Tuesday, 26 July 2011

Waking to Paradise

Waking to Paradise

I wake to the slight chill in the air and the blur of bright sea blue as someone adjusts the pillow on my head and covers me with a blanket. The steady drone I hear is the aircraft engine and the bright blue morphs into a smiling stewardess. I have slept for over five hours on my flight to the Paradise Isle from London. I stretch comfortably and slowly meander my way to the back of the cabin for a fresh cup of Paradisian tea, a shining red apple and some Paradisian chat. The Malaysian Tamil female passenger reads the palms of the stewardesses and mine. I smile as the stewardesses ask her the main question in any single female Paradisians mind, when will they marry? We all cross the fortune-tellers palm with silver and I meander my way back to my seat.

It’s early morning when we land in Paradise. In the typical Paradisian way everyone pushes each other to disembark. I make my way through immigration; pick my bags up, quick stop at duty free and onwards to book a taxi to take me to the salubrious surroundings of Pelawatte. After a prolonged dismal English winter and dodgy spring, the April heat of Paradise overwhelms me. I long for the air-conditioned comfort of my sister’s home.

As always I am delighted by the sheer colourfulness of my Paradise Isle. The painted and gaily decorated public buses and scooter taxi’s, cars as old as 1950, the latest in luxury SUV’s all jostle and bustle with each other as they proceed at breath taking speeds down the airport road to Colombo. The only differences are the slow bullock carts, cows and street dogs that sedately share this road with vehicular traffic. I look forward to the three weeks ahead as I flinch and close my eyes inside the taxi that’s taking me to Pelawatte. I flinch because the taxi driver keeps taking his eyes off the road to talk to me.

I jump into the shower as soon as I get home. After five years, the solar powered panels that provide hot water still surprisingly work well. I set the water from hot to really cold as I wash the journey off me. I am wide awake as I jump off the shower and what seems to be ages, which it actually is as I put on a pair of my GAP shorts, a tee from Abercrombie, slippers as my friend arrives in his jeep to pick me up. Its post election day so the sale of alcohol is prohibited, therefore all the clubs and bars are closed. We head to another friends house and I start my holiday in earnest as I sip my first long ice filled glass of Absolut and Red Bull. Helped down smoothly at dusk by the freshly fried chicken and prawn rolls from Tasty’s. My thirst and hunger sated it is late night as I head back for a long nights sleep. My stay in Paradise has begun. I awake refreshed late next afternoon. Meeting family, seeking funding and partners for business, the Sinhala and Tamil New Year, the post new year procession in seeking the blessings of Lord Skanda in the deep south of Paradise, Kataragama, the wedding of one of my best buddies, catching up with college mates, clubbing, bar hopping, binging on drink and food all await me. I am truly in Paradise. As I have been strictly warned to not mention smoking material from Pakistan and Thanmalwilla I shall detest. Ask any Paradisian they will know.

I blaze my way through the two most happening nightclubs in Colombo. Mojo at the Taj Samudra Hotel and the Silk nightclub next to the CH & FC rugby club. Highlights at Mojo are meeting the former Blue Elephant DJ Naushad who spun one complete night of house music for me, helped along with bottles of Absolut, Moet and Grey Goose.

At Hambantota, just before we come to town we are sent on a detour due to construction of the new port. We drive down a brand new fully carpeted road. I get my driver to stop quickly to take pictures of the peacocks hanging out by the roadside. The peacocks are fully alert and as long as we stay in the SUV they stay put. The minute I get off the jeep they run away. We pass the new International Conventions Centre in construction. The sheer size of the structure leaves all of us in the jeep impressed.

Usually extremely hot in April, Kataragama is pleasantly cool, as rains have fallen at night. We visit the Kirivehera Stupa and Temple to offer flowers, incense and light oil lamps to seek blessings of the Buddha, dharma and sangha. Afterwards we walk to the scared temple of Lord Skanda to seek his blessings and protection. In April I usually time my visits to Paradise in time for the procession of elephants in ball gowns and dervish dancers in homage of Lord Skanda. Firewalkers, various forms of ethnic dancers in brilliant costumes are a photographers dream.

Back in Colombo, family and friends take me to some of the best fusion, Indian and Chinese restaurants in the world. Sunday and poya day dim sum at the Wok in the Colombo Hilton, Mango Tree for Indian food and the Peach Valley Chinese restaurant down Flower Road in Colombo are most noteworthy.

Meeting old school mates and friends at the members only private clubs and bars in Colombo and bacchanalia is a special treat that one must enjoy in Sri Lanka. A prelude of our colonial past and a memento of the British, clubs such as the Old Thomians Swimming Club (OTSC), Orient Club and the Swimming Club must be visited to see true friendship and bonding amongst Paradisians.

My holiday is fully completed with my attendance at a best friends wedding. Quick purchases of fresh spices, Paradisian Tea, and souvenirs for friends from Barefoot. A pair of perfectly matching pink sapphire earrings for my wife. All too soon it is time to leave. The cab arrives late night as my friends help me load my bags in. Hugs, kisses and goodbyes.

Intermittent lights of Colombo blink below me as I look down from the Srilankan Airlines flight to Heathrow. This time back I get a seat by the exit door with loads of leg space. I stretch out and allow the drone of the aircraft engine to lull me to sleep. Dreams, sweet dreams of my motherland, and another fantastic holiday.

Sri Lanka, the Paradise Isle.

