The Original 'Ladies Who Lunch', In Colombo

I was meant to write about ‘Ladies Who Lunch, in Colombo’, after I wrote about ‘Expat-- Ladies Who Lunch’. This did not happen.

I was supposed to dedicate the entry to Ethel, my landlady, and her 92-years-young-spritely little friend, AnnaMarie, and their respective chattering daughters. I failed to do this.

I was suppose to describe their rapid-fire gossiping in the midday heat each woman clambering over the next with a better description of some audacious person in society making some faux pas at a function and the whole event making the papers and the looks given by this minister or that planter.…all the noise throbbing at my aching-hungover head (the Sunday after my gendered perspective on cricket-playing rock stars…).

But so much happened in that week that I do believe I completely neglected to finally sit down and write about Ethel, her cooking at 6:30 in the morning, --2 hours after I made it to bed--, all through the morning, curries, and raithas, chicken and pork, rice and fish, stewing away in our little anti-room kitchen, keeping the heat away from the main part of the house, but not the scents of garlic, and ghee, onions, and curry all wafting over my semi-consciousness.

I was suppose to tell you all about how wonderful I thought Ethel was when she greeted her friends with a beer and a Cuba Libre, just after noon on a Sunday and how the daughters nearly fell off their seats when she offered her 92-years-young school chum, AnnaMarie, a second drink before we even ate. The old-lady-daughters wagged their middle-aged fingers at their mothers, nagging

“Mommy don’t you dare, I don’t want to have to carry you home!”

Their septuagenarian/nonagenarian mothers ignoring their scolding daughters as they’d done when the girls were nagging teenagers, or whining toddlers, or screeching babies. They poured their brandies on ice and enjoyed them quite heartily, while I limply sipped on a ginger beer, willing my hangover to subside long enough to enjoy some of the beautiful traditional Sri Lankan food spread across our dining room table.

You see how negligent I am as a blogger. Completely failing to capture the sheer cultural and generational beauty of an afternoon with some of Colombo’s most fabulous women, gossiping about their children, their relations, friends, society, and their old lives.

See how I missed this great opportunity to describe Ethel’s beautiful daughters and how I will never in a million years express how fast 6 women lounging on sofas in the afternoon heat can actually speak. My God, they were speaking English, but I wouldn’t have known it. It was the English of women who’d known each other their entire lives, inflecting and deflecting tones and intonations, giggles and jokes before any of us could get a word in edgewise. I was truly grateful at times when AnnaMarie would turn to me and explain a joke, or a relation, or a story, I’d completely missed.

Well that was ladies who lunched, in Colombo…

And now Ethel and I have been roomies a whole month and her curries and rice have become second nature in my diet. Her stories of life on the plantation as a young woman and of the various people her family has known over the years, well I think I know not only the main characters but the supporting ones as well! We sit and watch movies like 1954’s “Morty”, Sidney Poitier in "Lillies in the Field" and Al Pacino in “Scarface”. I can’t believe I watched “Scarface” with a septuagenarian!?

But she’s cool, man. She goes off to events. Shoot on Valentine’s Day she announced that she was leaving for an event, and that I should not expect her home that night, it would probably last until quite late. She’s got an active social life (a very proper one, I might add. She spends the night at her daughters’ houses, if it gets too late). She has lots of friends all over the world. And she keeps a nice house, filled with things from her life and travels to Malaysia, England, Australia, India etc.

That’s my roomy in Colombo. You may think I spend loads of time partying it up with the various cricket teams of South Asia (and you can just keep thinking that all you like), but life can be quite proper as well, here in Sri Lanka.

Military-business model for post-war development....

