Cape Tribulation

Posted on January 19, 2014 by hilarylust

The rains stopped just long enough for a stroll along Cape Trib beach. The beach was gorgeous, and being stinger season, it was completely deserted as well. Cape tribulation is the only place in Australia where the jungle meets the ocean. Here, the Daintree Rainforest spills out into the sand and right into the sea, making for some pretty spectacular scenery.
I walked up and down the beach for close to an hour, taking photos and walking in the surf. Unfortunately, the skies soon opened up again and it was time to go home.
The lodge I was staying in was just feet from the beach in the middle of the jungle. The place was fairly empty… Except for the spiders.
Every 10 feet along the path I ran into another spider on steroids. Massive orb spiders the size of my face hung in webs along the side of the little road to my room. Great. The one bug that I have a huge issue with. Why would I choose Australia as my travel destination when I hate spiders?!
After hearing close to 100 tales of killer spiders from George on my way to Cape Trib, I was slightly unnerved when I was left alone in the jungle with all sorts of crazy insects.
I had a room to myself, with my own bathroom, and was ridiculously over cautious about bugs for the first few hours. I turned on the light of the bathroom and stood carefully at the doorway, peeking in. I looked up at the ceiling, behind the door, under the toilet seat, in the shower curtain. I felt like a ninja sweeping my way across the bathroom looking for tiny enemies. In the end, I deemed the place safe… Until I found the hundreds of tiny ants crawling all over the toilet paper roll. C’est la vie, time to head to the bar.
I spent the evening in the only communal place in the lodge: the restaurant/bar. Food prices were outrageous, with the cheapest meal going for about $25. I was glad I brought some makeshift sandwiches from Coles. So instead of eating I had a beer, read my book and watched the torrential downpour of rain. Monsoon season… Shoulda known.
Still being ridiculously jet lagged,
I was impressed that I made it to 9:00 before finally heading to bed. Of course, not before ninja-ing around my room for bugs first.
The next morning was more of the same. Rain. Rain. Rain. So much rain I couldn’t believe there was still water in the sky. I had planned on going hiking, but the forecast said otherwise, so I had a much needed lazy morning before my bus at 1:00.
Peter came and picked me up at 1:00 and took me and 10 others on a tour back to Cairns. Peter was just
As ridiculous as my previous two guides and had even more jokes to tell along the way.
We stopped off for some homemade ice cream at this local shop in the middle of nowhere. Every day they make their own ice cream from fruits grown in the area. Each day there are four flavours and you must get a bowl with all four types. Sounds like an excellent plan to me!
The four flavours of the day were passion fruit, jackfruit, soursop and wattle seed. All of them were incredible! I had tried jackfruit in Zanzibar and loved it! A sort of mix between a banana and a pineapple, it was one of the stranger fruits I have ever tried. But soursop and wattle seed were new to me! The soursop tasted like a lemony sherbet, and the wattle seed tasted exactly like coffee! Go figure!
From the ice cream shop we carried on to Mossman Gorge.
Despite the rains, Mossman was gorgeous! With a huge, raging river winding it’s way through lush green jungle, it was a great spot for photos. But the skies opened up again and so we cut our trip short and headed back to the van.
On our final leg to Cairns we drove through the town of Port Douglas. Otherwise known as the gateway to the reef for the filthy rich. This is the place where celebrities and politicians and the rich and famous come when they want to see the Barrier Reef. Peter said it was a rare day if you didn’t see a celebrity walking down the main drag of Port. We drove up and down, trying to celebrity spot, but the rains apparently kept all the famous people away.
If you had the money however, Port Douglas would be THE place to be. It’s beautiful and well kept and clearly a favorite destination for weddings. Having said that, the place is outrageously overpriced. Peter had said that a friend of his was told to leave and shop at Walmart next time because she ONLY spent $400 on a pair of sandals! He had thought it was much more acceptable to spend $2000… Pocket change, really.
After Port we finally made it back to Cairns. A long day on the road in the pouring rain! I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow as I climbed into bed…

Into the Daintree

Posted on January 12, 2014 by hilarylust

Apart from being dreadfully long, my flight to Australia was disaster free! My first 13 hour leg I sat next to a girl named Jennifer. The two of us probably chatted for close to 10 of the 13 hours of the flight (as only girls can do) and the time passed by like the blink of an eye!
Then followed a layover in the boring Shanghai airport. There I tried to guess the conversion of Yen to dollars by looking at the items on the menu. I quickly realized that I didn’t even know what half the items were… Such as a “hot stone bibimbap with bulgogi”. For 48 yen I had no idea what I would be getting…
After a quick bite, I met Spandy Andy. An apparently famous young guy, dressed in a tight spandex onesie with purple, pink and blue smiley faced polka dots all over it. He had a fanny pack strapped to his waist with speakers in it, blaring 80s beach tunes and dancing the running man. He let out frequent fist pumps along with a lot of “wooooos!” and “See ya at the beach yaaaa!” He was hilarious. Apparently his mission is to spread cheer and happiness through spandex outfits… And to start a petition for smiling photos in Passports.
You just never know who you’re going to meet on a plane.
Another 10 hour flight and I arrived in Sydney for my second layover. Here I had my first Aussie beer and chatted with a girl from Canberra until my flight to Cairns was ready to go.
When I finally arrived at my hostel in Cairns I was like a cast member from the Walking Dead. I’d been up for 2 days and gone through pretty much every time zone Earth has to offer.
To put it even more into perspective, I shaved my legs before leaving for the airport in Van. When I arrived, I had to again…
Yet somehow I managed to keep myself awake long enough to go for an evening stroll through Cairns. I walked the Esplanade, checked out the Lagoon, and listened to the horrific and piercing screams of thousands of fruit bats in the town’s trees. I had made it!
With only 5 days in Cairns, I wasted no time and booked a trip up the coast to Cape Tribulation for 6:45 the first morning. The early start was nothing to me, as my body still couldn’t make out what time it was.
Our driver was George. A smiling and charismatic little old aboriginal man. He had endless jokes, loads of facts, knew everything there was to know about the flora and fauna of the area… And he was fascinated with telling tales of misfortune and death. For the next 7 hours, every one of George’s stories ended in disaster.
“This is where the young hippies come to hang out and drink beer!” He would say, “til that one girl fell off a cliff and killed herself! Just one day before going back to England, can you believe it?”
“We used to kill all the crocs in this area… As a kid it was rare to see them unless they were skinned and dead on some guys front lawn! … Now there’s a ban on killing the crocs, so they’re everywhere! And now the crocs take the little children that stray too close to the river!”
George also has a strange vendetta against Turkey’s…
“Sure, you can feed this stuff to turkey’s to plumpen them up! Then KILL the turkey and eat ’em for yourself!” He would laugh to himself.
“See those birds over there? They mate for life. When one of them dies, the other dies of heartbreak… They are the most romantic bird. Unlike those damn turkeys! They’re players, they like to play the field! No monogamy there! Those turkeys…” He would mutter.
All in all, George was full of entertainment! He took us to beautiful lookout spots, then for a hike through the Daintree itself.
We stopped partway through the day to take a riverboat down the Daintree River. Our new guide’s fervor and enthusiasm for all the creatures in the area reminded me of Steve Erwin.
“LOOK! A CROC!!” He would yell, jumping barefoot across the boat to get a closer look. “Look at ‘er, she’s about 5 meters! What a beauty!”
A little further along one of the river’s tributaries we heard a little screeching coming from the mangroves.
“There’s a baby bat in here” explained our guide. “She’s been here for a coupla days now and hasn’t eaten. Poor thing must be starving, but I can’t find her!”
A few of us stared into the thick bushes towards the screams coming from within. A couple minutes later one guy saw her.
“There she is! Just about a foot above the water on that branch there.”
“RIGHT!” Yelled our guide. He jumped back to the controls of the boat and steered the vessel right into the thicket of the trees. We crashed into the mangroves, bushes coming in over the sides of the boat.
“I’ll get ‘er!!” Yelled our guide as he stepped off the boat, half supported by branches, half in the muddy waters, just meters from where we’d seen the 15 foot croc moments earlier.
Is he getting the bat? I thought.
Then I heard some squeals, some branches breaking and some wing flapping and my suspicions were confirmed.
“GOT ‘ER!” He exclaimed, holding a flailing bat above his head.
Amanda from my tour turned to me, “Did that just happen?”
“I think so”
He wrapped the baby bat in a red towel and thrust it in the hands of the man in front of him.
“Here. Cuddle her. But careful, she’s probably gunna want a nipple to suck on!” He cackled a laugh as the poor guy on front of him cautiously cradled the starving animal.
We continued on our tour, as if nothing strange had happened. The bat was fed bananas and finally calmed down. From there, she will be taken to a sanctuary where other bats will reintroduce her into the wild… Just another day in the Daintree.
After lunch, it was time to drop me off at Cape Trib. Just as we neared the turnoff to the beach, we spotted something big and blue on the side of the road: a wild Cassowary.
I heard Cassowaries were extremely rare to see in the wild. The lady at my hostel said she’d been living there for a year and hadn’t seen one. I was ecstatic. After looking up Cassowary Attacks on you tube for close to an hour with Ian last week, I made it my personal mission to find one while I was up in Cape Trib. Sometimes considered the most dangerous bird, the cassowary looks part Emu, part Turkey, with the top half coloring of a peacock. And they are deadly vicious! Fortunately for us, this one seemed subdued. We snapped some shots from safety and carried on to the beach.
From here I left George and the group and carried on alone. A successful and exciting first day in Australia… And it was only 2:00!

A New Adventure

Posted on January 11, 2014 by hilarylust

For those of you that sent me concerned emails about whether or not I died in India, or asking about Kelsi’s well-being, thank you. Once I met up with Myles, my daily routine changed drastically. Whatever Internet I found, I used to contact Kelsi instead of writing travel updates. In the end, I utterly failed and the stories are too far gone to remember in detail now.
To sum up, it took 2 weeks before Kelsi sat on the floor of the Sri Lankan embassy, refusing to leave until her visa got approved. When it did, she flew back to India to meet Myles and I in Kollam after our tour of the backwaters.
She got off a tuk tuk at the docks to a man running towards her “Same face! Same face! Same face!” He yelled to her. “Come, I will bring you to your friends!” And he dragged a confused Kelsi to an empty dock to wait.
We had told a man two days earlier that we were waiting for a friend. “She looks like me” I said to him in passing. He held on to that idea and watched out for a girl with the “same face” as me all morning. What a guy!
From Kollam the three of us worked our way North. Gokarna, Palolem, Anjuna, all through Goa and eventually on to Mumbai. We missed half of what we wanted to, but had a great time! We spent most of our time on the coast, and managed to catch the Thrissur Pooram festival as well! (With similar experiences as Holi Festival, we came to the conclusion that festivals in India just aren’t made for blonde white girls).
Overall, our second month was a lot more positive than our first. Maybe it was our mindset, maybe it was the fact we had Myles with us, or maybe we just stopped caring about the stares. But by the time I left Mumbai I had a much more positive outlook on the country than my previous posts may suggest.
It was a teary goodbye for Kelsi and I in Mumbai.
“I’ll see you when the first one of us gets married” said Kels.
We both laughed sadly, knowing that would be eons away.
“Deal” I said.
And we went our separate ways.
Coming home from India was the biggest culture shock for me. I find I never really get culture shock GOING to places, but instead realize the changes when I get home.
My first day back I went for a walk with Adrienne after a stop at the vet with Cola. The vet had explained so sweetly how she cleaned Cola’s ears on top of the checkup just because. In my mind I was angry. “Great, how much is she ripping us off for that? Now she’s going to expect a big tip from us! Sorry lady, you did that on your own accord, I’m not paying you!” I was skeptical around everyone…
Later I couldn’t remember how to cross a street at a cross walk.
“What are you doing?” Adrienne asked as I stood anxiously on the sidewalk, looking every direction before darting across the road “It’s a crosswalk!”
It had been 5 months since I’d seen a crosswalk. The idea was so foreign to me.
Those were just two of a million little things I had to adjust to while I was back. 7 months later I still avoid crowds and I jump a little when someone I don’t know points a camera phone at me.
3 months after being home I got itchy feet again. Decide what I want to do in life? Or avoid Canadian winters and head south. The question is almost ridiculous.
So two days ago I hopped on a 37-hour journey to Australia. I am now sitting in the Daintree Rainforest in Cape Tribulation, hiding under a tarp from the torrential rain that has been bucketing for nearly 12 straight hours. Looks like I left the rain for more rain… At least it’s warm!
And thus begins my new adventure…

