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.

The year in questions

If I were to describe my time in Sri Lanka to you in question form, it would go something like this:

Kaewada? (Did you eat?)

Which country?

Where you going?

Sri Lanka is good, no?

What about your lunch?
You married?

WHY??!!!!!!!

I cannot tell you how many times I am asked these same questions in a typical day. Of course if varies from one day to the next. But to give you some idea, let's just say it is more than I can count on my fingers (and toes), but less times than the number of rotations my ceiling fan makes in any given hour. On average, doing some very quick sums in my head here, I make that somewhere in the region of.......a LOT of times. 

Depending on who is asking and how I am feeling, my response can vary from silence to something a little more informative. And of course, the answers change depending on the time of day and from one encounter to the next. Typically though, my side of the conversation might go something like this:

Ow, Kaewa (yes, I ate)
England
That way *whilst pointing in the opposite direction to the one I'm moving in*
Ow, hari hari hondai, hari lassanaiy (yes, very very good, very beautiful)
There's an egg rice packet with my name on it at the canteen, and I'm on my way there now
Bandala nair (not married)
Dannair (don't know) *looking puzzled, shrugging shoulders*

Regarding the "why", I do at times respond with a genuine attempt to explain just how different things are where I come from.

"Not everyone gets married. The cultural norms and expectations are not the same. You see, it's not that unusual to be 37 and unmarried in the UK, honestly. No, I am not considered to be a total freak back home. Well, not much anyway!"

This is usually met with what appears to be a brief moment of silent contemplation and serious reflection....followed swiftly by some high pitched and hysterical plotting to find me a Sri Lankan husband.

And so, at other times I mix it up a bit; I invent myself a husband in an attempt to dodge that pesky sri lankan "why" and the conspiratorial wedding planners.  Of course, this leads to more questions, but they are questions for which I am prepared with an endless variety of responses.

"He's a doctor/space scientist/dog psychologist/vampire and we have 2/4/6/8 children/bat pups."

By far the simplest thing, however, is simply to let people know that of course I fully intend to get married. It's just that I will to look later, when I get back to the UK. I explain that, unfortunately, things so far have not really gone my way, and then I place the blame squarely and unashamedly at my parents door.

"They just didn't put the effort in. Once my sister was married off, they lost interest. Mind you, I suppose the inauspicious astrological alignment at the time of my birth didn't help matters...""

Sorry folks, it's just easier this way! And at least you can blame the stars.

Superhero flip flops

My Superhero flip flops

My name is Beth and I have a flip flop addiction. I am utterly dependent and really can't get enough. I have gathered quite a collection since my arrival in Sri Lanka. But it seems that however many pairs I acquire, the itch just wont go away. Every time I find myself skulking shame-faced in the flop flip aisle of a local store, I tell myself that just one more pair will be enough; once this particular transaction is complete, I will be thoroughly content. The problem is that true satisfaction seems to allude me; with the purchase of another pair comes a new yearning for more additions to the collection.

Let me explain that every other item of clothing I own doesn't quite feel fit for purpose. This is not for want of trying! I have purchased the best part of two entire (fairly unattractive) wardrobes since my arrival in Sri Lanka. And most of them meet the three essential characteristics that must be achieved to give yourself a fighting chance of not looking like a complete hot sweaty mess. 1  - 100% cotton, to increase the airflow 2 - Tunic style, for extra coverage & 3 - Patterned, to disguise the inescapable sweating. But regardless, I am not happy. Whatever I choose to clothe my body in first thing in the morning, within minutes of leaving the house, I am uncomfortable, irritable and sweaty. These days (much the same as any other days in the life of me) clothes are simply not my friends!

But the flip flop.....oh, the wonderfully functional and uncomplicated flip flop. How I love the flip flop. And surely I can't be alone in this passion of mine, for the beautiful simplicity of the humble flip flop is a truly joyous thing.

Now for the big news. I have recently found myself a pair of extraordinary flip flops. It's still too early to tell for sure, but maybe, just maybe, this will signal the end to my insatiable craving for more. The moment I spotted them in the shop, I was sold. But it wasn't until I actually slipped them on that I realised just how special they are...that I understood that they are, in actual fact, superhero flip flops.

These flip flops don't just look like the kind of footwear a superhero might wear (they're the same colour as Wonder Woman's fancy boots after all!), but more importantly (and this is their special power) the wearing of them is enough to make me FEEL like a superhero. When I don the flops, I am inexplicably 2 inches taller, utterly invincible and totally immune to all harm. And believe me, in a country where I have proven myself capable of more accident prone buffoonery than Laurel and Hardy, this is no mean feet (cue cymbal, Ba-dum-TSH! Sorry, couldn't resist!).