This is the stuff I'm working on right now. It's really interesting and really troubling at the same time. How does a country go about developing after a war? The author of the article below, would argue the methods pursued by Sri Lanka's current government are NOT the proper means to the ends:
http://groundviews.org/2011/02/27/lanka-63-the-%E2%80%98military-business-model%E2%80%99-of-post-war-economic-development/

Ladies Who Lunch

18 February 2011

This Thursday past I accidentally found myself at an “expat-ladies’ drinks night” I had agreed to an after work cheap clothes shopping expedition, which turned into my tagging along on this high-end drinks get together. At first we, my two British companions and I, joined a couple of women from the International Red Cross. They seemed to be the only ones aside from us who hadn’t gotten the message that even though it’s an expat function, it still occurs on Sri Lanka time. As the evening wore one, more women joined. Some worked in publishing, or their husbands ran cigar companies, still others worked for NGOs, or were here for a brief time working for ‘a charity’ and several did not work outside the home, but were here due to their husband’s position in a government office of some kind. One woman who joined us had about 7 more weeks of pregnancy. Another was bouncing her 8 month old in a snuggly.

I could hardly imagine how I could fit in with them. They were married. Bouncing babies. Following partners to far off lands. Taking children on ‘the school run’. I eventually cornered a legal advisor to a major international NGO, who had been willing to talk about development and governance issues in Sri Lanka, which enticed me to stay a bit longer.

I pressed her to talk more about her work supporting detainees, especially in the post-war environment. It was fascinating and I conspired to get her details so that I could interview her for the project I’m suppose to be doing….

The hostess was a Dutch trained corporate lawyer who’d spent years living far from her husband, and finally when she got pregnant decided they would move to Sri Lanka with him. While she was loving being a new mom and being close to her husband, I could tell she struggled with the change in her identity. Her vibrancy and energy and openness was so honest. She encouraged us to embark on a discussion about ambition, careers, love, choices made at certain times in life, and realigning our sense of self for whatever time and circumstance we need. These are some of the most pressing questions that seem ever present in the hearts and minds of the many well educated professional women I meet, especially those in their late 20s-30s.

The evening was also a mixture of ‘Where are you from?’ ‘How long have you been in Sri Lanka?’ ‘What brought you here?’ and the like. It’s funny that these are just a variation of the very direct questions that sometimes put me off by the random Sri Lankan men approaching me in public. They all extract the same information, just maybe for a different purpose. Instead of a random man met on a bus, or on a beach, these are elite, educated, expatriate women mildly chatting while sipping overpriced non-alcoholic organic juices in a trendy Westernized restaurant/lounge. But we are out for ‘ladies’ drinks’ and we are also shamelessly networking, but we’re doing this under the guise of sisterly socializing. Perhaps men drink beer and watch sports or golf or smoke cigars, women meet for juice with babies in tow and discuss the Galle Literary Festival, or the latest creepy crawly they saw in their extravagant apartment.

Then again maybe all of us came for the same purpose, female conversation, be that what it may.

http://dailymirror.lk/top-story/9930-colombo-amongst-worst-livable-cities-.html

This morning the daily mirror, an English language newspaper published an article originally published by The Economist. Colombo is described as one of the least livable cities in the world. I find this fascinating considering all my ravings about how lovely my life has been since arriving here.

Now please consider I am no Holly Golitely, just arrived in the big city. I have lived in Yonkers and Mt. Vernon, New York; Orlando; Miami; San Diego; Portland, Oregon; Seattle; Oxford, UK; Oahu, Hawaii; Nogales, Arizona; San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.....to name a few. I have fallen for Sri Lanka hook, line and sinker, since arriving here a mere three weeks ago, and after spending most of my time in Colombo, the reviled unlivable city.

So this makes me really ponder the living conditions of people who have the resources to live well and to live high, versus the standard of life of everybody else.

In the American cities where I have lived I belong to the solidly middle class (in the American sense of the term, not the English). In the UK I make up the student population, a fairly elite population, but also generally cash-strapped. But in Sri Lanka, I am a part of the moneyed elite. And life is generally very comfortable for us. Even as I hang off the footpad of an overcrowded bus, I
1) am only here for a brief time
2) can jump off and hail a rickshaw whenever I feel
3) work in the nicest neighborhood in the city
4) live in one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city
5) can join my expat friends in the beautiful hotels, clubs, restaurants etc. whenever I take a fancy.

So while the research institute where I work is circulating this article commenting on the issues of urban poverty and effective transportation, access to health care, and clean air, we are all writing from our beautiful office building in a beautiful neighborhood, enjoying the luxuries of a completely different city.

