One year: Part one

1 year ago today

I spend the day high on adrenaline and sick with nervous excitement as I spin in chaotic circles around my room, packing, weighing, emptying and repacking my belongings ahead of the big trip. At regular intervals I find myself standing stock still, wide-eyed and delirious, gazing stupidly at my feet. As the contents of my case dwindles to meet the airline's criteria, the tension in my jaw and shoulders grows. Phone calls are received only to ensure that visitors understand that they are NOT welcome. I am far too busy swinging wildly between utter hysteria and a disconcerting calm to concentrate on being sociable or civil. And anyway, I've said my goodbyes and have the company of Boo and Chewy, my two favourite poodles, to listen to my nonsensical chit chat and join me in any last minute squeaks of terror (mainly me and Boo. Chewy is far too cool for such silliness!). Eventually, once the case is shut and Boo and I are all squeaked out (for now), I take myself to bed for one last sleepless night of nightmarish imaginings of the sweaty misery that undoubtedly lies ahead. 


Today

Today I wake to find myself shivering. An unusual sensation these days. But I tell no lie. December is typically the most pleasant month of the year weatherwise. Add to that a whole lot of mistimed and confused monsoon rains this year and it's not so hot. Don't get me wrong, it's still close to 30 degrees, but the humidity is actually bearable, not so nightmarish after all! 

Today is a national holiday on account of Thai Pongal, a Hindu thanksgiving and harvest festival to worship the sun god. However, I am due at work and need to get going. So, I jump out of bed, happy to see the sun shining and ready to give thanks for the harvest in my own special way, my usual breakfast of a fresh papaya and banana smoothie, followed by homemade muesli with curd and kithul honey. Having showered and dressed, I inadvertently electrocute myself with the tennis racket shaped mosquito swatter whilst trying to kill the little blighter that has just bitten me. The charge is surprisingly strong, but, no harm done, I feel a little more alert and, as the day progresses, I'm sure I am being more productive as a result. Having pretty much single-handedly (well, not quite) planned and organised an entire (well, sort of) national Occupational Therapy conference scheduled for March (HELP! It's not enough TIME!!!!!!!!!!!) I return home. My pool is shut today, so I can't swim. Instead I turn my attention to my next blog post, pour myself a well earned G&T and start typing.

to be continued (maybe...)

A Christmas coriander cure

I am not feeling great today. I have a @%&*&$ (insert expletive of your choice here) cold and am feeling a little sorry for myself. It could of course be worse and I do realise I'm being a tiny bit melodramatic. It's just a cold after all. But I had hoped that the sore throat and stuffy head developed a few days back were on their way out when I took a turn for the better yesterday. Instead, I woke this morning with the nose of that most popular of reindeers, the chesty rattle of a 20-a-day smoker, and the morning-after head of a work Christmas party goer (The closest I've come to attending such an event was a lunchtime earlier this week spent in good company stuffing my face with curry and cake and sipping on some water). So, it seems that being in the tropics does not protect you from the dreaded Christmas germs!

The thing is, tomorrow is a big day; my friends arrive from home for a long planned festive break. I've been looking forward to this for 11 months now and, you know how it is, who doesn't want to be at their best for the holidays? To say I'm disappointed is putting it mildly. Well, actually, it's spot on. I am disappointed.

However, I'm aware that I will not be alone in my snuffly nose, gravelly chest and bad head. I'm sure many of you reading will be suffering too; perhaps you're bingeing on mince pies whilst shivering miserably under a blanket by the fire, or stoically carrying on with your duties; bravely stuffing the turkey, scrubbing the potatoes and crossing those sprouts between explosive sneezes. And so in the name of solidarity and positivity, I have decided to get a grip, stop the moaning and take some assertive action. As well dosing up on some drugs, and taking care to follow that wise old adage by stuffing my germ-filled face, I have boiled myself up a traditional cold cure.

