2015 April 17: Dear Steve, I kissed another man.

Yes, it's true. Well, sort of. Actually, he kissed me. And I apologize for telling you about it in this public venue, but I needed to get it off my chest.

The other man is a mute who lives somewhere nearby. A couple of weeks ago, he passed our gate as he was taking out someone's trash. He motioned, wondering if I would like for him to take out our trash. It's only about 20 feet from our gate to where the garbage is picked up, but I like to encourage the beggars to try to do something in return for their alms. I figure that any little thing that someone can do so they feel they have earned a donation and not begged for it is something I can support. I gave him 20 rupees (15 cents). He thanked me with a broad smile, a bow, and a handshake.

There are a lot of beggars in Sri Lanka. Amputees, usually the result of the civil war, are common as you go further north. At major bus stops it is a regular occurrence for the beggars to board the buses and tell people why they should be given money. At temples monks will approach you, and offer you blessings or credit, depending on their religion, if you donate a few hundred or thousand rupees to their sect. Sometimes beggars will offer to shine your shoes, or sweep the sidewalk in front of you, or, as in the case of a severely physically and mentally disabled old man that I walk past occasionally, shake your hand, in return for a few rupees.

But I digress.

The mute came by today to see if I wanted my garbage taken out again. So, I let him, and gave him another 20 rupees. He thanked me with a smile, a bow, and a handshake, as last time. Between signing, lip reading, Sinhala and English, he told me that he was going to use the money to buy something to eat. I asked if he was hungry. Yes, he had more garbage to take out first, but then he was going to eat. Twenty rupees is enough for a samosa or a small bag of plantain chips. He left to walk down the lane to retrieve the rest of the trash.

I went into our house, and got some bananas, rice and curry, and waited for him to pass by. I held it out to him. He looked at me with surprise, and I told him that it was for him. He grabbed my hand and shook it repeatedly, bowed low before me, and as he straightened he had tears in his eyes. He gripped my hand again, then kissed it, made some gestures then put his hand on my heart while nodding his head in the side to side motion that indicates approval in Sri Lanka, then grabbed my head with both hands and kissed me soundly on both cheeks.

So there, Steve. Now you know.

2015 March 5: River Baths

On March 5 Elanor and I went on a road trip with the Relief Society, the women's group in my church, to a place called Kithulgala, a small town in the heart of the wet zone rain forest in western Sri Lanka. 

It is where the movie ‘Bridge on the River Kwai’ was filmed. 

It is also famous for its white water rafting...

...and is a popular place for Sri Lankans to take a bath.

Most houses here, the ones in larger towns and cities anyway, have a shower in the bathroom. But in the smaller villages, especially in very rural and traditional areas, there is no indoor plumbing. It's common to see wells and the Sri Lankan form of outhouse. It's also common to see semi-circular enclosures in yards, about five feet high, where people clean themselves using a large tub of water. Instead of getting into the water, you dip some out, get yourself wet, lather up, then use more water to rinse off. This keeps the water in the tub clean for the next person to use.

Which is why river baths are so popular.

We met at the church as the sun rose...

and over the next hour as we waited for some late comers and our bus, I was able to snap some great bird pics of a red-wattled lapwing who was confusedly fishing in a rainy puddle in the paved church parking lot,...

a white throated kingfisher sitting in one of the oldest trees in Negombo - at over 150 years old, it was saved when our church was built on the lot just a few years ago,...

 and this pond heron sitting on some wires.

I also saw house crows, koels, common mynas, cattle egrets, cormorants, barn swallows, great egrets, pale bellied flowerpeckers, purple rumped sunbirds and rock doves as we waited.

Finally, at about 7:20 we were ready to go, with breakfast, lunch, and an overfull bus load of women, children, and three men. With members spread from outside Negombo all the way to Chilaw, we also stopped along the way to pick up a few more people. As we passed by the airport, I saw a hawk circling overhead, and lesser whistling ducks swimming in the airport pond.

After we passed through Nittambuwa, we stopped at a little roadside pull-off for breakfast - spicy onions and fresh bread. Most women had brought their own recipe of the onions, so there was a lot of comparing of notes as each was sampled. We had a wonderful view of cattle and water buffalo in the fields below, and could see the branches of the trees swinging as monkeys hopped about.

A white-breasted drongo watched as we ate. 

After a few more hours, we arrived at Kithulgala.

We had a great time splashing about in the water, especially Elanor.

Then, time to relax as we listened to groups of men and boys playing instruments and singing in the middle of the river, on little islands, and on the shore.

After everyone had finished playing in the water and soaping up from head to toe before rinsing off, we headed back to our bus for some lunch, a pot luck of all sorts of Sri Lankan food. As it was a holiday, we ate in the shade on the steps of some nearby stores.

