Buildings And Other Inanimate Objects

Only one more category of Sri Lanka photos to go after this, then the interminable slide show will be over, and "normal service" will be resumed.

I've tried to break it up with some stories.

Just like your boring Uncle with his slides.

Still, it could be worse. I've been looking at some other "blogs" (if I must - horrible word) and the majority of them seem to be about the US Presidential election. This is ok in moderation. Even I've written about it. But what are these people going to do on November the 3rd?

On that subject, I saw some great telly this morning. It was a debate about the election. It was on the sports channel. The debaters were WWF wrestlers. Although, having just checked my facts, it appears the debate took place in September and they're WWE wrestlers.

Still, I found it profoundly entertaining, and look forward to the same thing happening in the UK, except with footballers. Beckham for Blair, Henry for Howard and... er... Chris Bart Williams for Kennedy. Or something.













Buildings And Stuff

The Wrong Speed

Rather late with this, but I keep reading more and more stuff about the sad death of John Peel. I listened to his night time show as a youngster on Radio 1. Then I got older and middle class, so regularly listened to Home Truths on Radio 4.

I spent a bit of time djing in clubs around Bristol a couple of years ago. I was technically pretty poor, frequently playing records at the wrong speed and bumping into the decks so that the records jumped.

If it was good enough for Peely, it was good enough for me.

He said things that made me laugh every time I heard any of his shows. There are a few sites around now with lists of favourite quotes - here's one.

Thought I'd include just one quote that I read recently:

After playing 'Higher State Of Consciousness' by Josh Wink for the second time - "I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking that sounded better when I played it the other night, at the wrong speed."

He was also, I think, the only other person in the world who liked The Wedding Present. My old history teacher described listening to The Wedding Present as being similar to "wading through treacle." When I played them in my room, my dad would occasionally call up stairs, "Turn that down, it sounds like someone's doing the hoovering."

If they were good enough for Peely, they were good enough for me.

I've especially enjoyed reading a couple of tributes here and here.

Which Muppets Are They?

Now that is bizarre. The commenters on my last entry all did the Muppet test and discovered that they were Kermit. They questioned whether the test was flawed or fixed. I've come to my own conclusions.

Andy's definitely Sam the American Eagle cos he's kind of thoughtful and austere (no offence).

Thomkat would have to be Janice - guitarist in Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem (no offence).

Jonny would have to be the scientist's geeky apprentice type character. You know, Beaker. The one that looks like Jonny, and pretended to do science like Jonny (no offence).

And if Joe isn't one of the critical, old, heckling cranks in the box seats (Waldorf or Statler), then I'm not Fozzie Bear.

Which Muppet Are You?

I am Animal. Click image to discover which Muppet you are.

Of course, I cheated. Everyone wants to be Animal, don't they? Initially, I was Fozzie Bear, then I was offended to discover I was Kermit. I wouldn't have minded if I was one of the two old heckling cranks in the box seats. I then answered every question with an answer which involved being loud and playing drums and, lo and behold, I was Animal.

I don't usually bother with this kind of trivial nonsense, but... it's the Muppets, innit?

The Sky At Night

We were slightly disappointed by the sunsets. After clear skies throughout each day, we would position ourselves at about 6pm every night in anticipation of a great sunset. The clouds then appeared from out of nowhere.

Took some photos anyway.


Unawatuna Bay at dusk

The Indian Ocean 

Little fluffy cloud

A rose between two thorns 

Through the trees

Strangers On A Train

Saturday. My first day in Sri Lanka. It was marred by an uncomfortable encounter with a bloke on the train.

My two companions and I boarded, and I ended up sitting on my own, next to the window.

Some ten minutes later we were still sitting in the station. I’d stopped looking out of the window at Fort Station, Columbo, and was reading my Lonely Planet. I suspect I may have looked a bit like a tourist, or, worse, a traveller. A local chap, who by my estimation must’ve been 55 and 364 days, boarded and sat next to me.

He struck up a conversation. It went a bit like this:

“Where from?” he asked.

Always a tricky one. I'm constantly being asked this; in Singapore by taxi drivers, salesmen, cable installers and pupils; in Sri Lanka by everyone. I have about 15 different answers. Went into the long explanation – Singapore, UK, England, Bristol, etc etc.

