2015 February 19: Remembering the Tsunami of 2004

Lament for the fisherfolk of Sri Lanka

From October 2000 to July 2001, my brother Steve was in northwest coastal Sri Lanka gathering material for a dissertation (Negombo Fishermen’s Tamil: A Case of Contact-Induced Language Change from Sri Lanka, Cornell University, 2004). He worked extensively with the inhabitants of a small, Catholic fishing village a few miles from the city of Negombo. Last night he sent the following e-mail, with permission to publish it here.

The news just gets worse and worse. It appears that most or all of the people who were my research subjects and my friends during my stay in Sri Lanka are dead. Negombo was hit quite hard, and the people whose language and lifestyle I documented lived in frail cadjun [coconut-leaf] huts within meters of the high water mark, on the sands of the beach. They knew nothing but God, family, and fishing, and have not, to my knowledge, dropped bombs on anybody or fought any wars on drugs or mass-produced pornography and land mines; yet they are all apparently dead and we remain. Not only that: I could not have gotten my status-conferring, income-enhancing Ivy League PhD without their help, whereas they got along just fine without mine – yet they are gone and I linger on, PhD and all.

Nor can I take any consolation in their being “human beings just like us,” because they aren’t like us, not at all. They have the same DNA, they have many of the same passions, to be sure. But they also have no comprehension of our wisecracking, self-absorbed cynicism; they are (though it sounds cliche to say it) blessed with a certain childlike absence of guile. They place community above all other things and choose not to trouble themselves with the world’s problems. They do not live their lives in “I can give you 15 minutes of my valuable time” mode, ever. They always treated me like a dignitary and usually insisted on preparing excellent seafood dinners, which they couldn’t afford. There was never any suggestion that they were ashamed of their humble living quarters. Their huts were always clean, and their clothing always neat. I paid to help them build a cistern of their own (an untold luxury) in the sand behind their hut. It consisted merely of a 15-foot deep hole lined with metal, but it gave them fresh water for washing and drinking for the first time, ever. I fancied that, in buying them a well – not to mention a pile of clothing and household goods I got for them right before my departure – I was repaying them in part for helping me achieve my ambition.

Now the well and the household goods, as well as the houses and inhabitants, are probably gone, along with those of tens of thousands of others like them, all alike in their poverty and simplicity, all utterly unlike us. Maybe the old, abominable racial theories are correct, in a perverse and unanticipated way, for there really do seem to be two completely different moieties of the human race: the one, perpetually lapped in comfort, snugly insulated from the brunt of mother nature (most of the time), and able and willing to unleash hellfire and bombnation on the other half at the slightest provocation, real or imagined; the other, perpetually under the yoke of the first, always fodder for the cannons, chaff for the economic downdrafts, grist for the millstones of mother nature.

Anyway, enough hyperbole. Suffice it to say, I’m really bummed about this. Call it survivor’s guilt or whatever, but there can’t be too many people out there who’ve seen their PhD subject matter obliterated.

Steve Bonta
27 December 2004

And so it was with some trepidation that on February 19 Steve led Elanor and me to his friends' fishing village, site of about forty homes on the beach in Negombo. He wanted to see with his own two eyes that it was really gone, but still garnering some small hope that maybe, just maybe, the news reports that said that all beach communities - and the people in them - were lost were wrong.

But when we stepped onto the beach...we knew. Instead of the small close-knit fishing village bustling with the work of processing the daily catch and the raising of small children and the daily cooking and cleaning and washing...we were greeted by an open stretch of sand.

Steve was devastated. The people he knew and loved, their humble thatch and palm frond homes much like the one found below, the well that he dug for them in thanks for all of their help so that they would have clean drinking water...all gone.

For video of our visit, please click here.

2015 March 16: Global Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka finds itself in a strangely awkward position.

Life for many people is still very much conducted in third world conditions. Little or no indoor plumbing. Low wages. Menial jobs. Small houses with poor planning and little knowledge of basic things we take for granted, such as traps to keep sewer gas out of the house. I passed a cement block home on the main tourist street, Lewis Place, early one morning, that had its door open. There was a small clay oven against the wall outside, an outhouse in the backyard, and only one room in the house. It had a wooden chair against one wall and a pile of blankets in the corner.

