Leaving Trinco

Departing from Trinco was the most personal farewell so far. As I walked down the street with my backpack, I approached my daily juice bar and could see the disappointment in Sankar's face that I had already had my breakfast. Over the past few days, we had shared many sincere conversations over hot teas and fresh pineapple juices. In his little cafe, I had found a refuge from the heat and could sit for hours watching Uppuveli's population pass by. We talked a lot about cultural differences, education, past and future. His place had become my 'window to the world'. The day before my departure, I stayed for almost two hours, knowing this would be my last visit. But I had promised to stop by before leaving. He washed his hands and asked when I would come back. His kind brown eyes told me that he did not usually make such personal connections with his guests. It was a sincere farewell and I truly hope we meet again.

On my way to the bus stop, a tuk-tuk pulled up. To my surprise, the driver did not offer me a ride. I looked up and saw a grinning face. It was the driver who had brought us to the hot wells a few days earlier. Though we had really haggled over the price, he was content because we had lots of fun with the Italians and the banana leaves. He asked where I am going and when I would be back. He respected my choice to take the bus into Trinco. After a long wait, an overcrowded mini-bus arrived and it seemed almost impossible to board with my luggage. I hopped on and the two conductors squeezed on the few inches left to stand, with their bodies hanging outside the bus. Two passengers took my backpack and stored it upfront, between bags filled with rice and school boys squeezing tight to the driver's window. I had to stand on my toes and hold on to a ceiling bar with one finger. The bus driver smiled at me and declared that it must be difficult to ride the bus in Sri Lanka. I smiled back and responded 'Not at all, it's fun!'.


I had decided to take the bus to Anuradhapura, the third ancient site of the cultural triangle, because Geert from Holland had given me a free ticket and I was too curious to let it pass. My curiousity was rewarded with a three-hour bumpy bus ride from one hole to the next, twirling the dirt roads in the air, leaving a thick layer of dust on my skin and hair. But I could not care less because my hair style was not important here. For the first time, I had decided to keep my backpack next to me instead of storing it near the driver's seat. Given the bumpy ride, it would have been tossed out the door, which remains open at all times. The lady sitting next to me demonstrated endless patience picking up my falling backpack again and again. Apologetically, I signalled to her that she could just let it fall. After she had left the bus, I pulled out a string that I had brought to fix my hammock to tie the backpack to the seat. The other passengers looked pleased about my improvisation. On our way to Anuradhapura, we passed rice fields and lakes with dead trees, reminding me of my rural experience in Sri Lanka. When we arrived in Anuradhapura three hours later I was hungry, tired, and drenched.


(Photographs from my "Window to the World" at Sankar's juice bar in Uppuveli / Trinco)