This weekend was a holiday weekend celebrating Sri Lanka Independence Day on February 4th. 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 70th 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment