I wandered down a nameless side street away from our beachfront hotel on a mission to see more of the normal part of town and hopefully pick up some cheap samosas along the way. It was late morning, the sun was blazing, and just a block or two away from the beach it became surprisingly quiet. No tuk-tuks, hawkers, touts, traffic noise, honking buses, or other distractions. It was a residential area and a few people were out in their yards tending to their gardens, building various cinder block add-ons, and burning their weeds and trash. I could smell curry simmering and big colorful butterflies drifted on the breeze. The good life in Tangalle, Sri Lanka.
As my pace slowed I focused my attention on the various thoughts bouncing around in my head. There was definitely a pattern. Many of my thoughts dwelled on the strange interactions that Fern and I have had with Sri Lankan people over the course of about three weeks. The way people act toward us here is distinctly different than in the other places we’ve traveled. I was trying to wrap my brain around it. In fact, I was thinking about writing a blog post about it and trying to clarify the things I might want to say, organize my thoughts, and decide which experiences were worth mentioning.
Another man was slowly walking the other direction and at some point it became clear he was approaching me. Being absorbed in my own thoughts I did nothing to acknowledge him at first but he walked right up to me. He was a bit older, walked a slow tired walk with a slight limp in one leg, and his drab clothes hung loosely on his boney frame. His hat shaded his eyes but I saw a big mischievous smile gleaming at me, decorated with vacancies where there had once been teeth.
Most people who are trying to sell us something always ask us the same questions. Where are you going? What country are you from? Where are you staying? On rare occasions it’s actually just an innocent attempt to make conversation from someone who just wants to chat. He didn’t have the same energy as the guys on the street over by the beach so I indulged him with answers and then he quietly asked “Do you like smoke?”
I assumed he was talking about marijuana and under most circumstances I’d be happy to launch into a lively discussion about the topic but neither of us was truly interested in a conversation. I just wanted to mind my own business and he had a predetermined agenda. So I just said “No, I don’t smoke. Bad for your health.”
He then asked “What about drink? Do you like drink?”
I played dumb and asked “What kind of drink?”
He lit up, his grin grew substantially, and he started to slowly lean in toward me. Not buying my little front of ignorance he responded, half giggling and half speaking, “Aaaaah, you know what kind of drink,” and he slowly reached his hand out and pinched my nipple, giving it a little twist. And then he just walked away, with that big goofy grin on his face.
Amused and baffled, I walked on, trying to fit what had just happened into the puzzle.
jim@snorkelbandits.com