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Walking around at sunrise, this joint reminded me of the M’dina in Malta–a tangle of passageways, moss growing on damp buildings, Sebastian Venable running from young cannibals–time and tradition captured in amber only interrupted by the occasional Coca-Cola sign, thankfully.

WRITTEN 06/2016

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So, I saw a herd of a hundred elephants in Kaudalla, including a stare-down with a mama protecting her wobbly two to three-week old behind her. The group’s hierarchy and internal chatter became clearer as I sat there soaking it in. A dark storm blew through while they were at the lake for their daily bath. I watched them lumber toward the bush for cover, the heavy rain spoiling their playtime, side glancing six huddled tourist Jeeps as a familiar annoyance.

I went up to the Dambulla caves known for their ancient paintings of naked boobies. I climbed the sacred rock of Siguriya, sweaty and sunburned, thinking of the scolding I’ll get from my dermatologist.

I stayed at one of the most lush hotel compounds I’ve ever seen, the line between indoors and nature completely blurred, my private hut perched on stilts above a lagoon of crocodiles.

But the best part of my trip was seeing my friend, Dhammika, who once again guided me through his country, explaining culture and history, then taking me to his home to meet his family. His wife’s smile lit the room. She had prepared a huge spread of drumsticks, fresh fruit, cheese sandwiches and more, all tailored to my childlike palette. She made it with caring generosity and it made every bit of difficult travel worth it.

WRITTEN 09/05/2017

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