Sari shopping: a non shopper's paradise

I went Sari shopping and I liked it. I never thought I'd be writing those words, but it's true. A Sri Lankan friend is getting married in September. But first there is an engagement to celebrate in a couple of weeks time. And it seems that only a sari will do. Those of you who know me, even just a little, will be aware that I am not really a shopper. However, the experience was far from stressful and, dare I say, even quite fun.

I have long dreamt of a world where shopping was simplified by establishments dedicated to a specific item of clothing. It has always been a source of irritation (and occasional rage) that when I need to buy trousers, I have to traipse from one place to another, rummaging around in various corners of a shop to find a couple of pairs of completely unsuitable and unflattering pantaloons. Why oh why is this so? In my dream world, I would simply pop along to Trouser World and be spoilt for choice. And when I need some football shorts, I would head for Not Too Short Sports Shorts For Women Shorts Shack. And when I need some tops for work.....well, you get the picture. Back to the sari shopping. 

The good news is that when it comes to saris, my dreams can be realised. And so, off we went to Pettah where just such a one stop shop exists. In fact many exist, but we only had to go to ONE! Great!

Smiley sari magician

And so we entered a world where colourful material is piled floor to ceiling for as far as the eye can see; attentive shop assistants do not simply follow and stare, but actually assist you (whilst staring a little it must be said). But most importantly, one size fits all. Not only does this mean no sweaty changing rooms with distorted funfair mirrors, it also narrows down the process of decision making to “do I like this colour?” and “does it suit me?”. And to support you in deciding, there is a helpful smiley man who is only to happy to show off his expertise by folding, wrapping, smoothing, gathering and twisting your chosen material around your body until....TADAAAA...it's a sari!

Remarkably, the first material I selected was declared by all to be a very good colour for me. And so all that was needed then was the obligatory underskirt (this was just handed to me, no need to make further decisions) and the sari top (this does need to be made to measure and did involve accompanying a very serious woman with a tape measure into a sweaty changing room. However, on the whole it was relatively pain free).



And so, I am now the proud owner of my very own sari and look forward to a very special occasion on a most auspicious of days. All I need now are some glitzy shoes and blinging jewellery and I'm set. Don't panic, there will be photos, but you'll have to wait.

Are you being served?

Blogger's block

So, it has happened. 3 months in, and after a fair few rambling attempts to capture some of my experiences online, blogger's block has hit me and I appear to have run out of steam. It has probably not helped to have had an enforced 2 week break after spilling an entire glass of mango juice over my netbook (resulting in a broken, sticky and ant infested keyboard). But whilst the keyboard has been replaced and my computer returned to me in full working order, my brain might as well be crawling with insects and floating in a vat of juice for all it's usefulness right now.

Perhaps it is the heat. April is the hottest month of the year in Colombo, and both the temperature and humidity have been gradually increasing over recent weeks as if some omnipotent sadistic clown has his hands on the thermostat and is gleefully twisting the dial as I melt!

Maybe it's the rain. Monsoon season has arrived and, as well as ramping up the heat, the clown has been watching and waiting until I'm out in the elements before pressing a button to release giant bucket loads of water over my head whilst clanging thunderous cymbals and sniggering to himself! Despite the welcome coolness that accompanies the rain, this daily deluge leaves the streets awash with oversized puddles strategically arranged to ensure a high chance of me either falling into the middle of one, getting drenched as a passing bus ploughs through one, or being run down by a trishaw/bus/motobike/cyclist/cow as I attempt to navigate my way around some.

Or it could simply be that 3 months in, life in Sri Lanka is becoming more familiar. At times, it feels as if both everything and nothing seem worthy of a blog post and I struggle to know what to include and what to leave out. And so, I thought I would put some suggestions to you all and ask for some help in deciding on my next blog topic. Here are a few potential titles:

A Thai photo blog

Charging elephants

Peace and quiet in Bangkok

Coming home to Sri Lanka

Sringlish

A trip to the cinema

Why I am a creature of great fascination (part 1) or alternative title “just like Lady Di”

Let me know what you think. I do greatly value your opinion. Although, I can't promise I wont completely ignore it. 

Beautiful Jaffna

Beautiful Jaffna, a set on Flickr.

I have just spent the weekend in Jaffna, a 10 hour bus journey from Colombo and situated close to the northernmost tip of the island. The town is nearer to India than the Sri Lankan capital and is home to a largely Tamil and Hindu population. It really couldn't feel more different to the the city in which I live, not only as a result of the language spoken and the religious buildings and symbols on show, but also owing to the signs of the 25 year conflict which most profoundly affected this part of the country. Bullet marked, bombed out and abandoned homes still serve as reminders of it's recent history. Only now accessible to visitors after many years, it is difficult to put into words the sad and strange beauty of Jaffna, a place which is also so full of life, vibrancy and colour.

My first taste of a Hundu puja at the Nallur Kandaswamy Temple was an experience that I will not forget for some time. My heart definitely beat a little faster as I watched the noisy, colourful and slightly chaotic ritual (although I can't be sure this was not at least in part due to a sugar rush following the super sweet bowl of ice cream consumed just before our visit!). So too with my first trip in a Jaffna trishaw, which comes with added luminous lighting and blaring Hindi music. And the intensity and variety of staring that I was subjected to could most definitely provide me with a whole new chapter in my Sri Lankan classification blog post.

Thanks to my fantastic hostess, Jo, and the rest of the Jaffna crew for a wonderful weekend of scooter rides to the beach, Rio ice creams, hand-washing with a view, expert walking tours, delicious home cooked curry, exceptional puddings and a fantastic (if a little underused) slidey dance floor. I will most definitely return. Here are a few shots of the place that demands to be captured on film. I hope I have done it justice.

Please don't call me madam

One of the things that has been particularly notable to me since my arrival in Sri Lanka has been the importance placed on verbal etiquette and forms of address. At the hospital, for example, the consultants are referred to by staff and patients as “sir” or “madam” to indicate their position of importance. When I tell people it is not unusual for me to address the consultants I work with in the UK using their first names, they look at me with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Other staff lower down the pecking order are referred to as “mister” or “miss”. For the most part, I have become Miss Beth, or Beth Miss. And I think it rather suits me! 

Whilst I'm getting used to the shouts of “taxi madam?” “where are you going madam?” and similar which follow me everywhere in Colombo, I have been relieved to escape being called madam at work. That is, until recently. I have been doing some teaching sessions with students on placement at the hospital. Not only do they all stand as I enter the room, some of them insist on calling me madam. And it just feels very very wrong. On bumping into one of the students on my way to work, I was greeted with a enthusiastic “good morning madam”. I decided it was time to try to put an end to this once and for all. Unfortunately, what began as a promising exchange, quickly descended into the faintly ridiculous as I tried in vain to make my point.

“Please don't call me madam”

“Sorry madam?”

“You don't need to call me madam. Just Beth is fine”

“Yes madam, but it is important to be calling you madam”

“No no, you really don't need to. It actually makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes madam, you see the thing is madam, we must be showing you respect madam”

“Ok, but in my culture you can show someone respect without calling them madam, simply by how you behave”

“Ah, but madam, here in Sri Lanka our behaviour it is coming first from our verbal actions. What we say madam is influencing how we are behaving”

And so there I gave up and accepted my fate. Perhaps I'll even get used to it and demand similar treatment on my return. And maybe, just maybe, a little of all this politeness will rub off on me and I'll return a better behaved person.