The  next morning, we cast off from Sonrisa and head to the cement wall where the shipping agents dock their boats.  They are kind enough to allow cruisers to tie our dinghies to their boats, and all we must do to reach land is to step across.  This is good, it protects the dinghies from bouncing on the rocks or cement wall, and with constant supervision at the dock, the likelihood of any mischief occurring is low. 

We leave Grin in his place with his friends and begin the walk to Sutha and Alex’s house.  As we arrive at Alex and Sutha’s gate, we knock and speak a greeting. “Good morning, Alex!” Our eyes dart around, scanning the horizon for any incoming tuk-tuks, hoping Alex and Sutha will answer their door soon and sneak us into the waiting safety of Alex’s carport. “Darhun is going to catch us, I know it.” Andrew says. (If you are still trying to keep track - Darhun is a third tuk-tuk driver mentioned in this saga.)

No sooner were these words out of Andrew’s mouth, comes Darhun. “Hi Guys! Where you going today?” Hope that we might need a ride sparkles in his eyes, but as he takes stock of our location and the stationary position in which he found us, a cloud of disappointment floats in. “Oh, you are going to see Alex today.”

Darhun was actually our first tuk-tuk driver.  He usually parks at the mouth of the dock, lying in wait to snatch up any cruiser who walks past.  When we first arrived here in Sri Lanka, Darhun was the first to welcome us to port after customs and immigration. He helped us get our SIM cards, he took us to a local café where we escaped the hotel food and hotel food prices of the joint just across the street from the anchorage.

He took us on a day long tour of town and the beach...

….. a world war II cemetery with a fascinating mxiture of cultures present in Sri Lanka during those times.

.…and to the Koneswaram Temple built originally in 205 B.C., it is one of the most sacred temples in all of the Hindu religion, as it is seated at the mouth of a river that starts at Adam’s Peak, where the Hindu people believe Shiva’s footprint lies. Indeed, some scholars believe this temple may have been the site where yoga first originated, and some scholars have suggested that the worship of the almighty god Eiswara on the promontory is the most ancient form of worship existing.

I really enjoyed the Hindu temple.  Seated cliffside of the sea, we could watch the blustery wind and waves causing the sea to crash against the rocks.  Holy men were wrapped in skirts, with beads around their necks, yellow paint swept horizontally across their foreheads and vertically down their nose.  No photographs were allowed inside the temple, but we happened to be there just in time for a ceremony in which worshipers brought baskets filled with flowers, fruit and rice as well as urns of milk to be offered into the temple.  While the air filled with incense and the deep sonorous clang of thick bronze bells, the worshipers would hand their baskets and urns to the holy men who placed them in strategic areas of the temple, prayed, chanted, and sang.  Then, when the time was right, the holy men collected the baskets again and returned them to the worshipers, whom I presume would consume the food to receive the full measure of the blessing.  I watched and listened, curiously, I noted every religion I have witnessed incorporates smoke/incense, fire, holy water, chanting or singing, flowers and food into their ceremonies. 

We discovered both cows and the sacred spotted deer have free reign to wander the streets.  If I failed to pay attention, walking while peeking through my camera lense, I could easily trip over a cow resting in the shade. 

We stopped at stalls along the road to the temple and sampled Sri Lankan candies of many variety.  Andrew and I settled on a red square of geletin made with a tangy sweet juice of dragon fruit and the man behind the counter used a knief far bigger than strictly necessary to slice us up our share.

We capped off our tour that day drinking beers with fellow cruisers.

I’m sure by the end of the day Darhun felt confident we were well captured. And we may well have been, except that next, we were ready to venture off into deeper distances.  We wanted to go see the Sri Lankan high lands.  This required a four (maybe six, but really eight hour drive) into the center of the island of Sri Lanka.

“Darhun, we need a taxi ride to Kandy tomorrow morning, can you do that?" 

Darhun only has a tuk-tuk, and this trip would be far more comfortable (and a measure safer) in a car.  So, Darhun contacted a friend for us and scheduled our car to fetch us at 7:00 a.m. the next morning. 

And, this is how we ended up in the clutches of Alex. 

“I am Alexander," he said as he takes our bags and tucks them into the trunk.  We chat as we drive, learning tidbits about life in Sri Lanka and about Alex himself. He is Tamil (one of the ethnic groups of Sri Lanka), Catholic, and a lover of music.  He plays the drums, bongos, and the tabullah .  His mother is 81, and she knows the name of every single WWF wrestler there is to know.  He has never married, and his mother is very disappointed of this fact.  Though, he hopes to marry an American girl, or maybe a European.  He feels that those women do not want so many gold necklaces or jewels, they marry for love.  He owns a car, two classic tuk-tuks, and two motorcycles.  Elephants often roam around in public, and one must always be careful not to hit one while driving.  “Very danger, very danger."  He says as he describes the hazard of elephants, and buses. 

