Just one more thing...

Colombo:  A sprawling shuffling bustling sweating honking hulk of a city situated on the south western coast of the tropical teardrop island of Sri Lanka, and home for 15 months.

Not to be mistaken with...

Colombia: A country in the north west of South America. Capital city; Bogotá.

Neither of which should be mistaken with...

Columbo: The politely pestering, crumpled raincoat wearing American TV detective who inspired the title of my blog. If you've never seen the show, his bumbling demeanour hides a quick-witted shrewdness which only becomes apparent to those around him when he eventually utters the words "just one more thing..." before pointing the finger at the unsuspecting guilty party.

It's true. However tenuous the link, this was the reason for the title of the blog. Over 18 months ago now, as I grappled with the technicalities of my new google blogger account, just ahead of my departure on my big adventure, a friend suggested it. And so it stuck, never to be mentioned, even in passing, in any of the 15 months or 48 (yes, 48!) published blog posts during my time away. And this just doesn't seem right does it?

Hence, just recently, when I mentioned that I was struggling to find the time or inspiration for my final blog post, I couldn't help but agree when another friend noted that, surely, the final post should be called just that; just one more thing....

So, what is the "one more thing" that just has to be said? I'm really not sure. What I do know is that, despite concerns to the contrary, none of my visitors from home inadvertently booked themselves a flight to the wrong continent, arriving confused and alone in Bogotá (I wonder, has anyone ever really done that?).

And whilst I often felt I was caught up in a mysterious and strangely compelling mini-drama, I was certainly no clever Columbo. Not always, but certainly for the most part, my crumpled sweaty exterior hid little more than an acute inner confusion about the events taking place around me, a feeling I came to both love and loathe in equal measure (depending on my mood and the moon's crazy influence). It may have been frustrating at times, but it was also incredibly liberating; to be able to step outside of all things familiar and realise that, in some circumstances, however hard I tried (and oh I did try), I just couldn't get it. In actual fact, I didn't have to get it....and that was ohhhh-kay.

So, it is on this note that I have decided to end my blog. As the reality of being home begins to set in, like a profound and irrepressible joy, or a relentless damp drizzle, or a mild case of flu (yes Gabrielley, reverse culture shock has indeed struck), I am missing something. But I have officially run out of words, and so am choosing instead to steal someone else's who can say it much better.

"...this is the best world we have - because it's the only world we have. It's the simplest maths ever. However many terrible, rankling, peeve-inducing things may occur, there are always libraries. And rain falling on sea. And the Moon. And love. There is always something to look back on, with satisfaction, or forward to, with joy. There is always a moment where you boggle at the world - at yourself - at the whole, unlikely, precarious business of being alive - and then start laughing" Caitlin Moran, Moranthology

And this is it. This is what I miss. Sri Lanka did that to me. Or, rather, being somewhere "other" did it. It led me to boggle more often. And when boggling, even if you swear for a bit first, it will always end in laughter. And there's plenty to boggle at back home too, I do know that. It's just that it's so easy to forget when surrounded by the familiar. And perhaps I just need to do some more moaning and swearing first.

So that's it. That's your lot. Bye bye blog friends, I'll not darken your inbox again. So stand down, rest easy and boggle on. I will certainly endeavour to do the same.

Oh, but first, just one more thing...

Bye bye blog. 

Peripheral visions

It feels only right that I update the blog now back in Yookay. However, I do not intend to outstay my welcome. There will be a final goodbye blog to come soon.  Bur first, an attempt to share with you a little more of this strange roller-coaster experience as I find my feet on the other side of this big VSO adventure. It's difficult to know what to say. Having travelled many thousands of miles and crossed 2 continents since I last paid any attention to this blog, I do feel a little disorientated. Life has changed immeasurably and yet it is all so familiar. 

But how best to sum up life at this moment? I've gone and come. I left and I'm back. I departed and arrived. I'm not there, I'm here. Is there really any more to say?

I feel lucky to have left Sri Lanka at a time when other volunteers are also having to navigate this same strange transition, returning to whence they came. It helps, this comparing of experiences and somehow trying to put into words just how the world feels and looks from here.

One fellow returnee recently described her sense of being displaced. I can relate to that, and yet I also have a strong sense of returning to where I belong. I figure Brighton will always be home, wherever I am in the world. And having a beautiful new house to settle into on my return has certainly made the whole transition a bit smoother. Another friend suggested it's like a closed window. Looking back on the experience of being in Sri Lanka; you can see it clearly, but can't quite get to it. It's just a little out of reach. 