This is something to be aware of as residents of whichever city in which we live, but especially for those of us engaged in the development sector. The experiences we will have in the developing world are still far from those of the people for whom we hope to provide assistance. For those of us living in the developed world, I suppose we have to recognize that a lot of others are experiencing our cities in completely different light, be it darker or brighter.

Perhaps my next entry will shed some direct light on just how different life can be for the elite.

In the midst of trying to secure India visa.

Postings that must be completed in short order:

'Ladies Who Lunch: a momentary glimpse into ladies' society in Colombo'

'Perahera: or the procession of Elephants on a Buddhist Poya in Colombo'

'I finally went to a beach'

'Lessons Learnt Reconciliation Commission: an American girl's visit to Sri Lanka's self-assessment after the civil war'

'Hoping to attend a real life World Cup cricket match'

I have a lot of writing to do! But also a lot of work to complete before leaving for Galle this weekend.

Also, comments are welcome. Updates from others are good...??? Yes, even a blogger wants to hear of your life.

Gendered perspective on sports players treated like rock stars....

Alright, the next entry comes a bit from a gendered perspective. I would like to preface it by saying that my portrayal of the male representatives of society are only one perspective and only from one point in time. It does not reflect my overall viewpoint of men, of men in Sri Lanka, or of sporting men. (for they will likely be painted in the least positive light in the coming series of stories)

But it does reflect an interesting series of days I had last week that seem reflective of the time and place and my mindset at the time.

Well here we go.

As you may recall, last week I mentioned that I had made acquaintance with some members of the West Indies cricket team, and by acquaintance I mean, dancing ridiculously to Michael Jackson, and swapping stupid looking dance moves in a circle in a dive bar. I also made friends with some ‘county-cricketers’ based in England. I believe these folks are professional, but as I understand it, fall more in line with AAA baseball professional, rather than Major League Baseball. Maybe the reason they are not playing for their respective countries is due to their evening antics of getting completely obliteratingly drunk, falling asleep sometime after dawn, emerging from the confines of their gated community for 2 hours of training in the afternoon and starting the process all over again?! I mean how do you get better at cricket living like that?

I’m clearly no expert…

So, I find myself in a very hip club, ‘The Museum’, around 2:30 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning. My friends and I have already been out for several hours and as none of us is taller than 5’3” or heavier than 54 kilos we can’t really drink much more. Which makes our enthusiasm for Museum a bit low. The place is bumping in one of those “I take myself way too seriously for how small a city this actually is” kind of way. The chic of the city are dancing to some mildly acceptable beats in an overly lit club scene. Mostly people are in their 20s, and they have clearly spent a lot of money on their attire, though for some that doesn’t mean they got a lot of value for their money (read: not much cloth)

We meet up with our English/South African ‘cricketer-friends’ who’ve been drinking all day and night. They are three of the 10 white people in the room, which according to them is a statistic they assess in every Sri Lankan situation. Our old friend Mr. Chris Gayle shortly joins us. He is decked out in his usual bedazzled t-shirt and thick gold chain, Hennessey and Ginger beer on ice, and his ever-present Iphone. He leans against the bar, near where we are standing.

It doesn’t take long for my social-scientist brain to kick into gear. As I stand there, mildly chatting with an acquaintance, the women flock to our circle, like moths to a flame.

First they approach C. Gayle and express their admiration. Apparently the word gets out that the English/S.African crew is also a cricketer-professional lot and the moths flutter about them as well. Three English ‘Gap-yeah’ girls find us and the cricketers are on them like flies on….meat. They rotate one to the other and then back again.

C. Gayle has more important things to do than weed through the throngs of potential….um…conquests? would that be the right word?

So his not unattractive teammates are sent to do his bidding.

I kid you not, I watched this series of events transpire: C.Gayle leans against bar. Scans club. Assesses the pickins’, ‘Man-whispers’ to teammate, teammate disappears, but is seen from across the room flirty flirtin’ with some zebra-print-napkin-size-dress-gyratin’ girl, teammate draws said girl over to bar, lets her dance all up on him. She eventually brings her friend (apparently the original object of C. Gayle’s desire), nonchalant whispers are exchanged the group round.

I blink.

They are making for the exit and there is no turning back. Shit, the glass of Hennessey is still half full!

