Time is a curious entity. I mean this in no way existentially, though I'd imagine some travelers to Sri Lanka might. The confluence of religions makes Sri Lanka ripe for those seeking enlightenment, reflection or the odd bit of quiet repose. And considering its diminutive island status, the country crams in eight UNESCO World Heritage Sites--sites where people get their prayer on, commune with nature or appreciate the roots (often literal as seen at the Sacred Bodhi tree) of their current civilisation.
For our first few days, Rosa and I jetted from destination to destination in quick fire fashion in a seeming race against the clock, the curious, curious clock. For reasons probably linked to old ties to colonialism, the time difference in Sri Lanka is off by the half an hour. This honour is shared with only five other countries in the world: Burma, Afghanistan, India, Iran and Venezuela. In Sri Lanka's case that means when it's noon in China and 5 am in London, it's 9:30am in Colombo. You wouldn't think that half an hour would play a significant difference but there it is.
So from the outset of stepping off the plane and questioning the flight attendant's time announcement we were in for an experience we couldn't quite quantify. Rosa and I spent a lot of time attempting to distill down our trip in a word or a phrase or a gimmicky slogan.
But Sri Lanka
eludes all definition; it refuses to be categorized.
Perhaps it’s best explained by the fact that, on the
penultimate night of our trip, we sat on the beach, 10 metres from the Indian
Ocean, full moon above, debating the merits of whether or not we wanted to
drink bootleg beer out of a tea pot. The beer was not bootleg because of its
strength, nor was it because of its brewing process. The full moon holds special provenance in Sri
Lankan Buddhist culture and the entire country goes dry on the day of the full
moon. Some hotel restaurants (a term I use loosely) will serve their residents
alcohol but only if cloaked in subterfuge.
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