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.

One year: Part three

A year ago today

Eyes blurred and mind foggy from lack of sleep, we touch down at Bandaranayake airport. It is approximately 1:30 pm local time and I am finally in Sri Lanka. However, there's still a chance this might not happen. We've got to get through customs first, and the visa process has been far from smooth up to this point. Thank goodness I prompted VSO to amend their original letter which had recommended I be granted permission to enter "Sierra Leone". Although, is it possible I brought the wrong letter? Did I proof read the replacement properly? What if its not correct? What if we got on the wrong flight and have ended up in a different continent after all? And what if my tired twitchy eye and general nervousness arouses so much suspicion that I am sent packing and back to the UK before getting out of the airport? It might for the best. After all, is this really such a good idea?

"OK, madam....Madam, it is OK!". I am jolted out of my travel-weary imaginings by a nod from the serious looking man at the desk. He is waving me through. He is waggling his head. I'm in. It's happening. There's no going back now! Jaffna Jo and I are greeted by a man with a VSO sign and escorted out into the stifling heat to a waiting van. Once shoes and socks have been discarded in favour of sandals, I immediately turn my attention to worrying about dehydration and dengue fever whilst gazing glassy eyed out of the van at the Colombo city sights.

The day passes in a blur. We are driven to the VSO office and given a welcome pack before being deposited at our guest house across the road. Being the intrepid adventurers that we are, we venture out to Keels. the local supermarket, to buy ourselves fizzy pop and salty nuts before returning to the safety of the guest house for our first home-cooked Sri Lankan meal. After dinner, we watch a couple of geckos chasing their tales around the verandah and I calculate that I have now been awake for approximately 33 hours. My eyes are as bulbous as a gecko's and I am starting to dribble when trying to speak. I figure it's time for bed. And so, for the very first time, I crawl under my mosquito net and onto the tiny bed that will be mine for the next 4 weeks. The mattress appears to have been manufactured for the maximum possible discomfort and stuffed with hundreds of small spiky lizards. The fan is deafening. I feel trapped under the net and am suffocating in this heat. I cannot sleep. Despite the 3 trips I have taken to the bathroom in the last 20 minutes, my bladder taunts me by repeatedly demanding to be emptied. The night appears endless, and one whole year (a full 365 nights away from home!) seems intolerable.


Today

Today is a special day. It is my anniversary. I have been in Sri Lanka for exactly one year. I have not only tolerated 365 nights, but have, for the most part, enjoyed it. In fact, I have even chosen to extend by an extra 3 months. So instead of heading home in the midst of winter, as originally planned, I am looking forward to a few more nights under my net. Thankfully I have a more comfortable mattress, and life has been good. Not without its challenges of course. But then, when is it ever?

I slide out of bed determined to make it to the hospital. Those buses will not break me! In actual fact, it turns out that today they are on my side. The 150 bus arrives within 5 minutes of waiting. I expertly wave it down with the required flappety floppety wrist waggle (performed most successfully, I find, if imagining the presence of a disgusting stench in the nearby vicinity); just one of the many abilities I have gained this year in exchange for my own special skills. VSO: Sharing skills, changing lives. This is is what its all about!

Anyway....back to the bus. So, there I am, impressed with my good fortune, about to clamber aboard, when I feel the squelch of something unpleasant underfoot. Some might say this is confirmation of my good luck. However, as I attempt to remove the mess from the sole of my sandal, the 150 starts pulling away and I am forced to run and leap onto the moving bus. For a moment, it's touch and go. But thankfully, I land safely without doing myself any great injury and find a seat by the window where I can stick my head outside to get away from the stink I have brought in with me.

My day at the hospital is a good one. I am busy, but still I find the time to tell as many people as possible that it is my anniversary. They mostly seem fairly unimpressed, and several respond by asking when I am leaving. I don't take it personally. I'm pretty sure they are simply preparing themselves for the emotional wrench.

After a post work swim, I head home for an anniversary skype chat with a certain Jaffnite. But first I must stop off at Keels to pick up some special fizzy lager pop and celebratory nuts. The internet connection is poor, and I have no idea what she is saying. However, it's good enough to allow us to  toast a fantastic year well spent in Sierra Leone and raise our glasses for good times to come, whichever continent we find ourselves on.

