The Truck Stops Here


We reached the airfield but the helicopter never showed.

The officers were as charming and helpful as every other Sri Lankan we’ve met, but there was nothing to be done except brave a marathon 12-hour drive in a diesel fume-filled van across the country in pounding rain, over pitted, traffic-crammed roads that looked more like rushing rivers.

We reached the coast at midnight last night, and found ourselves looking out at this view this morning – spectacular and empty (but sadly due to be under heavy rain until – you guessed – the day after we leave). It doesn’t matter. I had hoped to visit many other places here but ended up seeing a real cross-section of Sri Lanka.

It was particularly instructive to see how Buddhism informs every part of many Sri Lankans’ lives, with huge white or lemon-coloured statues, most of them new, erected at vantage points above towns where all can see them.

Back to freezing London next by another horribly convoluted route.

2 comments on “The Truck Stops Here”

  1. J. Folgard says:

    Let’s hope it all works out -Cheers!

  2. I.A.M. says:

    Three words can best help you at this time: Be. Here. Now.

    Or, if Ram Dass’s words do not help you, then try the typical suggestion offered in the lesser of the Commonwealth’s antipodean nations (hint: not N.Z.): Drink. Much. Beer.

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