The Sri Lankans love their herbal medicine and, whilst working my way through my 3rd breakfast course this morning, it struck me that the cookbook I'd been given by VSO on my arrival had some traditional remedies at the back. On digging out the book, this is what I found:

Coriander cure!! (for flu, cold, cough, body aches)

Ingredients 
1 cup coriander seeds
3 cups water
1 inch piece of cinnamon
3-4 slices of green ginger (1 inch in length approx)

Optional 
1 clove of garlic
3-5 cloves
2-3 cardamoms
1 teaspoon of pepper corns

Method
1. Add all ingredients with water to a pan
2. Boil together until water has reduced to about one cup
3. Take off fire
4. Strain and add sugar to taste

So, here I am supping on my coriander concoction (with all the optional extras, why do things by halves?). I can assure you it smells as poky as it sounds, and tastes, at best, like someone had a little too much sherry and mixed up the mulled wine recipe with the sage and onion stuffing preparations. At worst I imagine it tastes like something you might use to tackle a particularly stubborn case of lime scale build up in your kettle. However, whilst I'm sure I will stink to high heaven for many days to come, I have great hopes this might actually work. Try it if you dare! But a word of advice, you might want to hold your nose whilst swallowing.

So, to my much loved "idiots" (you know who you are), germs or no germs, I am coming to get you. I'll be eagerly awaiting your arrival at the airport. If you can't see me, just follow your noses.

To the rest of you "idiots", and to my other wonderful friends and family, wishing you a healthy and happy Christmas and an amazing new year.

What madam wants

By way of an early Christmas gift, I've decided you deserve a break from my ramblings. Instead, this week, I'm very happy to introduce you to my very first guest blogger. Over to you ma...

There are many fantastic memories of my Sri Lankan holiday with Beth in September 2012. But one moment is especially precious; it was a struggle simply to get there.

Before I left England, Udawalawa National Park, with the chance to see elephants in their natural habitat, was one location I definitely hoped to visit. It was close to our planned tour route. No problem, or so I thought.

Negotiating with hotel owners, taxi and trishaw drivers required a lot of determination all of the time. My experiences led me to wonder if, like each of our drivers, Sri Lankan men always have a ‘better’ plan, a ‘superior’ route or a tourist attraction that ‘you must not miss’. The longest battle, by far, was caused by our desire to visit Udawalawa.

Our plan was to visit the park on the all day drive from the Viharagala Tea Estate bungalow to Mirissa on the south coast. But every time we brought the subject up, the price followed suit…up…and up …and up. Negotiating again with a different driver was no easier; we began to think that we really were asking the impossible. Of course there was a ‘better’ plan (Yala Safari Park), a ‘superior’ route (staying on the main road) and an attraction we ‘could not miss’( a four hour safari, with a greater variety of wild life and we really should include an overnight stay).

We nearly gave up. The night before our journey to the coast Beth was feeling fragile. Four hours in a jeep at the Yala safari Park was definitely out. We were ready to abandon our plan to see the elephants. But then one of the lovely gentlemen waiting on us at Viharagala told us that it was possible to see elephants, on the way to Udawalawa, from the road.

Next morning with renewed determination we boarded the hire car and finally wrestled an agreement that…yes, it was possible to go that way if that is what ‘madam’ really wanted. Yes… ‘madam’ and ‘miss’ definitely did.

En route, we saw elephants beside the road and, despite the impossibility, we arrived in one piece at Udawalawa National Park, a victory for all ‘madams’ everywhere.

Beth declared herself well enough to travel in a jeep so we hired one, bought our tickets and were just about to climb aboard when an angry German tourist rushed across to advise us that it was all a scam and ‘There are no elephants’ in the park. She told us that she had been driven around for two hours and had not seen a single elephant. Clearly our trip was a waste of time. Impossible!

Really?

We looked at one another, then with cheerful determination, shrugged and climbed inelegantly into the jeep. Five minutes later, having just begun to cope with the rocking and juddering of the truck, we were entranced by the sight of our first elephant family no more than three metres away. Not a ‘single’ elephant but three adults, two juveniles and most delightful of all a tiny two month old baby who after a short time came out from under his mother’s legs to find a comfortable place to suckle.

We saw many elephants that day including a herd of nineteen and two males facing off for a fight. But that moment and the time we spent so close to that tiny baby and his family is unrivalled.

Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, let's go...