Completely refreshed, we began the long ride back to Negombo. Things were going wonderfully, and after about two hours we stopped to stretch our legs. I watched a little cricket being played. 

Then joined everyone in the shade of some trees, where we played a trivia game and had some snacks. Pretty soon, we saw this purple leaf monkey watching us from the nearby roof. 

And then it started to rain. When I say rain, I mean downpour. The skies opened and everything was drenched. I'm told it was a pre-rainy season rain. (You can see what I mean if you click on the coloured letters here.) We scrambled back into the bus and headed west again. Pretty soon, the rain had stopped and the roads had dried, so we were making good time despite the many road construction projects we passed.

That is, until we got a flat tire.

And like many things here, we discovered some problems - our bus had a spare tire, but no tools to remove the original tire and replace it with the new one, or a jack to lift the bus so that the tire could be replaced in the first place.

Thankfully, there was another bus stopped nearby, so our driver went to borrow their tools.

They didn't have any either.

Nor did the bus or the motorcycle or the car that stopped.

Finally, after several trips to houses we had passed and many conversations with passersby, the correct tools were found, and the flat could be changed.

In the meantime, the children had some fun playing in the nearby sandpit. 

And the women enjoyed the spectacular sunset. 

Until it started to pour again.

With only one home nearby, the owner generously allowed an entire over-packed bus load of women and children to take shelter under his carport and the eaves of his house. Lightening flashed and thunder boomed directly overhead, as rain fell in sheets so thick you could not see the field just beyond the modest home.

As soon as our driver had finished changing the tire - the poor man changed the tire in the middle of this storm - we ran in small groups back to the bus, between flashes of lightening, and quickly boarded, eager to be on our way. A few more hours, and we arrived back in Negombo.

Exhausted. Hungry. Sun burnt.

And feeling completely satisfied with such a wonderful day.

2015 February 26: DEAD SLOW

DEAD
SLOW

Nothing quite brings dread to one's heart like seeing these words on the road sign directly in front of you.

We were about to enter Wilpattu National Park, located in the Northwestern part of Sri Lanka. It is the largest and one of the oldest national parks in the country, having been declared a wildlife sanctuary in 1905, and is world-renowned for its leopard population. The park has close to sixty willa (lakes), giving it the name of Willa-pattu, or Wilpattu. It is also famous due its long cultural history.

According to the park's website:

Wilpattu National Park and its surroundings are of history that runs as far as back to the arrival of Prince Vijaya in Lanka from East India in 543 BC. The landing beach of prince Vijaya is believed to be the area today known as Kudriamali. Kali Villu is said to be location of the palace of Kuveni, a princess of a native tribe in the island.

Wirandagoda and Galbendi Niyara located north-east of Maradanmaduwa at Wilpattu are believed to be two of the locations where prince Saliya, who forfeited his right to the crown of Lanka, lived with his low caste wife called Asoka Mala a couple of millenniums ago.

At Pomparippu of Wilpattu, several urns containing human remains have been found. The urns are believed to belong to period prior to the recorded history of Sri Lanka, i. e. prior to the arrival of Prince Vijaya in Lanka.

In the eastern part of Wilpattu are remnants of breached tanks left over from agricultural systems of ancient Sinhalese civilizations. Also between Palangaturai and Kollankanatte are the remains of an old harbour.

But back to our adventure....

It was February 26th. We decided to go to Puttalam for the day, a mere four hour bus ride up the coast north of Negombo, another thirty kms beyond Chilaw.

On the way we saw all sorts of wildlife. Our bird list can be found at my eBird site, but we were also glad to see lots of cows on the road, goats, and Steve even saw wild macaques as we passed by. 

We finally arrived. Elanor was just happy to be off the bus. Wanting a window seat so she could keep cool during the long hot ride, she sat near the front by herself. At one stop an old woman sat behind her, and, fascinated with Elanor's light brown hair, began stroking Elanor's head. The colour is a novelty here, as most Sri Lankans, even the very old, have rich ebony locks. When it dawned on Elanor that someone who was not me or her dad was rubbing her head, she slowly turned around to see who it was. The woman began smiling and talking to her in Sinhalese, and Elanor began talking back to her in English. The conversation continued for a good ten minutes or so, with neither speaking the other's language, but it seemed as though they were having a good chat from where we sat!

Arriving around 2 pm, we quickly found a place to grab some lunch. After some traditional Sri Lankan food at a Muslim restaurant - Steve had seafood fried rice and sambol; Elanor and I had some unknown but delicious vegetarian dishes - we decided to walk to a little seaside park with benches for viewing the 327 square km (126 square miles) of Puttalam lagoon. We were hoping to see some shorebirds and waterfowl, to add to our growing list of Sri Lankan bird species on eBird.org.

