Skin and Bones

I never broke bones growing up or seriously injured myself. I cracked my clavicle playing touch football, though. I remember we were at Woodstock, the first condominium complex my dad lived in after he moved out, ostensibly, to be "closer to work". Woodstock was named after the little yellow bird in the Peanuts comic strip, Snoopy's sidekick, and not after the music festival. That wouldn't have suited my dad who didn't believe me at first I broke a bone. I don't remember how I convinced but we did, eventually, go to the hospital where I was put into a sling and sent on my way.

But breaking a collar bone hardly counts. I've never been in a car accident, either, or experienced the type of jarring event where the universe seems to slow and fold in upon itself, creating a moment where two objects attempt to occupy the same physical space. 

In the last two weeks, I've been in two bike vs car accidents and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little fragile and a lot lucky. 

Last week, I was coming home from work when the bumper of a car caught me from behind. I felt like the bike folded in half beneath me.  My chain came off, and I wobbled across three lanes of traffic to the side of the road, ducking into an alley beside a jewelry store. The car followed me. 

He pulled behind me in the alley. The driver stepped out if the car, a man fully half again as tall as me and twice as wide in nondescript shirt and tie laying across the front if his belly like a wide welcome mat, eyes bulging behind eye glasses in rage, his thick neck straining the collar of his dress shirt as the veins in his neck pulsated.  He came an inch from my face, blood running down my shin, and, completely unhinged, screamed at me about "common decency", "humanity", and "how I should behave as a foreigner", all from someone who just hit a cyclist with their car and showed me no common decency or humanity. 

I took a step back to put the chain back on my bike and the man grabbed my bike by the top tube, yanking it out of my hands. My initial reaction of attempting to flee the scene quickly evaporated; I would need help extracting myself from this situation.  He called the police (who would never show), and I called security personnel from my office who arrived within 15 minutes and ran interference for me so I could get home. 

I remain stunned how someone could be so devoid of compassion that a busted fog light meant more to him than running a cyclist off the road, a reaction completely divorced from rationale thought. 

Earlier this week, I was riding into work in the driving rain, just having dropped the car off for service at the Ford dealer in Battaramula. I rode between a long line of stopped cars and the curb. A BMW sedan traveling in the opposite direction took a right turn in front of me. Neither of us saw the other, and I hit my brakes. I skidded immediately on the wet road, and I distinctly remember having time to think, "I'm going to hit this car." I slammed into the side of the car, my right shoulder taking the brunt of the impact with the car door, and crumpled into the road. 

Unlike the previous accident, this driver was instantly apologetic, though not at all at fault. He hopped out of the car and loomed over me -- along with a half dozen bystanders, security guards, policemen who showed no ability or interest in assisting, and men on scooters -- spraying Apologies down upon me until I was able to pull myself off the pavement. He even offered for me to come I to his house and ice my shoulder. 

After a few moments in which I determined my shoulder was still in the socket, I had to decide if I rode home or kept going to work. Having just gotten into my second bicycle accident in as many weeks, I knew Elise would not be sympathetic, so I decided to continue on to work. I would insure Elise's wrath anyway, because as soon as I got to work and stumbled into the nurse's office soaking wet, banged up, and bleeding they sent me to the ER. We picked Elise up on the way. 

A Letter to My Children on Learning We Are Moving to Egypt

Peter, Clementine, and Sam, 

I know you are probably feeling a million different emotions right now. You might be disappointed, sad, anxious, nervous, happy, excited, relieved. And you have every right to feel every one of those emotions. I will never tell you how to feel about anything. You are entitled to your own emotions and to feel the way you feel. And nothing I can say will change that. 

I know I will be very sad to leave Sri Lanka. I love living here and I love the lives that we have built here. I'm so proud of you guys. And I'm proud of all that we have experienced and achieved over the past three and a half years. We lived through a global pandemic, an economic crisis, fuel shortages, and political upheaval. It hasn't been easy, but we persevered and grew stronger as individuals and a family as a result. There is no place in the world I would have rather been and no one in the world I would have rather been with.  

There is no responsibility mom and I take more seriously than to figure out where to move our family next. And there is no factor in that decision that is more important than to consider what will be best for you three. 

Early on, mom and I decided it would be best if you all continued your education overseas instead of moving back to the U.S. You guys have grown up in overseas schools. It is where you are most comfortable and it is what you are most familiar with. Similarly, we also decided early on we weren't going to bid on posts that required me to learn a language. For me to take a year to learn another foreign language would have meant you all would have gone back to school in the U.S. for one year which could have been disruptive or difficult. It also could have been really good, but mom and I felt that it would be an easier transition to move directly to our next post. 

