My first visit to Sri Lanka
July 27th 2007 01:25
My first visit to Sri Lanka
December 1989 at about 11:00 pm
The flight came in from Singapore after hours of night flying I could finally see the dark mass of land. It was darker than I expected and very unlike the sky line of Melbourne or other highly developed urban areas. There was no bathing of lights and glow of streets from every direction. Instead there were dots of lights randomly placed between the canopies of trees. Individual houses could be see as we came closer and rarely the lights of unrecognizable vehicles as they moved along the invisible roads. Soon all was lost in a blur of confusion until the plane touched town and came to a stop away from the terminals.
There were no bridges and access ramps like they have at modern airports and so everyone had to wait for the trucks to arrive with the staircase. The tropical heat came in as each door was open and the herded people collect all their cabin baggage to lumber out. The smell of kerosene was everywhere only occasionally interrupted by the fume of two buses waiting to take the passenger. The two of us climbed on board the second bus rather than cram into the first and suffer the stifling heat and shared underarm perfumes. No air-conditioning on this low slung bus and no seats either. The drive started off as if he was taking some bizarre enjoyment out of watching people stumble over. I held on to a handle to preserve my stature.
‘Thank god for air-conditioning,’ I said to myself when we finally came to the terminal building dragging our hand luggage. This load was well over 5 kilograms each so I figured I had beaten the system but now I wished I had not. We were surrounded by strangers and strange faces. Only my wife seemed to know what was going on and immediately led me to collect our baggage.
First we had to stop at duty free to purchase two bottle of Teachers Scotch and a carton of cigarettes. I protested that I did not smoke but my wife told me to relax it was the customs. ‘You not going to try bribe customs?’ I asked. I was uneasy with this new traveler’s protocol, especially when you see guards carrying machine guns stinging just meters away.
‘No,’ she replied but you have to have it ready incase they ask. ‘They might see the cigarettes and ask for a packet.’
I could not argue with that logic as I was now the migrant to an unknown set of laws and customs.
Customs had two lines: one for local passport holder and a much shorter line for everyone else. More foreigners came off the plan that national but they were processed much faster. I could see Europeans walk up to the customs and be waved through without so much as a ‘Have you anything to declare.’ Sri Lankan nationals had every bag opened and search my wife included. Since we had mixed out luggage together like the recently weds that we were I had to stay in the same snail pace queue. We were last in the line and having a half opened potential bribe did not fill me with confidence.
The customs officer’s complexion really contrasted against his uniform and he spoke in friendly terms and looked through things. My wife asked where he was from and somehow managed to mention that her father also worked at the airport. Suddenly he stopped searching and waved us on. He knew her father and that was enough. We were through customs and immigration; we had gone beyond the machine gun carrying guards and we had not had to give up any of the cigarettes. For the first time in my life I thought that I could use one.
The glass door of the airport parted and the sweaty heat hit me again. It was a deep sultry heat that invaded from every direction. The road was wet from a recent shower and that only added to the humidity. We looked for a taxi and heard the only two syllables that no traveler wants to hear: “Curfew.” In ten minutes a government imposed curfew was about to be enforced and no cars would be allowed to drive on the roads.
One of the taxi drivers recognized my wife and explained about the curfew being the problem until he was offered enough money to make the 2 km dash to her parent’s home worthwhile. The bags were loaded in the back of his disintegrating Toyota Hiace Van and we off down darkened tree lined roads. It was like winding through some country forest rather than a suburb. Only the dodging of errant drivers on the wrong side of the road kept us alert. Steam coming from the evaporating rain looked magical in the headlights.
Sure enough we made it to the locked gates of her home called ‘Reginald Villa.’ It was dark and nothing could be seen and so my climbed the wall to wake everyone up.
December 1989 at about 11:00 pm
I took this picture in January 1990 at a place called Dambulla
There were no bridges and access ramps like they have at modern airports and so everyone had to wait for the trucks to arrive with the staircase. The tropical heat came in as each door was open and the herded people collect all their cabin baggage to lumber out. The smell of kerosene was everywhere only occasionally interrupted by the fume of two buses waiting to take the passenger. The two of us climbed on board the second bus rather than cram into the first and suffer the stifling heat and shared underarm perfumes. No air-conditioning on this low slung bus and no seats either. The drive started off as if he was taking some bizarre enjoyment out of watching people stumble over. I held on to a handle to preserve my stature.
‘Thank god for air-conditioning,’ I said to myself when we finally came to the terminal building dragging our hand luggage. This load was well over 5 kilograms each so I figured I had beaten the system but now I wished I had not. We were surrounded by strangers and strange faces. Only my wife seemed to know what was going on and immediately led me to collect our baggage.
First we had to stop at duty free to purchase two bottle of Teachers Scotch and a carton of cigarettes. I protested that I did not smoke but my wife told me to relax it was the customs. ‘You not going to try bribe customs?’ I asked. I was uneasy with this new traveler’s protocol, especially when you see guards carrying machine guns stinging just meters away.
‘No,’ she replied but you have to have it ready incase they ask. ‘They might see the cigarettes and ask for a packet.’
I could not argue with that logic as I was now the migrant to an unknown set of laws and customs.
Customs had two lines: one for local passport holder and a much shorter line for everyone else. More foreigners came off the plan that national but they were processed much faster. I could see Europeans walk up to the customs and be waved through without so much as a ‘Have you anything to declare.’ Sri Lankan nationals had every bag opened and search my wife included. Since we had mixed out luggage together like the recently weds that we were I had to stay in the same snail pace queue. We were last in the line and having a half opened potential bribe did not fill me with confidence.
The customs officer’s complexion really contrasted against his uniform and he spoke in friendly terms and looked through things. My wife asked where he was from and somehow managed to mention that her father also worked at the airport. Suddenly he stopped searching and waved us on. He knew her father and that was enough. We were through customs and immigration; we had gone beyond the machine gun carrying guards and we had not had to give up any of the cigarettes. For the first time in my life I thought that I could use one.
Typical of the area around the outer suburbs of Colombo. I took this shot in 2002.
One of the taxi drivers recognized my wife and explained about the curfew being the problem until he was offered enough money to make the 2 km dash to her parent’s home worthwhile. The bags were loaded in the back of his disintegrating Toyota Hiace Van and we off down darkened tree lined roads. It was like winding through some country forest rather than a suburb. Only the dodging of errant drivers on the wrong side of the road kept us alert. Steam coming from the evaporating rain looked magical in the headlights.
Sure enough we made it to the locked gates of her home called ‘Reginald Villa.’ It was dark and nothing could be seen and so my climbed the wall to wake everyone up.
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