But, we got sidetracked. And went an additional 35 km or so further north to Wilpattu National Park. 

And the sign that read:

DEAD

SLOW

We soon found out why.... About a hundred yards beyond the sign was a security check point. And about a hundred yards beyond that was the entrance to the park.

Picture this:

A river.

With a dam.

With water flowing over it.

On one side, the road leads into the river on top of the dam.

On the other side, the road leads out of the river on top of the dam.

In between.... river. On top of the dam.

This is what we had to drive through to enter the park. Go too fast, and the water sprays into the engine of the vehicle and it stalls. On top of the dam in the river. Go too slow, and the river pushes you over the edge of the dam in the river. Go at just the right speed, and maybe the river will not be deep enough to cover your feet with water.

We were lucky - the water came to the very brink of soaking us. (And we didn't get swept over the dam.)

We spent some time driving slowly through the park, careful to watch for critters of all kinds, and mindful that we did not want to become leopard food or upset a pack of elephants into rampaging us or get eaten by a crocodile.

We saw all sorts of wildlife. And lots of poopy. Lots and lots of poopy. Mostly of the elephantine variety, but also Sri Lankan hare buttons.

Our critter list included:

Painted storks flying overhead 

Bluetailed bee eaters

Peacocks 

Brown headed barbets calling in the trees

Grey herons

Toque macaques playing near a stream 

Eurasion collared doves roosting on the roadway

Bush larks flitting through the air and sitting in the bushes

White bellied sea eagles soaring overhead

Elephants browsing in the meadows in the late afternoon sun 

Several herds of spotted deer, including a buck with huge majestic antlers 

Jungle fowl calling in the forest

Two mongooses - mongeese? - walking on the road

Leopard tracks - we went a little faster through that section!

Palm squirrels

Termite mounds 

Indian monitor lizards 

Weaver finch nests 

Wild boar 

Coucal

Malabar pied hornbills - a bird that Steve has always wanted to see 

Flocks of small green bee eaters taking their evening dust baths 

Grey langur monkeys

and the best of the day, Asian paradise flycatchers. 

A terrible picture, out of focus and too far away - but that white line in the middle of the picture? That is the long trailing tail feathers of a paradise flycatcher!

I also saw an Oriental magpie robin, and Steve saw a grey wood shrike, ioras, terns, and a crested hawk eagle. 

We arrived back in Puttalam shortly after dark, and quickly jumped on a bus headed back to Negombo.

Our driver was crazy.

He was in a rush to get to wherever he needed to go, and he made sure that everyone knew it. Driving down the middle of the road, forcing vehicles in both directions to pull over, speeding over bumps as though they did not exist, not stopping completely for people to get on or off.... I was actually surprised that he pulled over and came to a complete stop to let an elderly blind man off the bus!

I am sure you think I am exaggerating, but it took over four hours to get to Puttalam in the morning, and less than two hours to get back to Negombo!

The return journey was anything but DEAD SLOW.

2015 March 23-28: Steve's Report: Trip to the South

We got back Saturday night to find our internet service gone, and didn't get it restored until just now (Monday AM). We left Monday morning for Mirissa on the south coast a beautiful touristy resort city with a lovely (but boring) beach. We stayed in a very interesting hotel built in a series of levels up the side of a hill. It had a rooftop swimming pool, so it was quite luxurious. I have no interest in beaches; our real motive for going to Mirissa is that it happens to be the place where the blue whale tours -- now famous worldwide -- originate. It was only recently discovered that large numbers of blue whales live year round off Sri Lanka's south coast.

Tuesday morning we climbed aboard one of more than a dozen smallish whale tour boats (ours seated thirty people or so) and headed out into the Indian Ocean. On the way out, we saw flying fish, very bizarre creatures that erupt from the waves and glide rapidly along, banking and changing direction as their long fins flutter like wings. There were few seabirds aside from the ubiquitous whiskered terns. To everybody's (and especially Elanor's) delight, we found ourselves in the middle of a huge school of acrobatic spinner dolphins (as many as 200 individuals) that leaped and pirouetted in groups of five or ten at a time. We watched them for quite a while. Much farther out to sea (about 15 miles) we finally found blue whales -- five in all, and one pair that we were able to approach within a hundred yards. They are truly enormous, visibly much larger than the humpback and even the fin whales we see so often in Newfoundland, and do quite a bit of rolling and fluke-displaying between dives. One of them must have been nearly 100 feet long. Standing in the presence of the largest animal that has ever lived on this planet (or perhaps, anywhere else!) was a nearly religious experience. On the was back to shore, three pomarine jaegers -- very rare birds this far south -- flew past the boat. Elanor and I spent quite a bit of time in the hotel swimming pool, and she's now really learning to swim quite well. She learned to do a passable crawl while we were there, as well as to swim on her back all over the pool and to tread water. She's now fearless in the deep end, and I've ceased to worry about her drowning.

