Uppuveli - Tourist haven, Tiger hell!

Sunday being the day of rest, and me having so much respect for religious devotion, little was done but visit central Kandy and see a bit of culture. I’m feeling more settled and less inclined to induce shite feelings. The ability to respond to strangers making approaches, without leaving myself open has improved massively. It doesn’t matter whether I’m charged over the odds, or I’m short changed. If I decide to pay an agreed amount fine, if I can see I've been short changed, then bring it to their attention. What is the point of inappropriate action then regretting it and feeling awful after. We all make good and bad decisions, and we must live by them. So agreeing to pay $100 when $60 is reported to be the going rate is my choice, I’d decided that amount was worth it to me. I wasn’t actually looking forward to catching a bus to Trincomalee, so stuff the expense. Standing for hours on a crowded bus? I don’t think I’d cope very well physically. Though in the future I plan to be more frugal on travelling expenses.

What a relief to have reached the coast and find myself even more relaxed, more than ready to settle in for a while. I made it to the east coast and must now settle into a new environment, allow myself time to acclimatize yet again. The temperature in Uppuveli is hot to say the least, a sort of Sinai desert hot, which is good because there is virtually 0% humidity. From the person who claims it can never be too hot, it should be considered perfect. And indeed the setting is almost picture perfect, I sit typing in front my open window with nothing but palm trees, sand and the ocean in sight. If I lean out a concrete monstrosity rear its ugly head above the sand, but I find it no effort not to lean out the window. Why would I want to taint this picture of paradise?I wanted to pay no more than 1,000 rupees a night, and I’ve got that rate for a stay of only 3 nights. If deciding to prolong the stay for weeks it will get much cheaper, it not I move on to fresher pastures. Unless I contact a friend working here I might as well settle in for a while. (Photos: Traditional drumming and dancing - Kandy, Sri Lanka)

Oh my fickle mindedness, all it takes is a chat to other tourists and I start to reconsider my plans. They’ve just come up from Arugam bay and regale fond tales of cheap accommodation at very good prices. Instantly it sets my mind to thoughts of setting off for cabanas at 700 rupees and a choice of which I prefer. A place with my own kitchen and a fridge, right on the beach. An abundance of restaurants and cafes, the only place it’s busy is in the water. How tempting is that? Believe me when I say very, yet it’s too far for a one-day journey. Certainly too far to get there and find it not what I’d imagined. Chill out dude, settle down and get your thinking cap on. Get those fingers moving; get that book going again, once you do the world will smile upon you. Everything always looks better on a full belly and a good night’s sleep. There is open beach with few hotels and guesthouses here, unlike Aragum Bay where the multitude of competition between beach fronted accommodation force better prices. I'm not here to save money, I'm here to relax and write; for which a touch of comfort won't go amiss. (Photo: Mother with infant hanging on for dear life - Haberana, Sri Lanka)

If there was any doubt it was a war zone I was entering, it would have been blown away by the military presence on the journey here. On leaving Habarana fortified gun placements were placed every 2km, despite many being unmanned it still showed clearly the level of security. They came in a series of about half a dozen, first on one side of the road, then the other. Most were built of railway sleepers, sometimes with sandbags or loose soil enveloping them. The majority made do without the extra protection; just plain wood with tin roofs, I’ll be buggered if I could see them stopping a bullet. I was itching to take pictures of them, I daren’t though, it would have meant trouble if I’d been seen. By the time we reached the Kantale reservoir the fortified placements were more substantial. They actually looked capable of the job they were meant for, they were also every kilometer, alternating between sides of the road. As Trincomalee got ever closer so did the pillboxes, they were all manned, without exception. Each end of every village/town military compounds were situated, soldiers ambling along between them. Not in squads marching, small groups walking; as in Israel every soldier carried his weapon at all times. Before reaching the city bunkers were no more than 200m apart, surprisingly we were only stopped once, no longer are they stopping and searching every vehicle, which before they tended to do at each roadblock. (Photo: Wattle and daub construction - Between Kentale & Trincomalee, Sri Lanka)


