For a revised version of this post, go here.
So here I am in Sri Lanka. I came here on a whim because.... well, because that is what I do. My impression thus far is mixed. When I arrived I was fairly stoked to be here but my enthusiasm has been tempered just a tad. I went straight from the airport to a motorcycle/car rental shop where I procured a Honda dirt bike. 250ccs of pure adrenaline. Well, not exactly. They do have 400cc and 650cc but price and gas efficiency steered me to a smaller engine. Turns out gas is quite expensive here (somewhere in the neighborhood of four bucks a gallon). Also, I’m kind of a pussy.
So here I am in Sri Lanka. I came here on a whim because.... well, because that is what I do. My impression thus far is mixed. When I arrived I was fairly stoked to be here but my enthusiasm has been tempered just a tad. I went straight from the airport to a motorcycle/car rental shop where I procured a Honda dirt bike. 250ccs of pure adrenaline. Well, not exactly. They do have 400cc and 650cc but price and gas efficiency steered me to a smaller engine. Turns out gas is quite expensive here (somewhere in the neighborhood of four bucks a gallon). Also, I’m kind of a pussy.
My
first day went well. Got a bike, a SIM card for my phone, a decent
room, and a partridge in a pare tree. I had a good vibe about the
owner of the bike shop and he seemed willing to help me out every
step of the way (meaning I can call him whenever I need assistance).
My only dilemma was trying to figure out whether to head south or
north to start.
My
second day was not so propitious. I decided to spend an extra day in
Negombo (a town
situated by the sea not far from the airport) in order to make sure
the bike did not exhibit any major flaws. So after breakfast I went
for a spin into town just for shits and giggles. There was a dearth
of giggles. What I saw down by the water where the fisherman keep
their boats and sell their catch at the market was uber depressing.
It is the kind of abject poverty that really kicks you in the gut.
Dejected faces, garbage strewn beaches, piles of fish skeletons,
ramshackle houses, filthy sea water, and the foul stench of rotting
sea life to name a few of the highlights. To see people living in
such a state is not so easy to digest. It is no secret that Sri Lanka
is poor but the foreknowledge is insufficient preparation. If a sight
like that does not affect you then perhaps it is time to examine the
depth of your humanity.
As one
drives through the scene it is hard not feel a bit helpless with a
healthy dose of hopeless sprinkled on top. I thought about taking
photos but sometimes it is difficult to take out my camera in that
situation. It feels a little like exploitation. And what must they
think of me while I drive around on a motorcycle worth more than
their house wearing a rain jacket that could probably feed their
family for a week or more. What does one do with that? Sell
everything you own and give the money to charity? Leave the first
world behind and dedicate your life to helping people that live in
such dire circumstances?
And
what do you with the realization that you are just not strong enough
to do either? How many lives could I save if I emptied my bank
account and gave it all to a trustworthy organization that would make
efficient use of the money? Is it our duty to basically bring
ourselves down to the same level economically of those we are trying
to help? How much personal responsibility do we really have? And how
much of the onus of care should we place upon governments, like that
of Sri Lanka? I do not know.
The
cost of living in Sri Lanka is expensive by developing world
standards. I’ve already mentioned the gas but just about everything
is taxed heavily. Vehicles, food, household goods, etc. An SUV here
sells anywhere from $100,000 to $150,000. Not many Sri Lankans are
going to splurge for a Land Rover but you can apply this import tax
hike across the board. And where does the money go? Admittedly, I
have not verified this but I have a feeling that the cost of fighting
an active insurgency might well play a major role. I have spent a
fair amount of time speaking with the gentleman at the bike shop and
he has shed light on many facets of everyday life. Don’t get me
wrong, talking to one Sri Lankan business man does not an expert make
but my instincts tell me much of what he shared is not far from the
mark.
This
brings me to the next reason day two was less than agreeable. The
gentleman who I rented my motorcycle from sent a driver to pick me up
at the airport and bring me to his shop. When I arrived I asked the
driver where I could purchase a SIM card for my cell phone. He
graciously brought me to a shop across the street. He was also
gracious enough to screw me royally. As it turns out a card should
cost around five dollars. I ended up paying fifteen. He took five as
a commission and gave the rest to the dealer. How did I let this
happen? At the time it did seem a little steep but I figured he
worked for the guy I was about to rent a motorcycle from for a month
so maybe that was the going rate. He wouldn’t screw me, would he? I
guess the driver has a habit of doing this. I found out when I asked
the rental guy how much I should pay for a SIM card. When I learned
the truth I marched across the street and gave the dealer a polite
'WTF?' It was then I learned of the commission and that I received
the tourist price. I had a nice conversation with the rental guy and
he told me he did not know his driver did this (Reaaaaaalllllly....).