And so, at least 3 or 4 times a week, I arrive home at the end of a long sweaty day to dump my work bag, grab my ipod, exchange my birkenstocks for the superflops and head out the door to my local pool, a 15 minute walk away. It is during this walk that they truly come into their own. And their heroic work is not done in silence. Nope, they have a soundtrack all of their own. There are a couple of key tunes on this soundtrack, brought to me courtesy of two compilation making friends (thanks ladies!). If you want to get a real insight into the nature of these superflops, you can turn this into an interactive experience by clicking here and starting track number one. If you did just click, try to remain focused. I know it's easy to get distracted by cats playing musical instruments, but there is an alternative video in my world.

The opening seconds are indeed the sound me putting on the supercharged hero-flops....and from here, as the tune continues, the walk begins. I weave my way around the cracked crazy paving and plough, elbows at the ready, through the hectic throng of people at the bus stand. The tune drowns out the rude honking of the buses and accompanies each perfectly timed hop skip and jump as I skilfully dodge the many unexpected hazards in my path; it keeps pace with my feet as I stride confidently across a busy main road, impervious to the speeding trishaws, intrusive stares and crazy heckles.

But the magic of the superflops is at it's greatest (at 2 mins 17secs) as my right foot hovers dangerously over a pile of something freshly steaming and stinking, generously deposited just moments earlier by a local stray dog. Without the superflops, I am in big trouble. But, with them, nothing can touch me. As time pauses momentarily, and the world around me ceases to spin...my whole body is lifted involuntarily up into the air and scooted a couple of paces forward out of harms way, until........BAM, time restarts and, as if nothing extraordinary just happened, my flip flopped feet land securely back on sri lankan soil to continue their journey, without mishap, all the way to the pool.

On the way home, after a refreshing and invigorating swim, the soundtrack is different, cue music, but the magic is the same. I I I I... I'm so tired, but I just wont lose my stride! Come on superflops, don't fail me now! I got to walk on.....

Hanging like a bat

I..(pause for affect)...am flexible and adaptable. I AM flexible and adapatable. I am flexible...(another pause, confident nod of the head and eyebrows raised to stress the point)...AND adaptable! Oh yes I am....which is very lucky, because these are characteristics VSO say a volunteer must possess, and some of the key criteria by which they make a decision about your suitability. See for yourself and visit VSO's "what you need" page if you like. It's right up there second only to self-assurance, which I most definitely have in abundance...I think, although sometimes I'm not so sure. Anyway, who needs self assurance when you have flexibility and adaptability? It really should be placed at the top of that list. Because, boy, does it come in handy! So much so that it has become my mantra.

I find myself muttering it under my breath through gritted teeth on the bus; taking a deep breath and repeating it in my head over and over again in the middle of work meetings; declaring it out loud to myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror whilst home alone. Yep, it's a good one. Try it for yourself. Whenever things seem overwhelming, a little surprising or just plain crazy, give it a go. You'll wonder how you ever managed without it.

Well, my flexibility and adaptability has risen to new heights of late when I agreed to step into the role of bridesmaid at a Sri Lankan wedding. If you read my very special engagement blog post, you'll know this was on the cards. It was quite the event to say the least, and my mantra has been required frequently both in the build up and on the big day itself. I'm not sure I'll be able to do the whole event justice in just one post. So, instead I'll simply share some of my own personal "highlights" with you.

2 months before the big day at home
The bride to be: "oh, I forgot to tell you. The colour of your sari has changed again. It's now green"
Me "Oh really, that's good, I like green. But what shade of green?"
The bride to be: thoughtfully looking around my flat and eventually spotting something, appearing satisfied and pointing toward the kitchen "that sort of green"
Me: twisting round to follow her gaze and find it resting on some unripe bananas in my fruit bowl "...Oh"
The bride to be: "...and the sari jacket is yellow"
Me: "Like a ripe banana?"
The bride to be: "Yes"
Me: "Oh!"

1 week before the big day in a salon down the road 
Beautician/torturer number 1: plucking and threading the eyebrows of a wriggly non-compliant first time foreigner and having great difficulty undertaking the task.
Beautician/torturer number 2: holding the jaw and forehead in a vice like grip whilst pressing her fingertips into the foreigner's eyeball sockets in order (I can only assume?) to gain some leverage and assist beautician/torturer number 1 to continue her work.
Me: whimpering, palms and soles of feet sweating despite the a/c, eyes watering uncontrollably "why did nobody tell me it would hurt so much? Can I go now? Just leave the other one, honestly it's fine"
Beauticians/torturers 1 & 2: ignoring mad mutterings of foreigner and moving onto socket and brow number 2.
Me: continuing to whimper....

