Saturday, June 27, 2020

Kingfisher on a Wire

This past week, inter-district travel within Sri Lanka was reinstated and the lockdown of Colombo lifted. Though we still are not able to travel off the island for having no way to return, we are now able to travel within a strictly defined parameter in the Western and Southern Provinces. 

We immediately booked a seaside villa near Weligama. We would be the first guests the villa had since March and the lockdown of the country. 







There was much needed beach time, swimming in the turbulent surf of Jungle Beach, and time spent reading and exploring the pool and grounds of the villa. We were attended to by two polite gentlemen who hadn’t see city folk for several months, Kumare and Kumal, who prepared beautiful meals for us, including a whole grilled fish. 








The highlight of this particular trip to the beach was Sam’s persistence in wanting to try his hand at fishing. What was most interesting was watching the evolution — in both the boy and in the his thought process. He started fashioning a pole by taking a tree branch and stripping it of its leaves. He then (using the small knife on the end of a wine key) cut the wiry tendrils from a long vine. By drilling a small hole at the end of the branch (again, using the wine key), he thread the vine like through the head of a needle; the vine became his fishing line. Now, all he needed was a hook. When I offhandedly mentioned using the tab off the top of a beer can, I soon found all three cans of Lion lager in the fridge without tabs (later, I would have to use a kitchen knife to slice the cans open for consumption). He somehow cut the beer tab into the shape of a hook and tied it to the end of the vine. 



Clementine found a worm in the grass, and the boy tried his luck in the surf until the sun went down and it was time for supper.

The next morning, early, he was back at it. With local fishermen perched on stilts above the surf in the background, Sam waded into the foam. Some of this same local fishermen, perhaps with a mix of admiration and Pitt, offered same a real fishing line for his pole, a hook not crafted from the tab on a beer can, and real bait. 







Friday, June 19, 2020

Panadura

We received little advance notice when the government curfew would end in Colombo. Though we couldn’t yet travel outside of Colombo to other parts of Sri Lanka (that wouldn’t come for another two weeks), all at once we would learn the curfew had ended. 

When we heard the news, we remained skeptical. The Sri Lankan government had said they were going to lift the curfew several times, only to change their mind and back track. We believe the statistics reported by the government are accurate, but we have no way to know for sure because the government definitely has a vested interest in being less than completely transparent. 

All we knew was that as soon as the curfew was lifted we were going to the beach. 

So, of course, the day the curfew was lifted it was pouring rain. 

Nevertheless, we were resolute. Elise packed a picnic as the palms outside the kitchen window whipped back and forth in the monsoonal winds and rain drove in sheets against the glass. I packed a cooler. We drove south. We had been told about a secret surf spot at a hotel just this side the Colombo district line. It was a 45 minute drive through the city to Panadura. 

It was still raining when we drove over the railroad tracks into the empty parking lot of the hotel, sideways rain that fell in rhythmic blankets that shook out across the turbulent sea. 

Those of us who didn’t have our swimsuits already on changed in the car. We put on our masks though there was no one around and the beach, the long stretch of undulating, rain-pocked sand, was deserted. We didn’t know the protocols; we just didn’t want to get yelled at. Wearing masks in Sri Lanka is not split along party lines, is not a political statement, and is not optional. 

We run-walked through the rain stinging our skin and ran into the surf. The ocean was a mess, a washing machine, due to a cyclone passing on the other side of the island headed to terrorize and frighten Kolkata. We splashed in the rain and the ocean. Free. Liberated. It was the first time we had been anywhere but our house and the pool at Gregory’s Road in two and a half months. 

The seawater was warm but the wind and the rain made the beach otherwise cold. If you weren’t in the water, you couldn’t much stand on the sand to watch. After a few minutes, we decided we’d achieved our objective, pulled ourselves from the ocean, and headed back to the parking lot and car, stopping to rinse our feet in the shower along the way. 

When we got back to the car, Peter realized he hadn’t brought a change of close. His reaction is best characterized as panic. He was distressed, wet, and covered in sand. Despite our efforts to calm him, his anxiety escalated. Only after we fed him the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Elise had made for him before we left the house did he begin to calm down. His reaction — seemingly disproportionate to the circumstances — actually was likely appropriate for someone who had not been outside the house for that long. Children perceive time and spaces differently than adults, and it’s not surprising if he was feeling a little agoraphobic or anxious. The world had become a pretty scary place in 10 weeks. 

Mission accomplished, we drove home, salt drying on our skin and arm hairs.