The Blithe Traveler

It's All in the Eye of the Beholder

Just as well I did not book this the one night we went Fancy Schmancy. I might have been disappointed.

I have no idea what the rest of the sign says. Maybe it's Dealers in Fancy Goods and Colorful Plastic Buckets and Sponges?

 

 

A Little About Sri Lanka

As you are likely aware, "Sri Lanka" is a recently re-adopted moniker. Ceilão was the name given to Sri Lanka by the Portuguese when they arrived in 1505, which was transliterated into English as Ceylon.  As a British crown colony, the island was known as Ceylon, and achieved independence under the name Dominion of Ceylon in 1948. In 1972, the official name of the country was changed to "Free, Sovereign and Independent Republic of Sri Lanka". In 1978 it was changed to the "Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka." And thus it remains today.

We, however, called it the land of the High-End Tuk-Tuk. Look at those classy things!

Two key topics to touch upon before we launch off into our experiences in Sri Lanka: the Civil War and the 2004 tsunami.

Civil War

One of the key reasons Sri Lanka is probably not that high on your Git 'Er Done list is that you may have a vague-ish feeling that it is country in conflict. In fact, it was, for quite some time. These days, it is pretty much all quiet on the Northern and Eastern fronts. The conflict lasted a solid quarter of a century, though, so you are not alone in thinking that it is possibly a place that should be visited with some caution.

The short history is as follows: beginning in the summer of 1983, there was an on-and-off insurgency against the government by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (the LTTE), a separatist militant organization which fought to create an independent Tamil state in the north and the east of the island. After a 26 year long military campaign, the Sri Lankan military defeated the Tamil Tigers in May 2009.

So, not that long ago. Lonely Planet, the Bible for most travelers I know, suggests that you might want to avoid the North and East, although, there does not seem to be much evidence that there is actually any danger. But, tourism isn't all that well developed, whereas other parts of the country are a little more prepared for your visit, shall we say. 

Here's a close up of the super-deluxe Tuk-Tuks. Tom's comment when he saw them was. "Wow, remember when Tuk-Tuk's were just motorcycles with trailers attached?!"

The Tsunami

Sri Lanka was one of many nations dramatically affected by the devastating 2004 Asian tsunami. At least 35,000 people on this island nation died in the disaster. One of the questions we asked before planning our trip was, "Is it appropriate to visit a country that suffered such a devastating national disaster?"

The answer surprised me, but it does make sense. Basically, come, if you want to help rebuild the country. Tourism is one of the few ways the Sri Lankan people have to rebuild. The Sri Lankan economy is driven by tourism, tea and the apparel industry, so without people coming to spend their tourism dollars, the recovery would be slower and less effective. 

Random fruit stand

As for danger, there is now an early warning system in place. One of the saddest things about the 2004 Tsunami is that there was enough time to warn people of the oncoming danger, but there was no way to do it.

As it turned out, we missed the first test of the system by three days. We had moved inland to the jungle when an 8.7 earthquake hit Indonesia. There was plenty of time to move people inland from when the earthquake was recorded and when an tsunami, should one be generated, actually hit the island. As it turned out, nothing happened. Still, it did my heart good that people were alerted and moved inland just in case.

Kind of a pain in the neck, but still better to have a false alarm than a repeat of 2004.

Tomorrow: What you see driving around

 

Postcard from Mirissa Bay

View of the local fishing boats in Mirrisa Bay.

I just love the brightly colored boats.

 

Postcard from Weligama

Local Weligama businessman, posing as a fisherman.

He charges 100 ruppee(1) for a photo session. He may have been a fisherman, and he may even still catch fish, but clearly, his P&L is driven by tourist drive-bys.

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(1) Less than a US$ and far less than a Euro.

Postcard from Tangalle

Tom said, "MOM! Look at the two guys on the scooter!"

Me, "What?" not looking up, thinking, two guys on a scooter, what's so special about that?

Tom: "They're carrying a door!"

I really, really miss Asia. I had a brief "ew!" moment when I was using a public bathroom and I realized I have been in Europe too long. It's been well over a year since we visited Thailand and coming up on two years since we left China.

I'd move back in a heartbeat.

Postcard from Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte

Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte is the capital of Sri Lanka. It's pronouced "Colombo."

Ha! Not really, but apparently people say "Colombo" is the capital of Sri Lanka because the chances of getting "Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte" right are slim to none and slim is busy picking leeches off his wedding tackle.