Kovalam and Kunakumari

Posted on June 12, 2013 by hilarylust

Lighthouse beach in Kovalam seems to have two sides: a local beach and a tourist beach. The two are not distinctly defined, and you can find a mix of everyone at both spots, but the tourist beach is patrolled by tourist lifeguards… And they make for some incredible people watching!
I doubt any one of the tourist lifeguards could actually save a life. They are dressed in full clothes, sometimes even jeans, and most look as though they are beached whales themselves. If you find yourself drowning at Lighthouse Beach then you better hope one of the many talented (or untalented) surfers pick you up on their next wave in, because these lifeguards are probably useless in that department. These lifeguards are paid to whistle. They blow their whistle to push along any creepy locals who stray too close to a scantily clad female tourist. They blow the whistle if a pack of young local men stare too long at the bathing beauties sunning themselves in the sand. And they blow these whistles ALL. THE. TIME.
Myles and my favorite pass time was sitting in one of the many restaurants of Kovalam with a pot of coffee and our morning breakfast and watching the debacle of whistle-touting lifeguards all afternoon. We watched as a group of boys snuck towards a couple unsuspecting women to try to chat with them. Then the whistle! We made bets on how close a guy could get before getting caught. Then the whistle! And we laughed every time a wave crashed into a guy, accidentally pushing him towards a tourist. Then the whistle! Even innocent mistakes were cause for whistle blowing. The sounds began long before we woke up, and continued until the sun set behind the smog and the beach lay deserted. It was hilarious.
Kovalam beach was an amazing escape from the dusty, overcrowded streets of landlocked India. The beach was stunning, the vibe more relaxed, and the people more friendly. We had heard that Kerala was a different world and the rumors didn’t disappoint!
Myles and I moved into a slow routine right away. Long breakfasts with lots of coffee then an afternoon beach activity. A stroll into the local parts of town for the cheapest lunch we could find, then a late dinner with luke warm beers and games of rummy well into the night. We had no word from Kelsi about when she could return.
“All I want to see is the backwaters!” She said to me in an email a day earlier. “Other than that, you guys see whatever you’d like!”
The backwaters were just a couple hours North of Kovalam, so we waited and relaxed and for the first time in 3 months, took it slow.
One day we decided to go on an adventure to Kunakumari, the Southernmost tip of India, where you can see three seas converge! We had no guidebook, 5 dollars in our pockets, and could only occasionally remember the name “Kunakumari”. (Very well prepared, yes I know).
The two cities are not that far apart. Probably no more than 60km or so. An hour and a half each way and we’d be back for dinner! Or so we thought…
Unfortunately, even though there is a direct bus from Kovalam to Kunakumari, there is not a direct ROUTE. Our bus ended up backtracking to Trivandrum and then stopping in every tiny village between there and the southern tip. The trip took 4.5 hours. Each way. Kill me now.
What was supposed to be a three hour round trip turned out to be 9 straight hours of bussing! Luckily, we DID get to see the three oceans converge. And do you know what three oceans all converging at one focal point looks like?
Well I’ll tell you.
It looks like ONE ocean! It looks like any other ocean or sea or large body of water that I’ve ever seen. Yes, okay, it’s neat to be able to say that I saw the meeting point of the Indian seas, but it may not have been worth 9 hours of public transport.
What was worth it, was our local lunch stop that afternoon. We stopped in at a hole-in-the-wall Thali joint that was packed with locals. The owner must have thought we were lost when we sat down.
“Only thali!” He announced to us.
“We will have two please” we said back, much to his astonishment.
Thali’s are a delicious way to eat in India. They are served at most restaurants, from the grubbiest dive to the classiest joint, thali’s can differ in a million ways. But essentially they are all the same. It’s an all you can eat meal, with a base of rice, that comes with sauces. Sometimes there are curries or naan bread, desserts, aloo gobi, paneer masala, butter chicken and all sorts of wonderful cuisine. Other times there is a huge helping of rice with three sauces that could be anything. At this place it was red, yellow and green. The green dish had an okra base, and the okra was so tough you couldn’t chew through it. The rest we just guessed on; but any guess was as good as ours! The place had no napkins and no utensils. Perfect! (And I don’t mean that sarcastically for once).
We had been looking for a place to eat with our hands for a while. This was the first place that didn’t have some sort of food that could also be used as a scoop. It was just rice and sauce. A truly authentic hand eating experience!
Turns out, eating rice with your hands is more difficult than I had anticipated. It really takes skill! We tried a number of techniques: holding the rice if your hand like a bowl and hoovering it out. Taking the rice in your fingers and using a shoveling effect. Or pinching the rice and dropping it into your upturned head like a crane. I preferred the crane: Myles the shovel. We still both looked like idiots. C’est la vie!
When Kunakumari was all said and done we decided against day trips out of the city. When 60 kilometers turns into nearly 5 hours, it’s difficult to find places to visit nearby. So instead we learned to surf!
Let me just start by saying this. What were we thinking?! Or maybe more appropriately, what was I thinking?! We started out in the morning trying to find boards. We wanted ones as long as possible, for better balance. This was a problem right at the start. Nearly all the boards were short. Great.
When we’d finally found some longer ones at a decent price, it was mid afternoon. This meant big waves. Who the Hell learns to surf in 6-8 foot waves?! Myles and I do! That’s who.
We got out to beyond the breakers fairly fast. (Retrospectively I’m amazed by this). I could hardly even sit on my board without falling off, but a young local guy and his girlfriend gave us some pointers. Our first wave in was a fail. Obviously. As were the next couple. Although Myles was getting much closer. After that, it was 20 minutes of being beaten and thrown around by waves much bigger than us. We got spun around and knocked in the head by our boards. We came up spewing salty brine from our noses and mouths and trying to wipe the stinging from our already reddened eyes.
At one point, closer to shore I looked back to see Myles finally catch a wave! The thing was massive. I don’t even think he realized its size. He was paddling hard towards the shore as the wave lifted him. The wave loomed large and dark and blue behind him. He had a massive grin on his face as he started to push himself up.
“Oh my god,” I thought “he’s going to do it!”
Then, right as I thought, that the wave came crashing down on top of him. His expression turned to a muddled shock and fear as his face disappeared into the wave. Then I saw feet. Then head. Then feet. Then board. Then wave. Then nothing. Then feet again. And finally Myles came up spurting water again.
I couldn’t stop laughing. We decided to take a break. I thought we’d been out on the water for hours. It had been twenty minutes. We contemplated going out for a round two, but the waves just kept getting bigger. So we went for a beer. We’re much better at drinking beer. Maybe next time we should stick to what we’re good at.
Surfing: 1
Myles and Hilary: 0
You win this round Kovalam!