The countryside changed quite drastically as we drove through, noticeably through the corridor between Haberana and the Kantale Reservoir. It was the most extensive area of flat plains land seen since arriving, and it was bone dry. No sign of greenery was to be seen, everything scorched to a cinder. It’s where the outside temperature soared too, hardly surprising! Rice was obviously the staple crop here and in the wet season is must be lush and green. Cows grazing on the dried remains in the fields were the only sign of life, homesteads were dotted liberally around but nothing stirred. Construction of the homes was invariably of wattle and daub, but a very crude method. Once the four corners and roofs members were lashed together a sparse grid of thin branches were added before filling in with red clay. Of course the cheapest roofing material was par for the course, tin roofs, each and every one of them. The majority sported wells close to the building, so no piped water here; without sign of accessible water I can only assume the cattle were kept alive with well water. (Photos: Naval Gunboat & Concrete bunker - Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)


Along the beach at Uppuveli the locals live in shanty huts, constructed mainly of corrugated iron and plastic sheeting. Behind these are the remains of brick built huts, sat inside barbed wire enclosures. No new buildings are yet permitted; the government do not want redevelopment within 200m of the beach. These are fisher folk, they work and live at the edge of the sea. The whole family spends each day at the shoreline. Boats race out to deploy their nets and all the men systematically haul them in, bringing in a few metric tonne at a time. Two lines of guys, one at each end of the seine net, rhythmically haul in from the waters edge to the beachhead. Then it’s back to the front of the line again, for a couple hours at a time! This is repeated four or five times a day, they have no time to be living away from the beach itself, so they make do with dilapidated huts.


The fishing communities are Tamils, without fail, they work incessantly yet always have a smile on their faces. This beach was lucky, they escaped the worst of the tsunami, sheltered by Swami rock, a promontory jutting out to the southeast. The destruction evident in the ruined buildings is by virtue of the war though, fire blackened shells, riddled with bullet holes. They live below the poverty line; making do the best they can, refusing to give up. Sun blacked skin, wearing virtual rags for clothes, they persist. A people of great fortitude, many of whom have known nothing but war and hardship. It would be cruel to accuse them of idiocy, yet the childish glee in which I’ve been welcomed would leave many doubting their mental integrity. Yes they are a simple people, often joyous in an infantile way; yet so lovely and friendly in every way! (Photo: Soldier and military enclosure amongst fishing village - Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)


Being notoriously bad for highway discipline I shouldn’t expect much, it still amazes there are not more accidents and deaths. Bearing in mind I saw three accidents in one day that is saying something. There is no order at all, and the most common accident seems to be head-on collisions. Certainly the vehicles noticed burnt out or wrecked at the roadside show it to have been head on. There really is no regard for other road users; unless an oncoming vehicle is larger they overtake anyway, regardless of blind bends. Heshan, who drove me here is careful and considerate in comparison to most, yet even he has me gripping my seat at times. Roundabouts are chaos, there’s no such thing as stopping before entering a roundabout. Drive straight on and sort out who goes where or when in the middle, nothing is coordinated, there is no rhyme or reason. A few vehicles from the right might be allowed through, but then it’s a matter of forcing a way through. How the police ever decide who to stop and book is beyond me, every person and every vehicle is generally breaking the law. Which is exactly the case in question with motorcycles, helmets are compulsory; yet as many go without as comply. Blatantly flouting the law riders pass the police without them batting an eyelid. (Photos: Local fisherman - Uppuveli; War torn home - Tamil hinterland, Sri Lanka)

Wild elephants, boaring!!