Of all the factors we considered, finding a good school was the most important. We only bid on posts with really good schools. We even got a chance to bid on posts with SAISA schools. But when I bid on a post, I am competing with 10-15 others who are competing for the same post. Sometimes, they pick me. Sometimes, they will pick somebody else for the job. Unfortunately, I didn't get picked for the jobs in Mumbai, Muscat, Seoul, or Taiwan. I didn't even get picked for the first job I applied for in Cairo. 

There are jobs available in Chennai and Dhaka. Both posts have really good SAISA schools. But running outside and cycling are two things that are really important to mom and I, and we wouldn't have been able to exercise outside in either Chennai or Dhaka. (Especially Dhaka) In addition to making sure our next post has a good school, mom and I also want to make sure it is a good fit for us, too. 

The thing is ... no matter where we go, I know we will make the most of it. Whether we go skiing in the Alps, shop the souks of Cairo, scuba dive in the Red Sea, climb Kilimanjaro, go on safari in Tanzania, or swim with the whale sharks.  

I thought it fair to explain the process to you and our thinking and rationale. I know this won't change the way you feel but I want you to know mom and I are always here for you.

I love you very much. I hope you have a great day and a good practice. 

Dad

We Are Monsters

Last night we attended the primary school's production of "We Are Monsters" where Clem had a starring role.

A clip of one of the numbers can be found here.

Clementine's Science Fair

Clementine recently participated in the school science fair. For her project, she and her partner studied the effects of mold on different foods. They hypothesized the apple would grow the most mold because it had the most moisture. You can watch part of her presentation here.

Destroy my Sweater

Sam studying probability and listening to Weezer. The thermostat is set to 18. 

TISSL Swim Meet, Colombo

Video of Clementine swimming the 50 butterfly can be found here.

And of Peter's 50 fly here.  

Flag Day, Part Six

We have lived in Sri Lanka longer than anyplace else as a family. Twice as long than Brazil, India, or Jordan. And I will be sad to leave. I'm proud of the life we have built here and all we have experienced and achieved over the past three and a half years. We lived through a global pandemic, an economic crisis, fuel shortages, and political upheaval. It hasn't been easy, but we grew stronger as individuals and a family. There is no place in the world I would have rather been and no one in the world I would have rather been with. But next summer our time in Sri Lanka will come to an end when we move to Cairo, Egypt. We're excited, nervous, trepidatious, and eager to see what the next chapter will bring. 

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Halloween preparations were somewhat derailed by the presence of coronavirus in the home. My office hosted a Halloween party at the reception center, but the party seemed more geared toward toddlers and adults (you can imagine the type of set-up that would appeal to these two very different demographics.  Bounce houses and beer). 

Starting to feel better, Sam volunteered to help set up. His friend, Tyler, randomly bought them full-body cow suits in the mail, so they were all set for the festivities. 

Peter barely rallied to put in an appearance. I don't know who was more exhausted and bedraggled. Calvin? Or Hobbes? 

Im not exactly sure what Clementine dressed up as but I think it could best be described as an alien go-go dancer. 

The party was Saturday night, but on the actual night of Halloween, a friend organized a trick or treating caravan through Colombo. We drove to the houses of a dozen or so Americans living in Sri Lanka which was much more challenging than it sounds, considering it was rush hour in a city that had no idea it was Halloween and no reason to be on the lookout for little kids dressed as ghosts and ghouls, Spiderman and fairy princesses. 

Clementine got talked into going to track practice by her coach so was completely done by the time she got home. Our house was one of the last on the trick or treat circuit, so by the time we had returned an hour and a half later, she had rallied, donning her alien makeup for the third time in as many days and helping Elise pass out the Halloween candy. (They'd even carved jack o' lanterns out of watermelons!)

What Goes Up Must Come Down

Peter, Sam, and Elise stumbled through the front door, emerging from a light, yet persistent drizzle that had fallen for over a week. 

And Peter collapsed, face down, in the doorway.

They had flown from Jordan in the middle of the night and traveled all day to get home. They had swum as hard as they could for three days straight, rising before six in the morning and not laying down to sleep until after ten at night. By the time they returned home, they were beyond exhausted. Neither Sam nor Peter would leave their bed for a week. 

The following morning, Peter had a fever. Sam showed a temperature shortly thereafter.  

