing out of the jam and taking alternative routes. Not the buses of course. The buses had no choice but to stick on the main road. But smaller vehicles were mounting the center island and doing frantic U-turns in the middle of the road in order to escape.

Couple of military vehicles head towards the traffic lights. They are moving unhurriedly, the soliders inside seem relaxed. The military vehicles are heading up the wrong side of the street, adding to the chaotic jam of vehicles streaming away from the main road. Couple of uniforms perched on top wave away the oncoming vehicles, but their effort seems desultory. There is no urgency.

I wonder aloud (on the phone) if I am possibly mistaken. Maybe it was a falling bucket of paint after all. Yes, the mobile phones still work, which adds to my suspicion that I had imagined the whole thing. A couple of minutes later, I got another call confirming an explosion.

Someone’s Monday morning had started off in the worst possible way.

In no particular order - the events of the past week and a half or so -

Number of near death events: 4
I forgot that some roads are now one-way (a lifetime of habit on familiar streets) and ended up looking in the wrong direction for oncoming traffic.

Number of new bloggerati met: 2
Although one guy (you know who you are etc) was a brief meeting. The Fascist was, gratifyingly, almost exactly as I had imagined - although he sounded odd over the phone.

Random acts of desperation: 2
I still don’t have a DSL connection. A couple of days after I landed, I lugged my laptop over to a cafe (with hideously priced smoothies) just to enjoy the free wifi on offer. I felt simultaneously bad and good about the whole thing. Bad, because ye know - I didn’t really want to go to that place. Good because, well.. internet.

I also sent a plainitive SMS to tezcat asking for news of the internets. He rose to the occasion with a summary that would have done any summer-upper (sumerian?) proud.

Random three wheeler dudes talking to me about politics: 5
No really. I don’t care. Please stop. Why doesn’t my usual non-committal grunt work with you anymore?

Random three wheeler dudes talking to me about rising prices: umm. lost count
I’m still operating on UK prices and conversions. I laugh mockingly at your puny 2 quid fare. Well, no. The beer is annoyingly expensive. Maybe I’m just going to the wrong places.

New eateries scoped out: 4
The Sizzle was decent (their website still no worky, btw). Photos taken. Not sure if my whipping out a camera was the reason for being offered a questionnaire at the end of the meal or not. Maybe it was just a slow day, which is why the manager/owner chappie came over and asked us about the meal.

At the other end of the spectrum, also went (twice!) to a place near Nawala named “The Chinese Steam Boat”. Their gin is vile and filthy cheap. I highly recommend it. Decent food too, I guess.

Number of cumulative hours spent in a gaming cafe getting my ass kicked by screaming twelve year olds: umm… 15ish, I think
*mumble mumble* I was having a bad day or three, ok?

Number of paranoid bus conductors heard screaming at people to grab hold of their own bags: about 3
Yeah, bombs on buses, yadda yadda.

There’s more, but that’s probably for later.