On Wednesday we went over to Tissamaharama (near Kataragama in southeast Sri Lanka), a lovely town near both Bundala and Yala national parks. We stayed at a small hotel beside a lake full of lotuses that absolutely brimmed over with birdlife, including such beauties as pheasant-tailed jacanas, purple swamphens, lesser whistling-ducks, and black bitterns. The woods and paddies around the lake were also alive with birds. The huge pipal tree at the Buddhist shrine near the hotel usually had green imperial pigeons roosting, and the newly-cut rice paddies were full of little birds like ashy prinias, scaly-breasted munias, and the dauntingly-named zitting cisticola. I racked up quite a number of new species for my growing ebird list just walking around the lake. Also, several mugger crocodiles lived in the lake; one fair-sized individual often lay out in the sun on an islet, daring the lapwings, cormorants, and other waterbirds to come within reach. Elanor enjoyed observing the epic numbers of geckos around the hotel and following around the large monitor lizard that patrolled the grounds.

We headed out at 4:30 AM for Yala National Park in a safari jeep. The driver was pretty knowledgeable. We told him we didn't want to participate in the mad rush into the park when the gates opened to go to the spot where leopards were usually seen. If we saw a leopard, fine, but we wanted to go at a leisurely pace, along less-traveled roads, and see lots of birds. We arrived at the park gates while it was still dark and waited in the gloom for dawn to break. Accordingly, when the gates opened, the other jeeps tore off in the direction of the main leopard sighting area, and we took "the road less traveled" by ourselves. As a result, we didn't see any leopards, but we saw many other things, mostly without other vehicles around. The first prize of the day was a lesser adjutant, a very rare giant stork species, standing in the middle of the road. We got a good long look at him. We found large, very entertaining flocks of Malabar pied hornbills that cackled and cavorted in the trees along the road. Also present were plenty of grey langurs and tocque macaques, as well as wild water buffalo (one of the few places in the world where they can be seen), and lots of mugger crocodiles, including one that was more than 15 feet long. The landscape was surprisingly beautiful, with scrub jungle punctuated by ponds and lakes, as well as ranges of striking rocky hills and tors, one of which resembled a human profile. We stopped at every pond and tallied species, with Pam taking oodles of photos. Near the sea, we found a beautiful flock of herons, painted storks, and spoonbills probing in the mud for snails and whatever. Behind then stood two great thick-knee (the first burrhinids I've ever seen) and a host of shorebirds. While we were watching these, a grey-headed fish eagle sailed up and landed on a log; Pam got nice shots of him.

Back inland, we found many more birds, including the crested treeswift, the golden-fronted leafbird, and the ashy-crowned sparrow lark, among many others. We saw several mongooses and at least three Indian monitor lizards, hers of spotted deer, a pair of sambar, quite a few wild boar, and finally, a number of elephants. The first one we encountered was a large tusker walking down the middle of the road, which we followed, along with several other jeeps. Eventually, he let us pass -- so close that we could see his cheek glands. Elanor, of course, was ecstatic. A little further along, we came across a female elephant with two half-grown calves bathing in a pool. We watched them blow water on each other for a while. We later encountered another large tusked male. by the day's end we had tallied more than 90 bird species.

Friday we went to Bundala National Park, known primarily for its birds. Here we were accompanied by a park guide who knew where to find the birds. We racked up lots more species, including a pied cuckoo and common thick-knee. Our real hope was to find the black-necked stork, of which only one lives in Bundala and the other ten or eleven (Sri Lanka's entire population) in remote corners of Yala. At one point, we came upon two huge saltwater crocodiles mating at the edge of a lagoon; they glared at us and began swimming slowly out into the lagoon, passing within a few feet of our vehicle. Bundala also had enormous numbers of langurs and macaques all along the roads, and Elanor happily kept a tally. Finally, just past noon, in a remote salt pan full of painted storks, spoonbills, and smaller shorebirds of many kinds, we found the black-necked stork, a very shy bird that stayed just close enough for a good long look in the spotting scope. As a bonus, I spotted a small group of rare pratincoles, a sort of cross between a swallow and a sandpiper. Once again, we ended up with nearly a hundred species for the day.

After we got back to Tissa, we took a took-took (!!) up to Kataragama, one of Sri Lanka's two holiest places, revered by Hindus, Muslims, and Buddhists alike. The sprawling complex of temples and shrines extended over many acres. For me the most interesting thing was the cell phone tower built of reconditioned sewer pipes, which had become a preferred roost for the Malabar pied hornbills that frequented the area. The place was of course full of hawkers and beggars, as well as Hindu holy men and Buddhist monks, and monkeys were everywhere. The temple elephant was getting its daily bath in the Menik river when we arrived, which Elanor watched with rapt attention.