It's a funny old time to be in Sri Lanka just now. First of all, there's the fact that my internal thermostat is confused. Despite all evidence to the contrary, my body has been gearing up for the "inevitable" for a while now. I wake up each morning bracing myself for that icy wind to begin whistling and those nights to start drawing in. But, of course, it's not happening. And I can't deny that it feels weird to be in the tropics as Christmas approaches. Only this morning I found myself distractedly humming along to sleigh ride in my local supermarket as I sweated my way through the checkout.

Needless to say, there are no sleigh bells jingling or ring ting tingling here. There is a distinct lack of any snow falling outside and no friends calling "yoo hoo" either (not yet anyway!). However, there is no getting away from it, December has arrived (DECEMBER?!) and, at least for me, time appears to be gathering pace. If life is a sleigh ride, then Mr Claus has clearly been on the arrack and he's bellowing at those trusty reindeer to giddy up and get moving whilst pulling hard on the reins.

But it's a funny old time not just on account of the incongruous Christmas medleys, plastic pines and glitzy baubles in the shops. The mental health programme I'm working in will come to a close in just under 4 months. A few volunteers have recently finished up their placements and left the country. This week, another 4 jet off leaving an ever dwindling number of us here. Not only will they be much missed, but their departure is a reminder that the sleigh ride continues apace, and it wont be long before this particular leg of the journey comes to an end for me too.

Nevertheless, I must admit these past few days I have found myself wishing the ride would go a bit faster. I have been counting the days (18 now!) until a welcome slice of home arrives courtesy of a festive visit from some very good friends. It suddenly feels like it's been far too long, and I am beginning to get a little impatient. Are we nearly there yet?!

And yet, I've also found myself looking back with fondness at those first few months, when everything was new and novel; when there seemed to be plenty of time to make some serious progress, and when the bumps along the way did not feel so jarring.

But there's no turning back, and those reindeer can only go so fast. So, what to do? Perhaps I can somehow apply the brakes. There are certainly many things I'll miss when I finally leave Sri Lanka, and in the meantime, so much more I need to do, so much to see, and far too many Bollywood dance moves for a girl to grasp in just a few months. Perfecting the Bollywood "gallop" alone could keep me fully occupied for the remainder of my stay (more on this in a future blog post, no doubt). I clearly need more time! So, hold your reindeer Santa, you're going too fast! Any chance you can could slow down?

Nope, not sure that will work either. There's nothing else for it. I'll just have to sit back, hold on and enjoy the ride....bumps, baubles, and all. And if I'm really not feeling it, I guess I can always hop off and start galloping Bollywood style. Yoo hoo! Anyone care to join me? Giddy up, let's go...

She doesn't understand

"She doesn't understand" "She can't understand" "No, she doesn't understand". So went the rather repetitive conversation between 2 teenage boys on a very crowded bus just a couple of days ago. Clearly they were talking about me.They were speaking just loud enough for me to hear and using that tone of mild amusement reserved for clueless foreigners doing something seemingly inexplicable.

I was already feeling rather irritable from the close proximity of my fellow passengers; the bus was bursting at the seams and leaning precariously to one side, the driver was attempting to break some kind of Guinness world record for steering, braking, accelerating and horning (yup) simultaneously. I was wedged firmly between someone's armpit, a very bony elbow and a particularly full bosom. Add to that the fact that I was becoming quite convinced that I could smell myself (it wasn't nice), and I was almost certain I could see steam rising from the sweaty body mass in the bus as the temperature increased from unpleasant to unbearable. And now, apparently, I did not understand!

"What does SHE not understand?" I just had to ask.
"Gopher wood" he replied
"What?"
"Gopher wood"
"Huh?"
"GOPHERWOOD"
"I'm sorry, I really don't know what you are saying!"
"But we are speaking the same language, English no?"
"Well, yes, and no...(I figured now wasn't the time to be getting into a conversation about the fact that Sri Lankan English continues to delight and confound me on a daily basis and is clearly very much a language in its own right.I wasn't sure he'd understand my weird Brit's English to be fair, and my lung capacity was seriously restricted by the shoulder in my chest. I needed to conserve my breath)...but still I don't understand, what is gopherwood?"
"The inspector, he was telling you to gopherwood, you must gopherwood on the bus"

Finally the rupee dropped!