For me, I think I'd best describe it as being like the hangover from a bizarre and unusual dream. You know, the feeling you can get the morning after a particularly vivid but forgotten dream? You perhaps experience emotions that you can't quite explain. You feel different, but you're not sure what just happened or why. Or, in that space between sleep and awake, the sensation that can hit you as a wave of remembering washes up the colours, textures and shapes, but perhaps not the details, of that forgotten dream. Well, that's how it feels at the moment. The window is not just closed, it's covered with a layer of grime.

Nope, for now at least, I can't really look directly at the experience and tell you much about it. instead, it seems to be my peripheral vision that is working overtime. On the train back from Shropshire, my peripheral vision informed me that I was being stared at by a strange man. I spotted him out of the corner of my eye and, for a few moments, it was perfectly normal... until it dawned on me this is not meant to happen. I am no longer in Sri Lanka!

I never did get to the bottom of why he was staring, but maybe a friend's observation a couple of days later might provide a clue to the mystery. It seems my face is "almost exactly the same colour as my hair"  and grounds not only for staring, but for instantaneous tears of terror from her baby daughter on our first meeting.

Besides the rather disturbing train experience, there have been other peripheral visions. I have "seen" at least 3 gekkos sprinting across the walls of my new Brighton pad in the past week, and when the dogs chased after a stray ball in the lounge just last night, I was entirely convinced for a split second that they had found an unlucky palm squirrel to torment.

So, this is how it is. I'm sad to have left, but happy to be back. All things told, I am doing pretty well. However, I look weird, have one heck of a crazy dream hangover, and am regularly seeing things that aren't there. In truth, I really can't tell you what just happened. As a result, for the time being at least, any questions about my life over the past 15 months will be met with a puzzled expression and some nonsensical mutterings. So, it's probably best we just talk about you. I hope that's okay.

Life after Sri Lanka

This may be my briefest blog post yet in view of the fact that I'm in Australia and therefore far to busy looking out for koalas, supping fine wine and chain eating Timtams to write anything much. However, I can share with you some important things I have learnt during my time away. I now have some idea of how life might be for me...after Sri Lanka. Perhaps you should be forewarned (UK readers) about how it could affect you!

1. I start at least every other sentence with the words "Well, in Sri Lanka....." or "Do you know how long it's been (currently always 14 months) since I did/saw/had/ate this......?"
2. My bladder has shrunk! Intense and constant sweating leaves the bladder with very little in the way of hard work to do, however many gallons of water you drink. 14 months of laziness has allowed mine to shrink to the size of a palm squirrel's. The good news for you is that I can barely finish a sentence (including those above) before I need to head off in search of the nearest facilities.
3. My skin does not naturally glow! It turns out living in 90%+ humidity for much of the year does wonders for the complexion. However, it does not last! I have quickly returned to my ageing, pale and pallid usual self (the unseasonably cold Melbourne weather has not helped!). 
4. Sri Lanka feels a long long way away. I have quickly grown sickeningly nostalgic and find myself wondering if it was all a dream. As a result, I start at least every other sentence with the words "Well, in Sri Lanka...."

Ah...sorry, I think I might be repeating myself. Well, get used to it people...in Sri Lanka, people were fascinated by this strange foreigner and I will expect your full attention at all times!

However, what I promise not to do is force you to sit down and watch an hour long documentary about the VSO mental health programme I took part in. However, my aunt and uncle were not so lucky. We had a living room screening just the other night!

In actual fact, I think those involved in making it did a pretty good job and, if you want to know more about the 15 year programme I played a very small part in, it makes interesting viewing.  I do feature briefly, sometime around 11 minutes in or so. So, if nothing else, you may wish to take this opportunity to see my beautifully youthful and glowing skin one more time before I return home looking 10 years older.

You can click here to do just that.

Gihing ennang

I'm really not sure where to begin this particular blog post, but I do know where it is going to end. It ends with me leaving Sri Lanka and, at this very moment, I am not ready. I am neither practically prepared (so much of sorting and packing to do!) nor do I feel mentally or emotionally able to say goodbye just yet.

I guess it's no surprise when I consider just how much has been packed into these past couple of weeks. There was the VSO Final Event marking the end of the entire Mental Health Programme here in Sri Lanka, followed a week later by the 6th Scientific National Congress in Occupational Therapy focusing also on Mental Health. Both were rather grand affairs and involved a huge amount of organisation.