Oddly, though, the average family only has two children, not the three to seven children that one would expect in such conditions given the average fertility rates in other similar countries. Family planning is very much in effect here. One woman we know told us that while she and her husband love their children, they will not have more than two because they are very expensive. She didn't mean to raise. She meant in case they get sick and needed medical attention. One trip to the doctor can cost 3000 rupees - 1/7 of the average monthly income. Thankfully, most pharmacies here do not require prescriptions. You show up, tell them what's wrong, and they give you the medication for it at a very reasonable rate. Or, if you are like me, you take a picture of your husband's heat rash and show that to the guy behind the counter, who then gives you the cream your husband needs for 200 rupees ($1.53).

Yet, for others, life is good. Very good. Hotel owners that we know paid $65 000 cash for a luxury car recently - 8.5 million rupees, or 32 years salary for the average worker. The gap between rich and poor is so wide that ordinary people are being shut out of their ordinary neighbourhoods, as land prices are on the rise exponentially in popular areas like Negombo.

Sri Lankans in general are very well-educated. According to wikipedia, "Education in Sri Lanka has a long history that dates back two millennia. The Constitution of Sri Lanka provides for education as a fundamental right. Sri Lanka's population has a literacy rate of 98.1%, higher than that expected for a third world country; it has the highest literacy rate in South Asia and overall, one of the highest literacy rates in Asia. Education plays a major part in the life and culture of the country and dates back to 543 BC." Girls have a slightly higher literacy rate than boys.

This focus on education has led to many Sri Lankans looking for work overseas. The Middle East is a popular option, as is Australia, Malaysia, and France. They are even finding their way to Newfoundland. This is in addition to the many people who left Sri Lanka during the civil war. Many of those who leave are the most educated.

And this has led to many Sri Lankan families becoming truly global citizens. One friend of ours has several children, all of whom live overseas. To visit them, he has traveled to Switzerland, France, Canada, the United States, Australia and Malaysia. Some of his grandchildren he can speak to - they don't know Sinhala, but they do know English. Other grandchildren he cannot speak to without a translator, because they speak French or another language as their mother tongue. But he, like many others who find themselves in similar situations, do not begrudge this one bit. They are happy that their children are happy, their grandchildren are happy, and that they were able to help their children rise to a level of success that would likely not have been possible here.

Even businesses reflect the diverse international community. Drive down any major street in Colombo, the capital city, and there are billboards and signs advertising jobs abroad and language classes in Japanese, Chinese, German, English, and a host of others. Chinese, Japanese, Italian, and Indian restaurants abound, North American chains such as Pizza Hut and KFC and Burger King are easily found. There are even restaurants that serve Swiss and German fare!

Steve receives many compliments on his ability to speak Sinhalese and Tamil. One tuktuk driver actually stopped the vehicle, turned around, and exclaimed "You're Sri Lankan?" when Steve gave him directions one day. Some Tamil fishermen we met on the beach near the hotel we stayed at for the first week we were here often greet me with "Where is your husband, the man who speaks our language?" if I run into them without Steve.

But it's different in Colombo. One tuktuk driver asked Steve why he was bothering to learn Sinhalese since it's not an important language. The answer is simple. Sinhala is an important language. While Old English was just getting started around 550 A.D., Sinhala had already been around for almost a thousand years, with a rich literary history that influenced the development of Buddhism, now with over 300 million followers around the world. While the Western world was floundering in the dark ages, Sri Lanka was famous as the "rice mill of the east" and was trading cinnamon globally.

And so, we come full circle to the awkward situation that Sri Lanka finds itself in, this strange mix of keeping long held traditions and culture alive, while moving forward and working its way out of third world status. This is why the government is pro-Chinese waterfront development, why it is involved in so many infrastructure projects to rebuild roads and town services, and why it is against huge Australian casinos being built here.

Sri Lanka deserves more credit for what it is doing right from the global community. Perhaps then it would not find itself in the strangely awkward position it is in.

2015 February 13-17: New Kid on the (Asian) Toilet

(Posted with permission from Elanor.)

We have been in Sri Lanka for four days now. Steve lived here for nine months while he learned about a Tamil dialect spoken by the fishermen in Negombo, so he is doing just fine. I lived in Beijing for a summer while teaching English as a Second Language as part of a course and practicum work through Brock University and Beijing Normal University, so I, too, am doing just fine.

