Colombo, oh dear (not yet) my Colombo, you rip-raped city. I found myself creating a story of a silent vengeance for the two contemptibly – welcome to my world of hate and viciousness – drivers and scumbags, who tried and mucked me on my first two days in Sri Lanka, which has happened to me not only once that insulting on my road. I have to admit, they are pretty clever, great job, which arouses me even more. Coined a life and credible story, without a question mark between the lines. Taking unscrupulous advantage of my naive believe in the good appearance. Not pretending at all, I decided after interrogating and investigating them – they belong on stage! And they are far from, me, tolerating them, means, I could only despise them, but being able to understand why and wouldn´t have a problem being fooled. It´s not only about my traveler proudness, more surprises me their unscrupulousness. And I don´t want to be, move, travel, enjoy and discover my passion for a culture, being always aware and trust nobody, literally and without exception. SCORN! So my dissapointment and defamation puzzled out an exit strategy without blaming myself more than bearable. Passing the president´s residence, which you are not allowed, not as a civilian, only by the sidewalk on the other side of the road, but no sign at all informing you about this legacy of war, fear and suspiciousness – absurd routines of governments showing off their power and weakness at once. The frontside of the residence to Galle Road looks like a Lego bricked camouflaged – we are still in the center of Colombo – fort of a kid´s wonderland. The security guard on the watch tower was gesturing as I approached. I waved back, smiling, being not aware about the – undisplayed – restricted area as I mentioned. Surprisedly, wondering afterwards he wasn´t jumping out of the sewerage or revives off the sidewalk´s pattern, a soldier was confronting me with his machine gun, the barrel nearly punching my nose, trying hard not staring full of curiousity on my tattoos, but making an angered appearance, with his sweet mustache and beautiful angular perfect long face – a Sri Lankan Daltons brother, commanding me to the other side of the road. “You can not walk here, go.” No Sir, no civility in his voice. Pointing with his gun barrel, my nose and me still in the target line, to the opposite. So what would have happened if I kicked him in his nuts or peeing at the ludicrous watch tower. Days of terror and questioning, but finally I would have to leave Sri Lanka, with a don´t-you-ever-come-back ticket in my pocket, recorded, marked, forever. Put India on the banishment as well. Sri Lanka is for me a move forward next to the idea of traveling India. Not yet very successful. And all this because of four morons. Sad but corny. Colombo itself reminds a bit of Tel Aviv. With its long coastline, the misty light, the luxury hotel complex next to and its hustel and bustle in the backyard of the refreshing breeze of the sea. I honestly like the city. It could be a bit more dirty. Haven´t seen one plastic bottle trashed ignorant, even not accidentily. Haven´t found one public bin for my plastic bottle. Tremendous construction sites. Luxury hotels and apartment buildings. Prosper gem and jewelry business. But very few western expats, companies or brands. No 7eleven. But Subway. And McDonalds and KFC, Pizza Hut, disalienated already. Step by step it seems to become a surrealistic collage of Tel Aviv and Abu Dhabi. Chinese companies are welcome to invest and support, to improve the whole country at one strike, the president speaking. Building highways, skyscrapers and providing the knowledge for. With India the strongest investors. Haven´t heard about european companies, except I have seen Deutsche Bank, opposite a german restaurant, with dishes I have never seen in Germany. Made in Germany, a western brand. Gosh.
I woke up today, on my third day, promising me not to trust anyone, not to follow anyone, not even to talk to someone more than necessary, more than “Thank you, I am fine and yes I do like your Sri Lanka, but not your Colombo” – and I would appreciate to love my Sri Lanka. I am sure this country has a lot more to offer. And even the scumbags told me I should leave Colombo, because it is a shithole, not safe. Haha, what a joke. The mountainous area is an eye opener. Maybe I can open my heart than as well. Till now it is bared. Restricetd area, no sign, but decline.
Three hours later it happen again. “How are you, Sir. “My name is” – I didn´t listen – “I work at the hotel” – I didn´t listen – “at the reception. I am free now. I can help you.” When I conversation starts like this, leave. Or break his nose, my greetings, and then leave.
Maybe I am just on the wagon, one week booze-free, running every morning, put myself in motion, preparing my lungs and my consciousness for some amazing trekking inland. Maybe I shouldn´t expect that much. Expactations are always a hassling risk. And again, I have to surrender to the idea and admit, YES! I am searching for harmony, even if I need chaos, but can´t there be both? Isn´t there both or an illusion of all? I wait and see. Probably the best choice in a tea country like Sir Lanka.
Bad traveler performance.
New day.
Next day.
Happy day.
Fuck off.
Leave me alone.
Don´t talk to me.
Shut up!
Cut my tongue.
I walked after the third and unsuccessful shot to trick me, into a micro slum, behind the railroad track, after the crestfallen scumbag instructed me not to go there, rather to join him and his lunch break, “just an hour, my friend is a tuk tuk driver, let´s go.” The poorest are the most honest people I met. Inviting me for a simple dish, home-made schnapps or sex, like in this case, but always without greed or pressure at all. Appreciating any kind of attentoin for them. But not enough for the failed, having lost, thinking they missed their chance, blinded by an illusion of a career, putative close, knnocking at the gate to prosperity, infected with greed, fearing social relegation or collapse, being aware of there is no return, trying to avoid at all costs. Understandable, but not tolerable. They make it worst, for the poorest and for themselves. Still, you dwarf silly beans.