A lovely observation was made on a bus, modern day chivalry, well partly! After getting on the bus and a young lass had to stand, a youth sitting by her side took her bag to allow her to hold on securely. It was sweet, and I was impressed. When she thought she had a seat he gave it back, only to resume his gallantry when another guy got into the seat first. Only as I started writing this did I realize he could have actually offered her his seat, that would have been real chivalry; but hey, this is the 21st century! People do not give up their seats on buses, whoever it’s for.And few people seem keen to seat next to a westerner on the bus, can’t really work out why. It isn’t as if they aren’t curious or friendly! On the contrary, I get an awful lot of attention. Folks staring at me as they pass on buses, and without exception they are all smiles when I catch their eye, especially kids. I'm told the people are amazed at my tattoos, but not disgusted!

Finally I find my gumption, I assert myself! Not in an angry, unreasonable manner, but still being emphatic, without dithering or being susceptible to manipulation. More and more I’ve seethed inside as the owner of the guesthouse has taken the piss, fleecing me for every rupee possible. Always a need for more money, constant promises never being fulfilled. Lies and deceit; laughing all the way to the bank I’d say. I had enough and finally put my foot down when expected to leave on a full two-day tour at midday, in a faulty car. I refused and insisted on a full refund, which he spent an hour trying to cajole me out of getting. I’m rather pleased with myself, for the way I’m dealing with it, for the calm but insistent way I’m acting. In all honesty I’ve had enough of being taken for a ride and have acted admirably, at least in my eyes.

I finally relented and agreed to take the tour to Yala national Park, really wanting to visit there may as well be done now as later. Being reassured it was only a 2 ½ hr journey wasn’t actually taken seriously, how could it be, it was a Rodney claim. And he really is an unreliable, lying shit! I’ve a new driver from yesterday, with another youth to accompany us, I think he’s here because his English is much better. It’s been a long day, I’ve been pretty quiet for much of it, which must be quite hard for them. I’m also down to 4,000 rupees in cash, which I won’t top up until we get back to Kandy. There shouldn’t be a need to, it’s a prepaid tour! I’ve got through $600 in the last ten days, much of it through Rodney (the guesthouse owner), which I’m not chuffed about.

So how was today’s journey? Not too bad really, no a/c for much of it. I finally suggested turning off the system, having convinced myself the cooler unit had iced up and blocked itself. It may have taken a few hours but it cleared and worked fine. Three cheers for Mr Leslie! I liked the rout we took, very scenic, straight through tea plantation country. The majority was winding up and down mountainsides, spectacular open country lay all around. An ocean of greenery spread before us, with occasional low mist obscuring any view at all. The tea plantations are very neat and tidy, flowing down the mountain slopes in orderly rows. Individual companies run large areas, their names emblazoned across the slope in Hollywood style: but not on the same scale. I didn’t take a tour of the tea factory, I would have found it boring, just the sort of thing I got dragged round as a kid.

Around Nuwara Eliya the main crops cultivated are root veg, cabbage and beans. They’re grown in very uniform raised beds, terraces of them cover the hillsides around town. The terraces have deep sides, obviously dictated by the gradient of the hill. There were signs of small plots, separated by nylon mesh and posts; they don’t appear to be windbreaks, each plot about 50 m2 and only layed out like this is one small area. Once we’d left the tortuously windy mountainside the land opened out, it was flat and semi-wetland. Ideal for rice, and indeed it was covered with paddy fields. What I haven’t seen is much cultivation of fruit, it’s very haphazard; left to grow naturally mainly. The method obviously works for them as there is no shortage of fruit, the roads are lined with fruit stalls. Which reminds me, why the hell haven’t I stopped and got any rambutans? There are huge piles of them everywhere. Passing through a huge swathe of inland Sri Lanka showed the variation of homes, there were certainly plenty of mud walled houses with thatched roofs; but there were more block built homes! The latter could be seen with tiled roofs, which tended to be the better quality, while others had corrugated iron or asbestos; asbestos is the more prevalent. Do they actually manufacture it over here, or is the west selling their illegal toxic materials over here? The other day I noticed a lorry full being unloaded at a construction site, there is no shortage and it appears to be the material of choice. If you’ve ever sat under a corrugated iron roof during a tropical storm it’s easy to understand why, but only if you totally ignore the danger of building with asbestos.