Elanor, however, is having some culture shock.

During church she was positive everyone was laughing at her, when in reality, many of the children were just excited because they had never had a white friend before. Resulting lesson? People laugh for different reasons - don't assume people are laughing at you!

During breakfast on day two she had a meltdown over the butter she was trying to spread on her toast, because it was cut into pieces that looked like cheese, which she almost ate before we stopped her. Resulting lesson? Food looks different here, so don't assume you know what it is!

During some beach time on day three when her dad was trying to arrange a future boat trip for us with some of the Tamil speaking fishermen, she found herself in the middle of buying several saris, four large carved shells, and a model boat from some beach vendors who did not speak very much English before I could get Steve's attention and have him intervene. Resulting lesson? When someone offers you something, they are probably trying to sell it to you, so just say, "Talk to my dad"!

During our time in Colombo on day four (today), we found ourselves surrounded by tuk tuk drivers on several occasions. It wasn't until we got back to Negombo that I figured out what was going on - every time Elanor saw one waving, she waved back, so she was hailing every tuk tuk we passed. Resulting lesson? Just shake your hand from side to side and say 'No thanks' or 'Shopping now'.

But the worst episode happened at a restaurant bathroom.

Bathrooms are different here in Asia. Back home, there's the tub or shower, the sink and the toilet, maybe a urinal if you are in a men's room. You sit down, do your business, use toilet paper to wipe yourself, wash your hands, and leave.

In larger centres here that attract a lot of tourists, it can often be the same. Our hotel, for example, has a Western three piece bathroom.

It also has a spray nozzle attached to the wall, like a miniature shower head.

Just like in France, where the use of bidets are common, Asian countries use water to clean oneself after going potty. In larger areas, toilet paper is often provided as well. But in more rural or poorer areas? There is no paper. Just a spray nozzle. Or a bucket of water and a dipper.

We had explained this to Elanor. Steve had explained how people go to the 'water closet' here. I had asked her if she understood. "Ye-e-e-esss," was the reply. But when faced with the reality of an outdoor toilet in a small room in the backyard of a restaurant in Chilaw, it was a different story altogether.

After the long bus ride to see the temple yesterday, the time spent at the temple, and the bird watching...it was time for everyone to go. Steve went first to check it out and give us the 'WC situation report' and came back with thumbs up - there was, indeed, a Western toilet. Elanor and I went to the backyard of the restaurant, where she went first while I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Are you okay in there?" I called.

"Uh...yeah," came the reply.

And I waited some more.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Uh...no," was the answer.

Then the door opened, and out came Elanor, soaking wet from the waist down, red-faced, and almost in tears.

"What happened?" I exclaimed.

"There was no toilet paper so I was trying to clean myself!" she responded. I sent her into the restaurant, and entered the little room myself.

There was water everywhere. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E.

We finished our lunch and headed back to Negombo. When we got back to the hotel and while her dad was napping, I took her into the bathroom, had her sit on the toilet while wearing her clothes and pretend she was doing her business, and then demonstrated exactly how one uses water when there is no toilet paper.

"Ohhhh!" she said. "I thought you had to do it standing up!" I reiterated that no, you spray while you are sitting down and showed her again.

"But how do you not get your pants wet?" she asked.

"Well, you aim into the toilet before turning it on."

"Ohhhhhh. Well that explains how I got water all over the place."

"You turned it on before you were aiming?"

"Yeah, and the water went all over the floor and the walls and the ceiling. And my pants."

If you are Jewish, now would be an appropriate time to say "Oy vey".

Resulting lesson? Elanor says, "If you are going to take your kids to Asia, make sure you show them how to use the bathroom before you go!" And I say, "Carry toilet paper with you. And have your kids carry toilet paper, too."

But, it could have been worse.... At least it wasn't a squat toilet.

2015 February 16: The Long Road to Chilaw

Map courtesy Google Maps.