On the morning of the big day back in the salon with the beauticians/torturers and a few of their friends

10am
Me: being squeezed into my banana sari jacket and underskirt "is it meant to be so tight that I can't fully inflate my lungs?"
Beautician/torturer number 3: looking slightly concerned, unzips the underskirt a tiny bit and wanders off.
Me: "oh great, thanks!
Beautician/torturer number 3: returning with a safety pin, overlaps the open zip by a couple of inches and secures the underskirt even more tightly with the pin!
Me: lungs deflating involuntarily "pfffff....oh!"

10:23am
Beautician/torturer number 4: backcombing my entire head of hair until it is defying gravity and standing totally upright and away from my head.
Me: "oh"

11am 
Beautician/torturer number 2: trying to dress me in green pearl earrings
Me: "oh, no. You wont be able to do that, they were pierced 20 years ago, and I've not worn any for years"
Beautician/torturer number 2: appearing to lose interest and wandering off
Me: allowing myself a brief smile having won a small victory.

11:15am
Beautician/torturer number 2: fiddling with something near to my left ear.
Me: looking in the mirror and noticing a small pearly thing stuck to my earlobe, then glancing back at my torturer to spot a yellow tube of something in her hand. "Is that superglue?!!!!!!!"
Head Beautician/torturer sounding incredulous and slightly tired of all my chatter "it's not superglue.....it's uhu!"
Me "oh!"

11:36am
Head Beautician/torturer: moving towards me with the make up brush
Me: "I don't want very much make up. I already told Sewandi (the bride to be) and she said that was fine"
Head Beautician/torturer: moving closer with the brush "I know"

11:45am
Head Beautician/torturer: applying a 3rd layer of something very wet and sticky to my face "so, is this the first time you have worn heavy make up?"
Me: "What?" repeating silently to myself "I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable."

12:05pm 
Me: sitting up and seeing the results of my heavy make over in the mirror "OH...MY....GOD!!"
Head beautician/torturer: "You look beautiful."
Me: "@*&£%"
Head beautician/torturer: "This is how we do things in Sri Lanka.We say in Sri Lanka, if you can't stand up straight like this (stands up rigid to demonstrate), you may need to hang upside down like a bat (folds at the waist to demonstrate bat pose)"
Me: "In England we say "when in Rome". Is that what you mean?"
Head beautician/torturer: laughing hysterically and punching me on the shoulder "you are so bad!"
Me: "Oh!" glancing nervously into the mirror and wincing at my reflection "but is that what you mean? Or are you just saying I need to be flexible and adaptable? Because I am trying, honestly."
Head beautician/torturer: continuing to laugh and punch me on the shoulder "you are so silly"
Me: "But really, it is a serious question" muttering quietly under my breath "I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable. I am flexible and adaptable."
Roomful of beauticians/torturers: Laughing hysterically
Me: Shrugging my shoulders and joining in with the laughter "Ok, well, I'll just try hanging like a bat today then, a very heavily made up bat, but a bat none the less. Lucky I am so very flexible and adaptable!"

Gremlins, monkeys & mischievous spirits

I have a very good friend who has been working for several years as a translator and interpreter. She's highly professional, loves what she does, and seems to earn a decent living doing it. If you know who I'm talking about, or live anywhere within a 10 mile radius of central Brighton, you'll have heard the distinct sound of her blowing her own trumpet. And so she should. She has great hair, is well respected in the linguistic world and has a serious and enthusiastic following in the blogosphere. At least, so she tells me. I've certainly enjoyed talking to her about my encounters with the language barrier whilst in Sri Lanka; the joys of painstakingly clambering over it, cunningly negotiating a way around it, or just clumsily ploughing headlong into it. However, I must also admit to some friendly teasing over the years in view of what appears to be a fairly easy gig. So...you can speak a couple of languages and type a bit! But I mean, really! How hard can it be? In truth she seems to spend more time drinking coffee, lunching, or hanging out at geeks & their games dot com than she does doing actual work. However, my time in Sri Lanka has highlighted just how much skill is required in the trade. So, perhaps the refreshments and games of scrabble are deserved after all! She has been pestering me for some time now to dedicate a blog post to her line of work, so here goes.