Missing Paradise

Missing Paradise

Two days to Christmas. The DJ plays a soft bluesy number as the house lights come on. I look around with bleary eyes. The less inebriated amongst us have checked our coats out and the bouncers gently try to dislodge us to begin the journey home. As we stumble out the rush of cold air is welcome. Minus 10 degrees means none of us hang around and all bundle into the cab. Everyone’s still in high spirits and talking loudly.

No one notices as I sink into a corner of the cab and wearily watch the lights of London fly by. It’s early morning and the only one’s out and about are revellers like us, the East-Europeans heading off to their early morning jobs, milk and newspaper delivery trucks. I am looking forward to home, a hot bath and unwinding on the couch with a hot mug of coffee. Although tired I know that I will need that ‘me time’ to properly fall asleep.

Unconsciously my thoughts roam to the year gone by. As I grow older I have matured. My world has slowed down, while the rest of 2010 flashed by. My other four mates in the cab surround me but yet I feel tremendously melancholy. I call them my ‘mates’ as they are still not my friends. I am more than guilty as they think of me as a good mate, I take long to make friends, and again as I mature it’s harder and harder to change my Sri Lankanisms. I worry I am becoming a grumpy old man. Little things don’t worry me anymore, but the big things worry me more.

Christmas and Christmastime bothers me the most. To me it’s that specific time of the year you are sharply reminded of the income gap that bridges the haves from the have-nots. The homeless man I just saw sleeping under one of the Harrods shop windows as we pass Knightsbridge will haunt me like the ghost of Christmas past. How is he managing in minus 10 temperatures?

Last year I arrived in the Paradise Isle on Christmas day to party non-stop with my friends in Dickwella and onwards to 31st night at Galle Face. This year in the London-Elstree Holiday Inn Masquerade Ball. Actually my first 31st party in London. With my mates!

Non-Christian me will celebrate Christmas in our own special way. My wife’s relatives will come home early morning for mutton curry and milk-rice. Presents will be opened. Sash and San who are my sis-in-laws kids are still 2 and 6. They believe in Santa. One of the nice things about Christmas, Santa. Our kid is a teenager, she knows, but still expects as many presents under the tree.

I am home. The repeat of the Amir Khan fight’s on Sky Sports. I take a sip of hot coffee and snuggle under the duvet. Everything is ready for Christmas. As I drift to sleep I lay my soul for the good Lord to keep and pray I will not dream of the homeless man I saw earlier this morning.

Last call.

Life after heaven

Life after heaven

Lazy Sunday morning. The aroma of fresh coffee wafts into the room. This is enough incentive for me to roll out of bed. Everyone eventually showers. All of us take off for Dim Sum at the Hilton Emperor Wok.

Full as we eventually head off to my piece of heaven in Sri Lanka, The Barefoot Shop, Gallery and Café. We immediately leave the heat and humidity of the day as we walk into the Barefoot Garden. The splash of colour never fails to surprise me. Sunday Jazz Band in attendance and the crooning voice of Jerome Speldewinde entertains.

Christmas hols and it’s almost like back in London. I spot many of the Diaspora. Wave, grin and cheerful greetings shouted across. Many of us carrying around the absolutely necessary piece of Diaspora kit, a digital camera! Picture’s taken, hugs and New Year kisses. I quickly look about and spot in relief that my mates have headed upstairs.

The true beauty of the Barefoot garden is truly captured from the balcony. The Jazz Band forms the centrepiece to a bustle of colour. The religious statues from far off kovils in the north, ethnic Christmas trees, the wonderful painting hung on the bar wall, a fusion of colour in the table cloths, huge ceramic pots teeming with little orange and red fish.

The Tiger beer I sip feels colder, much better than anywhere else in the world. I am home, in heaven, in my Paradise Isle. The two Diaspora kids who run up to see me are impressed. They believe that broad upper floor over the Barefoot Café bar is where I live when I am in Sri Lanka! Reluctantly I set them right.

I give up on the uber cool image I am trying to project and click away with my piece of Canon kit. Dom the owner of Barefoot spots me from downstairs. Grin, wave and a huge thumbs up.

Some of us head into the Barefoot shop to do some shopping. I have already been. Sterling statue of God Gnanapathi, the famous Barefoot stone Buddha’s, compulsory Barefoot sarongs, Table Mats, Napkins and a load of knickknacks for the kid. All for just under £100! All in the unimaginably glorious Barefoot colours of Sri Lanka.

With the mildly amused acceptance of Nas and the obliging grin of Dom’s I take a few shots of inside the shop that you enjoy now. Normally a strict no the shop staff looks at me annoyingly and are still suspicious despite the fact that I inform them I have approval.

Dusk arrives and all too soon Jerome and the Band pack up for the evening. Few pictures, goodbyes to everyone and we head off. Getting into my friends monster sports car I take one last look back. It’s Sunday, I leave my Paradise Isle early Tuesday morning. My heart aches, the lump in my throat and teary eyes I hide from my friends. I console myself that I am back in April for a friends wedding.

It’s twelve inches of snow and minus eight degrees outside as I sit here typing this from the stix of England. But in my soul I hear the voice of Jerome Speldewine. Brilliant colours mix in my mind. I am full from the café’s fresh fusion food. I am wearing the bright gold Barefoot sarong mixed with shades of black. The warm tropical wind caresses my back. The scent of frangipani flowers scatters everywhere. Lord Gnanapathi gazes at me in benevolence.

Colombo’s wonderful oasis for every weary traveller. Barefoot.

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