These photos were taken around Dehiwala and Mt. Lavinia, two smaller cities connected to the capital city of Colombo where I stayed along the beach for about one week. Sadly, I have absolutely no photos to show from my breath-taking experience in Nuwara Eliya, the tropical, mountainous heartland of the island which I described briefly in a previous post. Enjoy!
Local fishing on a rock off of Mt. Lavinia beach. I often soaked in this view, especially during sunsets and when the boats were out at night, like little floating lights on the black horizon.
Fishing boats along the Dehiwala and Mt. Lavinia shores outside of Colombo, the national capital. Many of the poorer residents in this area live in huts along the beach, tending to their boats, nets, and children as assuredly as the waves lap the shores.
Mt. Lavinia Hotel, a royal vestige from the British occupation. This hotel is one of the nicest in the whole country, and was decked out for the Christmas holidays just as I was leaving. With my Sri Lankan cohorts, I ventured poolside to get a glimpse of the luxury afforded to foreign tourists, only to feel completely out of place while sipping our outrageously overpriced beers. I received the most flattering comment when my Sri Lankan friend Daniel told me: "Don't worry Holly, you are more like us Sri Lankans than the tourists." Hooray! I AM in with the locals!
Green!
Straddled between the railroad and the endless stretch of beach are the poor fisherman families, whose eardrums oscillate between the lulling sounds of the Indian Ocean and the harsh mechanics of the train. These peoples' homes were destroyed by the tsunami in 2004, and have been rebuilt using the remnants of that natural disaster and other found objects, since the government has offered little to no assistance. Again, the poorest people I encountered were always the ones most willing to share their homes, their tea, and their meals with me: the truest and highest honor I could imagine.
At the mere mention of wanting fresh coconut water to drink, I witnessed the father of this family climb to the top of their tree and cut me loose a green fruit. He then used his machete to slice open a small opening in the coconut where I drank from, and later carved out a spoon so I could scrape the insides for the young, sweet meat. Such resourcefulness!
Clearly, or not so clearly, you can see that this photo was taken after I dropped and successfully broke my camera. As was commonplace amongst Susa's friends, we were graciously invited to eat dinner with "dancing" Ranga and his wife, who dressed me in one of her saris between giggles and atop tippy toes before the meal. Pictured above is Susa and me in their family room--but what you don't see is the extended family gathered around the doorway, unsure of what to make of the giant white woman in their native wares.
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