I've been working with a couple of the occupational therapists at the hospital to run a group for people who hear voices as part of a mental illness. The group aims to provide a non-judgemental space for people to discuss their experiences and also attempts to normalise them to some extent. The stigma surrounding such things remains shockingly present. And yet, did you know that up to 10% of people across the world have experienced voices; that a number of talented and well-known people past and present have heard voices; that it is not always a sign of mental illness, and that many people can lead meaningful and fulfilling lives despite hearing voices? And, be honest, have you really never heard or seen something that others around you did not? I for one had an unshakable fever-induced belief in the imminent destruction of the world after watching an episode of Knight Rider as a kid. It was one of the most terrifying couple of hours I have ever endured. But that's whole other blog post. The point is, focusing on these experiences purely from a medical perspective is not always helpful. Most importantly, the group teaches new skills to tolerate difficult experiences and encourages individuals to take positive steps towards their values and goals in life.

It's the first time such a group has been run at the hospital and I feel very pleased to be involved in it. I am extremely grateful to my UK and VSO colleagues for providing resources, advice and peer support. Running a group like this is hard work at the best of times, but this has been particularly challenging as I am facilitating the sessions through an interpreter. This is a completely new experience for me and I've been especially glad to know my trumpet blowing friend who has been able to offer me some insider top tips. As funds for interpreters aren't so easy to come by, one of the OT's is stepping into this role. Whilst he is not a professional interpreter, he appears to be taking it in his stride and doing a great job.

In order that we stay as true as possible to the original concepts, we have been having some interesting discussions. One of the most fascinating has involved a long conversation about gremlins. I don't mean the fluffy but evil mogwais from the 1984 film of the same name, but rather gremlins in general; those imaginary mischievous sprites thought to be responsible for unexplained problems. One of the sessions shared by my UK colleague used the metaphor of a gremlin to represent those unwanted experiences we can all have. Participants are asked to imagine their voices are like having a gremlin telling them unpleasant or upsetting things. They are then encouraged to consider how they might manage this irritating visitor. The main point is that we do not have to listen to the gremlin, do what it tells us or believe that what it says. Whilst it is helpful to acknowledge their presence, we can end up giving them power they do not deserve. If we instead refuse to engage with them on any meaningful level, it is possible to put more energy into the things which are important to us.

Are you still following me? I hope so. Well, it turns out that gremlin is not a word or concept that has made it's way into Sri Lankan culture. And so, we were faced with a linguistic quandary. I was rather pleased with my idea of changing it to a monkey. Whilst not invisible, they are certainly mischievous and often unseen. They seem to cause all sorts of problems here in Sri Lanka, be it looting a shop of it's wares or cheekily swiping snacks left out on the balcony. However, this suggestion was met with an unimpressed silence. I was reminded that for many people in Sri Lanka, monkeys have a sacred status. So, that wont do then! Returning to the definition of a gremlin, we went on to discuss sprites, elves, fairies, imps, ghosts and ghouls.

By now, a huddle of interested staff had gathered around us. The first suggestion from the group was that of a boothaya. In Sri Lankan culture, there is a strong belief in karma; if someone has been bad in life, they might come back as some kind of spirit. One such spirit is a boothaya, thought to cause trouble to the living but also capable of good deeds. This was therefore dismissed in favour of a yakshia. The yakshia, emerging from the same karmic process, is also a spirit. However, it is considered to be much more problematic and never the source of good deeds. If someone is having difficulties in life, they might attribute them to a yakshia. It seemed to fit. And so this is what we settled on. But not without a certain amount of trepidation on my part.

I was concerned about how the translation might be misunderstood by the group, so much so I considered removing the whole session. I was especially anxious that we might reinforce certain unhelpful beliefs; for example, that mental illness is the result of bad karma and some kind of punishment for bad deeds. This was certainly not the idea! The gremlin was intended purely as a metaphor, a tool to help people understand their inner experiences, and I wasn't totally convinced that the yakshia would be taken in this way. And so, I quizzed and questioned my colleagues and Sri Lankan friends. And then I quizzed them some more. I was reassured again and again that yakshia was a suitable translation and that my concerns were not founded. In the end, I had to trust them.

I'm pleased to report that the session appeared to go well and people seemed to get it. However, this whole experience has made me realise just how much responsibility and power is held by the translator/interpreter and how much trust is placed in them. Perhaps it's not such an easy gig after all! If you are Sri Lankan and reading this, perhaps you have another suggestion? I'd be interested to hear it. If you are a translator or interpreter, hats off to you. Go treat yourself to a fancy lunch and pour yourself another coffee. You deserve it!

My very own teledrama

"How come all these strange things happen only to you?". These are the words I received from a Sri Lankan friend yesterday after I'd texted her about the near riot I had just inadvertently started on a train. Of course, strange things happen to people all of the time. But, she does seem to have a point. I certainly feel like I am experiencing more than my fair share of oddness at the moment!