"Hello, this is Oslo calling"

I was particularly involved in the OT Congress. As part of this big bash, I was required to sari-up and sashay back and forth across a stage with my co-compere all day. However, my role wasn't purely aesthetic (although apparently I didn't do too bad on this front..."WoahOW madam" exclaimed one passer-by as I walked along the main road on my way home), I also had to invite various big wigs with tongue-twister names to the podium using, of course, my best Eurovision-esque announcing voice (think Oslo calling, rather than Wogan witterings).

Schmoozing the bigwigs

The bigwigs

Some beautiful banners inexplicably and miraculously
created at the very last minute using the magic of
Sri Lankan time

If this wasn't daunting enough, the planning process was done in true Sri Lankan style. Imagine the London Olympics planning committee starting to draw up the plans for the Olympic park as the athletes strip off their tracksuits to begin a final warm up, and...well, you'll get the idea. Nevertheless, both days went ahead as planned and nothing dreadful happened. In actual fact, they went rather well.

The published article

I feel particularly privileged to have been part of supporting the OT Congress. It really was an amazing achievement for the profession in this country, and it also provided a fantastic platform for them to launch their very first onlne Occupational Therapy Journal. I haven't often blogged about the actual work I'm doing here. So, if you do care to browse, you can see the article I wrote for a national newspaper, find out more about a new group intervention I was involved in, and read about some other stuff I've been up to during my VSO life...not to mention some interesting articles written by some fellow VSO volunteers and OTs in Sri Lanka.

And so, that's the end of the work stuff. But I hope you can understand why I'm not ready. I've barely had time to catch my breath.




Thankfully, I have a holiday to look forward to, squeezed into the final 3 weeks of my VSO placement. After 14 months in Asia, I'm off to Australia for 2 weeks to visit family and explore a tiny part of a big new continent. I am grateful for this trip for so many reasons, not least because it gives me time to pause and take a few deep breaths before I head back to the UK. Don't get me wrong, I am genuinely looking forward to seeing all of my lovely friends and family, and I know that all will be well. Nevertheless, it feels sad, unsettling and a tiny bit daunting to be saying goodbye to the place that has been home for the last 14 months.

And so, as I head to the airport tomorrow morning, I'm grateful to not have to say a proper goodbye. Instead, it's a "gihing ennang" from me. The literal meaning of this commonly used sinhala phrase is "having gone, I will come". It functions as a promise and is used fairly informally when popping out somewhere for a brief while. For example, "I'm just nipping across the road/to the toilet/home. Don't worry, I'll be back...gihing ennang". And it's sometimes used in response to an imploring Sri Lankan "gihing enna", instructing the person to come back....after they have first gone. However, you'll more often hear it translated as a simple "go and come" (e.g. "Shall we meet now itself?" "Ok, but I really need to buy my lunch from the canteen before they run out of my favourite egg rice packets!" "Ok, go and come" "Yes, I will go and come"). You'd be surprised at just how much of going and coming goes on in Sri Lanka!

And so...Dear Sri Lanka, I'm just popping over to Australia for a short while. I fully intend to return. I promise I WILL indeed go and come. Not only do I have a whole host of shit which needs to be scooped up and jammed into too small a suitcase before I head home, but I am really not ready to say my final goodbye...not just yet.

Simple pleasures

It's not so long ago that a friend and I found ourselves happily flinging a frisbee back and forth along the water's edge on a sunny tropical beach. Whilst, to the casual onlooker, we may have appeared  fairly cack-handed, clumsy and graceless, in our heads at least, we were effortlessly and brilliantly balletic in our shared acrobatic genius. Sweaty and sated, having given the disc one final spin, we strolled lazily along a line of palm trees whilst passionately extolling the joys of the pastime. The humble frisbee, we agreed, is without question one of life's simple pleasures.

As I reflect on my time in Sri Lanka, it's the simple pleasures that have made it both extraordinarily special and rather unremarkable. Unremarkable, as I think life's simple pleasures are fundamentally the same everywhere, and special, because the treats on offer here all come with a unique Lankan twist. It's definitely these simple pleasures that I will miss most when I come home. And so, let me share just a few of them with you here.

The Vegetable Roti - A pleasingly pocket-sized tasty triangular treat, the vegetable roti has seen me through some tough times, believe me. These hot and handy snacks, carefully folded into neat little origami style parcels by the unsung roti masters of the island, carry untold delights. Bite into the doughy exterior, and you're instantly rewarded with the hot and soggy kick of the spicy potato innards. Get yourself into a sticky situation, and a couple of these weighty bad boys could do a whole lot of damage if lobbed, paper bag and all, in the direction of anyone making a nuisance of themselves (I haven't tried this, but I'm pretty sure it would work!). Yours for just 30 rupees from any roadside hotel, the Lankan equivalent of a mashed potato sandwich...they make me very very happy indeed. I honestly don't know how I will live without them.