Or, maybe Colombo really is the capital of Sri Lanka. I've seen it both ways. I'd Google it for you, but my internet connection is dodgy and I think it's best not to fritter away limited bandwidth on working out the truth. What it comes down to is that our map at home says Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte is the capital of Sri Lanka. We're entertained by that, and we're sticking to it.

This trip came about when we were tossing around Easter ideas while at the estancia in Argentina over Christmas. A well-traveled someone mentioned Sri Lanka, gave us a very specific recommendation and we were on our way.

The reccommendation was a smallish guest house on the Unawatuna bay. It's down on the southern tip, by Galle (see map above). In an interesting twist, though, friends of ours in China heard wind of this Easter sojourn and declared their intention to join. JOY! They have two boys the same ages as Tom and Hope. The four of them have gotten along famously for years, so we were delighted to have built in playmates to come along.

The difficulty was that they have three other children besides. The youngest is 8 months, the oldest is Tom's age. So, we needed to find some place larger to stay than the tiny guest house we were planning to camp in.

Renting a house was the ideal answer: they are far more cost efficient than a hotel, and bonus! In Sri Lanka most come with a staff to keep the place tidy and a cook, so no need to (a) cook yourself (which we typically do at least a bit while traveling) or (b) travel to restaurants. Lifestyles of the Fancy Schmancy we'd be living it.

Our friends were a bit busy (five children from less than a year to age 9 would probably leave me a bit "busy" where maybe "busy" equals "living in a straightjacket zonked out on Zoloft"), so they left the travel planning to me. They don't read this blog. You probably guessed that already, didn't you?

Given the lateness of our planning (Easter planning apparently should start at least before Christmas ... I will never get this right), finding a house that would fit all of us and met the important criteria of (a) internet access (b) pool (c) on the beach, was tricky, but I managed it. I found a house that suited, booked it for the week we would all be together, and paid for it all in the space of a few days. Victory!!

Feeling more than a bit chuffed at my progress, I gave Jeff the okay to buy airline tickets, and I booked a second week just for us chickens traveling up north into the Hill Country to do a little exploring, hiking and rafting.

All was well until the beginning of March when the company I rented the house from emailed to say that there had been an error and despite the fact that I had a contract and had already paid for the house, we weren't going to be able to have it. Dang. And, since it was Easter week and there was a big Cricket match going on, odds of finding something else weren't great. Double Dang. Is there a word for Unvictory?

It was too late to cancel, as we all had airline tickets. We had to find lodgings for eleven people. Something baby safe that would meet all aforementioned criteria. A few Xanax were in order on this one.

The net net, was, after hours on the internet, repeated emails back and forth to Sri Lanka, we took what was behind Door #1.

It worked out okay.

Tomorrow: Postcards from Sri Lanka

Cristo!

You have seen the iconic image. And here's how Cristo Redentor looks right up close.

This statute of Jesus Christ is considered the largest Art Deco statue in the world and the 5th largest statue of Jesus anywhere. Anyone else suddenly keen to find out about the other four?  The statue is 40 metres (130 ft) tall, including its 9.5 metres (31 ft) pedestal, and 30 metres (98 ft) wide. It is located at the peak of the 700-metre (2,300 ft) Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking Tio. It is made of reinforced concrete and soapstone, and was constructed between 1922 and 1931. 

We had a short day in Rio, as we were flying out in the evening, so it made sense to make this our one and only Rio tourist stop.

Getting there, though, is half the battle. Once you are there, the rest of the battle is not getting knocked off the platform that is 700 meters above the city by the hordes of people who have come to take this exact photo.

There are a lot of people. The platform, you might notice is not exactly gi-normus. You might also be wondering how all of these people get up here. I am here to tell you.

First, you find Brazilian reals. Finding an ATM to spit out local currency was quite a chore in and of itself, but easier in the light of day than during the monsoon we rode into town on.

Then you find the bus to take you up to the bottom of the mountain. The bus has a driver and a money taker. The money taker sits at the front of the bus in front of a revolving gate. When you pay your fare, you go through the gate and get a seat. This is quite different than in either Brno or Vienna where all public transport works on the honor system(1).

You ride to the bottom of the mountain. At that point you can either hire a "private" van (seats about 25 people) to take you up and then back down when your time with Cristo is over, or you can take a cable car.

Given the weary state of our travelers, we opted for the private van. If memory serves, the children were "free," which meant they sat on our laps. It was a bit hot, but the ride wasn't terribly long, probably about 15 minutes up the mountain. The twisty, windy road was jammed with the mini buses running up and down and the mini van was pretty hot and jammed, but it was nice to think that we'd be at the top soon.