Saturday we took the only air-conditioned bus of the day back to Colombo (a six hour trip, including a rest stop in Matara). We got home to a dead internet and a new water leak in the upstairs hallway, but it was a great trip. Elanor is now a very seasoned jungle adventuress, and can't quite decide if she likes the monkeys, elephants, or dolphins the most. I've nicknamed her "Elanor of the elephants."

2015 March 20-21: Foreigners

"Foreigners! Foreigners!"

That's what was being whispered all around Elanor and me when we went with our church women's group to go river bathing on March 5th. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Sinhala, but whispered, nonetheless. Once people realized that we were there with a large group of our friends, and that we were not there to gawk at them like some other foreigners who passed by, we were quickly included in the fun and games, and yes, even the bathing. This is the way I like to travel, fitting in as best we can, joining with our friends in their ways of doing things, learning about their culture by taking part in it.

I don't blame them for their hesitation at the beginning. After all, we could just easily have been like most others, there to gaze at the natives like they were some sort of exotic specimens there to be studied. I have seen similar situations countless times.

In Pond Inlet, we went to a feast at the community hall shortly after we arrived. We sat on the floor - like everyone else - with a couple that we knew, and sampled the food and tried to blend in. Two other couples stood on the sidelines, sometimes taking pictures, and making comments such as "I can't believe they're eating that", "That looks disgusting", and "People back home are never going to believe that this is what they eat." Pretty soon, we found that we were the only new 'Southerners' or Kablunaq (literally: bushy eyebrows, in reference to the Scottish sailors who first visited the Inuit in modern times) who were being invited to community feasts. (There were a couple of long-term white residents as well.) Others sometimes showed up if they found out about the feasts, game days, and dances, but someone always made sure that we knew about them. Sometimes we would be listening to the local radio station in Inuktitut, would hear our name mixed in among the announcements, and sure enough, within a few minutes we would have received several phone calls and a knock on the door, telling us of some community event.

This was especially apparent after a confrontation at the local 'mall'. I had gone to the Co-op store to get a few things. A woman approached me and said, "I don't think it's very nice of you to make the teachers do so much work!" Confused, I asked what she was talking about. "Your daughter is at our school and her teacher doesn't have the time to teach our children and then to teach your child everything again in English!" I replied, "Well, actually, the teacher is not teaching everything two times. I told her that we wanted Amber to learn Inuktitut, and to not teach her in English." "You want your daughter to learn Inuktitut?" was the incredulous reply. "Your son has to learn English. Why shouldn't my daughter have to learn Inuktitut?" I countered. By the time we left two years later, Amber could read primary books and write journal entries in Inuktitut, using their syllabic alphabet with thirty-nine characters. We found out later that with the exception of two families that were basically life-long residents and a principal's daughter, every other white child in the community had been home-schooled.

In China, I spent the summer in Beijing. Other members in my group traveled around China when our teaching was finished, spending a day here and a few hours there. I stayed in Beijing. Most people spend four hours going through the Forbidden City on the short tour. I spent thirteen hours there over a two day period, and when some of the workers noticed that I was interested in all the little details, they made sure to point things out to me and explain how things were built. At the Summer Palace when I showed an interest in how the ponds were built and other "non-tourist" items, people refused to believe that I was foreigner and could not speak fluent Mandarin, but could not figure out why I was white instead of 'yellow' (their word, not mine). Then they decided that I must be Russian and insisted on speaking Russian to me. I saw things that literally no other white person had seen, such as a small house museum in honour of a famous Chinese writer. In fifty years, I was the only non-Chinese who had visited. I know this because the curator checked the log book while I was inside, a logbook going back to the opening day, and in which every person who had ever visited had signed in with their full name and address. When an old woman that I knew found out the types of places I was seeing and the types of things that I was doing, she and a local teacher we both knew arranged to have me move to a different hotel. Four stars just off Tiananmen Square was not too shabby, especially when it ended up costing me nothing. The hotel was owned by a man whom the teacher had taught English classes to, and when he found out that I was interested in learning about 'real' China and not just 'tourist' China, he refused payment.

When we went to Muthurajawela, we saw a different type of foreigner, the kind that tries to get every last penny out of a people who are already poor. The entry fee at the marsh was about 1000 rupees per person, but about half that amount for children. (It works out to about $7.50 each for a two hour tour, with personal guide, boatman, the boat, and gas. Similar excursions back home typically begin at $50 per person.) When another couple heard that Elanor was getting the child discount, the husband quickly quipped, "Hey, my two kids are children too! They should get the discount, too!" and his two children chimed in. I am sure he was joking, but when you don't speak English well and are used to being taken advantage of, it creates awkward situations, especially when the 'children' in question are obviously in their late teens. It's a difficult situation for people to be in. Do they treat it as a joke? Maybe he's not joking. Do they give the customer the benefit of the doubt? What if he then tells everyone and they demand discounts? Do they say no and perhaps lose that business? Do they say yes and then take a loss for that tour in order to keep the customer happy? Did they actually understand what was said, given that English is a third language for most people?