Before I tell this particular tale, I would first like to reassure all my friends a family back home that I have rarely felt anything but completely safe in Colombo. Apart from the occasional hole and the careering buses, life in Sri Lanka is treating me well. I do get a lot of unwanted attention. But whilst this can be irritating, it has never felt threatening. Nevertheless, harmless or otherwise, I have learnt it is best to ignore any passing male attentions by completely avoiding eye contact and certainly not engaging in conversation (Don't worry, I make up for this by smiling and/or gurning at any passing women or children whenever the opportunity arises). And yesterday's "riot" was certainly a good reminder of why it really is best to stick to this particular strategy.

So, there I was standing on a busy train, sweating quietly and minding my own business, when a man tapped me on the shoulder. He gestured for me to sit down whilst instructing a young girl nearby to vacate her seat. I was fairly happy standing and certainly did not want her to move my account, so I declined the invitation. However, he was insistent and by now the girl had moved. So I sat and thanked both the girl and the man who I had assumed to be her father. By the time I realised this was not the case, it was too late. The man had moved closer and was now standing over me slurring at me in Sinhala. I couldn't catch every word, but I understood enough to know that he was declaring his love for me, suggesting we be "friends" and asking me repeatedly for my phone number and address. I used my best Sinhala to say NO, made it clear that I did not want to talk to him and told him to go away. When this did not work, I decided to show him my "wedding ring" (thanks Becky!) and told him my husband would not be happy. However, he still didn't get the message and continued his requests. Unfortunately for him, he then made the grave error of involving my neighbours. Big mistake! These two particularly fierce looking older women were watching the whole incident intently as if it were some strange new Sri Lankan teledrama, all the while munching on some peanuts. After attempting bizarrely but unsuccessfully to get them to share their snacks with me, he suddenly seemed to lose interest and wandered off to lean precariously out of the open door of the moving carriage.

Despite the strange turn of events, I'd still at no point felt unsafe or threatened, just rather irritated and to some extent mildly amused. I'd caught the woman across the aisle throwing a sympathetic and knowing smile in my direction, and the peanut eaters were muttering disapprovingly to my right. Again this was all in Sinhala, but I caught enough to know they thought him a drunk, that what he had said was indeed a "sin"...and then something about me being like a daughter to him (I assumed this was in reference to the age difference rather than our new found closeness!). I waggled my head along with them, whilst wondering exactly what he had said to me. I then added a "what to do?" with a shrug of my shoulders, just for good measure, before pulling a face that I hoped indicated friendly but light hearted agreement. I felt sure that the general mood in the carriage was of a similar nature. So when things quickly began to change, I was caught quite off guard.

The chatter around me suddenly began to increase in volume, a nearby Buddhist monk mentioned the police and another man from further down the carriage approached my new friends and spoke loudly with them. Next thing, two or three more men joined him and surrounded the "drunk", shouting at him. Before I knew it, the shouts had escalated to shoving and they were now slapping him repeatedly in the face. I was already feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but my heart was suddenly in my mouth when one of the men span round, bright red in the face, and shouted angrily "FOREIGNER!" whilst jabbing his finger in my direction! For a very unpleasant second, I was quite convinced they were about to turn on me. This teledrama was getting out of hand! Just as quickly, and with great relief, I understood that was he was in actual fact defending me! "YOU are a foreigner" he again shouted. "THIS is Sri Lanka and WE are Sri Lankan" he continued passionately before pointing at the offender and adding "HE is not a Sri Lankan, THIS is not how we behave!". On that note, and with absolutely no apparent sense of irony, he stopped talking to me, turned back to the man, and continued the physical and verbal assault.

As well as feeling rather shaken up, I also now felt pretty bad! I'd taken a small girl's seat, thought seriously about helping myself to my neighbour's peanuts, and had found myself at the centre of an unexpected incident of mob justice. So, I tried asking them to stop, telling them that for me it was not a problem. But this fell on deaf ears and I quickly realised there was little I could do. Thankfully, at that moment, the train was slowing to a stop at my station and this particular episode of the teledrama was coming to an end. So, without a backwards glance, I wiped the sweat from my brow, grabbed my bag, and hotfooted it out of there!

Roll credits. Tune in next week for another gripping episode!

Just like a pussycat

Question: What's the connection between Lady Di, Shiranthi Rajapaksa (the Sri Lankan president's wife) and a pussycat?

Answer: They all look like me.

Or, to be precise, I look like them. Fact. At least, that's if I am to believe everything I've been told me since my arrival in Sri Lanka.

Yes, it's true. My likeness to the late princess is so remarkable that a member of the public was compelled to stop me in the street and, wide-eyed with disbelief, declare me to be "just like Lady Di". I did ask him if he was thinking of her 80's bouffant stage or the more sleek sophisticated 90's look. But he didn't seem to understand the question. And to be honest, I'm pretty sure I know the answer. I'd just had a swim and my post-pool hair was quite large.