Today is also a festival for full moon, which they have every month, I think, but this one is special. Driving into any village we’re welcomed by flag waving across the road and temporary shelter dishing out food or drink, it could be rice and curry, ice cream or just a cup of coffee. What a great idea, how generous. If I stayed here and never ate, slept in the gutter and waited for these occasions I would never recoup the amount of cash I’ve been fleeced for since arriving. I really have had enough, I’m actually sat here thinking of, leaving the place, going home! I could make an issue of it whenever it happens, as it is a continuous occurrence all my time would be spent reproaching people and insisting on not paying for something I’ve been given and not asked for. I don’t want to be constantly confronting people, and yet even a hotel will serve a three-course meal when you’ve only ordered one dish. Making it double the price! Right now I can only think of advising anyone wanting to come here not to, just don’t do it. I feel inadequate for the task of coping here, I do not have the energy to tackle the problem and however I look at it it matters to me. Why should I allow folks to constantly demand money from me, because they have given me something I do not want; even when I specifically said no, I do not want that.

Like the journey down the a/c unit packed in and we seriously baked in the car. Being so hot, bothered and unhappy proved hard to handle and I was in a foul mood with Rodney. Still didn’t blow a fuse with him, in fact I actually offered a compromise to save him having to raise the money he is meant to reimburse me. A simple solution, which leaves me out of pocket; I think it is a nicer way to do things, it leaves me feeling more positive about myself, which is more important than money. I do not recoup my 3,000 rupees but gain more in my head and heart. I get another free night and meals for the next 36 hours, we’re then reconciled with each other. Possibly soft and foolish, there again, maybe that is the way I’d rather be. It’s much better than being mister angry and giving people shit over everything possible. As I said, it’s taken the heat out my frustration, which is very important. Now I need to fortify my resolve and make the most of being here, not since India have I bowed out early from a trip abroad.

The safari driver this morning didn’t like being left without a tip, and I couldn’t be bothered to explain why. Having requested once to slow down and avoid the convoy ploughing their way around the park I objected to being subjected to more of the same. Most frustrating was him driving away from things just as I was about to take a photo. The best part, excepting the elephants, was waiting by a watering hole. That’s when the wild boar and spotted deer were seen, cautiously venturing down to the water’s edge. Once there were no other vehicles around the peace was beautiful, it could well have been worth waiting longer. Considering the next port of call was the beach I should have stayed! As expected the number of visitors was high, but the speed all the drivers tore around at was stupid. And once a mobile call went out they all raced to where the elephants had been spotted. I counted eighteen vehicles at one spot, and it disturbed the creatures. A pair of matriarchs formed a defensive position between the road and the herd, and the tiny one hardly ventured into sight. Luckily for me I was in the best position to see it when it did appear in clear view. Now I’ve calmed down and seen the photos I feel much better about it all. I’ve also spoken to a guy who claims to be a friend of his so he can actually explain.

Heffalumps on parade!

Having come up with the idea of riding all methods of transportation I couldn't very well turn down the opportunity to hop onto an elephant. He goes by the name Raja and made for a lovely end to an interesting day. I went for the full tourist hit and went on an organised tour of the surrounding sites. I realise why I don't do organised tours, they actually leave me feeling used and abused. Too much exposure to the many ways someone can fleece you! The actual places visited were worth seeing, it was the unscheduled stops and extra costs that got to me. I don't have the fortitude to take it all in my stride, each attempt to relieve me of my cash sees me sink a little lower. After a day of this I'd had enough, Having spent a reasonable amount for the tour I objected to the guide taking us to a a series of places so he could earn a commission from. It isn't on! Taking into consideration he spent the whole day on his mobile phone your truly was not a happy bunny. So please excuse the cynical and cheesed off tone of this entry.