We see it in the stores, too. We are used to getting charged the tourist price, although some of my regular places now charge me less. At one vegetable stand that I frequent, I used to get charged 100 rupees (76 cents) for a particular vegetable, still only a fraction of what I would pay back home. Then I was charged 50 rupees (38 cents). Two days ago I was charged 30 rupees (23 cents). Another day I bought two dresses - one for Elanor and one for me - for 2400 rupees ($18.18). I knew I was getting charged more, but back home this would have cost me $40 for Elanor's dress alone. At the same time, another couple in the store were haggling over the price of the two dresses they were buying. I stood there at the counter as I listened to them haggle back and forth, trying to get every last rupee they could out of this shop owner. Their dresses started at 2400 rupees, too, and they managed to get it down to 2200. I could have done the same, but honestly, the $1.51 I would have saved was not worth it.

People notice things like this. As we were leaving the store, the woman stopped me and said, "You didn't bargain." I said, "Did you give me a fair price?" "Oh, yes," she replied, "I give you morning price. Morning price always cheaper. I no make enough money, evening price is higher." I smiled and told her we would be back when we were ready to buy more. She then went over to the cabinet full of purses that Elanor had been eyeing the entire time we were there, pulled out a few and asked Elanor which one was her favourite. When Elanor told her, she presented it to her. I took out my wallet again, and was quickly told by both her and her husband that it was a gift, and that when we come back, we would get the morning price or better even if it was evening.

When we went to the natural area in Kandi, Steve was signing us in at the entry gate and paying the entry fee. He began speaking to the woman in Sinhala and mentioned that we were here for several months. After conversing for several minutes on a variety of subjects including what he was doing in Sri Lanka, she asked him what kind of visa we had. When she found out that we had resident visas, our fee dropped from 600 rupees ($4.55) per person to just 30 rupees (23 cents) each.

A third type of foreigner that we have seen is the type that smacks of the old colonial attitude. When our order came during breakfast in Kandi, the bread was not toasted. We just assumed that there was a miscommunication with the waiter or a misprint in the menu and didn't think anything of it. As we were eating, an older man sat nearby. The waiter approached him and the man started talking. He didn't want anything on the menu, he just wanted toast, orange juice and coffee. The waiter looked unsure and asked again what he wanted, as he pointed to the menu. The man repeated himself, then added, "Is that slow enough for you? Do you understand?" (Remember that while many people here speak English, many do not. That is why in restaurants with menus, you order by pointing at the number next to what you want to order. That way there is no confusion.) The waiter again pointed to the menu, which, incidentally, has a note on the top that tells patrons to "Please order two hours early to avoid disappointment". The man very loudly said, "Get me a manager immediately. Do you understand? I want to talk to your manager immediately, and he better be able to speak English!" The poor waiter ran from the room.

A few minutes later, the manager came in and asked what the problem was. "Your waiter does not speak English. That is the problem. I told him that I just want toast, orange juice and coffee for my breakfast, and he cannot understand that." The manager replied, "No problem, sir. I will bring you some bread..." "Toast," the man interrupted, "I. Want. Toast." "There is a problem, sir. I cannot bring you some toast. Our toaster broke this morning. But I can bring you some nice fresh bread." "Well that doesn't help, does it? Having a broken toaster is not very useful, is it?" "I am very sorry, sir, it just broke this morning." "Can you get a new one?" Silence. After all, it was 7:30 in the morning. "Well?" "I will get you some toast, sir." "That wasn't so hard, then, was it?" was the response.

The kind of foreigner you are while traveling can have a big impact on the way that people treat you. Steve and I have both seen this during our travels separately, and now, together. For both of us, it has led to some amazing experiences as people share their lives with us. For Steve, it has meant being welcomed into homes wherever he has traveled. The last time he was in Sri Lanka, it meant becoming welcomed into a Tamil fishing community as well as his church community. This time, he is garnering respect among the gypsies of Sri Lanka. He met with a family last Friday and Saturday. They were very reluctant at first, and told the tuktuk driver that they couldn't help because they don't speak English. "No problem!" the driver replied. "He speaks Sinhala!" They quickly welcomed Steve into their home, and after a discussion about what his project here actually entails, they are eager to help him because he wants to actually learn about their language and culture. So eager, in fact, that early Sunday morning the father called Steve to find out when he was coming back and to make sure that Steve knew that they want to help him, and that Elanor and I are welcome too.