A colleague has provided me with further food for thought by informing me, on more than one occasion, that I am exactly like a simple country girl from the north of India. On learning that I hail from the UK, where in actual fact I live a city, he has been completely dumbfounded. Once recovered from the shock, he has gone on to question my city girl status arguing quite passionately that this cannot be true. After all, I am nothing like Madonna, for example, or Whitney Houston! And that's not all. On seeing some photos of me in my engagement sari, he was keen to note my incredible likeness to the president's wife. Now, if I were to glance wistfully in your direction whilst attempting my most enigmatic smile, and you were to squint a bit (and then a bit more), I'm pretty sure we could agree that the Lady Di comment was understandable. However, me and Shiranthi Rajapaksa? I am more than a little confused. However, I'll take it as a compliment. She was crowned Miss Sri Lanka 1973 after all.

Finally...the cat. Well, there is a patient at the hospital who, for several months now, has taken a particular interest in my strange looks. She regularly tells me that I look "just like a pussycat" whilst grinning from ear to ear and occasionally stroking my face. Sometimes, however, I am "more like a monkey". On the monkey days she seems decidedly unimpressed with me and tends to keep her distance. I am yet to work out whether there is any discernible change in my appearance, behaviour, general mood or manner which can explain the switch from cat to monkey and back again, but it remains a mystery to me. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing her and have, more than once, found myself responding to her decision with an impromptu purr, hoot or monkey scream. She is always very appreciative.

So, consider yourself forewarned and don't be surprised if you don't recognise me when you next see me. However, you'll more than likely hear me coming. Or failing that, you'll know it's me by my Lady Di locks and Miss World crown. Life really is very strange.

Falling down a hole

Last night I fell down a hole as I was attempting to get into a trishaw. This sort of thing has happened before more times than I care to remember; a flip flop slip, a slight twist of the ankle, and an occasional stumble. It is one of the perils of my daily life in Sri Lanka. But this was a momentous hole and I disappeared down it as if I might never be seen again.

I didn't see it coming and, before I knew it, was thigh deep down an enormous drain. I had no time to yelp, swear or shout "AIYOOOOOOOO!". And yet, in that split second of falling, it seems I had time enough to think about a number of things all at once.  I reflected on the perils of simply walking along the side of the road in Colombo, the clumsiness I had displayed over the course of the week so far and just how inevitable my falling seemed to be; I thought about how eye-poppingly novel and entertaining it must be for those around me to observe the spectacle of a falling foreigner and imagined the story being told and retold in homes around the city later that evening and for many months to come; And I wondered whether someone might be kind enough to follow me in and help me out if I did indeed fall so far that I could only crane my neck and howl for help from several feet down.

Once in the hole, I considered whether I really did need my left hip all that much after all, and if it was essential that my right knee face forward in order for me to continue my journey; I also wondered whether I should inform the trishaw driver of my intended destination whilst still inside the hole, or wait until I had hauled myself out of it before doing so. As it was (who knows why!!!) I opted for the former, shouting up at him from a couple of feet down as he giggled nervously at the foolish foreigner. Thankfully, he understood me first time and knew the place where I wanted to go. So, there was no point in remaining where I was for a moment longer. As I clambered up and out of my predicament and into the trishaw, I allowed myself some indulgent and soul soothing swearing (I can actually do this in Sinhala now if required, but went for some old favourites as I fear the former are a little too shocking to utter out loud anywhere but in the safety of my own home).

In the trishaw, we zipped and zig zagged through the chaotic evening traffic towards a friend who would first give me a hug and then hand me a beer, before laughing long and hard at my misfortune. On route, I nursed my wounded pride, examined my bruises and bravely fought back the tears. I was alright really. My knee seemed to be facing the right direction and my hip was still in one piece.

As the night wore on and the beer began to do it's job, I thought further about the unexpected tumble I had taken. How it had been such a shock. It had taken my breath away and my feet from under me without warning. It had been painful and uncomfortable and for a split second I had wondered Is it really all worth it? What am I doing here? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY? Perhaps it was just the beer, but I returned home with this particular blog post written in my mind.

You see, people often ask what life is like in Sri Lanka; they want to know all about the VSO experience, and sometimes ask whether I ever regret my decision to come. It's always difficult to know what to say, how to sum it all up or do it justice. Well, I hope this small tale of woe will help me to do just that.