Very quickly, he took on the role of tour guide. He elicited from me that I was going to Unawatuna and gave me the following advice, instructions and information:

1) Unawatuna is the best beach in Sri Lanka, and the 6th best in the world.
2) Stay in the Golden Gate guest house – I explained we’d already booked somewhere else.
3) It was his 56th birthday the next day and he was visiting his family for two days before returning to Columbo to work on Sunday. No more days off till the next Sunday.
4) He worked at the ticket office in the station.
5) Go to Marissa – it is the best beach in Sri Lanka(?) with the clearest water.
6) You can get the bus there – they go every half hour.
7) Go to the old city of Galle.
8) You don’t need your Lonely Planet now, do you?
9) I’ve saved you lots of money with my advice.

This was all very interesting, despite the fact that we’d already decided to do all of the things he’d suggested, and I was enjoying talking to him.

However, once he’d finished giving me this information, advice and instruction, he then told me the same thing again. And again. And again. Always with slightly different wording. Always as if it had only just occurred to him. Always emphasising that it was his birthday the next day, that I should stay at the Golden Gate despite the fact that I'd already booked elsewhere, and that he’d saved me lots of money. He was even more repetitious than many of my entries on this blog.

At one point, I interrupted him as he was getting to the: “You don’t need your Lonely Planet now” bit by miming throwing it out of the window.

Finally, 40 minutes later, he informed me:

“It’s my 56th birthday tomorrow. I don’t drink very often. Do you know what I mean? I’d like a drink?”

Of course, I knew exactly what he meant. However, I replied:

“Yes, that will be nice, to have a drink with your family.”

He shuffled around in his seat a little, as I did in mine.

“Maybe you can give me some money for a drink?”

I had been expecting this for some time.

“I don’t have any change,” I replied.
“You can get some from the people selling things.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How about from your friends?”
“Sorry.”

I was now feeling somewhat prickly.

Silence for a couple of minutes.

We then had the same conversation again. I was beginning to feel like I was trapped inside Chris Moyles’ head – another person who makes money by saying the same thing over and over again. However, he changed tack and tone:

“I’m asking you for only a pound in your own country,” he informed me, exasperation in his voice. I found myself saying, inexplicably and pathetically:

“I thought you were just being friendly.”

I started to look out of the window. I felt like a child in a playground argument. He got up and walked away with the dramatic parting shot:

“I don’t want to be near you anymore.”

No one’s ever said that to me before.

Of course, I felt terrible. Everyone (including Lonely Planet) advises you not to give money to people because it "encourages begging". If I’d had change I might have given it to him, but then he might have stayed for the entire three hour journey. I had initially thought that he was just making conversation. I found myself thinking that he’d manipulated the situation, turning himself into a travel guide I didn’t need, making me go from being made to feel very welcome to feeling like a stingy tourist traveller pariah in a matter of minutes. It’s a strange ethical issue – I felt like he’d expected money for the information, and should have negotiated with me before giving it to me. All felt a bit underhand.

My conscience told me otherwise. "So what?" it asked. Maybe he did just want a drink with his family. I knew that whatever his motives were, he was loads poorer than me. Would I do the same thing if I was in his shoes? Did he feel shame and indignity at having to ask a stranger for money? Did I make him feel worse than he’d made me feel?

The train, which had been standing in the station all this time, finally started moving. I saw him only one more time on the journey, just before his stop, when he stood at the end of my carriage, staring at me, as if to say "I still don't want to be near you anymore".

No one's ever looked at me like that before.

On the journey back the next Thursday, he boarded the train back to Columbo at a different stop and walked past me. He paused, smiled, and looked about to sit next to me again. A flicker of recognition appeared on his face. The smile disappeared and he moved along to the next carriage.

I found myself wondering whether he spent his days on the train talking to Westerners in an attempt to make money. I wondered whether it was his 56th birthday tomorrow. Then I felt horrendously guilty for thinking that.

At least I knew he’d lied to me about having to be back to work on Monday. But it still didn’t make me feel any better.