3 Packs, 3 Buses, and 1 Hell of a Day

Posted on May 12, 2013 by hilarylust

I looked like a crazy person as I walked out of the hotel. I could hardly see over top of Kelsi’s bag that I had strapped to my front. My own bag was balancing me out on my back: my little legs looked like they were about to snap under all the weight. I hobbled sideways down the three stairs to the street level. I hadn’t fallen thus far, which meant I was doing much better than I had visualized while I was strapping myself in!
A Tuk Tuk drove by just as I stumbled into the street.
“Hello Tuk Tuk?”
“Yes, to the bus station please”
He didn’t even rip me off that much. He probably looked at me and thought I was in enough trouble.
“You have a lot of bags!” He yelled back to me while we were en route.
“I needed one for my shoes.” I yelled back.
He looked confused. To this day he probably thinks I’m one of those crazy backpackers that carries 19 pairs of heels and a hair straightener with me.
No big deal. If I have it my way I’ll never be back to Madurai again.
I looked even crazier at the bus station as I put all my packs back on. Not only did I have to walk partially sideways so that I could see, I was also giggling to myself at how ridiculous I must look to everyone.
“I need a bus to Nagarcovil” I said as I reached the bus official’s stand
“Where are you going?” He asked
“To Trivandrum.”
“You can catch this bus to Tirunivelli and catch a transferring bus to Trivandrum” said the bus attendant from a neighboring bus.
“I’d rather not. Buses for Trivandrum from Tirunivelli only leave every three hours, I’d never catch the connecting bus. Plus it’s not a By Pass Rider, so it’ll take twice as long.”
The attendant turned to the officer behind the desk, shocked that I had any opinion on the matter.
“She’s right. Nagarcovil is the best”
I am SO glad I had the full spiel from Muthu the waiter the night before.
“This is the best route. Only use a by-pass rider, they take half the time and cost the same amount. They leave every 20 minutes” he had explained.
I might look like an idiot but I sounded like a pro.
“Go ahead and sit down, a by-pass rider to Nagarcovil will be here in five minutes.
And just like that I caught my first bus!
I majorly lucked out and got the only, single seat at the front of the bus. I attached one pack to the side of the seat next to me and the other in front. I threw my feet up on the bag in front and was set to go! Finding space for our luggage on buses has been the most trying task for us in India. It grieves Kelsi and I each time we drag ourselves on to a crowded state bus. Finding this seat was my equivalent of winning the lottery (well, a small lottery).
The first bus was 5 hours. 5-hour bus rides don’t phase me in the slightest. After traveling South America, where we leaped for joy at any journey less than 14 hours, 5 hours was like taking a nap. I can zone out and stare into nothingness for at least 7 hours before getting restless.
To my surprise, the estimated 5 hour time was spot on. I was dropped of in Nagarcovil almost exactly five hours after leaving Madurai.
It took me a while to stumble off the bus, but when I did I smelled something only a Vancouverite knows well: rain. It was that scent that means you have a five or ten minute window before the skies open up and you and your 150 liters worth of luggage get soaked to the bone.
I ran off to find my next bus. And let’s be honest, by ran, I mean I hobbled my way crookedly to the next bus stand.
Turns out the bus was leaving that exact second. What are the chances?! I hopped on just in time to feel the first few drops of rain hit my face. Good thing I’m under the cover of the bus!
But I should have known better; in India, things are never that easy.
It took a total of 30 seconds of torrential downpour to realize the bus wasn’t waterproof. Water leaked in through every crack, every opening, and every seam on the bus. The floor started to flood, and the bags were soaking up the rain water. The poor man in front of me tried desperately to save my things. I hauled my bag onto my lap, and he pulled Kelsi’s towards him. Water was dripping in on our heads and down his back. Everyone desperately shut their windows in an attempt to stay dry; problem was, this made the windshield fog up.
Indian buses are clearly not cut out for rain. The windshield wiper only covers about 1/10th of the windshield. I’m not joking. Just the upper right hand corner where the bus driver looks out gets wiped. Not that it mattered on this bus really, since the single wiper blade had so many holes and bends that it didn’t work at all.
Even as the window fogged, our driver swerved madly through traffic, honking all the while. He was one of those horn-happy Tamil Nadu drivers… My favorite. He incessantly used the horn at the sight of anything! You know a society has a horn problem when they can actually lock in their horn so that it will go off continuously until you unhook it. Our driver would lock in the horn for a solid ten seconds while he used both hands to weave through cars at speeds way too fast for a bus in rain.
When the window fogged the driver turned to me.
“Getting foggy” he smiled at me.
Oh god. How in the world can you see anything at all?!
From the looks of the bus, there was absolutely no chance of a defroster. The dashboard had wires hanging out of it in all directions, all leading somewhere down by the driver’s feet. The driver leaned back and grabbed his 2-litre water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it out the window. He then took the two litres of water and began spraying it in front of him wildly. The water splashed against the windshield, dissipating enough fog for the driver to see. The rest of the water soaked down onto the dashboard and onto the wires.
What about this situation is safe?! This is crazy!
All I could do was laugh.
All of a sudden something on the roof opened up and a huge bucket of water came splashing down onto the man in front of me. It soaked both him and the bag that he was carrying… Kelsi’s bag. Goddammit that girl has the worst luck in the world! Even when she’s not here her bag gets a bucket of water poured right down into it.
I sighed. What can I do!
About 20 minutes of driving through the rain later, we finally came out of the cloud. Abruptly, the water all stopped. The streets were dry, the people on the streets unphased: it was like the water had just come out of nowhere!
Another couple hours and a bus change later I made it to Kovalam. I strapped on my 100 lbs of bags and inched my way down the windy road towards lighthouse beach. About a kilometer later, I’d made it to the edge of town.
“Excuse me, do you know where Ganesh Tattoo is? My hotel is next door to it.” I asked a guy on the side of the road.
“Ganesh tattoo?! Looking for a tattoo? Yeah! I know it, follow me!”
By this point I was dying. The sun was scorching, sweat was dripping down my face and my legs were jelly. I was so excited to just sit down. The guy that was helping me wouldn’t stop talking.
“What country are you from? Where are you coming from? You sure do have a lot of bags! Do you need a hotel for the night? Are you going surfing later?”
I could hardly answer I was so out of breath. You think he’d offer to help me with at least a small bag! Everyone could see I was struggling to stay upright. Finally we came around the corner and into a shop.
“Here you go! My friend does the best tattoos!”
“Is this Ganesh tattoo?” I asked.
“No!” He said “This is a way better tattoo parlor. My friend does the best in Kovalam. Here, look through his stuff”
“I don’t want a tattoo!” I exclaimed “I said my HOTEL is next to Ganesh tattoo!” I was exasperated. The entire time I talked about how I already HAD a hotel, and it was next to Ganesh tattoo… He hadn’t listened to a word I said. Who in their right mind gets off an 8 hour bus ride with two huge packs and before even checking into a room decides “hey, I should get a tattoo RIGHT NOW!”
“I’m sorry,” I explained “I am looking for Ganesh tattoo”
Totally unimpressed, the man sighed.
“That way” he said, as he flicked his hand in the general direction of the parlor.
Thanks. You’re so kind.
It was about a five minute walk further before I stumbled across it. I FOUND IT! A young girl outside knew where the tall Canadian guy was staying and pointed me in the right direction.
As I struggled up the stairs I called Myles’ name. I wasn’t half way up the flight of stairs before he poked his head out the door.
“Oh my god!” He exclaimed, looking at the state of me. He grabbed both the bags and helped me inside.
“Guess what? I’ve got beers!” Said Myles excitedly.
I nearly cried. It was the best news I’d heard all day!
The trip was over, the bags were in one place, I wasn’t stranded alone in Madurai, the sun was shining on the beach, and Myles and I had a cool beer on our patio. India round two is looking up!

Here I Go Again On My Own

Posted on May 4, 2013 by hilarylust

Back in Madurai. Great.
My flight in was fairly uneventful. To sum up: an old lady stole my window seat and my in-flight magazine. Too tired to fight an octogenarian, I sat down in the middle seat and chatted to the man next to me. Turns out he was one of the lovelier people I’ve met in India and he had his personal driver drop me off at the hotel instead of finding a Tuk Tuk on my own in the dark. Win. We spent the whole ride into town chatting about Indian food and the best places to visit up the coast. It was refreshing talking to a genuinely nice man in India.
When I arrived at the hotel the staff were ecstatic to see me. Everyone came out of their rooms to see that I had returned safely.
“But where is your friend?” They asked.
“She’s not coming back for a few days” I said.
This seemed to be a trend in the city. Apparently we had made an impression during our 24 hour stay. Random people stopped me every hundred meters or so in the streets to ask where my sister had gone!
The owner of the hotel wanted to hear all my stories about Sri Lanka, and he checked me in to a cozy single room for myself. He even went as far as to kill MOST of the cockroaches in my room.
He looked embarrassed as I caught him stepping on one.
“Cockroaches?” I asked as he slid his foot casually across the floor after stomping on one.
“Ahh… Errr..” He stammered, trying to come up with something to say.
“Cockroaches don’t bother me!” I smiled as I dragged myself and all the luggage in behind me. I now had a lot of luggage. Kelsi and I both have 75L packs for the trip. Kelsi’s bag alone weighs 20 kilos. Then I had my purse, which was like hauling around bricks with the lonely planet guide inside. What in the world am I going to do with all this? Not knowing the answer, I just went to bed.
The next day I heard from Kelsi.
“Sorry dude, with the holiday here I can’t even get a response on my visa until the 17th at the earliest.”
That was 8 days away. Screw that. I’m sure Madurai is a lovely city, but it was beginning to be my least favorite in India. I’m not sitting here for a week.
Luckily, Myles was on the coast. He was supposed to meet up with us to travel through Kerala for a couple weeks. When we found out about the visa issue he had already booked flights to Trivandrum. He was hanging out in Kovalam waiting for our next move.
“Okay Kelsi, I’m going to Kerala, I’m bringing our bags and we can meet up there.”
There were daily flights from Colombo to Trivandrum, so it shouldn’t be a problem to fly in that port instead.
I felt bad though, Kelsi was NOT having a good time.
“I’ve been to two Embassy’s, I’m paying three times the amount I should on a closet sized room, I’ve made two women cry today, I had to PAY for my deportation flight back, AND I had to pay for another Sri Lankan visa on arrival since mine had expired.” Worst day ever. Luckily, her plan was to head back to Hikkaduwa and wait it out on the touristy beaches. Not the worst place to be deported to…
After a huge fiasco on my end, I finally figured out my plan. The trains were full for the next three days at least, but the waiter at the only hotel with wifi in Madurai was nice enough to help me out.
“You can take three buses to get to Kovalam. But I’m not sure the best route” he said.
He called all of the bus companies for me. Which is the best route? When do they all leave? How long will this all take?
Before I knew it I had an eight hour day ahead of me. Madurai to Nagarcovil, Nagarcovil to Trivandrum, Trivandrum to Kovalam. I had great instructions from Myles on where he was staying in Kovalam: “It’s near to the lighthouse, by Ganesh tattoo… I don’t know the name. Maybe Seabreeze?” Thanks Myles.
The only concern: I had about 100lbs and 150 litres of luggage to carry. Well, it’s that or I hang out in Madurai forever!
I spent the evening in contemplation back at the hotel. I played hide and seek with the mouse-sized cockroach for a while (it won), watched a movie, and finally sat down to think about what the hell I was doing in India.
I was amazed at how much India had changed in the week I was gone. I went from hating the men, hating getting ripped off, and hating the crazy noise and bustle to having a very welcoming return. I had a safe ride in from the airport, a warm welcome from the hotel staff, my waiter went out of his way to help me with buses and I didn’t even mind the honking. Maybe I needed the break, or maybe my outlook on everything had changed, but for some reason I knew this second journey in India was going to be very different!
“And hey, if you get stuck anywhere at all, give me a call” said the waiter “I have a motorbike and I’ll come pick you and your 3 tonnes of luggage up anywhere you get stuck!”
I laughed. Oh god, please don’t let THAT happen!