Damn. Quick moves, C. Gayle. Very quick… will he be back for the Hennessey?!

I turn to observe the ‘AAA’ team. They’re game isn’t as fine-tuned as ‘Major-leaguers’, but they didn’t make it to county league training and training alone. They've clearly put some 'practice' in the art/sport of womanizing too. Instead of playing a zone-offence approach (the way the West Indies boys did), they’re man on (wo)man, but they go about it through rotations. (note my switch to basketball metaphors) One might offer a girl a drink from their third bottle of Bacardi, the other talks to the friend and the third tries to seal the deal with the one for whom he’s been ‘laying the groundwork’ the past several songs.

The lines, “we have an incredible apartment with an awesome balcony, you really should come check out.” ”It’s got a rooftop patio, perfect for watching the start” “Yeah, we’re here for a fitness-training camp” “Yeah, I’m a batsman, did quite well this season.…” were all flung about.

AAA.

Not major league.

But I suspect good enough for their aims.

Mild and not-particularly academic sociological observations. And let me reaffirm, this was just a continuation of another interesting cultural phenomenon, I have been privileged to observe since my arrival in a tourist oriented, drink-infused, clubbed-out, cricket-loving place.

The music wasn’t good enough to stay for any more ‘data gathering’, so I find my way to an overpriced tuk tuk and cross my fingers I make it home safely.

on a sillier note---back to flying creatures

I’m a worthless worker between the hours of 1:30 and 3:00 p.m. and usually pretty crap the hour before lunch too. I should just be given an automatic nap time, because it would be more productive for all involved. Because of my total lack of focus for a good 2 hours in the day I try to come in early and stay about an hour late each day.

Therefore, I’ve been staying at the office most days until just around dusk. I walk the very long block to my bus stop and as I go the skies fill with black flying creatures. Mostly Mr. Crow and all his little friends are squawking just as loudly as they have been all day, but then you start to notice that flying in what appears to be a northerly direction are crow-sized bats with amazingly huge wings. They’re silent and there are hundreds in a flock. I wonder what they eat, and where they go in the night and when they change shifts again in the morning...

Today I enjoyed watching them on my walk to the bus. The sky was a beautiful pink and deepened to a darker and darker blue. I stood at the construction zone (where they were building improved sidewalks) waiting for my bus. I believe I mentioned something about the bus on my first Sri Lanka entry. I mentioned they were crowded.

Crowded doesn’t even begin to describe a Friday night out of the city commuter bus. It leaned towards the curb. Four men clung for dear life on the footboard with one foot and an arm hanging on to part of the bus, as they approached the stop. More people managed to pack in and I just stood back and laughed. I had no intention of boarding that bus. They arrive every 30 seconds anyway. It left and lilted down the road leaning even further to the left with the weight of the commuters.

I waited and another arrived. Fewer people seemed to hang of this one I was the last to get on the footboard, and as the bus roared down the road, I realized my laptop swung precariously from my outer arm in nothing more than a cloth bag. The prospect of losing all my research for 3 different projects, because it fell off an overcrowded bus was just the ironic story I could imagine. Fortunately the bus attendant hated the thought of this short little Western girl falling off the bus too, so I was squeezed further into the crowd. Into someone's armpit I crammed. Six of us balanced one hand worth of fingers on the ledge above the door. Only three guys swung from the door of our bus. All I can say is at least there was a breeze. But for a 10 rupee commute I suppose squeezing in with my fellow Colombo-ites is a small price to pay.

After this little adventure and a week spent staring down a computer and reading copious academic papers, my Friday night consisted of a bowl of yogurt, a brownie, and a lot of ‘How I Met Your Mother’. Perhaps the wild times in Colombo were only a one-off…but the weekend is still young…

Cutting down trees for sidewalks (or pavements)--or a post-war approach to urban development

I’ve been working for the past week or so with this research center that examines poverty in many different contexts. The theme I am charged with assisting develop is post-war development. Now, Sri Lanka was involved in a civil war for over 26 years. And although the government forces virtually destroyed the last of the rebel group (LTTE) Liberation Tigers of Tamil Ealam in May of 2009, the country is finding its new post-war identity. It is for this reason I have made the trip to Sri Lanka. Society in a post-war context has many interesting qualities. Colombo is fairly mild, and I am sure more remarkable manifestations of post-war society will become apparent in the coming weeks. But here is an interesting story from this week:

The other day the Executive Director of our research center became wildly incensed by the seemingly irrational chopping of trees in front of our office building. Now you may wonder why she would even care, creating safe walkways near the wild roads of Colombo seems a perfectly sane proposition, and as a walking/bus commuting resident I appreciate an improved sidewalk. Our executive director had a valid point, however. This cutting and chopping of trees came without warning, without notification of the property owners along the road, there was no sign posting informing residents to expect this, there was no method for people to respond or intervene should they disagree with the cutting of trees. She placed several calls to the appropriate ministries and no one seemed to know where this order came from. But the beautification/road work improvements/ transportation authority did fall within the Ministry of Defense.

This all seems quite strange to the naïve mind, such as me. But…let us think further on this. The executive director makes an additional point. You realize you are living in a post-war society when the military (largest share of government funding) is charged with such things as street beautification, vegetable sales, and the like. Yes, they execute with military precision. The trees were cut and all debris was removed within a day and a half. I suppose the point could be made that such things as neighborhood improvements, the removal of shade producing trees in an overcrowded, dusty and hot city might be controlled by some democratic process. At least this is the opinion of some, who may point to small ways in which a post-war society manifests even outside the former conflict zone. Then again, maybe it doesn’t and maybe it was just a decision that will help increase pedestrian safety.

Everyone's got something to say

I have a resident crow outside my window, which will not shut up. He arrives everyday after lunch and apparently he has his own blog, for his fellow crows and he is a prolific sharer.

He sits on the drain pipe directly behind my chair and the beautiful open window I so like and he blabbers on and on and on and on and on in his crow-speak.

I’m sure about the most important political issues in the crow world. I’m sure he has very strong opinions on the style of governance that seems to manifest within the post-war crow society and I bet his views on corruption within the crow-parliament are nuanced and insightful, but I swear to you I’m never going to get anything done in my own personal world examining the affects of post-war development in Sri Lanka if he doesn’t stop his squawking and take his damn soap box somewhere else!

ON A MORE SERIOUS NOTE

Please follow the link below to get another perspective on the goings on in Colombo that were not quite so lighthearted.

http://groundviews.org/2011/02/07/celebrating-freedom-a-personal-account/

Groundviews provides an outlet for various forms of alternative journalism in Sri Lanka, currently a fairly dangerous endeavor as the state responds none to kindly to journalists with strong opinions.

Independence Day: weekend proves a riotous affair--

This weekend was a holiday weekend celebrating Sri Lanka Independence Day on February 4^th. Colombo was a great place to chill, since everyone left to attend out-of-the-city celebrations and spend the holiday with their families. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my time, since I’d just arrived in town 3 days before and had only become accustomed to the bus and days at work. A nice young intern from England cordially invited me to an after work drink on Thursday and I thought why not, I was only going to end up at the YWCA, feeling like I should get to bed by 9:00 pm with all the other good Christian women.

We made our way to one of the expat bars she was so excited to try, apparently it’s the hopping place in town, and overlooks a large cricket or rugby pitch and frequently has live music. I was mostly indifferent since I was only interested in a bit of a chat, and a cold beer. We walked into the bar and it seemed her heart was sinking through the very floor she stood on when she saw the place. There were at least 9 waiters and bar tenders and one middle-aged German couple and us. Not what I’d call the hot ticket in town. We took a booth by the window and ordered a couple of drinks. It was actually a nice place and good for a quiet drink. Within about 15 minutes she had made friends with the German couple. I was amused.

We managed to recruit a few more new friends and tuktuk race to the R&B club/bar, where their house cover band is swinging full gear. The lead singer is about 50 and in stunning leather pants and a fabulous Jerry-Curl. There are lots of people, Sri Lankan, non-Sri Lankan, expats, etc.