The preceding weeks and months had been a grind, easily the most frenzied we'd experienced as a family: early morning swim practices, riding to the pool in a tuk before dawn through deserted city streets in the pre-morning, preternatural mist, play rehearsals, late-night parties, school lessons, French tutoring, afternoon practices again after school and Saturday mornings. The collapse was more than the effects of the red-eye flight from Amman. The collapse was the collected relief of months of hard work realized. 

And COVID.

We'd managed to avoid the virus for two and a half years, but bringing kids together from India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Nepal, Oman, Jordan, among other countries, with nothing but a cap, goggles, and swimsuit on was unlikely to yield any other result. If the boys were going to get it, there was no better set of circumstances to succumb to the virus. Better after the big meet then before. 

Elise ran a clinic for the next week while I had to host the biggest visit we'd had to my office in a year and plan the official opening reception for our new office building. She easily exceeded her step goal daily and provided three-meals-a-day room service like a fine bed and breakfast, exhausting herself in the process. 

After a week, they recovered enough to return to school, but Peter was still too fatigued to swim. Sam would attend two practices before their next big meet, a gathering of Sri Lankan international schools in Colombo.  

Growing up a swimmer, I'd been on their side of the two or three-day all-day swim meet many times, but this was my first time on the parent side and only now do I have a full appreciation for how much my mom sacrificed for me to swim. I know how much swimming was a part of making me the person I am today (for better or worse) and I want nothing more to provide that same opportunity to Sam, Peter, and Clementine. But, man, is it a lot. 

Elise has already been introduced to the challenges of feeding the bodies of three competitive swimmers. It is nearly an all-day effort in the kitchen, akin to work as a short-order cook. Full-time meal planning is a prerequisite. But Jordan was her indoctrination into the endurance required to support swimmers at a three-day meet. It's easier swimming. Honestly. 

After years of staring at the same black line running along the bottom of the pool, staring back at me, I walked away from swimming after my junior year in college. Even when I trained for triathlon, I only swam occasionally, relying on my swimming background and laurels (such as they were) to get me through the swim leg. It was often enough to emerge from the water at the head of the pack. But watching these kids now, I do miss it. Maybe not initial entry at 5:00 a.m. practice winter in Baltimore, or the constant shoulder pain, or dryland with medicine balls and stretch cords...I always loved the action of swimming more than being on a swim team. 

The meet in Colombo is called TISSL (pronounced "tissle"). And we spent two whole days baking under the hot, tropical sun, struggling to stay hydrated, while also keeping track of three kids' events, keeping from melting into a puddle of sweat and tears. Elise left halfway through the first day with a fever, finally succumbing to the upper respiratory infection making its rounds along with COVID and the flu. 

We've run ourselves ragged this fall. Not something we usually do. But it was for a good cause. This swim season has been transformative for all three kids. It showed them what they were capable of, imbued them with heretofore untapped confidence, and shaped their minds as much as their bodies. They're good, and it feels good to know you're good at something.  And it was a journey they decided to take on their own. They have agency over and ownership of their success. 

All Elise and I did was drive the car. And sit in the stands. And make the breakfasts. And pay the entry fees. And....

Clementine's Turn

After the boys' trip to Jordan, Clementine had her chance to compete in a swim meet hosted by one of the local international schools in Colombo where her relay team finished third!

SAISA Swim Meet, Jordan

Peter and Sam traveled back to Amman for the conference swim meet, a three-day meet where they swam prelims in the mornings and finals in the afternoons against teams from Chennai, Mumbai, Muscat, Dhaka, Pakistan, among others.  

Opening ceremonies.

First up for Peter was the 50 free which he swam in :37 and finished 4th overall.

Sam finished 7th, just missing finals, in 30.46. Though this was both boys' first meet ever, they had high expectations, and dealing with some disappointment was part of the experience, as well. 

Peter shaved 10 seconds off his best time in the 100 back, qualifying for the final. He frequently swam beside and against his best friend, Dylan.

Peter swam strong in the 200 IM that first night, but he was already fighting fatigue. The whole team went to the Dead Sea the day before and frolicked in the restorative mud. 

Swim towel kafiya. 

Elise accompanied them to Amman to lend moral support. She admitted the experience was more emotionally taxing than she expected.  But did enjoy hanging out with the Pakistani moms!

In the 50 free final, Peter shaved a second off his time from prelims. With a 6th place finish, he got to stand on the podium!

This was the first trip back to Jordan for the family.  Elise remarked how calm it was in comparison to Sri Lanka. One of Sam's good friends from ACS, Zaid, was also swimming in the meet. 