"Ah, go forward! Yes, I know the inspector was telling me to go forward. I did understand ACTUALLY!" I added childishly "But where do you suggest I go forward to exactly?!" "Yanne koheeda?!" I continued, gesturing wildly with my right eyebrow towards the elbow just one inch from my face.

This seemed to amuse everyone around me, particularly the armpit man to my left and and the big busted woman to my right. Aha, maybe SHE's not so clueless after all!

Unfortunately, I suspect the boys on the bus were right. The reality is, I really don't understand and can't understand the vast majority of the time. Whilst I am getting fairly used to the very simple shouted instructions on the bus of enna (come) isseraha (move forward) and bayiiiiiiiiinna (get down), I still don't understand the need to instruct me in this way! After all, I AM coming, going forward and getting down if I want to and when I need to thank you very much! Add to that the fact that, outside of this bus scenario, half the time I'm not even sure which language is being used, and you can begin to see just how lost I am.

Well, perhaps it's to be expected. There is the code switching to deal with: the common practice of alternating back and forth between Sinhala and English within a single sentence. I mean, my poor overheated brain cannot work fast enough to establish which language it needs to translate. Are we talking about the wood of an English or a Sri Lankan gopher here?

Surely I should be getting used to it, needa (no?)? I've been here for 10 months now! Aiyo (oh deary deary me), isn't it meant to get easier? The sad fact is, the longer I am here, the less attuned my ear becomes to what goes on around me. Habei Aeiiiiiy (but why), how can that be? There was definitely a point when I felt I was understanding more and communicating better. Nevertheless, for some time now, my most frequently used Sinhala phrase has been taerennenair (don't understand) and my brow has been fixed into a permanently quizzical expression.

Is it simply because I am not fully immersed in one language or another, or am I clueless after all? Is this all part of the experience, or have I just stopped trying? Perhaps everyone feels like this, or maybe it's just me. Could it be that my brain is hibernating in order to consolidate everything learnt so far and that some day soon all will become clear? I just don't know. However, if that is the case, until then one thing is for certain...I really don't understand.

Perks of the blog

Writing a blog has been a revelation for me in more ways than one. Not only am I enjoying it more than I ever anticipated, it has also resulted in some completely unexpected treats. Most recently the blog brought me a heavenly slab of bread and butter pudding served warm from the oven and topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream....delicious! But more of that in a minute.

Sharing the ups and downs of the past 10 months in this way has made me feel that little bit closer to home. Those who know me can get a pretty good idea of what I'm up to without me spending hours in front of the computer becoming horribly goggle eyed and entirely socially inept. And I will always receive a few welcome emails whenever I post something, bringing me much appreciated news from far flung friends and family.

A fellow volunteer recently told me that she had every intention of writing a blog when she arrived in Sri Lanka. She even went as far as setting up the page, but as yet just hasn't managed to get going. Whilst there have been many positives for her, she told me that the lows have felt too difficult for her to write about without sounding overly downbeat, potentially reinforcing the negative frame of mind she may be in.

For me, I have found it is quite the opposite. Of course, I love sharing the good stuff, of which there has been plenty. But when the lows have come, the blog has been far better than the most expensive of therapies. Giving only a passing thought to the interests and well-being of my audience, I often find myself hammering away at my keyboard attempting to stuff a nagging irritation, unexpected humiliation or blinding rage into what I hope might make a vaguely interesting blog-shaped read. And when life has thrown non-bloggable challenges my way? Even then, a couple of hours spent shaping up the next entry can be just the diverting ticket I need to feel a little better about things.

So, blogging...it seems to be generally rather good for my health and well-being. But more specifically, it's also pretty good for my belly and my ego. Last week, both got a boost and grew a little bigger when I received an unexpected dinner invitation all the way from Abergavenny! My hosts were Sri Lankan friends of my uncle and aunt who were, until last week, complete strangers to me. They have have lived in Wales for many years now, but also have a house in Colombo and split their time between here and there. It turns out that, unbeknown to me, they have been following my blog for some time, and for some reason they were keen to meet me in person whilst in town!