Turns out some of the non-Sri Lankan people in this club, are a few of the West Indies Cricket team, who’ve come to Colombo for the one day test match on Sunday. –This is where the story gets interesting for some of my cricket fan friends. The big burly one of the bunch, towering over the crowd swirling a Hennesey on ice is none other than Mr. Chris Gayle. (I am later informed that apparently is lauded the world over as the crème de la crème of international cricketers. He just looked really tall to me, with a lot of jewelry and a cheesy old-man-fishing hat, but he’s a big deal to a lot of people.)

He is fairly successfully deflecting a lot of autograph seekers. His team-mates are a good 6” shorter than him, but significantly more bouncy. All and all, they’re a lively bunch and people seem to ebb and flow around them. We of course make friends and they are way into making fools of themselves on the dance floor!

The music is cheesy and we dance to the silly cover band with a bunch of new friends. I make it back around 4:00 a.m. (which is apparently rather early in Colombo terms)

When I bump into the matron/warden of the YWCA she inquires as to my whereabouts the previous evening. Now, I’ve never fibbed to my mother about my shenanigans staying out late at night and have never felt compelled to hide my antics from her, but for some reason this middle-aged Sri Lankan woman strikes the fear of judgment day in me. I can’t bring myself to say that I was in a hoppin’ joint with a bunch of hip Colombites jivin’ the night away and laughing at athletes’ dance moves. I can’t tell her that I had a rickshaw race in the middle of the night, or that I prevented some juvenile delinquents from stealing a cardboard cutout of a famous Australian cricketer from a central plaza. So I offer the lamest excuse in the book…

“Uh…my friend became quite ill….with food poisoning…she lives across town….so I stayed with her”

She lamely smiles. I can tell she doesn’t buy it.

I try to change the subject. I would like to make reservations for the next week, as I will be staying in town and not going away during the weekend.

She promptly informs me they are all booked up from tomorrow night on. So sorry. It doesn’t look like they will have any rooms for many days to come.

And her judgment has passed. I’m blazin a trail straight to hell…damn it.

I spend a good portion of the weekend hunting for houses/hotels/guest houses something. My new English friend comes to my rescue with gracious hospitality for a night. Fortunately her landlady went to school with a woman who just so happens to need a roommate. I make arrangements to look at it Sunday.

Within an hour of waking I’ve made it to her house, agreed with a handshake and a carbon paper receipt that I will share her little Grandma style house for the next month.

But the day is young… what should an American girl do on the Sunday of Sri Lanka Independence weekend?!

What you ask…. But attend a cricket match of course!!!

Who is Sri Lanka playing, you ask!?

Why none other than the West Indies! Big Burly…er I mean, Chris Gayle and his bouncy teammates are doin’ what they were meant to be here doing, playing cricket, not attempting the moonwalk.

The match is a blur of energy. The stadium is not filled, but it is gyrating with energy. Vuvuzelas are passed out to all attendees and we blow them and pound them with all our might in a rhythmic chant of intimidation to the visiting West Indies.

The crowd goes wild the closer Sri Lanka gets to their 50 over limit. It is a spectacle that I love. At the half or the break for tea, we find beer and ice cream. This English girl is proving to be a great date. We walk around. We get a lot of stares. It’s par for the course. I ignore it, she struggles with it.

We go back to the match, West Indies is up for batting. The crowd is buzzing. We’re thumping our vuvuzelas in rhythm to an intimidating beat as the bowler runs for Mr. Gayle. The Sri Lankan bowler is a beastly-sized man, who I’d never want to see running full speed at me launching a rock hard ball at my face. Well Mr. Gayle apparently didn’t want him doing it either, because he got out with the first bowl. All that hype. All that build up. All that banter in the R & B’s club. And he gets out with the first bowl…Isn’t that a golden goose? Dunno. The crowd went wild. They couldn’t be contained. The shouting. The jumping. The thumping, the blowing of vuvuzelas. It was such a noise! How could it be followed? Well the next batters did all right. They were batting a good set of runs. It got a bit hot so we left. Best to leave on a high, I say.

I moved into my new house with Ethel. She just celebrated her 70^th birthday and has 3 daughters, one of whom lives in the UK. She made me tea and fed me curry supper. It’s great. Hopefully we will make compatible housemates.