Life as we know it? To be continued for a few more weeks. The "one year" mini-blog series? Stand down and rest easy...it is finally over. 

One year: Part two

A year ago today

After 9 months of planning and preparing for a momentous change, and comparing strangely parallel experiences at length with a good friend, this morning I learn that she has gone into labour overnight. Today is a big day for us both as we begin our final journey towards a new life. She will later claim it was more painful for her, but it's probably a close call as this morning I must bid my beloved Boo (the poodle) farewell; it's the only goodbye that pushes me precariously close to uncontrollable sobbing and one which will, tomorrow, be cause for regretful remembering as I wonder, itching and fidgeting under my mosquito net, whether she gave me a surprise parting gift during her excitable licky-faced send off! Nevertheless, I hold it together to see my way through a final goodbye at Pool Valley station in Brighton where close friends turn up unexpectedly to throw nuts at me (snacks for the journey) and push me onto the coach. I am finally on my way, and allow myself a moment to consider that it might actually be a good idea after all, this big adventure I have embarked on. At Heathrow, I meet, for the first time, my travel companion and fellow volunteer, soon to be known as Jaffna Jo. I manage to play it cool for approximately 5 minutes before nervously quizzing her about the contents of her suitcase. I'm pretty sure I see her breathe a sigh of relief as she realises we are sat at least 10 rows apart on the plane for our first flight. And so, we are off. At Dubai, just before our second flight, I receive a final word from my labouring friend who indicates it won't be too long now. As the cabin prepares for take off on route to our final destination, back in the UK baby Kaitlin is making her last preparations for her big entrance into the world. Life as we know it will never be the same again!


Today

This morning, I am not shivering as I wake up. I had the good sense to put the fan on its lowest setting last night, wore my long pyjamas to bed and wrapped myself securely in my sheet. Even so, the thought of a thin summer duvet does not seem completely ridiculous. I contemplate pressing snooze for a third time but decide against it remembering my 9am meeting. I must get myself to the hospital and so, for the 365th consecutive day (give or take a few night's away from Sri Lanka), I scramble out from under my mosquito net to begin the day. Today, I am determined to avoid any unnecessary shocks and decide to leave the mosquitoes to their own devices. I'm feeling pretty upbeat. Look at me, living in Sri Lanka, for a whole year! Life is pretty good. I am sooo flexible and adaptable. However, within 30 minutes of leaving the house I am pacing, swearing and sweating at the bus stand. Where is the 150 bus? Why has it not come? A small bearded man stops to make random chat, smiling enthusiastically whilst asking and answering his own question "how are you I'm fine!". He doesn't seem to notice my grumpiness and wanders off, apparently happy despite the one-sided conversation. After one hour of waiting and several phone conversations with colleagues at the hospital (they reassure me the 150 is not on strike today) my head is about to implode and I finally admit that my flexibility and adaptability have their limits. Thankfully, at that very moment, I hear a shout from across the road and see my fellow volunteer and good friend, from now on known as Swivel Hips Joao, doing a little dance for me. As well as making a spectacle of himself, and scaring a passing stray dog, he is also reminding me that Tuesday night is Bollywood night, the evening when we both get a step closer to realising our Bollywood dreams. Until then, I decide it's time to retreat to the VSO office and instead work from there for the day. Whilst on route, I calculate that I can attend 9 more classes before leaving Sri Lanka. More than enough time to perfect the steps. As long as I avoid looking at myself in the mirror during the class, anything is possible. And if Bollywood wont have me, I'm pretty sure Brighton will welcome me home and appreciate my new dancefloor prowess...maybe. Life as you know it will never be the same again!

To be continued (...maybe)

One year: Part one

1 year ago today

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


Today

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

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

to be continued (maybe...)

A Christmas coriander cure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What madam wants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn't understand

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

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

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

Finally the rupee dropped!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perks of the blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Getting high in northern india

getting high in northern india, a set on Flickr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.....