Ah, but at the top of what??

Turns out we had ridden up to the bottom. We got on line. The line was, no word of a lie, a kilometer long. It was a Saturday, and apparently a holiday (maybe Three King's Day?) so the crowds were something we should have expected. Of course, we should have also expected that we needed a visa to get into the country, so maybe I need to work on being a little more proactive on "expectations."

In favor of the Brazilians, this one kilometer line took about twenty minutes to get through. Not too shabby.

At the end of the line, you hop in another van (this one is included in your admission fee) and speed up to the top. It's about a ten minute ride. Your alternative if the van does not suit your fancy is to walk or to bike. We saw people doing both and they all looked as though they were going to be quite pleased with their accomplishment once it was all over. And the wounds had healed.

I think the hiking is not a bad route, by the way, if the weather is in your favor and you are reasonably fit. Not so great an option for the under ten or over seventy set.

And when you arrive at the top? A line. To climb the very last steps to the top.

This is the view from the line. It's really quite beautiful. Although there is no similar view of the front.

So, you climb the steps, and then find yourself among the hordes. All vying for the best photograph. Ay! I am a bit of a hypocrite in this regard. My personal feeling is that there is nothing wrong with "remembering" a moment without recording it for posterity.

That said, I travel with Jeff, who will tell you that I spend half our time together hollering, "DID YOU GET A PICTURE OF THAT??" "CAN YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF THAT FOR ME?" "HEY, I FORGOT MY CAMERA AGAIN, CAN I BORROW YOURS??" The very definition of hypocrite. At least I can be honest with myself.

Here we have some of the hordes lying prone at the statute worshiping at the altar of Olympia (and Canon). It is astonishing to see, and I will be brutally honest, while the views of Rio were beautiful and the statue is (vaguely) interesting, the humanity in action is the thing to see. They were all vying for that perfect photo. The one you can buy on a postcard, on a disc, or steal from the internet if you roll that way.

Really, it was totally worth the ride up to spend half an hour people watching up here. Note the people with their arms spread mimicking the statue. Over and over again, people would stand on the edges of the platform, 700 meters high and spread their wings. I don't get it, but clearly I am in the minority.

After our own photo ops were done, we headed back down to the halfway point. There was a short wait for the van to the bottom and, CHECK MARK, Cristo Redentor was off the list of a Thousand Things To See Before you Die.   

Net net, weird. At the heart of it, I don't get it. I'm a little tired of seeing touristy things (I know, I know, spoiled, spoiled moi - and, newsflash, I am not going to die unhappy if I can't check off the remaining, what, 679 things? that are still left on the list) and find the lines, the cost and the ultimate viewing just not living up to expectation. And, there's that "I didn't really want to go to Rio" vibe going on, too. That does tend to color my world, at least around the edges.

But at the end of it? We had lunch and headed for the airport delighted, delighted, to be heading for home: winter and all.

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(1) No kidding. In both Brno and Vienna you get on and off public transport at will without showing a ticket. There are periodic stops, of course, where the authorities show up and tickets are checked. The fines are hefty and smart money never goes without a ticket. That said, I have witnessed a fair number of fare jumpers being caught red handed. Not a good route, from my perspective.

Rio At Long Last

Rio was the last stop on our voyage. While I had been balancing higher end (estancia!) with more low key, cost efficient lodging during our meandering journey through South America, prudence and my own utter lack of interest in the city demanded finer lodgings. I had heard that Rio can be quite cheap, but I didn't have much luck finding anything I thought would be suitable for a lower end budget, so I splurged for what gave the appearance of being mid-high end sort of lodgings.

I was looking for that little bit of luxury to get us over the last day before we could head for the coziness of our own boudoirs; you know, crisp white sheets, floors that didn't make you cringe when you took off your shoes, a spotless, gleaming sort of bathroom. Nothing super duper fancy, mind you, as those hotels ran more than my budget would allow. But something nice-ish.

My choice looked fine enough in the photos and cost enough that I was sure I had found something that would be about right. The final deciding point was was a lovely 16th floor terrace pool. Ah, now that sounded nice.

Wrongity wrong wrong wrong. All six ways to Sunday. It was immediately clear as we approached the hotel, which was right up close to a bus station that I had severely miss-judged what constituted mid-upper range pricing in Rio. These things happen.