Peter started Day Two with his biggest challenge, the 100 fly. He survived. Barely. But was DQed for doing a flutter kick when he got tired. Elise admitted there were many tears watching how tired the event made the kids. 

Both Peter and Sam finished 5th in the 100 IM prelims.  

Elise and I were in constant contact during the meet. The app wasn't always 100 percent accurate and the livestreaming mostly worked but the sound was faint so it was hard to follow where they were in the meet. 

The third and final day brought continued improvement (and more exhaustion).

Chilling in between events. 

The team finished 3rd overall, a staggeringly impressive showing for such a young team!  

Pep Rally

In advance of their conference swim meet in Jordan, their school held a big pep rally in the gym for the traveling swimmers. 

The first video can be found here.  And the second here.

SAISA Swimming

Peter cooling down from his workout. 

Camellia Hills

Outside of Anuradhapura, we stayed at Uga Ullagala, a 100-year old plantation house situated on 53 sprawling acres of rice paddies and jungle. In the mornings and evenings, we rode bicycles to and from our villas to the main house for meals along a clay track perched on top of the berms between the rice paddies.  Giant water buffalo grazed in the paddies on either side of us, the sun glistening on their jet black hides as dragonflies danced in the humid air around them. Peacocks in heat strutted by, and packs of monkeys bathed themselves in the fountains and swung through the trees; one was even bold enough to snatch a slice of toast from the bread basket on our breakfast table. 

After three nights we made the long, windy drive to Camellia Hills, outside of Dick Oya. We wound through tea plantations, racing the setting sun, a white-knuckle drive through the rain. 

It rained the entire time and the drive there and back was brutal. But it was, perhaps, the most beautiful view from anywhere we have stayed to date in Sri Lanka. 

A relentless drizzle, at time no more than the idea of rain, a mist, washed away dreams of kayaking on the lake. Elise and I ventured out one morning on washed out roads, passing smiling schoolchildren on the way to class through worn paths through the tea fields, backpacks and uniforms, greeting us with a chorus of "good mornings!" that sounded as though tweeted by songbirds. 

It was still raining when we left Camellia Hills Friday morning for what we knew would be a long drive back to Colombo.  We started back up the twisting single lane road we had snaked down two days prior on our way to the bungalow when we encountered a truck coming straight at us from the opposite direction. On our left was cliffside, a sheer drop into tea plantations and the valley floor far below. On our right was soft, orange clay, a ditch, and rocks. Through the windshield, the driver of the oncoming vehicle waved us back. I tentatively put the car in reverse, unsure of where he wanted me to go. Elise said there was a pull-out a few meters behind us. We only had to reverse a few feet to allow enough space for him to get around us.

I edged the car back slowly, checking my mirrors frequently, Elise passing instructions. I stopped the car just short of the ditch. The jeep motored past, and I touched the gas before realizing -- my heart stopping and leaping into my throat at the same moment -- I put us one foot past the point of no return. I hit the brakes, slammed the car into drive, but it was too late. The front wheels spun, spraying orange mud. I attempted to try and rock the car out but that only sank us deeper in the rain-sogged ditch. We were stuck.

If there was any silver lining to getting stuck at all it was that it happened not more then three km from the bungalow. The guy who ran us off the road actually worked there. I called the bungalow, and they sent help. An hour later, we managed to pull the car out with a steel cable tied to the engine block. Elise admitted later she thought about walking back to the bungalow and having tea rather than wait for us in the rain. I emerged relatively unscathed. Though my feet would be covered in orange mud up to my ankles for the rest of the five-hour drive back to Colombo. 

Anuradhapura

We had only been outside of Colombo one night since returning to the country in early August. The kids didn't have a day off until fall break. Not that they would have let us flee the city even if they did. They are fully committed to swimming in a way that would make most coaches envious.  

For fall break we traveled north to Anuradhapura. Founded in 437 BC, it was ravaged and destroyed by Chola invaders from India. Over time, earth, vegetation, and the roots and branches of gnarled trees covered the giant hemispherical temples, called stupas, and hid them from human eyes until discovered by colonial archeologists. Every stupa is rumored to contain a relic or body part from Buddha hidden in the earth beneath the mound painted the same brilliant white color as the humid sky. 

We rented bicycles and wound through the brick-paved pathways around the stone foundations of ancient buildings and the wide mountainous stupas. 

We had to stop and consult the laminated map provided by the rental shop many times. 

Clem very hot and about three miles in, or halfway.  Right before a meltdown from which she quickly rallied. 

Stopping for a coconut water outside the Moonstone temple.