Signed, Sealed… Deported

Posted on May 3, 2013 by hilarylust

I sat there with my Chennai newspaper not knowing quite what to say. Kelsi is being deported? That thought had honestly not crossed my mind as a real possibility.
“Okay” I finally stammered and I followed her up the stairs.
When I got up to the immigration room I saw Kelsi coming towards me with the angriest look I’ve ever seen. She just shook her head at me.
“What happened?” I asked
“They are deporting me.”
“I heard, but why?!”
Then came the story…
What every single person we spoke to failed to inform us over the past month was that to get a second visa on arrival you have to have left the country for two months in between. Kelsi’s travel agent, the immigration officer in Delhi, our travel agent in Delhi, the immigration officer in Madurai, all the officials at two airline companies in Sri Lanka, the embassy – BOTH times we called them – and the immigration officers in Sri Lanka: not a single person mentioned a two month delay. The visa stamp you get on arrival is supposed to mention this rule, but the stamp that Kelsi got in Delhi was so smudged that no one, not even four officials in Chennai, could read what it said.
The immigration officer in Chennai told Kelsi her visa was denied and she flipped out at them.
“Do you know how much we’ve gone through to get here?! How come I was never told about this rule?”
She yelled and screamed at the officers so much she was asked to leave the room and sit outside in a chair. The officers came out after a brief discussion alone.
“We can call the head boss,” they said “he makes all the final decisions on these matters and sometimes he makes exceptions.”
But when they called the head hauncho, he was taking an afternoon nap. “Sorry.” they came back with, “We will have to wait until he wakes up.”
40 minutes later they finally woke him. Clearly he wasn’t happy with being disturbed from his beauty sleep, because he immediately denied the request.
“Send her back.”
And that was the final word.
More screaming on Kelsi’s part and then someone was sent to get me. And so there we were, standing there, the two of us and four officials, coming up with a game plan.
“So where does that leave us?” I asked
“She has to go back to Sri Lanka, now. The plane leaves again in 20 minutes” said one official.
“And what do I do?” I asked
“You will carry on with your flight to Madurai” he said.
“Really? You think this is a good idea splitting us up? You think it’s safe for two young white women to travel the country on our own because of a problem with your visa system?”
“It is not our problem, those are the rules” he said.
“We’ll why weren’t we told about them? What is wrong with your officials in Madurai? They never told us we had to leave for two months and they never told us you couldn’t get a visa on arrival there. What is wrong with your staff?”
He did not look happy about that.
“Those are not my staff. That is Madurai, and the visa on arrival rules are new.”
“We’ll then shouldn’t your staff be briefed on these new rules? Or shouldn’t you be able to make an exception considering you are splitting us up and it is unsafe?” Kelsi chimed in.
In the end, the answer was no. They even refused our request to explain our situation to the chief ourselves. Kelsi had to leave.
“Look,” said the official “go to the embassy in Colombo and apply for a visa. It will take two days.”
It was Tuesday. Kelsi couldn’t make it to the embassy until Wednesday morning.
“So I could be back in India by Friday then?”
“Well,” said the guy hesitantly, “Friday is the Sri Lankan New Year. So it’ll be a holiday. Maybe not until Monday.”
We just glared at him silently.
“You can always put in a special request for a rush order” he suggested.
Yeah, because those have been working out SO well for us lately.
“It’s time to go.” Said another man “The flight is leaving now.”
“What are you going to do?” Asked the first man to me.
I looked at Kelsi.
“Do I go with you? Or do I go get our bags and meet you in a couple days?”
“I want you to come with me, but we don’t have the money for more flights. It’s two days, I’ll meet you in Madurai”
“Ok” I said. I took the $40 US dollars we had exchanged for a THIRD time out of my pocket. “You’ll need this more than me. Good luck exchanging it again.” We chuckled, only to stop from screaming or crying.
“I’m at breaking point” Kelsi said to me.
I gave her a half hug as she was pulled away by three officials. “Just in case I never see you again” I said. We smiled goodbye to each other.
If Kelsi can’t make it back to India, then she goes back to Australia. I leave to go to Canada. The possibilities of not seeing each other for years to come is a big one. But then again, we always sucked at goodbyes, this one would definitely make the books for worst parting ever. It would be ironically fitting for our friendship.
And just like that I was alone.
The lady who found me downstairs escorted me through customs.
“Better not be late for your next flight” she said.
I left the terminal and walked towards the domestic terminal. The whole time I had a very uneasy feeling.
This isn’t right. Kelsi is at breaking point and I just LEFT her? To get our bags?! Money is money, I will pay for another flight back to India, I just can’t imagine her having to go through all this visa crap on her own. I’m going back with her, I decided.
I ran back to the arrivals gate. I was sweaty, out of breath and my pink hair (still from the color festival) flailed around me in a matted mess. I was a sight for sore eyes: a wild woman.
I tried to walk back through the door I had just left but was stopped by two guards with rifles.
“You can’t come in here”
“No, no! It’s okay, I’m going on a flight with my friend, I just have to talk to that woman.”
“What woman? Departure gates are that way”
“I know, but I just have to go through here”
“No. No one goes back through here”
“Please!” I begged “You can walk with me, I just need to talk to someone”
“Tell me what the situation is.” Said the guard.
Ya, like I had time to explain all that.
“Look, do you not remember me coming out these doors about three minutes ago?”
“Yes”
“Then please, will you just walk back to customs with me? It’s like 50 meters.”
He hesitated, then finally agreed.
I ran through customs backwards.
“No running!” He shouted at me.
“Okay, okay”
Then I spotted the chief of customs that had been chatting me up for over an hour.
“What’s wrong?” He asked me.
“I want to get on the plane with my friend.”
“But it’s leaving soon.”
“I know. I want to be on it. Can I talk to the woman from before?”
“Uhh, she’s in her office.” He pointed to a room across the whole bottom floor of the airport.
I ran towards it.
“No running!” Said the guard still holding the rifle.
Right, right. I walked briskly towards her door.
“What are you doing here?!” She asked genuinely shocked that I had found my way backwards through armed guards and a whole customs crew.
“I want to get on the plane with my friend!” I just imagined the look on Kelsi’s face when I sat down next to her on the plane. I couldn’t wait.
“We’ll you can’t.”
“Wait, what? Why not? You said, what are you going to do? And I said stay… Well now I want to go!”
“I can’t just deport you for no reason!” She said.
“But before you were going to let me on.” I said confused.
“No. You could have BOUGHT a ticket to go back, but we can’t just send you back for free because you WANT to.”
“Hmm, okay, how much?”
“No! You can’t buy a ticket less than two hours before departure!”
“So what you’re saying is there was no possibility of me EVER being on that flight with her?”
“No!” She said exasperated.
Retrospectively I realize how ridiculous my request seemed. But at the time, probably half in shock, half afraid I’d never see Kelsi again, half unsure of where to go in India on my own with 150 liters worth of bags for three weeks, my request seemed completely logical. I gave up.
“Okay” I said disheartened
“How did you even get in here?” She asked. “We have rules you know! You can’t just come in here like this”
C’mon, I thought. It’s India. Rules shmules (apart from visa entries I suppose).
Defeated I finally gave up. I walked back through customs for a third time and left the building. I ran out the final door just to make a point, then turned back to thank the armed guard for letting me through. He smiled and waved and let me carry on running.
I got to the check out counter of Spice Jet just before closing.
“I’m here!” I announced as I slid, Cramer style, into the check-in counter.
“And where is the second passenger?” The lady asked
I laughed “Being deported back to Sri Lanka” I said matter of factly.
“So she’s not coming?” She asked.
I rolled my eyes “No, not this time.”
She checked me in and sent me through security.
My gate number was M-9. When I spotted the gate the sign read “last call for boarding.” The bus outside the door was already full and the gates were closing. I sprinted across the room to the doorway.
“NO RUNNING!” Three officials shouted at me at the same time.
Gee! What’s with the no running rule? Don’t people always run in airports?!
Turns out my running was all for naught. My plane was delayed by 45 minutes and I was left to stand around in the overcrowded domestic terminal for another hour. I looked around and noticed that I was the only tourist in sight. Thousands of Indians all crowded in the room… and then there was me.
I took a breath in and out.
India round two: here we go!