The worst thing was, this encounter led to, I have to admit it... I'm ashamed to... prejudice – I was cautious about striking up conversation with anyone who claimed it was their birthday the next day from that point on. I, as you may be able to imagine, felt terribly guilty about that, too.

So, do you think I’d cope with India?

I should point out that I've already described a very different encounter with a Sri Lankan in Unawatuna Bay which more than balances this one out.

All Creatures

Unfortunately, I didn't get many exciting wildlife photos, largely because most things moved too quickly - particularly me when I saw creepy crawlies.

On one occasion, a couple of hours after I'd read the Lonely Planet section on fauna which told me to beware of scorpions relaxing in empty shoes, I put my hand into my trainers having forgotten the advice. I felt something creeping along my arm, suddenly remembered what I'd read and did my usual leap around the room, screaming, looking for a chair to stand on and so forth.

I just about caught sight of something flecked with red on my arm before shaking it off. I'm still not sure whether it was a baby gecko or a piece of elastic.

Sadly, no elephants, and rather too many cows.

Still, this has presented me with an opportunity to plug my mate Neil's (aka Quinby) hip-hop "crew", which I believe is the technical term. One of the bands is called All Creatures. They're on the Hairy Parents label, and generally make Lamb-handed hip-hop with Bristolian accents. Extremely entertaining.


Lizard in flip flop

Gecko on shoulder 

Cows on beach 

Shiny 

Mooooo!

Sea And Sky By Day

These pictures were mainly taken in Unawatuna, on the south coast. The first three are of the view from my guesthouse balcony - I got up and took a photo every morning, but thought any more than three would become tedious, especially as I got up at almost the same time every day, so the photos are pretty much identical. I know usually I write repetitious entries, but even I have to stop repeating myself at some point at some point.

I think The Lonely Boat is my favourite.

I might do the wildlife photos tomorrow. Let me know if you get bored.


6am, Unawatuna Bay

9am, Unawatuna Bay

6.30am, Unawatuna Bay

Marissa 1

Marissa 2

Bright sea

The lonely boat

The Rules Of Bargaining

On the beach, barely ten minutes went by without someone strolling past with a bag full of souvenirs, clothes, cigarettes or jewellery to sell. One chap even had a monkey on his back (literally) and a snake draped over his shoulder. I think he wanted to give some kind of show. We tended to look as if we were just about to leave the beach whenever he approached.

One guy was particularly entertaining. He carried a large wooden display hanger full of necklaces. We’d seen and heard him a few times before our last day on the beach, and, when he approached us that day, he had a song for us. In a deep voice, very slowly, grinning widely, he sang, in monotone, apart from the last syllable which he pitched up a semi-tone:

“Vould you like to come bargain wid me?
Come and see my lovely necklaces!
Offer me a price and we’ll do some bargaining!”

One of my companions could no longer resist.

“How much?” she asked.
“400, but you have to bargain with me,” he replied.
“Ok… 350,” she offered.
“No, no, no!” he exclaimed. “You have to go much lower than that.”
“300?” she asked, tentatively.

He rolled his eyes in mock disgust.

“How much should I pay then?” she asked. “What’s a fair price?
“250,” he replied. “Start again.”

“Ok,” my companion said. “How much for that necklace?”
“400,” he replied emphatically.
“250?” she offered.
“NO!” he shouted, a benevolent smile creasing his face. “You getting it all wrong. You have to start lower. You have to bargain wid me to get to fair price. Start again.”

“Right,” she said. “How much for that necklace?”
“400,” he replied forcefully.
“200?” she offered.
“300,” he responded.
"245?" she offered mischievously.
"255," he barked back, not missing a stroke.
“250,” she said, “last price.”

He handed over the necklace with another broad smile.

From Behind

I took quite a number of photos in Sri Lanka. I know how boring some people find holiday snaps, so I've categorised them in order to make them that little bit more interesting. The first set is called, rather enigmatically, "From Behind". Believe it or not, they're all photos of people (well, mostly people) that I took, as it were, from behind. In fact, almost all of the photos I took of people were from behind as I didn't quite muster up the courage to ask people if they minded me taking them from the front until the last couple of days. Far more ethical to do it duplicitously, without permission, and without them ever knowing...

Bench from behind 

Off to market from behind 

Dads from behind 

Wedding from behind