He phoned him in front of me and the driver admitted his
indiscretion. He was pissed off at the cell phone dealer for telling
me the truth. So much for an apology.
The
motorcycle had only one key so I drove around searching for a key
cutter (local term) to have some extras made. I deemed it prudent in
the face of my chronic absent-mindedness. I found a guy and made the
mistake of not asking about the price first. Bend over and have
another. I found out later I paid about triple the price. Just to
punctuate my idiocy I also got screwed on a t-shirt. Did I want to
buy a t-shirt? Negative. The shop owner pointed me towards the key
cutter so I decided to make a purchase out of gratitude. The shirt
set me back about ten dollars, not an obscene amount but still about
double the normal price. The funny part is I told him I was going to
check around and if he gave me a fair price I would come back and
purchase two more. I assume he is not holding his breath.
Do I
deserve sympathy? Not one iota. I know better and the fault is mine
but still. I don’t mind paying more than a local but not triple the
price. I went back to the key cutter and let him know that I knew
that he knew he screwed me. Bet he learned his lesson. Yes, I know I
am a tool. It is going to be my new policy to return to the sight of
the screwing (when possible) and force the assailant to look me in
the eye. It may sound petty but I am actually trying to help them by
explaining that tourists do not particularly enjoy getting shafted
and that in the long run they are better off not going for the max
every time. I had a nice long discussion with my rental guy about the
whole issue. I pointed out that when one of his employees does this
it reflects badly upon him. He readily agreed but explained that
there was little he could do as drivers were in short supply (not
that I would want the guy to lose his job).
So
therein lies the conflict. The people here are poor. They live off
commissions. They are just trying to survive, to better themselves.
The money I lost means a hell of a lot more to them then it does to
me. Maybe I should just stick it in my pipe and smoke it. But here is
the thing: it’s not the money, it’s the deception and the
consequences of constantly having to watch your back, haggle, argue,
struggle, so on and so forth. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and
makes you not want to trust anyone. I hate feeling like that and I do
not want it to color my opinion of this place. Unfortunately, I
am human and find it difficult to avoid letting it bother me. And it
bothers me that it bothers me. Perhaps, I should have a little cheese
with my wine.
I
stopped at a temple today and saw what I can only describe as a 20ft
cartoon Buddha above what appears to be a big cartoon lion’s mouth
forming the entrance to the temple. I wish I had an explanation but
the guidebook has zilch and the Buddhist pilgrims worshiping while I
was there spoke no English.
Tomorrow
I head north and know not what to expect. There is a national park I
want to visit but it may be off limits to civilians. I guess it
played a part in the recent hostilities so it could very well be
closed. Land mines might be an issue. Then again maybe not. A local
informed me today that it was open. We shall see. If not I’ll move
on to the next stop. I would very much like to visit upper north of
the country (the city of Jaffna
in particular) but I have no idea if I will be allowed through
the numerous military check points. I have read that if you take
public transport (i.e. a bus) you will be allowed through but anyone
in a private vehicle needs special permission. The north and parts of
the east were heavily contested throughout the conflict. In fact much
of the north was at times under the total control of the LTTE
(otherwise known as the Tamil Tigers). Apparently, the city of
Kilinochchi is
pretty much in ruins. Chances are I will not get to see any of it but
who the hell knows. Only one way to find out.
When I
arrived at an internet cafe an employee relinquished his computer so
I might use it. There were two Internet Explorer windows minimized,
pregnantwishes.net (yes, its exactly what you think) and
bravoteens.com (right again). The browser history contained pleasebangmywife.com and petsex.com (they both appeared when I typed
'p' into the address box). Or how about barbarianmovies.com or
tamilsex.com? Seriously?
Sexual
repression is powerful thing. We all have carnal desires but
petsex.com? For the love of everything holy! In an internet cafe? Get
a grip man. Why am I sharing? Because I feel dirty and I should not a
have to suffer alone.
Basic Sinhalese
8/17/09
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'Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.' -- Libbie Fudim