The Negombo Bus Station. The clamour of drivers hawking the virtues of their particular routes. No orderly lines and ticket counters here - in fact, there are no lines or ticket counters period. We study the rows of brightly coloured buses in all shapes and sizes, find one that is going to Chilaw, and board. There are no timetables or schedules - when the bus is full, it leaves. No matter...all day long another is waiting to take its place. The assistant passes by, asking for end locations and accepting payments....three people traveling 51 kilometres (31 miles) is just 177 rupees ($1.38 US). As people disembark en route, the driver's assistant loudly calls 'ilaw ilaw ilaw ilaw' (short for Chilaw) to the passing throngs of people, trying to refill the bus and maximize his profits on this trip.

The road is lined with street vendors of all sorts, everything one could imagine available as we pass by....pastries, candy, fruit, shots of liquor, t-shirts, dresses, shoes, kitchen strainers, vegetables, water, pets, farm animals....

Nainamadama....a town filled with tiles factories, with their hot kilns and mounds of clay ready to be made into roofing tiles and bricks.

We pass the Coconut Research Institute, a very important and prestigious government department, with its acres and acres of coconut plantations, many of them doubling as cow pastures as they attempt to maximize the use of the land.

Cathedrals, Catholic schools, shrines, white robed nuns, uniformed school children line the entire length of this Catholic corridor, and everywhere, everywhere are leftover signs welcoming the Holy Father, Pope Francis, who visited Sri Lanka in January of this year. With 1.2 million Catholics in the country, this made worldwide news, as did the mass that was celebrated in Colombo, the capital city, with some estimates of over one million attendees.

Marawila....waiting for more riders, the intoxicating fragrance of row upon row of bakeshops fills the senses, a sharp contrast to the sweetly acrid and smoky air in Nainamadama.

To our right....ancient tanks or wevas (reservoirs), constructed up to 1700 years ago, filled with waterfowl, yellow lilies, pink lotus flowers - part of an irrigation system envisioned by King Parakrama Bahu the Great (1153-1186), who declared "Let not even a drop of rain water go to the sea without benefiting man."

To our left....mile upon mile of rice paddies and marshes, resplendent with myriad types of fowl, including three kinds of egret surrounding the cows peacefully grazing.

Madampe....vast coconut plantations, canals filled with pampas grass, fences lined with sweet smelling jasmine, Hindu temples, Buddhist stupa, shrines to the Horse God, the Roman Catholic Church of San Sebastian, a mosque complete with Ladies Prayer Room and women's clothing store pass quietly by.

Sewer construction causes a small traffic jam as motorists and pedestrians of all sorts attempt to get through. No careful city planning and pipe placement here...to build one's sewer line simply dig a trench from one's house to the sidewalk, line it with concrete blocks, lift the concrete pavers covering the sewer ditch and hope it slopes properly. Then, replace the concrete paver to turn the ditch into a sidewalk again. Block traffic while doing so.

The Madampe Bus Station....just a widened part of the road at a vacant lot where people gather to wait for their bus. We wait for more passengers. In a nearby storefront I spy women's blouses for 350 rupees ($2.74), men's dress shirts for 295 rupees ($2.30), complete children's outfits for 150 rupees ($1.17). A group of white uniformed giggling schoolgirls flee when Steve catches them staring wide-eyed at his huge scary American self. 

Fully loaded once more, we return to the main road, passing vendors lining the fence outside a brightly painted blue Hindu temple surrounded by coconut groves.

Kakkapalliya....40 kilometres (24.5 miles) into our journey. An odd building that looks like a viking boat complete with Chinese dragon head and a door where the mouth should be gives us pause...it's called the Bum Boat. Mynas, egrets, and cormorants line the canal.

Chilaw at last. The driver's assistant finds a bus for us to a well known Hindu temple in Musseswaram, found in the Tamil Region. We are one day early for for the Shiva festival Sivarathri, but it cannot be helped - we have to be in Colombo tomorrow. We buy fruit for an offering - it being a Hindu temple we feel this is okay as the money goes towards feeding the poor, the offering is to be eaten by us afterwards, and Hindus believe in the sanctity of all religions and all gods/Gods. Our guide is delighted to hear Steve speaking Tamil, gives us a personal tour, explains the ceremony and the temple's shrines to us.

The many faces of Shiva, "Great God".

Sariswati, the Hindu goddess of knowledge, wisdom, arts, music       and learning.

Our guide.

Afterwards Steve quickly makes friends with two of the men and a woman at the stand to buy fruit for offerings. As Tamils, they were very impressed that Steve had been to Tamilnadu and many of the shrines found in the parts of India that he has visited.