Back to India… For real.

Posted on May 2, 2013 by hilarylust

The morning after our day from Hell did look better. A nice sleep in, a beautiful, sunny morning, what could be better?
We wandered down the main strip to find breakfast. We sat at a little mom and pop owned restaurant. The place was empty apart from the lady who owned it and one young waiter.
We ordered poached eggs on toast and some fruit juice.
The waiter came out with a tumbler glass half full of whiskey.
“We have to get rid of the last of the bottle,” he said “so here you go!”
Whiskey? It was not even 9:00am. You know it’s going to be a weird day when you get served whiskey first thing in the morning. We took a sip and nearly gagged. This was the last thing on earth that I wanted right now.
The lady who owned the place was setting up flowers on all the tables.
“You like yellow?” She asked as she placed a flower down on ours.
“Yes, we love yellow!” We said as we admired the pretty yellow flower on the table.
“Hmmm, I like purple” she said in a sad voice. “My husband liked blue… But he died”
We looked up as if we hadn’t quite understood what she said.
“I’m so sorry” I said to her
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me, “Electric shock.” She said “He was holding a metal pole, and was in water. Just died of electric shock”
We sat there, unsure of what to say. I took the glass of whiskey and took another excruciating sip. I’m gunna need this if this conversation continues.
“You see my hand?” She said pointing to her hand. There was a lump on the side of it. “Can’t move it anymore” she motioned how her thumb no longer moves. “I crushed it. With wood. Now it doesn’t work.”
We looked at each other. What’s going on? The lady wandered off as we mumbled confused apologies.
I shouldn’t be surprised, I often have random people coming up to me and telling me intimate or horrific details about their life out of nowhere. But sitting in Sri Lanka, having a glass of Whiskey at 8:30am and an old lady telling me all the sad details of her life was strangely surreal.
So we just sat and waited for our breakfast, politely sipping on our whiskey.
Breakfast took an hour to show up. Maybe they were waiting for the chickens to lay the eggs, I’m not sure. Either way, that made us late for our Tuk Tuk to the airport. Not this again!
We showed up to the airport late once again. Other than the Vancouver Airport, I am pretty sure I’ve now been to the Colombo airport more than any other airport in the world. We rocked up like pro’s: through two security checks, exchanged money with the same exchange guy and up to the Sri Lankan airways desk.
“Two to Chennai!” We said with smiles as we handed over our passports and day packs.
The ticket lady checked me in first, them she turned to Kelsi.
“Where is your Indian visa?” She asked.
“I am getting one on arrival” said Kelsi.
“India doesn’t give visa’s on arrival” she said, staring at us blankly.
Hmmm, I’m having a sense of déjà vu.
We sighed. “They do for New Zealanders arriving in Chennai. Trust us. We went through this all yesterday, we talked with the embassy twice and we’ve gone through a huge process to rebook flights. They will give us a visa on arrival.”
She stared blankly some more then turned to a lady next to her. They discussed and shrugged, then brought over a supervisor.
“I have to call the embassy” said the supervisor.
“No problem” we said.
While she called, we looked at each other with ‘oh please, let’s NOT go through this again’ looks on our faces. A couple minutes on the phone and the lady turned back to us.
“No problem, they can do visa’s on arrival.”
Thank god!
They processed our tickets and sent us on our way. We had no problem with immigration and then hopped on our plane with no issues.
While we were on the plane we laughed at the ridiculousness of the past 24 hours. Only in retrospect can a situation like that be funny. Sri Lanka was incredible, but it was time to continue on in India. Kelsi had a list of 21 cities she wanted to see in the three weeks we had left until Mumbai. Oh god. We were already one day late, so we couldn’t waste a second!
Our plane landed after an hour and a half and we safely cruised into the Chennai airport for a second time that month.
Side note: Sri Lankan Airways, SO much nicer than Spice Jet.
When we pulled up to immigration we saw a big sign on the wall that read: Visas on Arrival for the following countries… New Zealand was one of them.
We looked at each other with giddy joy.
“Yaaaaaaa!!!” We cheered. We even went as far as to do a little happy dance. I went through immigration first.
“What’s going on with your friend?” He asked as he watched Kelsi leave the line and walk towards the visa on arrival room.
“She’s getting a visa on arrival” I said.
“Oh. Hold on a minute!” He yelled to Kelsi “I’ll be over to process your visa when I’m finished with this line.”
“No problem” she said with a smile.
“Kels” I yelled to her “ill meet you at customs downstairs with our bags!”
“No worries”
I went down to find our bags. When they didn’t show up right away I chuckled to myself. That would be the icing on the cake, we finally make it to India but our bags don’t!
In the end, they both showed up, and I sat down against a pillar on the floor to wait for Kelsi.
Everyone collected their bags and moved along through customs. I was left on my own, sitting on the dirty airport floor. The airport staff kept looking over at me and laughing.
“Can I ask, what you are doing here?” Asked an official looking lady finally asked on her way past.
“I’m just waiting for my friend to get her visa.
“Oh okay” she said, as she went to tell the rest of the staff who were probably making bets about what was going on.
Twenty minutes later my ass fell asleep and I moved to a chair I found next to the Chief of Customs office. The chief himself made sure to come over and hit on me.
I was sitting reading a local Indian newspaper
“You like reading the newspaper?” He asked
“Yes,” I said “when I get the chance. I haven’t seen many newspapers in English here” I replied
“You are smart. I like smart women”
Great. I put in my headphones and ignored his smiles and waves from the corner. He came over a few more times to ask me what kind of music I liked to listen to and if my husband listened to the same kind of tunes. I rolled my eyes.
“Can I go back up to Immigration to see if my friend is okay?” I asked
“No” he said, all of a sudden serious “once you pass through you can’t go back. Your friend will be down soon, I promise”
“Okay” I said as I put my headphones back in and went back to reading.
Side note again: the Chennai newspaper is probably the most interesting newspaper you will ever read. Albeit depressing, every article is full of murders, suicides, fatal car accidents and all that horrific stuff that the media is full of. On top of that, they don’t have any censorship, so all the gruesome details are explained in full. It’s terrible of me to enjoy that, but reading “police incident: details confidential” in all our newspapers at home drives me crazy. I want to know what happened, or don’t mention it at all!
Before I knew it I’d been reading the paper for over an hour. And waiting with our bags for an hour and a half. Okay guys, our ticket counter closes in 45 minutes for our flight to Madurai. What’s going on?
I was almost starting to get worried when the lady that I spoke to before came up to me.
“Hilary?” She said calmly “Your friend is being deported from the country, if you’d like to say goodbye, come with me now please.”
My heart sunk again. Shit.