Looks like Elanor is in for yet another huge culture shock.

We can't wait.

Fried Dough Odyssey

Growing up, my brother and I loved when mom made homemade bread. If we were lucky, she would save us a little bit of the dough so we could flatten it out between our hands, then fry it in some butter in a pan on the stove. Maybe add a little rhubarb jam or molasses afterwards. Toutons, we called them. So yummy!

Courtesy https://billandpaulinesexcellentadventures.wordpress.com/2012/03/04/dining-dangerously-corner-brook-carnival-cuisine/

Sometimes when we went camping as a family, or when we went camping with the Girl Guides or the Boy Scouts, we would wrap the dough around sticks and roast it over the fire. Smoky mouthwatering goodness, straight from the hot coals to our eager maws.

Courtesy https://erinsdckitchen.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/dough-boys-or-the-dessert-to-end-all-desserts/

These days, mom doesn't make bread in the old bread bowl, but she and dad do use a breadmaker. No stovetop toutons, though. But she does make an incredible onion pudding:

Norma's Onion Pudding
1 cup flour
2 tbsp butter
1/3 cup milk
2 tbsp baking powder
1 medium onion grated
salt
a bit of sugar

Mix flour butter, baking powder, salt and sugar together. Add onion and milk to make a soft dough. Grease pan, cover and boil over water or bake in oven at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Try centre to check that it is done.

Courtesy http://stuffedatthegills.blogspot.com/2014/12/steamed-onion-pudding.html
This one is steamed, but we like it baked better.

In 1998 my daughter Amber and I moved to Pond Inlet, Nunavut. There we fell in love with bannock. We eagerly waited for special occasions at the school, like Inuit Games Day, where one of the stations that the children rotated through was the refreshment tent. It served hot deep fried bannock, fresh out of the cooking oil. Amber and the other children would gobble it down as fast as it could be made. There was nothing quite like fresh bannock cooked outside and eaten outside.

Courtesy http://ronwassink.blogspot.com/2010/10/deep-fried-bannock.html

I lost my recipe years ago in an unfortunate moving incident. I had a bag that was filled with all my old recipes, some of them irreplaceable as the people who had shared them with me had passed on. My then-husband, thinking he was being helpful, saw the bag sitting in the kitchen and threw it in the dumpster near our townhouse. Before I realized the bag was missing, the dumpster had been emptied. Bye bye recipes.

I recently sent out a plea to my friends in Pond, hoping to replace my bannock recipes.

"For frying, 2 cups of flour, 1tsp baking powder. And salt if you want and 1 cup water mix it up," said Donna Pitseolak-Kublu, who got the recipe from Morty Pitseolak, who was the post-mistress in Pond when we lived there. Get some cooking oil good and hot and drop in pieces of the dough and fry until done. I asked Donna, "And what about the one that you bake? The recipe's almost the same, I think, but maybe has a little sugar in it? and oil?" This is the way that Rebecca Qitsualik, the elder who taught me Inuktitut, made hers. She was an unusual woman, the only Inuit elder at the time who was trilingual in Inuktitut, Innuinaqtung, and English. (Her favourite food was Philadelphia cream cheese, because it tasted just like the baby seal stomach that her parents used to feed her as a child. Think about that the next time you eat a bagel!) Donna replied, "I don't put sugar in mine. I find it too sweet. I remember my late mother Seanna used to use flour, baking powder , salt and little bit of oil and water and she wouldn't use any measuring cup." 

Courtesy of http://shay.la/poached-eggs-smoked-pork-bannock-cage-free/

Incidentally, Donna's mother made my kamiks - traditional boots made from caribou leg skin with the fur attached and an inlaid chevron design of alternating black and white seal fur. They were stunningly beautiful. She also made matching kamiks for the guy I was with at the time, but his had the fur reversed - the main part of the boot was made from sealskin and the design from caribou. She explained that these were wedding kamiks - the man's used a sea animal and a little bit of land animal, while the woman's used a land animal and a little bit of sea animal. This way, the family would always be provided for, because the man would not insult the sea creatures while out on the ice, and the woman would not insult the sea creatures back home on the land.

But, back to the fried dough....

Naomi Tigullaraq, my friend and former teaching colleague at Ulaakjuk School, told me, " I never measure mine, when I'm making one, might give you the wrong measurement. Flour, water, baking powder, lard or oil, and pinch of salt if you want to add some, and some people used milk instead of water."

And my former student Nina Kautaq said, "We just dump everything together."

This reminds of the old Newfoundland cookbook my mother has, which lists the ingredients, and that's it. No step-by-step instructions, no oven temperature, no bake time. Those were things you were expected to know already!

