“Travelers love reading old personal journal entries. If not for the accompanying memories, those words would seem like long-odds-survival fiction.” – Old Sean
Forlorn Vagabond
For the past couple of days, I’ve been darting around Sri Lanka by train in a strange state of sleep deprivation. I blame that exhaustion as a factor in my thoughtless meandering.
For example, departing Polgahawela by train was an event with more flair than originally intended. While a tangible part of Sri Lanka’s population speaks English, there was a slight communication error during my time at the platform.
That error that resulted in me watching my ride to Batticaloa swiftly gathering speed and leaving the station. Without me on it.
Catch a Midnight Train
It was deep in the night and the train station had been essentially abandoned aside from a couple of other passengers, a security guard and a Ticketmaster. When the final train of the night rolled in, the ticketmaster told me that I needed to wait a bit longer.
I thanked him, but I was pretty sure that I was looking at my train. I jogged over to chat with the secuirty guard and showed him my ticket.
“Yup,” he told me in surprisingly robust English. “That’s your train.”
“When’s the next one?” I asked the security guy.
“Monday,” he answered, eyebrows quirking. It was Thursday.
Naturally, I did the normal thing:
I confirmed that was the right train once more. Then, I quickly buckled up my backpack, started jogging and bounded onto the moving train. I planted my feet firmly on metal stairs and looped my arms through a couple of handrails.
Moonlit Realizations
Of course, making it easy wouldn’t be fun. The train’s door was locked.
I spent the first minute of my outdoor train ride clicking my tongue at the genius of cosmically-inclined universe-wide humor. All other trains in Sri Lanka had been unlocked when I hopped on, so this was a new nighttime development.
The locomotive continued to gain speed, branches now whipping past with real force.
Luckily for me, there was a gentleman snoozing in the window. It took quite a few pokes to rouse him, but his expression upon seeing a pale, grinning, wind-whipped idiot hugging the side of a clattering locomotive was gratifying.
He awoke with an odd “murping” sound and bustled over to the door, attempting to yank it open to no avail.
However, a conductor spotted his panic and quickly discovered me as well. He jammed a key into the door handle and wrenched open the metal cover, grasping me by the backpack straps and yanking me in.
God Loving Fools
I was then treated to a vicious, panicked torrent of Tamil of which I understood none, all while still being shaken and jostled by my backpack straps. When the conductor paused for breath, I fished out my train ticket (miraculously intact) and passed it to him.
With the conductor still grumbling, I was brought to the first class car (with air conditioning!) where an onboard security officer could monitor my apparent brain damage.
Trying not to grin at my compounded luck, I settled in for a long night ride to Batticaloa. The train brushed through jungles heading coastward. I was treated to an impressive array of stars, courtesy of mountains standing vigil against light pollution.
Welcome to Batticaloa
The following morning, I rolled into Batticaloa at an unholy, sunless hour and went to my hotel. I was brought to my room by a rather grumpy fellow. He gave me my key and I was left in a truly grimy room.
I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be using the bed for sleep or money. The entire room was disgusting to the point of untouchable. The mattress absolutely shivered with bugs. I found a metal chair (no table) and planted it firmly in the tiled center of the room, opting to charge my phone and wait for sunrise.
Storm-Studded Beach Front
Poor hotel reception aside, visiting Batticaloa is nice. It’s a pretty cool little ocean-side town. Rough white sands gilds steep beaches as they plunge into teal, heavy waves. Above, a great swell of enormous birds with mottled red and brown wings wheel down. Hardy, storm-breaking pines guard the coast and the relics from a long-receded tsunami are half submerged in sand.
The beach of Batticaloa is unique for a few reasons. Firstly, there are little thatch huts that are placed randomly around. These are shelters of bored fishermen waiting for a favorable tide.
Secondly, there are a fair number of sand-submerged structures tilted brokenly in the sand. They’re the final remains of a shoreline absolutely shattered by a tsunami some years earlier.
Best of all are the fishermen, who use thin kayaks with two logs connecting another parallel floating log off the stern. The extra logs are installed to earn additional seaworthy stability. I spent the early part of my day walking around the shoreline, chatting with a few fishermen who broke out English learned straight from pop-culture media.
“It’s money, man.”
“Yes, you doing good. We all good.”
“George Bush, you know? George Bush?”
Back Around Town
I eventually looped back into town. I discovered that even during rush hour, Batticaloa is a fairly calm town. The massive lagoon dominates most of the land features, displaying a beautiful bay with greenery fringing the side. Nearby, colorful ships listed in the water and a legion of ghostly jellyfish were swept by in the oceanic-tide current.
I managed to walk around quite a bit, chatting with locals and wishing for a bit more sleep the previous night.
Eventually, I made my way to the shore, where I flagged down a fisherman who was more than happy to take me on a quick tour through the lagoon for 500 rupees.
Time on A Boat
My guide brought us to the lagoon entrance. I tried my best to stay settled with my backpack and prevent rocking the tiny vessel.
We drifted through the greenish bay, past sandbars while I peered into the slight murk, spotting white, tiny jellyfish caught in the current. I got to see the local, low fort and the city’s various buildings and bridges as we drifted by.
To Sea! (Accidently!)
However, the lagoon has a certain, powerful undercurrent. We overshot our exit by a pretty impressive magnitude, caught in the drag. My guide and I ended up quite a bit further out in the ocean than originally intended.
It was at this point I learned
A) I cannot sail.
B) I was wise to bring snacks.
C) I will turn pink regardless of the amount of sunscreen applied.
And D) Attempting to teach someone how to sail while speaking in a different language is a largely unsuccessful exercise. We bobbed in the ocean for a couple of hours, with my de facto guide casting his net out once in a while. Eventually, we started paddling back towards the shore when the tide seemed favorable.
Back Ashore
Anyway, after I disembarked, I waddled back to town following the beach, I holed up in the city library to type this as the sun was slowly setting.
Unfortunately, I’ve missed my second hostel check-in (the host has left for the day). Sitting here, I can’t find another place that has WIFI or air conditioning included. As such, I’ve decided to hop on a train back to Kandy, rest up and do laundry before meandering elsewhere. I’m extremely pink and sunburned, so no more outdoor activities.
My new little Fitbit is informing me that I’ve walked a little over 35,000 steps today, which is excellent. While I don’t strictly need an excuse to gorge myself on local delicacies and cupcakes, I certainly appreciate them.
Until my pinkness fades and I’m finished eating… everything.
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written June 23rd, 2017
Batticaloa has many interesting features hidden along the coast. Read about them here by looking at Leftfade Trails Destinations
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