The Papaya - Now, this had to go on the list, for the humble papaya too often gets a bad press. So simple, so giving, so pleasing; how can I not fight its corner? If you find the smell a little off-putting, as some people do...then, no matter; Squeeze a little lime over it; slice open a ripe passion fruit, or blend it with banana and fruit juice. You will not be disappointed. Get yourself into a sticky situation and, well, just imagine the damage you could do with a couple of small ones, or even better, a big ripe one! Yours for just 50 - 80 rupees (depending on size), the papaya should not be overlooked. I am already mourning the loss.

The People - There are 3 people of note who deserve mention in this section. They have brought me great joy and made me smile, whilst all sharing something in common...I've exchanged little more than a basic greeting with them and don't even know their real names. To me, they will always be Raccoon Man, Arm Stroking Guard Girl, and The Overjoyed Lady. 

• Raccoon man is a security guard at a nearby residential property. Despite his 12 hour shifts, 7 days (or nights) a week, he is always smiling. He greets me warmly whenever I pass, most commonly with an enthusiastic salute. I have no evidence that raccoons do such things, but there is something about the way he executes this greeting (along with his striking silver eyebrows) which brings to my mind a friendly yet courteous raccoon. 
• Arm Stroking Guard Girl works at the local supermarket. She often arrives at work as I am on my way to the bus stop and never fails to miss an opportunity to stroke my arm. Occasionally she tells me about her "no good" boyfriend and I sigh and offer my sympathies. 
• I pass The Overjoyed Lady perhaps once every 2 weeks as I sweat my way up the driveway to the hospital. She must be in her 70s at least, but always marches towards me with the energy of someone half her age. I don't know who she is or what she does at the hospital, but she always, without fail, looks utterly delighted to see me. Sometimes I am convinced she might spontaneously combust, there is so much of joy on her face. The smile is always accompanied with a long and drawn out high pitched "GOOOOOOD MORNIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!". I love her. 

If I got myself into a sticky situation, I'm pretty sure all three of them would come to my rescue. 

The Great Fruit Bat Escape - This item consists of 2 simple pleasures in one, for I experience this dusk spectacle most often whilst swimming at my pool. I've always intended to try out Saltdean Lido, an open air pool just a couple of miles down the road from me back home, but have never made it there. The great British weather means that the only time it's worth going, all the other idiots and their mothers are there too. Here, however, electric storms aside, it's always a good time for an open air swim. However, the very best time is just before dusk, as thousands of fruit bats fill the sky overhead, flapping their big old bat wings on the way to who knows where. If ever you are in a sticky situation, I'm not sure the bats would help you. But this simple pleasure is free, so you can hardly complain. Fruit bats, I already miss you.

And finally, last but not least...

The Squirrel Highway (a.k.a. my flat) - The squirrel highway is a place the local palm squirrels also like to call home. They love it. So much so, that there are some days I consider asking them to contribute towards the rent. And yet, they entertain me so often that perhaps I should be paying them. Leaping from window ledge to chair arm and then dashing along the bannister (occasionally pausing to sniff around by the kitchen) before making their acrobatic escape through the side door, they don't seem to be concerned about my being there. And so, we live together happily. Apart from when they start squeaking. If I have a spare roti to hand, I am sorely tempted to lob it at them. If I was in a sticky situation, that squirrel squeak (canned and sold as an personal alarm) would be enough to drive anyone away. Squirrels, you are annoying, but I will miss you.  

So....that's it.

As I take my leave from the island in just a few weeks time, I'm fairly sure I'll do so sweaty but sated, content in the knowledge that it's been one heck of a year, full to overflowing with simple pleasures.

Too much of work

Life has got a little hectic. I knew this would happen. After a few months of doing more than my fair share of thumb twiddling and feeling generally frustrated and unmotivated in my work role, things have really picked up. I now find myself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things to be done in the few short weeks left. Add to that the mixture of emotions resulting from the fact that things are coming to an end, and you can only imagine what fun I am to be around!