It is a wonderful experience. It really is. I feel incredibly lucky to be here and there are so many moments where I have to pinch myself to check this is really happening. The work is sometimes hard, yes. But it's always interesting and often rewarding .  However, it's also true to say that there also many moments of falling down that metaphorical hole. Suddenly, without warning and often when you think things are going well; the unexpected happens, the ground opens up and you find yourself flailing around wondering where you are and how on earth you found yourself in this position. Life can suddenly look bleak and you really do question whether it really is all worth it.

However, whilst these moments can happen quite often, they rarely last too long. Thankfully, it seems I am always able to clamber out of the hole eventually, dust myself off and carry on. And so, to answer the last question. Do I ever regret it? I can answer that emphatically and without hesitation with a no! That is, apart from when I'm thigh deep down a hole.

In praise of my penguin

It may surprise you to learn that I have a penguin. In actual fact, I've had a penguin for several months now. I've got rather used to having her around and, in reality, I'm not sure what I would do without her. She really is a very good penguin. Why, only the other day, I actually declared her to be the perfect penguin. So, that should give you some idea of just the sort of penguin I am talking about here. Not just any old bird, but top quality. Really, the very best. Don't worry. You are not mistaken. I am indeed living in Sri Lanka. And although the heat is pretty intense at times, it hasn't completely incapacitated my mental faculties...yet. Let me explain further.

Before leaving the UK, VSO did their very best to make sure I was equipped and ready for the experience to come. Looking back, it's quite possible they were actually trying to put me off...so vigorous were the preparations. However, whilst slightly unnerved, I was not fully deterred and set off in January with a whole host of new knowledge under my belt as well as a few extra wrinkles at my brow.

One of the things that I found particularly interesting was gaining an understanding of culture using the metaphor of an iceberg.The tip of the iceberg represents the more obvious and visible aspects of culture (such as the food, dress and customs), whilst the vast majority of cultural factors sit under the surface, like the main bulk of the iceberg, hidden and inaccessible to the casual visitor. The nationals, on the whole, are the fish, living life under the sea with no experience of what lies above. Me? A seagull, arriving with a pretty good view of the surface but no real clue about what lies beneath. And yet, I planned to take up residence on the iceberg and held hopes of dipping beneath the surface on occasion and rubbing along with the fish! A pretty tough challenge, particularly when you take into account that seagulls tend to eat fish (this wasn't really explained in the training, but let's try to put that aside for now).

Luckily there is no danger of this particular seagull eating any of the fish. Thankfully, also, I was informed that there might be some penguins hanging out on the iceberg, lightening the mood with a few well timed gags and offering a head massage to anyone getting themselves in a bit of a flap. Well, nobody said that exactly, but this is what I imagined. So, who are these penguins? I was informed they might be locals who are fully immersed in the culture but also have a experience of life on surface, or possibly volunteers who have been in placement for a longer time. It was suggested that the penguins would be vital in aiding my transition and that I could do well to seek a few out. I liked the sound of these penguins. And so, whilst I was keen to get my tail feathers wet and dive in with the fish, I arrived in Sri Lanka determined also to find a penguin of my very own.

And find one I did. My penguin is a wonderfully warm and charming colleague at the University where I spend part of my working week. Of course, I didn't know she would become my penguin when we first met. However, slowly over time, it has become clear that she fits the job description perfectly. Whilst she has, as yet, travelled no further than India, she has spent a great deal of time with "foreigners" and is familiar with their strange ways. Her English is as good as anyone else I've met here, and yet she does a wonderful line in Sringlish expressions to keep me smiling whenever she's around. She is Sri Lankan through and through and loves her home country, but she's also fascinated with life elsewhere and will soon be starting a new life in the UK. She is always happy to listen to my woes, patiently corrects my Sinhala without sniggering, and often brings me delicious home made treats to go with the (ever elusive) sugar-free cuppa handed to me at teatime. Heck, she's even been known to laugh at my jokes! And, to top it all, she never seems to tire of the endless quizzing and questioning inflicted upon her as I try to understand the more puzzling, frustrating and just plain bizarre aspects of my experience here.

For all these reasons and more, she is a great penguin. But, as I mentioned earlier, she is also the "perfect" penguin. And, what does a penguin have to do to earn such high praise? Well, it turns out I wasn't too far off the mark with my initial imagining. I spent this past weekend incapacitated and feeling sorry for myself under a fan with a persistent banging headache. My penguin arrived with a smile, some food and a listening ear. And then, quite unexpectedly, without any prompting or hinting on my part (honestly), she insisted on giving me a head massage! Sewandi, you are a star, and this blog post is for you. If you're looking for a penguin to welcome you to the UK's bright and sunny shores next year, I'm not sure I'll be the perfect penguin, but I'll certainly give it a good go.