The buses here are built in India, and they look exactly like those used in Fiji.  Only here, the buses are not only the largest, but also the fastest vehicle on the road.  They tear around spinning dust and exhaust into the air, honking their horns as if to say “Just try me, buddy." Every single bus is driven like someone has stolen it - whether they are swooping through the countryside or plowing their way through the center of town.  Wisely so, Alex backs off as we watch two buses squeeze side by side in one lane as a dump truck appears unexpectedly around a blind curve. “There are public buses and private.  Each of the buses are driving as fast as they can so they can collect the customers before the other bus gets them.”  Alex explains.

Makes sense.  Capitalism at work, there. 

We stop in Dambulla, Sri Lanka to visit the ancient Buddhist temple built into caves settled into the top of a mountainside.  We climb hundreds of stairs along with the Buddhist worshipers dressed all in white and carrying the most beautiful lotuses wrapped in bouquet paper.  The temple is as temples are, but this one is uniquely tucked into the caves, with shadows of Buddha bouncing off cave walls and a soft ambiance with yellow light and flowers.

This temple houses a resting buddha, and his feet are painted with my favorite pattern I’ve seen yet.  (Yes, I am a connoissure of the bottom of Buddhas’ feet, now.)  

We make several stops at random to sample Sri Lankan cuisine from shops on the side of the road.  Pulled by curiosity as he sees stacks and stacks of “soil pots” or terra cotta pottery lining the roads, Andrew calls for Alex to pull over.  “What are they selling?" 

“Curd.”  Alex explains.

"Can we have some?”  Andrew asks. 

Of course Alex was delighted to pull over and let us sample the raw buffalo or cow milk yogurt allowed to age naturally in the terra cotta pots.  Topped with coconut treacle, a syrup tapped from the coconut tree much like maple syrup, the sweet of the treacle combined with the sour of the raw yogurt is delicious.  This becomes a favorite morning breakfast or after dinner dessert for us while in Sri Lanka.

Before we return to the car, Alex plucks a bright pink flower from a bush on the side of the road and offers it to me to place in my ear.  “Very beauty!"  He says.

As we drive, I peek out the window and catch glimpses of scenery that help me pull together my personal snapshot of the Sri Lankan life:

Raw materials of spices like cloves, nutmeg, mace, cardamom laid in driveways to dry in the sun:

Shops readying their doors for the upcoming Hindu new moon holiday.

The welder who must be one of the busiest men in all of Sri Lanka, as it seems the people here love to express themselves in decorative gates.

We see stacks of tuk tuk wheels that wait in piles to be melted, recycled, welded and reused in other purposes.

And, people playing cricket in open fields:

When we reach our hotel for the night, we are greeted by more kind people and smiling friends.  We are given the grand tour of a hotel built and opened just this January.  Standing on our room side patio, the host tells us “if you sit out here, please try to be a bit quiet.  There is a convent of nuns just across the way."   We assure him we wouldn't get too rowdy.

This is where Alex leaves us to board the train.  “Very headache!” He warns us, "very loud, better to take a car.”  But, we are committed to giving countryside train travel another chance after Andrew’s Chiang Mai to Ayuttaya disaster last year. We say thank you and send him on his way.

Then, we head out into the city to  hunt down an ATM.  Walking in this country feels like taking your life in your hands.  We surreptitiously follow the footsteps of be-saried grandmas, certain they are old enough and wise enough to know the secret to safely crossing the streets.  The buildings are tall, narrow, and cobbled together as though each floor, each room, each wall seems to have been added as an afterthought to the next. Shop owners wave to us as we pass on the street, though they are buried deep in the back of their stacks of goods available for sale. We hear “hello, how are you!” from behind packets of laundry soap hanging from the rafters.

At one spot in our walk, I am halted in my footsteps - surprised at the extreme juxtaposition between the view over my left shoulder versus the view straight ahead and to my right. These two photos are taken standing in the exact same spot!  This captures Sri Lanka for me.

After a while, I decide that if I die in Sri Lanka, the last sound I hear will be the “Blonk! Blonk!” of one of those horrible buses.  So, we turn around as the sun drops low in the evening sky.  Even in this mix of humanity and machinery, colorful birds will flutter and land in view. We return to our hotel to enjoy a Lion Beer next to the pool, looking out at the scenery from the roof where we watch sunset and a swarm of giant bats flap their way from one end of the city to another.

When it’s finally time to tuck into dinner, we enjoy two Sri Lankan standards: A Sri Lankan yellow curry (quite different from the familiar yellow Indian curry you might know) and Deviled cuttle fish. Both are delicious, and they warrant the clove oil soaked tooth picks we are offered at the end of our culinary adventure.

That night, we head to bed saturated with details upon details of culture, scenery, and exploration. And for the first time in a while - we were truly free agents: open to use any mode of transportation we choose.