Back to India

Posted on May 2, 2013 by hilarylust

Even our final morning in Sri Lanka was an early one. Our decision to spend a night in Hikkaduwa meant we had to be up at 7 to bus the two hours to Colombo. We wanted to spend a couple hours at the market and then head off to the airport for our 2:30 flight.
Unfortunately, the two hour bus ride turned into three. We didn’t reach Colombo until quarter to 11. We wanted to be at the airport by 12:30. At first we gave ourselves a half hour to bus to the airport, but the English guy in Hikkaduwa had offhandedly mentioned that it took 1 hour to get there. Good thing we met him!
But when we arrived in Colombo, we were dropped off right in the center of town. The fort and markets looked lovely as we passed them, but with all the traffic, we wouldn’t have time to see them and get back in time. We wandered a market next to the station, but it was a locally geared market, selling daily household needs as opposed to touristy trinkets. After a half hour we were bored. Not knowing what to do next, we just decided to hop on a bus to the airport.
The bus was hot, and crowded. We squished ourselves onto the back of the bus with three other men on the same bench. Then we drove. We drove through the town, inching along with the traffic and picking up people every hundred meters. I remember seeing a sign that said “KFC 180m ahead”. I remembered the amount of KFC we’d eaten in Kandy three days earlier and felt ill. Nearly ten minutes later we passed the restaurant. I think that has to be a record for the slowest 180m ever driven! It was painful, every half hour I kept thinking we had to be there!
an hour and forty-five minutes later we pulled up to the “airport bus stand”. It’s 2 kilometers from the actual airport. From there you have to pay either a shuttle or a Rickshaw another dollar to get to the terminal.
By the time we reached the airport it was just after 1:00. Thank god we left early!
We rushed inside, had to make it through two security checks BEFORE reaching our ticket desk. When we got up to the counter we were exhausted, burnt out and sweaty. We handed over our passports and weighed our bags.
“Do you have a visa for India?” One of the guys asked Kelsi
“No, not yet. I get one on arrival.”
“You can’t get visa’s on arrival in India” said the man confused.
“Yes, for New Zealand you can. I was just there last week. They gave me a one month visa and said I had to leave then come back for a second. They will only give you two in a year.”
The man stood there unsure what to think. Then he turned to another guy and spoke to him. The two chatted and shrugged and then turned to another guy. He did the same thing. Then they stopped an agent from Sri Lankan Airways. She joined in the confusion.
“I don’t think you can get a visa on arrival in India” she said
“I was just there” said Kelsi “only a couple countries can do it, and New Zealand is one of them”
“Hmmm”
They called over the Spice Jet supervisor and explained the situation. We looked at each other with worried faces. Oh great.
“I’m going to call the embassy just to make sure. We have to check these things before you get on the plane. You don’t want to be sent back.”
So he called the embassy, explained what happened. Turns out, yes, New Zealanders can get visas on arrival. We now had a very minimal time to make it through security. They checked our bags, gave us our tickets and we ran towards immigration.
We handed over our tickets and passports to the first security check. Just as we were doing that, the Spice Jet supervisor yelled to us.
“Wait! Wait! Don’t go through!”
We stopped. So close!
“I’m sorry,” he said “they embassy just called back. They can do visas on arrival at all airports EXCEPT for Madurai”
“What?”
“Yes, Madurai does not have a visa processing area.”
“So what does that mean for us?” I asked
“You can’t get on this flight. Well, you can, but your friend can’t.”
Our hearts sank. Oh no. We were so exhausted, just spent 5 sweaty hours on busses that day and just wanted to get on the plane. We walked back to the desk with him to discuss.
“So where can we fly to?”
“Anywhere except Madurai”
The closest airports would be Chennai or Trivandrum. Trivandrum is where we were going next, so it would be perfect… Had we not left all our luggage in Madurai. Also, flights to Trivandrum stop over in Madurai first, so we’d have to go through immigration there. Chennai was our only option. It’s an 11-hour train ride to Madurai from Chennai. We had just done that journey in five days!
“Fine, can we change our flight to Chennai?”
“Yes, but there aren’t any more that go today.”
Awesome.
“Okay, then tomorrow?”
“Yes, but you have to go online to book. We can’t do it here at the airport.” Explained the supervisor.
He was nice enough to call his boss and ask for a refund on our tickets. She worked it all out to refund the money back to my credit card.
“Just use the wifi here to book a flight for tomorrow, then you can come back later”
Turns out the wifi was down that day. We’d have to go to a hotel and book it from there. The idea of getting back on that bus to Colombo was sickening.
“Okay, here’s my suggestion,” I said “we fork out the money and take a Tuk Tuk back to Negombo. Marshall was so helpful, the place was beautiful, cheap, on the beach and had great food. It’s only a half hour from the airport instead of two hours and we know they have wifi!”
Okay. Plan complete.
We walked backwards through security. Everyone stopped us.
“No, madam, the other way, you can’t come through here. Security is that way”
“We’re not getting on a plane thanks, we’re coming through.”
We pushed our way back through security and went up to the money exchange. We had just exchanged all our Sri Lankan money back into US dollars. The man we had dealt with looked confused when he saw us standing there.
“Hey! Remember these beautifully crisp US dollars you gave me just a half an hour ago?” I said smiling “Sooo, is it possible to just pretend that transaction never happened and I can get my six thousand back?”
He laughed at the state of us and handed back the money in full. Wow, that could have gone much worse. Our first win of the day.
We grabbed a Tuk Tuk to Negombo for nearly the same price as it would have cost us to get there by bus (Tuk Tuk to bus station, bus to second station, then Tuk Tuk to hotel.) we arrived at Marshall’s Guesthouse in a haggard state. When we walked in, the lovely guy who ran the place when Marshall was away recognized us.
“You!!” He exclaimed with a gasp “I thought you were leaving!” He rushed over to us with a worried look. We briefly explained the situation in broken English until he understood. He gladly showed us to our room, then we came back downstairs to book flights.
“All the Spice Jet flights to Chennai are booked for the next two days” said Kelsi when she finally got the website working.
“I found one with Sri Lankan Airways but it’s more expensive.” After a while we’d sorted it out. We found a reasonably priced flight to Chennai and then three hours later we found a Spice Jet flight from Chennai to Madurai. Hopefully that would give us enough time, and we’d still get into Madurai by the night. Perfect!
Kelsi went to pay for the flight to Chennai. We got all the way through the slow process, with the wifi cutting out a couple times, just to get a message at the end saying: this flight is unavailable for online booking. What?! Great.
We decided to call the airline.
“Can we use your phone?” We asked the guy that worked there.
He looked confused. “You want me to call someone?”
“No no, I just need to call the airline to book a flight”
He stood staring at us with a blank look.
“Your phone, can we use?” We tried again.
He smiled. “Hold on!” He said and rushed to grab his cell phone. We could see the hotel phone. We were just being polite before using it. We had even pointed to the phone when we described what we needed. Maybe he was going to give us the cell phone instead.
He dialed a number then handed us the phone. “Mr. Marshall!” He said with a big grin.
Oh great.
“Hello?” Said Marshall.
“Hello, I am here at your guesthouse, I want to know if it’s possible to us the phone to call a local number.”
“What? I can’t hear you”
“I’d like to use the phone here at guesthouse, is that okay?”
“What?”
Oh my god. This is the biggest process ever. After a few more times he understood and I passed the phone back.
“Ooooh! Yes yes!” Said the man when he hung up from Marshall.
Kelsi grabbed the hotel phone and dialed.
“Hello I would like to book a flight to chennai tomorrow… To Chennai… No, tomorrow… Chen-Nai… Chennai.” She looked over at me exasperated. No one in India or Sri Lanka can understand Kelsi’s accent. It’s become an ongoing joke between us. Even with words that to me sound normal, people get confused. I got up to talk to him.
“Hello, can we book a flight to Chennai for tomorrow?”
“Yes, what time”
“1:15”
“Okay, your names please”
I went through the process, spelling out both our names, giving passport numbers and confirming times and dates.
“Okay, I’m going to transfer you to an automated system so you can put in your credit card information”
“Okay thank you”
The phone went on hold for a while, I handed the receiver back to Kelsi. A few minutes later the man came back online.
“Hello, I’m sorry, we have a problem. We cannot process the flight on the phone if it is less than 24 hours away”
I came back on the phone “well what do we do?”
“You have to go to our booking agent in Colombo”
My heart sunk again.
“Is there a booking office in Negombo? That’s where I am”
“Okay, hold on ill check”
The man came back on five minutes later and gave me the address to another city that was NOT Negombo.
“No, no, Ne-Gom-Bo. Is there a booking office in Negombo?”
“Oh I’m sorry, ill check”
Five more minutes on hold.
“No, there is not. But there is a booking office in a place called Seeduwa. It is near to Negombo, on the way back to Colombo.”
“Okay, what time does it close?”
“5:00”
Oh god. It was 4:20. No time to get to the bus stop, so we tried to grab a Tuk Tuk. The man who ran the place’s son did most of the Tuk Tuk driving to and from Marshall’s. it was usually the cheapest price.
“Ok, I call my boy!” He said with a smile. He dialed him up and explained the situation. After a few minutes he hung up the phone.
“Sorry, he is in another city, it will take him a while to get here”
Time was one thing we didn’t have. So we rushed outside to haggle on the street. It took a while, but we finally agreed to 600 rupees for the driver to take us to the place, wait five minutes and then drive us home.
“We won’t be longer than five minutes!” We promised “all we have to do is pay the guy!”
We hopped in the tuk tuk at 4:35: 25 minutes to closing!
It took 15 minutes just to get out of the city. We were sweating with anticipation. There was no going faster with the amount of traffic on the road. We didn’t even know where Seeduwa was, but we followed street signs until we assumed we were around the right place. 4 minutes before closing Kelsi spotted a giant sign that read: Sri Lankan Airways.
“There it is!!” She screeched at the driver, “pull over!”
The guy stopped and the two of us jumped out into the middle of 4 lanes of crazy traffic. We ran across the street and saw the janitor setting the alarm on the building.
“Noooo!!! Please! Let us in!”
We burst through the front door breathless. There was one lady sitting behind her desk still. The janitor looked less than impressed at us. We smiled sheepishly as we went off to talk to the woman.
We explained our situation, gave her the reference number and handed over the credit card with a smile! I can’t believe we made it!
“Who told you to come here?” She asked us, when we’d finished talking.
“The Sri Lankan airline guy on the phone.”
“We’ll I’m so sorry,” she said “but we are no longer affiliated with Sri Lankan Airways. I’m just a travel agent. I can’t book these tickets for you”
Our hearts sunk again. You have got to be kidding me! How can so many things go so wrong in one day?
“I’ll try to see what you can do” she said. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. As she chatted away I looked out at our waiting Tuk Tuk driver. He did not look happy about the delay.
Eventually the lady turned to us again.
“Okay, to book this ticket you will have to go to the airport. The Sri Lankan ticket agents will book it all for you”
Oh my god! Isn’t that where we started this whole fiasco?! We were both exasperated. Now we had to deal with the Tuk Tuk.
The driver was pissed about the change of plans. He tried to charge us 1200 for a return trip when the airport was really on the way home. After a big fight we just had him drop us off at the airport and we tossed him 500 with a scowl as he drove off.
There was a huge lineup when we got to the Sri Lankan booking desk. Of course there would be. We pushed our way to the front of the crowd as best we could.
“Yes, I can book the tickets” said the man behind the counter, “just let me see your passports please.”
Oh god. We hadn’t brought our passports because we were only supposed to PAY for the tickets. We explained the situation and he let it slide. They had to check the passports the next day anyways when we checked in. Another five minutes and we’d booked and paid for the tickets. I never thought the day would end.
“See you tomorrow!” Said the man.
Even though the fiasco was over, we were still cranky. We had spent an entire day’s budget in transportation today and all to end up back where we began. We tried to grab another Tuk Tuk back to Marshall’s.
“Yes, 900 to Negombo beach” said the driver. I flipped out.
“Look buddy. Who do you think we are? I have done this trip four times today, I know what a Tuk Tuk should cost. I will give you 400 or ill find another driver.”
He paused.
“Okay, 850”
Screw off. I walked away as he yelled out 800. I saw another Tuk Tuk up the road.
“I’ll give you 400 to Negombo beach”
“500”
“400 or I’m moving on”
He smiled. “Ok, get in”
On the way home the driver got lost. We ended up having to call Marshall’s and the guy who ran the place came out to get us. Wen he saw our haggard faces pull up he started laughing.
“You!!!” He laughed again “it has been hours since you left! What happened?!”
“Long story” we said.
I paid the guy 400 rupees on the way out.
“500” he said “it took longer!”
“Only because you got lost, buddy.” We walked away with the hotel manager still giggling to himself.
What a day.
We crashed early that night. Worst day ever. All we needed was a good night’s sleep and the world would be a better place.
Tomorrow things will be looking up!