As our host takes us to meet his friend, a tuktuk driver who can take us back to Chilaw, others call out insults in Sinhala. He quickly chastises them, "They speak Sinhala so you better watch your mouth", with a shake of his head and a dismissive gesture of the hand. His friend agrees to take us back to Chilaw and stops several times along the way so we can do a little bird watching, and when asked, takes us to an eatery that he knows of, Wadiya Restaurant.

A huge flying fox colony.

 Water buffalo and sacred ibises.

Open billed stork.

After a delightful meal of curried dal, beetroot salad, green onion salad, hot okra, rice for the three of us, and spicy fish and devilled prawns for Steve and Elanor (1100 rupees or $8.60, including three litre size bottles of water, and one small bottle of water), the quality of which was no doubt aided by the owners' surprise to hear Steve speaking Sinhalese to him, we head back to the bus station for our return journey.

Past the cows wandering the side streets of Chilaw, past the rural areas just to the south with the numerous Serene Gardens Coconut Plantations, past the rice paddies with their red-wattled lapwings, past Marawila's beautiful rivers and furniture carvers and egrets and bee eaters, past the storefronts and street vendors and beautiful houses and tropical gardens of Katunariya, Wennapuwa, Nainamadama, Waikkala, and Kochchikade....

Back to Negombo.

 Fishermen in the late afternoon.

A murder of crows at breakfast.

Celebrities

Ever wonder what it feels like to be a celebrity? Today, we found out just what that feels like!

The former Negombo chapel where Steve attended - 12 members the first time he went there in 2000.

Fourteen years ago while studying a dialect of Tamil spoken by the Catholic fishermen of Negombo, Steve attended church here with a very small group of people. He came to love them and they loved him back. Many of them are still friends with him these many years later. And so, today, he anxiously returned to church with these never-forgotten friends, with Elanor and me in tow.

The new Negombo chapel, completed in 2010 - currently housing between 500 and 600 members.

And what a reception it was! There were hugs, there were kisses, there were handshakes, there were pats on the back, there were tears, there were smiles, as word spread throughout the building that Bonta had returned and people came running to greet him. He was given a king's welcome by these wonderful people that he holds so dear.

As the wife of their great friend, I was also warmly welcomed and greeted with the traditional pressing of cheeks, enveloping hugs from the women, and hearty handshakes from the men. One of the men very enthusiastically told me, "You deserve many congratulations for being Steve's wife!" And as I sat in my Sunday School class, I could hear a growing murmur that eventually stopped the lesson until it died down again, as pointing fingers and head nods and whispers of "Bonta's wife! Bonta's wife!" announced my presence to everyone in the room. The excited outpouring of mutual esteem between Steve and his old friends and their families and even the people he had never met but who had heard of him from the others was honestly like nothing I have witnessed before.

I attended Sunday School in Sinhalese, with some explanations of the discussions being provided in English. But, one of my talents is being able to understand, even if only in small and simple ways, what others are saying when they speak in other languages, and this experience was no different. Between the anglicized words found in Sinhala, the scripture references, the study guide, and the brief explanations of what others were saying, I had no trouble following the gist of the lesson after just a few minutes, and then helped an older woman visiting Sri Lanka from Finland to follow the gist of the lesson as well. She, by her own admission, does not speak English very well, but between the sections I was pointing out to her in my English language scriptures, the very simple summaries of what the teacher said, and some pantomime, she was also able to follow the lesson. She and her husband came here to meet a girl whose schooling they have sponsored since she was young. This young woman is about to graduate from university in Europe, and they came to celebrate this tremendous accomplishment with her.

Elanor experienced some culture shock as the day passed by. We told her that we were guests in this country, and that as guests, we needed to make sure that we respect the language, culture, and customs of the people here. Part of this includes her attending her Sunday School (Primary) classes in Sinhala, not English. We want her to learn some Sinhalese while we are here. She is a little anxious about that, but I explained to her that we believe she can do it. After all, her step-sister Amber learned Inuktitut when she and I lived among the Inuit for two years in northern Canada, and there is no reason why she can't do the same here in Sri Lanka.

