I am so templed out. I miss Jesus haning on his cross, with his suffering humbleness in his resting peace. Standing Buddha, lying, sitting, with open eyes, with closed eyes, in caves, open air, golden, ancient, for Buddha´s sake, leave him alone! But I still have to, you don´t want to hang around nearby and miss a world heritage place, even though it is not worth the rupee. The souvenir sellers, “Look, only look.” – “I don´t go in a restaurant and only watch people eating, right?” – “No problem, only look.” – “I DON´T WANT TO LOOK!!!”
Sinha-giri, the Lion Mountain translated, Sigiriya named today, an ancient palace, near Dambulla, a massive column of a rock, surrounded by one of the oldest landscaped gardens in the world – Outstanding! Would be kind of stupid not to go there. And it was impressive, especially the walk from there, around the countryside, which pleased me, exploring, breathing Sri Lanka wild nature. Peacocks. Eagles. Different ind of monkeys. A gray langur crossed, or I crossed his way, a male, standing less than 5 meters away, with his long tail, whitish muslim beard and sideburns and dark-carved adorable face, showing his teeth, spitting, standing on his hind legs, a cool lash with his tale and off he went in the trees, cause of a bridbrained dog, trying to catch him in their blunt breeded way. Wow! Buddha, you can pack your bag. The nature on Sri Lanka is just drop-dead gorgeous. Except the moskitos. I counted yesterday, after a drinking night – Arrak provided one of the worst hang overs of my life, forgetting or haven´t been able anymore to close proper my moskito net, I woke up with 8 bites in my neck, all in all 25 on my body. Hilarious. Fucking aggressive bastards. They joined the same genetic undiversity like the tuk tuk drivers I suppose. Back on the rock, 200m above on the summit, crowded, surrounded by groups of germans and russian, mostly seniors, with their lap kids in tow. Translated from german, “Back in the old days you would have chopped is head looking like this.”, to his mate, both old-brained germans, he with a black-white-red colored suspenders, not even being smart enough to expect, that I can understand. In german, “I feel very sorry, that fascistic fuckers like you have the privilege to travel and spread their stupidity around the world.” Should have said, “I would at least feel when I someone chops my head.” But I was sure this would have been too complicated. I don´t like to travel with the touristic trash, but it is hard not to on Sri Lanka, all the sightseeing spots being triangled, centered, compressed. I HATE IT. THEM. WITH ALL MY PASSION. Worst is you understand every word. Complaining about the hygiene, the food, the locals, the country, blessing the sausages and beer in Germany. But here I am. German. I am not proud of, but I am ok with, being a citizen of the privileged population. The russians favorite saying to the locals was, “Don´t touch me!” It´s a matter of escape. I don´t know what off the beaten track means, but I know how to escape. So I did. After the Dambulla Cave temple, five caves loaded with Buddhas, Buddhas everywhere, search for on the internet – But before we take refugee, an amazing fact, the wall paintings at Sigiriya are over a 1.000 years old, preserved so well, painted in 5 different layers of mostly lime stone, unbelieveable, and I would doubt if it wouldn´t be a UNESCO world heritage. You see what you do to me Sri Lanka, with your mucking habits. – So let´s get da fuck out of here… I went to the local market, as this is always the best choice to meet locals and watch their routine. I loved it. 99 percent men. Farmers, sellers and market employees. Four huge halls, selling all kinds of fruits and vegetables. One sack of onions, around 50 kg, 50 rupees. Onions are one of the most important ingredients for cooking. Bless the digestion! The 99 percent didn´t at first let me feel comfortable and so not welcoming, still the tricking character of a Sri Lankan business men in my head. But, as I experienced, the poorest are the precious ones. Old crumpled Arrack-eyed stoned farmers, in rags and their fleshness a taut tenacity, smiling teethless, sometimes on or two in the front, a can opener. Some of them appreciated literally, shaking my hand, my appereance. Others had the balls to talk to me, escorted by a bunch, a group, a couple of seconds later, an army of workers, trying to undress me, outraged by their own curiosity. Overwhelming their directness and committing. And for the first moment on Sri Lanka I felt not the need to question my feeling, I was there and enjoyed it, the chats, the gags and the rascals. There was no suspiciousness, no disrespect, no anger. Just sweat, bloodshot gazes and sincere hearts.
Than again, rain, forcing me to leave. Hellish rain, every day, I am getting a bit bored. Combined with the humidity and fickleness, my camera and me are not in the best mood. Anyway. Dambulla so far, you did the change. And I found a restaurant with soups on the menue! Oh, how I miss the soups… for lunch curry with rice, for dinner, Kutta. Spicy, delicious, but every day? But I learned, had to learn and wanted to, how to eat with my hands without sticking half of it into my beard. It´s a messy atmosphere in the restaurants I will miss, everyone with their hands deep inside of hills of rice, with four or five different kinds of side orders, daal, vegetables, chicken, dried fish, fresh – if so – and tasty, kneading, splashing, playing with your food, like a kid, without being slapped. I love it! In general the Sri Lankan is eating three times a day, as worldwide common. But the portions! Holy belly, I eat lunch and I am done. At this point I would like to quote my traveling friend Jose, “They are all pregnant here.”