Not that I wasn't pretty clear driving up to the hotel, in the lobby, and in the elevator, but once we got to the room, well ...

There you have it. Not mid-high end.

The good news was that it was pouring rain, so even if the 16th floor terrace pool had been in working order (which it was not), we would have been SOL.

It wasn't all bad. Just mostly pretty much all bad. While I did take my shoes off, I only took my socks off to shower.

But the pièce de résistance? The straw that shattered this camel's vertebrae? It was when I glanced out the window and down by the bus station there were two people engaged in the sort of activity one usually (at least in my neck of the woods) reserves for "behind closed doors" as opposed to "on a mattress on the street by the bus station."

Tom looked out over my shoulder and said, "Hey! Look, mom! Two guys fighting!"

Well, you can imagine I was disappointed in my hotel choice.

Tomorrow: Cristo Redentor 

 

 

The Brazilian Side

Iguazu Falls were spectacular, but our time in South America was winding down. We were already a day late to Rio due to our little visa miscalculation, so we considered ourselves lucky to have scheduled an early flight out of the Brazilian side of Iguazu, to land us in Rio in time to get to our semi-swanky hotel for a little swim in the 16th Floor Terrace Pool (doesn't that sound grand!?) and maybe a nice lunch in some nice restaurant.

Nice plan, poorly execute. The short of it is that there is a one hour time difference between Argentina and Brazil at the Falls. We knew this. So in calculating the time we needed to leave our hotel in Argentina and arrive in time for a our 9:00am flight from Brazil, Jeff and I both included the time difference. In the wrong direction.

In our favor, we had been traveling for nigh on three weeks. So, maybe we were tired. In hindsight, the key mistake I made was not telling the driver what time our flight was. HE wouldn't have made the mistake. HE would have gotten us there on time. Instead, I told him what time we wanted to be picked up.

We missed the flight by twelve minutes. And could not get another flight until six hours later. Time to make some lemonade.

Our luggage, while not vast by the standards of the trip was a lot to be dragging around sightseeing for a few hours in Brazil, so the negotiation was that Hope and I would stay at the airport with the luggage while Jeff and Tom took a cab ride to see the Falls from the Brazilian side. No feelings were hurt in this negotiation - all parties were reasonably satisfied with their day. Given the circumstances, of course.

Hope and I browsed, ate a leisurely lunch, listened to our audio books and I got a bit of knitting done. Probably more than a bit, actually, but given how many places we had been in the prior few weeks, sitting for a few hours in one spot was not nearly as boring as you might think. Refreshing was more how I would describe it.

Meanwhile, Jeff and Tom had a great time at the Falls. The views are different, but equally spectacular.

That is actually a coati embroidered on Tom's hat. No hard feelings, wildlife!

Amazing to see. Although, I didn't actually see it, did I?

Tomorrow: FINALLY, Rio.

Beauty and the Beast

Beautiful: Iguazu Park.

Beasts: the Coatis. These little charmers are in the racoon family, have longish sorts of snouts and long bushy tails. Rodents of Unusual Size, for the Princess Bride fans among you. Here are some babies. Aren't they cute?

Cute until they attack, that is.

Ayi, yi, yi. I am a fan of wildlife, of course. Wait, are there any people on earth who are not "fans of wildlife?" How can you not be a fan of wildlife? But I have a healthy respect for the difference between domestic and wild animals. Domestic animals are meant to be in contact with humans, while, from my perspective, wild animals in contact with humans always come out on the short end.

We've had less than positive experiences with monkeys on multiple continents. This is never the fault of the monkeys of course. The fault ultimately lies with people who think it is "cute" to interact with the wild monkeys. The formal position we take in our family is that wild animals are unpredictable, they may be observed from a distance, but they are not to be disturbed or fed.

The walkways of Iguazu are clearly marked: do not feed the coatis. The coatis themselves, however, cannot read this, and apparently neither can some percentage of the tourists tramping these paths, who seeing the babies, seemingly cannot resist to give them a "treat." 

Which results in exactly what you might think: If you walk through the coati area with a bag that happens to have food in it, it is highly likely that the coatis will relieve you of your bag. I am quite glad that there is no video of this happening to me, but you can imagine my face plastered on the guy in the video below.

 

Unpleasant. Once the coatis had my bag (which contained an apple), a rugby match broke out among them over the core. Not the best experience of our lives, particularly given that we were all wearing shorts.

So, please, tourists, don't feed the wildlife. Really. It's not good for anyone.

Tomorrow: The Brazilian Side.