In 2002 I went to China. There we had salted youtiao, long strips of fried dough, with our morning breakfast congee, or rice porridge. In the late afternoon, we might sometimes have a similar dish called tanggao, but shorter and dipped into sugar. Either way, they were yummy. 

"Chinese fried bread". Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chinese_fried_bread.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Chinese_fried_bread.jpg

In 2007, I moved to a Dene community in the Northwest Territories. Again, bannock was heavy on the menu at any cultural or school event. Sometimes they deep-fried it, but just as often they pan-fried it, like Newfoundland toutons.

3 cups flour
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp baking powder
1/3 cup oil
1 1/2 cups water

Mix the dry ingredients together in a bowl. Mix the wet ingredients together in a measuring cup. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and mix together until it forms a ball. Knead on a floured surface until it is no longer sticky, adding a little more flour if necessary. Divide into two or three pieces, depending on the size of your frying pan. Flatten each piece to about 1 inch thickness. Fry in a greased pan on medium heat for about fifteen minutes each side. Serve with jam. 

Courtesy https://mrsmelva.wordpress.com/2010/05/15/our-trip-to-the-rapids/

In 2012 I moved to a Cree community in Manitoba. The Cree people love their bannock! And for good reason - fried or baked, smeared with butter and jam that drips down your face...it doesn't get better than this! 

Elanor and a boy in her grade three class enjoying some fresh bannock.

The remains of the bannock station at cultural days after a class had passed through.

We were invited for supper at a the home of a friend from church a couple of Sundays ago. Well, not exactly their home. Her mother-in-law's home, because it was close to where we lived and they didn't want us to get lost going to their own home, which is apparently in some little village some distance from here.

While Steve has been in typical Sri Lankan homes before, it was my first time. We walked down the long lane through the small Tamil neighbourhood near the beach in Negombo. The front yard was immaculately swept - a chore performed every morning by the woman of the house - and the front door was surrounded by a large beautiful jasmine bush. We entered the small home and sat chatting with our friend for a while. As we chatted, she formed the dough that her mother-in-law had made into flat little rounds, and began frying them. They were delicious.

Then her mother-in-law came home, removed those from the table, and replaced them with ones that she herself had made! Only the best for guests - and while our friend's dough was great, her mother-in-law's was incredible. (It reminded me of my own bread-making experiences with my daughter, Amber. We could follow the exact same recipe, but her bread always tasted better than mine.)

So, now I have eaten the lightest, thinnest fried dough I have ever had. Crispy on the outside, with pockets of warm soft dough inside in some places, bubbles of air in others.


I had four.

Maybe five.

Or six.

Plus the two I had already eaten that were made by our friend.

Now I have to get that recipe!

2015 March 2-3: Our Resident Palm Squirrel is Mad

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

Our resident palm squirrel is mad.

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

I mean, really mad.

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

He has been making this noise since about 5am, right about the time the local mosque started calling its faithful to prayer.

Hayya'alas-ṣalāh

I'm not saying there is a connection. Our koel started calling about the same time, as he does every morning.

taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

A new voice enters the fray...

WEEKa WEEKa WEEKa

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

A few cars pass by but something is missing from the usual morning noise of Cemetery Road. Ah! I have it - there are no construction sounds.

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

The dogs start barking.

Arf arf arf.         Arf.

And the crows begin their morning serenade.

Caaaw caaaw.   Caw caw caw.

taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT

Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!

 taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT taLOOT

Arf arf arf.         Arf.

WEEKa WEEKa WEEKa

The songbirds join in, and our myna imitates the dogs.

They all seem to be out of sorts this morning, probably due to the torrential rain last night.

Elanor and I had gone to our chapel for a movie night with our congregation. (If you have not seen the movie Baptists at Our BBQ, I highly recommend that you do!) There was a light mist in the air as we left, but by the time we got to Sebastian Road, it was raining. From Sebastian Road to Beach Road a light rain continued to fall. Unlike home, no one here moved. The streets were lined with people standing or sitting around in lawn chairs enjoying the cool rain after a brutally hot and humid day. So hot and humid that it was impossible to tell whether you were sweating or condensing.

By the time we turned down the street that takes us to the alley that takes us to our road, it was torrential. In an instant, the heavens let loose and the streets were flooded. Even inside our tuktuk with the curtains drawn, we were soaked.

By the time we got home, our yard was a lake, our patio stones flooded, our red clay tile roof streaming waterfalls.

We fell asleep to the thunderous crash of lightening, the calling of geckos, the screaming of bats.

Clang clang clang.

It appears the construction workers have returned, several hours later than usual. Normally they work through the cool of evening, into the wee hours of the morning, then begin again as the sun comes up, leaving during the hottest part of the afternoon.

The squirrel has stopped. His world is right again.