So, this is how I came to spend a wonderfully civilised evening at their peaceful and stunningly beautiful Villa a short drive from my home. I was warmly welcomed and treated to a delicious slap up meal (including that heavenly pudding) along with some great company and entertaining conversation. When some fellow dinner guests arrived, I was introduced like some kind of minor celebrity to an open mouthed and disbelieving reception. "What, the woman from THAT blog? YOU actually wrote it?! Really?! WOW!" I took it as a compliment, but perhaps it was shock and horror on her part at the thought of having to spend a whole evening in the company of someone who is clearly rather self absorbed!? Either way, I had a great night and was too busy stuffing my face and guzzling the wine to talk too much about myself. The perfect guest perhaps?

So...to my new friends, a very big thank you. I had a great time. How could I not blog about it? And to my fellow volunteer, get blogging! You never know, you might actually enjoy it. And, if you're very lucky, who knows what perks might come your way!

Getting high in northern india

getting high in northern india, a set on Flickr.

When a friend recently asked for my help in realising a lifelong dream of visiting the Himalayas, I paused momentarily to pinch myself before selflessly agreeing to lend a hand. And so, this is how I found myself heading from hot, sticky and monsoon drenched Colombo to the sunny city of Leh in the northern Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. Currently bathed in stunning autumnal colours but swiftly racing towards a harsh winter, the city is situated deep in the Himalayas at around 3,500 metres above sea level. And what a magical place it is!

The holiday magic began very soon after landing as we arrived up at our guest house; heads giddy from the altitude, bodies charged with static from the dry mountain air, and faces already cracking from the sudden cold, we soon learnt that there was no running water (hot or cold) owing to some frozen pipes and extreme sub-zero temperatures. Oh, and not forgetting the lack of any heating of course!

Having managed to negotiate a gas heater powerful enough to warm a gnat's nose and established that we could request a thimble of hot water in which to bathe ourselves each morning, we piled on our begged and borrowed layers and set off to explore. Heading first for the main bazaar in the centre of Leh, we found ourselves quickly falling in love with the gentle Ladakhi people and the wonderfully multi-purpose greeting of julay.

Seemingly good for hello, goodbye, thank you, you're welcome and any number of other pleasantries, julay was offered to us by the locals at every opportunity in a warm and endearingly joyful tone. Even more charming, it was repeated endlessly by our hosts before, during and after every mealtime in a sing song melody that gradually descended into a whispered chant and, finally, an infectious chuckle that we couldn't help but join in with. Apart from the numb toes and our frozen runny noses, we were in heaven!

Now, this wasn't any old trip; it was a very special one, arranged to coincide with a particularly significant birthday for my travel buddy. As the big day approached, it was clear something extraordinary and mind blowing was required to celebrate. So we figured, what the heck, we're in India, let's get high!

And that's exactly what we did. Without the help of any illicit or mind altering substances (unless you count the daily bowl of magical porridge we were now entirely dependent on) we headed to the breathtaking Nubra Valley via the Khardung mountain pass, 6,502 metres up on the highest motorable road in the world. Taking with us Pinsu, our trusty driver, and some nerves of steel, we quickly found ourselves breathless from the dizzying altitude, sheer drops and stunning views. Accompanied by a convoy of Indian army vehicles, a reminder of the troubled border area we were heading towards, we wound our way onwards and upwards into snow and ice, past the rather concerning avalanche warnings and some less than reassuring memorial stones placed at many of the hairpin bends.

Yes, we got very very high indeed. But with every high, of course, there is the inevitable come down. And this one was particularly hard on the birthday boy. He suffered a fairly unpleasant case of altitude sickness as we wound our way down into the valley. Luckily, this was fairly short lived and, having survived a night without our trusty gas heater in the beautiful village of Hunder, we set out on foot to enjoy the scenery, befriending a couple of camels on route when we got a bit tired. We even spotted a few yetis on the way back! Although I have my suspicions we were still a little bit high. Perhaps they were yaks after all! Take a look at the photos and you decide.