Five days were spent in the capital, with very mixed feelings. Each day I walked for hours around the city, through the hottest part of the day. I learnt to keep baggage down to a minimum, it only added to the amount of sweat pouring off me. By only taking my camera and guidebook in my small bag meant little weight and a distinct improvement to my discomfort. And hell, is it hot! I refused to take tuk-tuks, all the drivers are complete reprobates and rip you blind given half a chance. It is constant as I walk around, they slow down and try to coax me into the vehicle. An emphatic no with no other recognition of their presence is normally enough. Normally, there are still plenty who curb crawl using all their wiles to get you in their tuk-tuk. A particularly persistent one tried really hard, so I just treated it as a joke. “Where am you going?” For a walk! “Where to? I can take you there” Where my legs carry me, I like walking. “ I can take you to many religious shrines, many interesting places” I’ve just walked to all the Hindu and Buddhist shrines. I just want to walk, and I don’t want hashish, cocaine, heroine, a hotel or a woman. “I can take you to see some very nice gems.” I don’t like gems. “ You not like jiggy jiggy?” Yes, but I don’t want jiggy jiggy. By which time we were both smiling hugely and bade each other goodbye.

It has been a battle to cope emotionally since I got here, which surprises me. I was so looking forward to coming here, in fact it was the closest I'd got to enthusiasm in a long time. this has been beaten into submission by the rigours of being hassled for money all the time. Walking around has given me a great buzz with all the happy faces, big beaming smiles and cheery welcomes. Most days this buzz has been devastated by only one or two people trying to rip me off. Each time I've shaken myself free of the blues it's happened again, and now it has got the better of me. In fact today has seen me questioning being here at all. Starting the day was saw me in tears thinking of Cai, and I couldn't pull myself out of it. After three years it doesn't feel I'm any closer to moving on, why isn't it getting damned easier?Of course it is getting ever closer to the anniversary of Cai's death, as if I need an excuse for grief. taking a while to equate the two it finally linked together my emotions and cranky head state. I had actually chosen to be away form Wales for July 3rd, for that specific reason, amongst the being homeless, fed up and dispossessed. Yeah, that's probably enough for anyone to get the hell out.

Might ain't right!

Bejayzus, it’s hot here! The humidity is extreme, the sun is scorching and my body wilted in an instant. After a day of travelling I had no reserves of energy, the best I could manage was to find a guidebook recommended guesthouse and chill out. It wasn’t the cheapest and certainly not the best, but I needed a couple of nights to lay down my head and relax. Three days into Sri Lanka and I’m still suffering from a severe lack of energy. Initially I stayed in Negombo, a short hop from the airport, purely to rest and prepare myself for a visit to the capital, Colombo. There’s little hurry I’m here for 3 months, my first priority is to get acclimatized and it’s taking a while. I’d hoped to get in and out Colombo within a couple of days, it’s the only place I can extend my visa or get a driving permit. On entry to the country tourists are only given a 30 day visa, extensions are easily available, but only from the Dept of Immigration. My intention is also to procure a motorbike for at least some of my time here, if not all. With an international driving permit the AAC (Automobile Association of Ceylon) need to validate it for use while here. (Photo: Life by the railway - Negombo, Sri Lanka)

I had expected a heavy military presence and was pleasantly surprised at a lack of military personnel around the airport and the surrounding towns. That was until I caught a train, realizing that every road between towns and villages has a roadblock. And the perimeter of the airport is actually heavily guarded, with watchtowers, machinegun placements and a moat. You just can’t see them from the public side! Reaching Colombo got even heavier; every five meters gun-toting soldiers lined the sidewalk, clusters of them congregated at every road junction. They were everywhere, though it was meant to be for a special occasion! Today is the first anniversary of the civil war ending, a celebration of the annihilation of the Tamil Tigers. The president, in his infinite wisdom called it a public holiday and used it as an excuse to parade the military might of the nation. There were reportedly over 9,000 personnel who took part in the parade, there must have been as many patrolling the streets and interspersed with the crowds. Having taken part of military parades I was amazed at the numbers on the parade. The amount of weaponry on display was obscene! (Photo: Not an African Grey Parrot - Gangaramaya Buddhist shrine, Colombo, Sri Lanka)