Hikkaduwa

Posted on May 2, 2013 by hilarylust

Our final full day in Sri Lanka was a little more laid back. We were up early and made the hour trek to Galle.
Galle is a gorgeous little port town with an amalgamation of cultural influences. It was used by the Dutch, the Portuguese, and the English during its history, and has a gorgeous Dutch fort right next to the shore line. We spent the morning walking around the fort’s ramparts, wandering the quaint and narrow streets inside the fort’s walls and watching the locals swim in the waves. This is also an amazing spot to watch the fishermen catch fish by their traditional stilt fishing. The men sit on large stilt-like wooden poles and lean over with a small fishing line to grab their daily catch.
When we’d finished exploring the fort, we made our last leg of the day to Hikkaduwa. Hikkaduwa is another touristy stretch of beach that screams “paradise”. Much like Mirissa, hikkaduwa has a string of bars and restaurants right along it’s palm-fringed, white sand beaches. This is where people get stuck for weeks, meeting other tourists and partying it up until the sun rises. We arrived on a Sunday, so the vibe was a little more relaxed.
“Can you imagine staying here for a week?” Said Kelsi while we were sitting having a beer on the patio “you would meet such a great crew of people. I wish we had three weeks to stay in Sri Lanka instead of 6 days.”
“Me too” I agreed.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have that long, so we just made the most of what we could in a single afternoon. We walked up and down the endless stretch of beach, checking out the array of guesthouses and resorts along the coast. We sat down on some shaded chairs to have a relaxing nap and was harassed by a man to buy his pineapples for the next hour. Eventually we meandered our way to dinner and out for a couple of beers.
The bar we ended up at was pretty full for a Sunday night. We met a lovely British man who had been living in Sri Lanka for 9 years. He had a tonne of recommendations for nightlife places in Hikkaduwa, but by 11:00 we realized how burnt out we were from the past week.
We had a seven AM wake up time and decided to head to bed, our six day whirlwind tour of Sri Lanka finally over. We’d seen a lot of the country in such a short time. From Negombo beach to the ruins of Anuradhapura, the abandoned palace of Sigiriya to the temples of Kandy. We explored the tea plantations in the central highlands, managed to relax on pristine beaches, climb the Dutch fort ramparts in Galle and eat seafood in paradise. Not a bad trip!
The next morning we had a stop in Colombo then a flight back to India. Sri Lanka, I can’t wait to visit you again!