After church we were treated to lunch by one of Steve's closest friends here at a roadside open air restaurant usually frequented by locals found not far from the chapel. Served family style and all-you-can-eat, we feasted on basmati rice, curried manioc, onion pickle, jackfruit mash, thin noodles with carrots, a grilled mackerel-like fish with spiced gravy, barbecue chicken, and tiny dried fish with coconut shreds. Total cost? 1108 Sri Lankan rupees - about $8.65 total for all four of us.

Sri Lanka is, in many respects, a third-world country. There is a lot of garbage everywhere you look. Mangy dogs roam free. Street vendors and small sidewalk boutiques line every available space in some places. We paid less than a dollar for the same adaptor we could have bought at Walmart back home for $12. Our hotel costs about $35 per night. Yesterday our tuktuk driver spent close to an hour taking us to downtown Negombo so we could buy adaptors, fruit, and anti-histamines for Elanor, and it cost us 600 rupees - $4.70. A beggar came into our church today looking for 10 rupees - 7 cents - to buy rice.

But don't let any of the above fool you. These people are generous and kind and good-hearted. They are modest, well-kept, and dress well - skirts and blouses or dresses or traditional attire for the women, dress shirts and slacks or wraps and well-shined shoes for the men. Even the few locals that we have seen wearing our typical Western leisure clothing look nothing like Westerners do in Western clothing - nothing is dirty, frayed, offensive, immodest, baggy. At the beach last night there were throngs and throngs of people of all ages enjoying the sand, the ocean, the beachside Valentine's Day concert / political rally, with nary a bikini in sight. The only immodestly dressed people we saw were two European men wearing speedos, one American woman wearing a one piece swimsuit that would be considered completely modest back home, and two fisherman who stripped to their underwear and dove into the warm waves to clean away the results of their day's labours before they headed home.

And their spirit is unquenchable. We met a woman at church today with the brightest smile, the most loving eyes, the most welcoming words...and yet her story is one that would have broken most people. She was originally from the south of Sri Lanka, but came to Negombo after the 2004 tsunami as a refugee. For three months she looked for her youngest son, who had been washed out to sea by those terrible waves. For three months this mother never gave up hope. And when she finally began to despair of ever seeing her son again, she found some church members here in Negombo who told her to keep having faith and helped her to look for him. And, beyond all miracles, she found him. She had been a devout Buddhist her entire life, but became a member of our church after experiencing the love and care and compassion and help of the members here. In her words, "For everyone around the world, tsunamis are terrible problems. But for me, our tsunami was a blessing, a wonderful blessing in my life, because it brought me here, where I could be with these good people." A man whom Steve has known for a long time here grew up as the son of the leader of another church here in Sri Lanka. He had been granted a full scholarship to study medicine at one of the best medical schools in India, but gave it all up to be here with these members.

As I heard life story after life story - all told with cheerful faces with no regrets - it struck me that while we were given the royal treatment, these people were the real celebrities. Celebrities inspire awe and humility in us, a desire to want what they have and to be like them. If I can learn to be half as joyful, half as hopeful, half as optimistic as these good people, I will consider myself to be very blessed indeed.

**********************************************

A few more sights from today....

No idea what kind of tree this flower grows on, but each flower lasts for only one day before it falls to the ground with a loud whump that is audible from our balcony three stories above!

  Yellow billed babbler

Cattle egrets

Have Visa, Will Travel

On Wednesday my husband and I went to Washington DC to get our Visas at the Sri Lankan Embassy. We were told that it could be done in an hour, but we didn't really know if that was true.

As we walked down a quiet street lined with embassies and former embassies, it began to sink in that this adventure of ours is not, indeed, a dream. And then we saw it, the saffron, green and maroon of the Lion Flag of Sri Lanka. We walked through the small but well-tended garden passing beautiful reproductions of ancient Sri Lankan statuary, approached the door to the passport and visa office, down a short flight of steps....

And the door was locked.

So, we went back up the stairs, past the beautiful statuary, up another flight of stairs, into a portico, and through the main Embassy entrance, where we were met by the Liaison officer, a young bright-eyed graduate or intern. She came with us back to the door, but also could not open it. Newly appointed to her position, she tried every little doorbell and knocker she could find, and eventually hit the right one. Turns out the door wasn't locked, just stuck! The gentleman who came to our rescue gave a huge smile when Steve spoke to him in Sinhala, one of the two official languages of Sri Lanka.