(Photo: Victory parade - Galle Field Green, Colombo, Sri Lanka)

Bearing in mind the poverty of this Island their defense budget is immense. The deployment of the army and police around the capital is staggering, the east coast and northern provinces are supposedly even worse. These are the areas populated mainly by the Tamils. Obviously they wouldn’t have been left without their strong military presence during the victory celebrations in Colombo. If only a small fraction of military spending was put to better use it would go a long way to ensuring the population had no reason to perpetuate a civil war. I’m sure killing the leaders of the Tamil Tigers has not rid the Tamil population of their gripes; surely addressing their complaints is the only way to ensure long lasting peace. Subjugation is no way to solve a problem, it merely pushes it further underground. And printing victory banknotes will only rub salt into the wounds! How can a Buddhist nation be so violent to their compatriots, how can their religious followers allow it to happen? It will be interesting to reach the Tamil areas, which is where I mean to spend most my time. People over the west, mainly Singhalese, do not want to talk about the civil war. Their only comments are expressions of happiness that it’s all over, if asked whether it is actually over they answer with an emphatic YES. (Photo: Slum Cricket - City wasteland, Colombo, Sri Lanka)

The monsoon is blowing onto the west coast, tourist season is over so there’s few around; making me a prime target for being hustled. In my first 24 hrs I was offered hash, cocaine, opium and heroine; not bad for a country that has the death penalty for possession of illegal drugs. The wolves were at the door as soon as I arrived, fresh meat to the slaughter. Hawkers have hung around the exit to my guesthouse for a couple of hours waiting for me to leave. Similar to Indians, the Sri Lankans are overly polite, they make it almost pleasant to be hustled; almost! More time was spent being waylaid, rejecting offers of anything and everything, than enjoying myself. That in itself can be very tiring and certainly time consuming! I did accept tea in someone’s house, but declined to give them money or enter negotiations for an arranged marriage. Neither did I accept a beauty consultant as future bride, nor volunteer to act as sponsor to pave the way into the UK for an apparently wealthy taxi-driver. But I have refused to treat people with contempt, I’m here to meet people and experience their country: not dismiss them out of hand. It still makes a chore of even going for a quiet walk or popping out for a bottle of water. (Photo: Hindu deities - Sri Subramania Kovil Temple, Colombo, Sri Lanka)

I’ve been taken for a right Wally in Colombo, a typical scam which I actually allowed to happen, even once realising what was going on. Wherever you go people scam tourists, they are all variations of the same thing, how to get money out the dumb foreigner. I’ve dealt with so many, the worse thing was becoming aware of it and not extracting myself immediately. Why? Because I didn’t want to assert myself, didn’t want to diss a stranger, I wanted to give them the benefit of doubt. I allowed someone to take me on a taxi ride and attempt to lumber me with a stupidly high bill.I guess it was quite clever of the guy, he spent a bit of time gaining my confidence, walking with me to show me a Hindu ceremonial procession, which two other people had tried taking me to. Halfway there he starting limping and suggested we get a tuk-tuk, despite being clear I didn’t have the money for rides in tuk-tuks I still got in one with him. With hind sight is it any surprise I felt sorry for someone having problems with his leg? He might even have noticed a slight wobble from my left knee as we walked. Once sat in the vehicle he just prolonged the journey, I did object, but not with enough conviction. For a while at least! Eventually I made them stop the tuk-tuk and refused to pay the bill. Either the driver was not in on it or he played the part well (I’m inclined to believe the latter), he seemed so angry with the guy, so I left them to sort it out between them. It will not happen again, I just feel stupid that it occurred in the first place. (Photo: Fisherman casting - Filthy canal, Colombo city, Sri Lanka)