I’ll get to those crow-sized bats one of these days. Also, it turns out some major political issues were going down while I was enjoying the frivolity of being footloose and fancy-free. I am debating how much overtly political content I want to put on this, but I will try to post an interesting piece written by an MP who witnessed the protests first-hand.

Recession ain’t Recess, but it can be a good excuse to make lemonade out of lemons….I suppose not finding a job gives you a few opportunities (forces you into a few new corners) to try things you might not have tried otherwise.

I talked a big game about writing a blog with the theme of being unemployed, no, (f)unemployed…but turns out it can be a lot less funny than you imagined, and finding the humor in the rejection can be a major challenge. I think the tides might be turning. Apologies Ryan, but I think I’m going to hijack this blog from its original intended purpose and use it as a vehicle to keep loved ones, far and wide, abreast of my latest ‘international development’-job-travel-intercultural experiences.

Some of you may have known that in a fit of (f)unemployed anxiety I began pursuing an escape from the humdrum of daily Oxonian life. After a long correspondence with an incredible research centre, I secured a one-month internship starting after the new year. So after racing back to the UK to secure a visa, which only took 3 applications, an equal number of trips to London, a couple shopping trips and a lot of fussing, I hopped on an Etihad flight through Abu Dhabi (say that city a bunch of times with out smiling!) to Colombo. Arriving in the city at 4:30 in the morning February 1, 2011. Stepping out into the warm early morning, I smelled Fiji (2007). I smelled Mangalore (1998). I smelled Goa on the train (1997). It was warm and a bit humid, and something felt right.

It turns out the Cricket World Cup is arriving in Sri Lanka on the 18^th of February and the country is in a frenzy. They’ve built new highways from the airport to the city. The posters and signs and player cut outs pepper every major road leading into and throughout Colombo. My Sinhalese speaking driver and I could communicate about very little, but we did manage a long chat about the World Cup. He can't wait for it, and is certain Sri Lanka will take the trophy!

He took me to my prearranged-friend-recommended accommodation, the YWCA in the center of Colombo. They weren’t too pleased that I had arrived at 5:30 a.m., but were accommodating and allowed me to sleep a few hours. It was a very comfortable, if not incredibly basic hostel arrangement. Turns out we were also neighbors to President Rajapaska, whose presidential compound (which I initially thought was a high security prison) is across the street.

I started work later that very morning. Their offices are situated in the beautiful Cinnamon Gardens neighborhood, near several embassies. The old plantation-like office space was built with just the right cross-ventilation windows one can appreciate in such a warm climate. Though it has been unseasonably cold and wet here this year, possibly due to La Niña. The research center is engaged in a whole host of inspiring research from, assessing poverty, to monitoring development schemes, to analyzing the impact of conflict. In brief, I think they are awesome. –more to come on them as my work there develops—

My favorite part of that first day was the incredibly warm reception I received from everyone in the office. And the homemade Sri Lankan meal served daily by their extremely talented chefs. (Two very sweet ladies) I want to call them my Angels, because they were more than willing to pour me countless cups of sweet-heavily creamed tea in an effort to combat my will to sleep.

At the end of the day, two of my new co-workers walked me to the bus stop and showed me how to take the local city bus. It is so easy and cheap I don’t know why everyone doesn’t use them. I love South Asian buses, they are old, and dirty and crammed full of people, and the windows are always open, and they hardly stop for you to get on or off. They’re saaaweet.

On my commute to work the following day, so many of my fellow commuters had boarded at the previous stop that the only space for me was on the footboard, hanging out the back door, clinging to the outside window. There really is very little difference between a crammed London Tube at 8:30 in the morning, and an equally crammed Colombo city bus. They’re overcrowded, muggy, and filled with slightly crabby commuters in a major urban center. However, in the Tube you can’t hang your head out the door and feel the breeze (albeit polluted and dusty) whip through your hair. And you most certainly wouldn’t chat with your fellow footpad occupant, or help a lady unstuck her sari from under another’s foot.

More to come on commuting, examining post-war development and governance issues, meeting interesting expats, dancing to Michael Jackson songs with members of the West Indies Cricket team, and becoming homeless in Colombo within a week…but later. The jetlag has still not worn off.