Lost in translation's murky waters

I spent last weekend with a friendly support worker from the hospital. She's a little bit cheeky, rarely stops smiling and has rather taken me under her wing. So when she invited me to spend a couple of days visiting her family in the south, I was happy to oblige despite the 4-5 hour bone shaking bus journey each way. She speaks only a few words of English, as do the extended family we were visiting. But that needn't be a problem. I am making good progress in my language learning and can now hold a half decent conversation with her. Or so I thought. 

She had put me in the picture about the overall schedule prior to our departure. It seemed clear that we were going to be staying in Matara, a town on the south coast I was yet to visit. I was also fairly clear that we were visiting a variety of younger sisters and older brothers, along with perhaps the daughter of a older sister's son, and almost certainly, her father's cousin's mother's elder sister's friend's youngest daughter! What I knew for sure was that there was at least 48 hours worth of activity crammed into the 36 hour trip; it was going to be a pretty full on experience. So when she told me that there was a "swimming pool" at our destination, and that there might even be a whole hour allocated for this purpose, I had happily added the appropriate items to my packing list. Costume, goggles and my rather fetching bright yellow swimming cap; not forgetting some shorts and a T-shirt to wear over my costume whilst swimming, and some long trousers in case I wanted to be a little more Sri Lankan about it. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when late on Saturday afternoon, as we took second hour-long car journey of the day away from Matara down some winding country roads (to where I did not know), and shortly after hitting a cow (very gently), we pulled up beside the banks of a muddy river and I was handed a bar of soap. Just in case I was in any doubt, my friend gestured to the water and announced our arrival at the "swimming pool"!

The swimming pool

This was not quite what I was expecting! Now, it's not that I'm unwilling to embrace such experiences. There was a part of me that wanted to slide down that bank, soap in hand, and join the locals in their daily ablutions. However, the city girl in me was protesting. I was not prepared like the locals with their cleverly secured sarongs and, I imagined, quick dry pants. I was fully clothed with nowhere to change and no idea how far the onward journey would take us; not to mention the rather murky quality of the water. Who knew what creatures were lurking about in there! Luckily for me, my fellow passengers decided the water was a little too muddy even for their liking, and so we piled back into the car and continued our magical mystery tour. 

I'm pleased to report that no more cows were struck on route to our final destination. I'm sure you will also be relieved to learn that the soap was not wasted. Our hosts were keen to ensure that I was bundled into the bathroom as soon as I set foot in their home. (I'm gradually learning not to take this very Sri Lankan interest in my personal hygiene as a direct reflection of how much I smell, although on this occasion, after 12 hours of non-stop sweating, it's quite possible it was). 

Yes, it certainly was quite a weekend! After all, I haven't even mentioned our stay with the Rajapaksas (relatives of President Mahinda himself)! Nor did I tell you of our visit to the cave temples, or our Blue Peter style tour of the coconut factory and rice milling hut. Yes, it was certainly very educational. Not only did I learn that swimming pools can come in many shapes and sizes; I learnt also that cows are surprisingly sturdy creatures, and that a truly Sri Lankan weekend is utterly exhausting, but well worth the effort. 

The perfect antidote

The perfect antidote, a set on Flickr.

If you've been following my blog of late, you'll know that I've not been in tip top condition. I've been suffering, it would seem, from a mild but definite case of culture shock. Thanks to those of you who sent messages of concern, support or gentle mocking. You know who you are! I really do appreciate it. Since offloading my woes in an attention seeking blog style, I have definitely felt a little lighter. However, the tell tale signs remain, bubbling just below the surface. Something more had to be done. And so this week, I have turned my attention to seeking the perfect antidote. Something of the familiar, a little bit of comfort and calm, to neutralise the badness and provide relief. Over the course of the week I have worked my way through a large cheesy pizza, past a dirty burger (don't ask) some fries and coleslaw, on the way to a pile of rich chocolate brownies and ice cream (twice). I have given myself a slight chill in an aggressively air conditioned cinema and suffered the beginnings of a migraine whilst attempting to follow the plot of the Avengers (and care) from behind some defect 3D glasses. I have even started making my own hummus! And believe it or not, I feel a little bit better for it. However, the perfect antidote turned out to be a couple of hours watching the sun set over the ocean at Galle Face Green with a friend. This big open space right on the seafront in Colombo is where huge numbers of locals go, particularly in the early evening, to stroll, hang out, fly kites and play cricket in the breaking waves. We simply sat on a wall overlooking the ocean, dangling our tired flip flopped feet down towards the sand, breathing in the salty sea air and slowly letting the tension drain from our shoulders. And it was good. I hope you like the photos.