Due to the impromptu public holiday, it was only announced two days before it happened, I couldn’t get my visa extension or bloody driving permit. So I’m stuck in Colombo for three extra days over the weekend. But I’ve booked a train ticket for Tuesday, hopefully there will be no problems and by Tues evening I’ll be in Kandy. The train ride there is well recommended; they have an observation carriage with all round views. First class, what! Trains are a pittance, it only cost £2 for the 2 ½ hr journey. I wish I could say the same for the hotels, Colombo is very short on cheap accommodation. In such a poor country $50 a night is extortionate! It allows me longer to settle into the country though, and I’m not about to worry myself over a couple of hundred dollars. Refusing to use air conditioning makes acclimatisation better, but the whole hotel is decidedly cooler than outside. (Photo: Bronze relief of Siddhārtha Gautama after 49 days meditatation under the Bodhi tree- Gangaramaya Buddhist shrine, Colombo, Sri Lanka)

Tea and toast in Ceylon

Gone are the days where excitement marked starting up my bike after a rebuild. To swing my leg over and kick the beast into life, blood rushing to my head giving a feel of heavy intoxication. The urgent need to stamp it into gear and rip open the throttle would be overwhelming; restrained only by the physical necessity to allow the engine to warm up and tick over without choke. The wait was a strain! Believe me, it beats jumping on a bike you've just bought, borrowed or stolen (actually the latter might well be more exciting, I wouldn't know, I couldn't bring my self to depriving someone of their precious machine). The act of creating is the ultimate for me, as enjoyable as the riding itself. In essence it completes the experience, making me truly a part of my machine. It isn't difficult to sit and envisage each and every working part in motion, doing just what it should. Only after stripping down and rebuilding my bikes do I attain an in-depth working relationship with them, and I'd rather ride what I've built than any other. As I lay in my hospital bed nearly two years ago, body broken but spirit intact, I vowed to rebuild my bike. I claimed I'd be fit to ride it just as soon as I was fit enough to rebuild it. In the intervening months my mind has been waylaid many times, it would have been too easy to have gone off on a tangent, forsaking that chosen path. But I was fortunate, circumstances conspired to bring us together, to provide the time and the space to get down and get dirty with each other.

Restrictions on time aren't the best of circumstances to plan a rebuild. Especially before you've stripped the beauty completely, before a full in-depth examination can be done. Though unforeseen, the time constraints made me pick up the pace; so thanks folks, thanks for setting deadlines and forcing my hand! I forged ahead and got the job done, overcoming the multitude of problems and mistakes that occurred. I'm glad it was me who overcame the problems, and various suppliers who made the mistakes. the moment of most anxiety came when it was time to wheel my bike out the barn. With a bit of thought and careful manoeuvring extraction was a painless experience, shunning offers of help I coped single handed without problem. My worries lay in getting it onto the farm track, a ride around the field, a lumpy, bumpy, rock strewn field. When the time came I bit the bullet and just jumped on with a bugger it attitude, ready to ride. Or would have been if the gear lever had been there; oops, not quite immediate perfection. Put bluntly, I was shitting myself! It wasn't how I wanted to test myself, I'd have preferred some smooth tarmac welcoming me back to biking. With feet paddling I wibbled and wobbled towards a rocky slope, each lump or bump adding to my discomfort. It felt like a journey of epic proportions, in reality I travelled only about 5 metres before planting my feet on the pegs and giving it more throttle. RESULT!! I even got round to purposely locking the rear wheel, to make sure a wheel slide didn't freak me out.