Thankfully, I am not alone. As the VSO mental health programme draws to an end, we are all feeling it.  Most of my VSO colleagues, and those we work alongside, are looking increasingly tense, tired and cross-eyed right now. One fellow VSOer summed it up for all of us when he recently blogged about his temptation to assume the fetal position. I for one wouldn't hesitate to curl up and join him on the tiles of his rather fancy office (under the fan of course) should he succumb. In true Sri Lankan style, the challenge now is to pack as much big stuff into as small a window as possible. Think it can't possibly fit; that maybe we need more time; that perhaps we should've started earlier? Never fear, in Sri Lanka this is how it's done, and so there is nothing else for it but to knuckle down and crack on whilst trying to limit the emotional outbursts to a minimum.

Whilst it might all feel a little overwhelming, the good news is that it gives me an excuse to share with you one of my favourite Lankanisms. I have mentioned before my love of Sri Lankan English (SLE), and those who have visited from home will confirm that I have picked up a few of the local ways of expressing things. I think it is unavoidable and has often happened without me even noticing. It really does help with making yourself understood. At other times, however, it is quite deliberate, just because I like the way it sounds.

Not only are there a whole host of words and expressions unique to SLE, as well as a particular way of pronouncing things, SLE also has a grammar of its own quite distinct from English as I know it. And there is something quite pleasing about many of these grammatical distinctions. And so, I will end this post by summing up the current state of affairs in perfect SLE**: There is quite simply too much of work and soooo much of emotion!

This I'm sure, along with a few other key phrases, will stick as I return to the UK. I can't imagine there'll be any shortage of opportunities for me to use it as I attempt to adjust to life back in the good old NHS. I am looking forward to catching up with many of you on my return, but its possible you may wish to avoid me and my emotions for a few weeks. However, if you dare and care to join me, I'll be the one curled up on the floor under my desk. If you're lucky, there'll be enough of space for you too.

** certain prepositions are used differently in SLE. The preposition 'of' is used after 'enough' and after 'how much', 'so much' and 'too much': e.g. "Is there enough of salt?" "How much of money do you have?". Taken from A Dictionary of Sri Lankan English by Michael Meyler

A living hell disguised as a tropical paradise

I am very happy to introduce you to my second guest blogger. Over to you Céline...

I don’t like the heat. In that case, why go to Sri Lanka, you might ask? Well, if Beth had been living at the bottom of a volcano, I probably would have gone to the bottom of a volcano. There’s only so much time you can spend without some of your closest and dearest, and I wanted to have a better idea of what she’d experienced for a whole year.

So Sri Lanka is hot, and I’m not very good at being stoic and putting up with even minor discomfort, so my travel companions heard all about my grotesquely swollen body, had to listen to my horrified commentary of every bead of sweat running down my back and to my complaining about having to constantly spray myself with chemicals to keep the sun and mosquitoes from killing me. They all seemed to love the heat and relished the thought of winter sunshine and I honestly don’t think they really understood quite how much I had to put up with.

However, the horrific weather wouldn’t have been enough to go as far as calling Sri Lanka a “living hell” if it hadn’t been for my experience on one particularly terrifying night. You see, I’ve had this recurring nightmare for as long as I can remember, where I’m being chased by the sea, and I’m running for my life, and it creeps closer and closer… and I wake up just before I’m swallowed by the waves. I was of course aware that Sri Lanka had experienced this nightmare eight years earlier, when 35,000 people lost their lives on Boxing Day. So when we put our luggage down in Mirissa, in a lovely guesthouse surrounded by coconut trees 10 yards from the turquoise sea, I tried to push all thoughts of natural disasters from my mind. We spent the day in and out of the sea, playing frisbee and getting burnt shoulders before having dinner on the beach with the gently lapping waves washing up around our table.

That night, I woke up in a panic. I could hear the waves pounding against the shores, in a way that was melodious and hypnotic from within a hammock during the day, but which sounded full of menace and way too much power in the middle of the sweaty night. Added to that our ceiling fan, which was running at full speed and sounded very much like an emergency helicopter, and the fact that I was half-asleep and completely confused as to where I was, and there you have it: my very own personal, nearly 40 year-old nightmare coming true. I had a few minutes of utter terror, before I realised that I was not going to have to run and probably die a painful and lonely death, but those minutes felt like a couple of lifetimes.

I obviously told my travel companions about my traumatic night over breakfast, and hence my “living hell disguised as a tropical paradise” short description of Sri Lanka was born. We cheerfully used it whenever we had the most wonderful food, which was pretty much every meal, whenever we gazed at the lush and stunning landscapes, and whenever Sri Lankans greeted us like old friends. This is a country that has recently gone through many traumas and tragedies, and I’m sure it has been hell on earth for a lot of its inhabitants, but it was also welcoming, gorgeous and fascinating, and I feel privileged to have spent some time there, during the coolest month of the year.