The liaison was surprised to hear that Steve spoke both official languages - Sinhala and Tamil, and after a brief discussion about the merits of various universities where one could learn them and Steve's Fulbright project, we were invited to attend the Ambassador's Independence Day Party on February 4th. This national celebration commemorates the political independence of Sri Lanka from the British in 1948. There are flag-hoisting ceremonies, dances, parades, performances, a presidential speech, tributes to national heroes, a two-minute period of silence, a show of military might, and religious observances, all designed to promote ideas such as commitment, bravery, confidence, dedication, national unity, patriotism, nationalism, peace, national responsibility and awareness of national history in the minds of people. Unfortunately, we were unable to accept the invitation, but were invited to meet with the Ambassador when we return to give him a report on our trip and Steve's research.

Everyone who passed us expressed happiness and surprise that Steve could speak the language. The woman at the desk told him that his Sinhalese was very good, and promised us that she would have the visas ready in an hour. We were invited to have some Sri Lankan tea (Our answer was " මම තේ බොන්නේ නෑ", roughly pronounced Tay bon ee nay, or "I don't drink tea") and to wait in the sitting area if we liked. After looking at the many wonderful pieces of art in the small but cozy lobby, we sat on the traditional cane furniture. Steve read a Sri Lankan newspaper, in which there was a full-page spread on the use of the English word 'need'. This was lesson 48 in the series, so it was readily apparent that many Sri Lankans are interested in learning English. I read a pamphlet that discussed the seven senses found in Sri Lankan culture - the five that we use (sight, sound, taste, touch, scent) and two others (feel, balance). Feel is concerned with the relation between form and function; balance concerns the wellness of the soul.

After a few moments, the person at the desk came out, and informed us that she did not realize that I was a Canadian, and returned a portion of my Visa fee. I looked at Steve, smiled, and said, "See? It pays to be Canadian!" Since both Sri Lanka and Canada are members of the Commonwealth, we do not pay as much as Americans for the visa.

As we waited, Steve continued to speak Sinhalese to anyone who passed by, including a woman who told him about a Sri Lankan restaurant nearby. A scant thirty-five minutes later our Visas were ready, with an added surprise - the Ambassador had decided to grant them gratis (no charge) because Steve was a Fulbright recipient.

We left to do some other errands, and then later that evening went to the Banana Leaf Restaurant for my first experience with authentic Sri Lankan food. What a feast! We began with Masala Vadai (lentil patties with Sri Lankan spices), Spring Rolls (potato, green onions, and spices covered in a crispy batter), and Vegetable Cutlets (reminiscent of a samosa, but without the wheat wrap on the outside), served with hot sauce and mint chutney. I usually do not care for mint chutney, but this was far and above the best I have eaten. Nor do I usually eat spicy food, but I decided go for the hot sauce anyway, and to my surprise, found that it was delicious and did not upset my stomach at all. But it was HOT! One tiny drop touched the soft palette at the back of my mouth, and instantly the blocked sinuses and ear canals that I have been struggling with for nigh on two months cleared. I could hear again!

Next we had String Hoppers, "a famous Sri Lankan dish made with spaghetti like strings steamed on small cane trays accompanied with kiri hodi (coconut and onion gravy) and coconut sambol." I could have eaten these all day! The coconut gravy was so good that I actually used a spoon to eat the remainder like a soup.

This was followed by Coconut Roti (a sort of unleavened bread made of wheat and coconut flour and served with an onion relish). The piece de resistance was the Vegetable Lampris, a neat little package packed full of goodness: "A special dish created by Dutch who lived in Sri Lanka 600 years ago and it has been remaining since now and became a very special festival meal. Specially cooked saffron rice.... Accompanied with cashew curry, eggplant moju, seeni sambol, ash plantains, boiled egg.... Wrapped in a Banana Leaf and baked."

And what sort of celebratory dinner would it be without dessert? This was another dish I could have eaten all day - Watalappam, a rich pudding made from coconut milk, jaggery, cashews, eggs, spices that was originally from Malaysia.

Just like the door, where we tried and tried and were finally greeted by a nice surprise, our dinner was also a nice surprise for me. I cannot wait to sample more Sri Lankan food, and perhaps learn to make some of the dishes myself.

Have visa, will travel...will eat!