It's a thing of the past to relish hiring full highland dress for a fancy do. Losing the intensity of pleasure does not mean you have to forsake it entirely, I like dressing up. I always have done and believe I always will. The thought is still there, it's only the childish excitement that was missing. When Elin asked for formal dress on her 21st it took very little for me to decide to hire something nice, and what nicer than highland regalia. With complete disregard for traditional rights I went for a Black Isle Tarten, it more befits my morbid fascination of the morose. And what more can I say, "it was nice!' There was no running around, the life and soul of the party. There was no overly exuberant behaviour, but I felt special, the dress and the occasion felt special, your 21st only comes once in your lifetime after all. On Cai's birthday this year it done my head in, he would have been 21yrs old. I didn't know how this would effect my presence at Elin's 21st: it didn't! Which I feel has proved to be a turning point in the grieving process. I can remember saying after his birthday that no other birthday of his could ever be as relevant. I made it through that day, as I've made it through each and every one since his accident. I may not have found much joy and enthusiasm in life since then, but I have learnt I can still show my appreciation for special occasions and special people.

And a damned good time was had by all, kids, young adults, middle aged and even the old crusties; a truly multi-generation party of excellence. I believe us middle-aged folks (did I really just admit to being in that class?) showed most fortitude. Indeed it was only a hand full of us die hards who did not even bother going to bed.I even had the where with-all to set up the headlight on the bike in preparation for the MOT on Monday morning. Which entailed waiting until 10:30pm for it to get dark enough to see where it was pointing. Just as well I did, the height and direction was way out. But it passed, Tax followed immediately and suddenly I was once again the proud owner of a road legal motorcycle. So how was the experience? It was after all nearly two years since falling off and nearly crippling myself permanently.

Initially I felt overjoyed, and wanted to give it a fistful, mainly to convince myself i'd not lost my bottle. Bearing in mind six months ago I had reservations about my ability to ride a bike, I was sure I'd at least need a brace to support my knee. Once straddled my machine it was a whole different story, though one of varying sides. Doubts were gone, but weren't replaced by overwhelming joy. Traffic urged me to whip out and overtake with as much noise and jubilation as possible. Country roads instilled a touch more caution, especially on blind bends.When the rain started I became tense, almost uncomfortable. My eyes searched everywhere, all the time, for any sign of a hazard; constantly having to reassure myself all was well. I didn't overtake anything, being happy to follow whoever was in front, at whatever speed they dictated. That initial day was certainly one of mixed blessings, it made me wonder how fulfilling I would find riding my bike again. The stem of such thoughts was the lack of exhilaration, it didn't make me whoop with joy, it didn't allow me to forget the months of pain, or feel whole again. Not at first anyway. The following day I took a ride over to Yorkshire, three hours through drizzly rain and dense mist. Still hanging back, following the flow of traffic, not bold enough to pass and blat into the solid wall of fog. Why I thought that should have been the case I don't know: it is promising though, sensible thoughts appearing through my brash exterior. The return trip was even worse, more of the same impenetrable wall of mist with a constant deluge of rain. Isn't this just what I ride a bike for? Actually yes! It is in weather like this that has generally made me aware of the level of enjoyment I get from riding a bike, however bad the weather it doesn't put me off entirely. I haven't shaken my sense of caution on blind country roads, but I have got a smile on my face again.

Only in days long gone did my itchy feet start tingling as departing on another jaunt crept ever closer. Like many things in my life now the thrill is missing, I don't get off on much, when before there were any number of activities or indulgences that were guaranteed to get the juices flowing. My life has changed, every aspect of it; both the physical and metaphysical. My thoughts and feelings can take a sudden turn for the worse, seemingly happy one moment, holding back the tears the next. Nothing is the same as before, even walking can't be taken for grantedI know I've stated this before, but for me it is a constant reminder and much of the time I struggle to keep my head up and focus on a future. No-one expects much of me anymore, which is just as well, even if I gave a damn what they thought I could do little about it. Life is what it is, I can only create favourable circumstances to survive and hope the environment I put myself in will be conducive to my future happiness. And now I go galavanting again, to Sri Lanka this time, part holiday, part work. My intention is to write, to finish the story of the Americas, to close that chapter of my life. Without finishing the story it will never end! I feel it will give me closure, I have done since Cai died. Bearing that in mind, it must be done. So the situation that encourages me to write must be found, it didn't happen at home, let's hope it does abroad.