Ten days in Sri Lanka felt like a dream. I floated in from India and drifted gradually up into the mountains. Nothing travels too fast here, least of all the traffic. In Madulkelle, a village high in the hills of the countries interior, cool wisps of cloud crept through the surrounding tea plantations. There was a sense of deep, forgiving calm shaken only by the occasional shower of rain: loose and without ambition as if the weather had been a mere afterthought on the days agenda.
At night, a different story: Thunderstorms to humble Zeus himself would tumble overhead, occasionally reaching out to fork at the ground. Rooftops provided little comfort in what was a staggering demonstration of the weather system’s grip on the world.
An expensive alternative to India, it was a 5-star departure from what I had become accustomed to. After a month in Indian hostels it’s funny what you begin to appreciate from accommodation: there’s toilet paper, hot water — holy shit they even provide towels! Naturally, it was over too soon and, despite having had a delightful visit, the brevity of it left me fearing I hadn’t really gotten a handle on how things are done in Sri Lanka. Upon returning to India, I swear to god I let out a sigh of relief: this was a place I knew my way around. How things do change.