All change, into the heart of poverty.

So it becomes time to move on, it would be too easy to stay, yet strangely overdue. It does become too busy here, I do feel like a hypocrite and my focus is wandering too much. Trincomalee opening to tourists is big news in Sri Lanka, and I don’t mean purely for western tourists. Busloads of Sri Lankans arrive from the central provinces, hoards of youths, lively and loud, clamouring to have photos taken with the tattooed man, trying to take pictures of white women in their bikinis. Some days the beach is flooded with local visitors, most realising a long-standing dream to see the beach at Uppuveli. Unaccessible (or so I’m lead to believe) for 30 years as the war raged. I was also informed that some of the young visiting coming from the interior haven’t been to a beach before. I’m unsure of such rash statements, but their behaviour certainly indicates the visit as a special occasion. (Photo: Fishermen mending nets - Trincomalee beach, Sri Lanka)

Unfortunately the result of the onslaughts is an environmental nightmare. Every morning, especially at the weekends, the beach is littered with plastic bottles, plastic bags and an assortment of glass bottles. Invariably these are from Sri Lankan visitors, rarely they cleaned up, either by the visitors or the staff at the various beachfront establishments. It breaks my heart, the bay is gorgeous but with such an increase in visitors it will soon become just another filthy beach, which foreign tourists will not want to visit. What a crying shame, the war torn, tsunami battered coast desperately needs an injection of money, it needs visitors. But not this sort, this is counter-productive. Countless mornings I’ve walked up and down the immediate stretch of beach to my guesthouse, picking up Arrak and whisky bottles, bags, wrappers and countless plastic water bottles. I’m not the only one either, I’ve noticed another tourist doing the same. Handfuls of broken glass have been picked from the sand. Some is scoured and weatherworn, much of it is clean and sparkly, obviously recently broken and left lying on the open sand. (Photo: Hanging out, at the beach temple men only - Trincomalee, Sri Lanka)

At least the glass bottles, those still intact, seem to be taken away, I assume for recycling. Of the multitude of plastic water bottles, they accumulate, in patches of rough ground, against old buildings, anywhere and everywhere. Within the grounds of guesthouses they are at least collected and disposed of; not by garbage collectors, there appear to be no such luxuries on the island. A few times a week they are simply heaped onto a fire and burnt, acrid fumes wafting through the grounds, the stench a mixture of plastic and rotting food waste. Actually the amount of foodstuffs lasting long enough to burn is limited, as heaps domestic waste is piled behind the buildings the scavengers rummage through. Crows, dogs and even cows vie for the choicest refuse, battling against each other for first choice. The cows came as a surprise to me, I’ve never seen them as scavengers before, pigs yes, but never cows. Here they wander freely, emaciated, dehydrated constantly on the prowl for any source of water, any edible vegetation. (Photo: Bicycle mechanic - Trincomalee town, Sri Lanka)

A poverty stricken coast, the east coast of Sri Lanka can certainly do with an influx of money. How much the local populace benefit is marginal though. Sri Lankan tourists arrive loaded with supplies, consume what they bring, leave the litter and return home. Little, if anything, is actually spent whilst here. Foreign tourists frequent the hotel and guesthouse restaurants, they aren’t locally owned or run. Many of the staff are brought in from other areas, even security men I’ve spoken to are outsiders. So a small number of locals are employed for menial tasks, cleaning, labouring under the mid-day sun. Few visitors spend time within the town of Trinco, few spend much money there. The market is devoid of tourists, small stores are shocked to get foreign custom. It isn’t hard to realise why the Tamil Tigers resorted to the decades of bloodshed, the distribution of wealth and opportunity is grossly unfair. Now the east coast is open the businessmen from the west can resume their plunder of the local economy. ( Photo: Evening rainbow - Uppuveli beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

There are dozens of Hindu temples in Trinco, sometimes they stand in clusters, often one large temple standing alone. They do have a semblance of the ornate about them, but nothing like those found elsewhere. Even the largest, roof ringed with every Hindu deity imaginable, is lack lustre and dull in comparison to temples in Colombo, Kandy or Nuwara Eliya. It isn’t for lack of decorative features, it isn’t for lack of attendance or care; I believe it to be simply a lack of money. View the gaudily painted temples in other areas, imagine the time and money needed to maintain their glossy sheen. They have neither the time nor money to spend on their temples in the east, so they stand faded and forlorn, but not deserted; far from deserted. Attendance is high, worship reverential, none of your religious hypocrisy seen here. Weeell, almost none! I’ve yet to decipher why some of the local Hindu restaurants are serving beef. It could be ox, probably not Water buffalo (I’ve not seen any of them outside Yala National Park), but I was stunned to be offered it as beef. Whatever the explanation, it isn’t worth eating; it’s stringy with lumps of gristle in, which made me gag when I tried to swallow it. Not a good idea to throw up in the middle of a café, surrounded by locals eating exactly the same dish. (Photo: Crow sheltering from the storm - French Garden guesthouse, Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)

I got talking to a local Tamil guy, who spent five years in prison under the terrorism laws. They live in total segregation while in jail, a sunken cell, little more than one and a half by two metres. He was open about the experience, yet cagey when other people entered the café. He’s still under observation by Naval Intelligence, who still pay him frequent visits. It was tempting to go out with him for a day, not on a guided tour, which is what he offered. I saw it as a chance to dig deeper, allow him to relate more of his experiences. He’d been fighting on the Tamil side, been shot and served his time in jail. He was a more desirable companion than the drunken soldiers who came here the other day. Off duty, they polished off two bottles of spirits in a couple of hours, staggered around for another couple of hours then rode away on motorbikes. It was a real hassle, one recognised me from before, when I’d been coerced into buying a wristband in aid of dead and wounded soldiers. He was insistent I go and sit with them, and I was absolutely refusing, I didn’t give a damn if it caused offence, though was tactful. The guy wouldn’t take no for an answer, but I stood my ground, NO WAY! After another one staggered over, to the tourists rooms, and was trying peoples doors, it got slightly tense. With hindsight he was probably only looking for a toilet, but I fucked him off in no uncertain terms, informing the staff to get him out the way; like now! I was aware that within the group offence had been taken, disgruntled words and arms waving in my direction, but the guesthouse staff were perfect advocates for peace and tranquillity. The situation was diffused, the main guy came over to make sure I had no problem them, with the Sri Lankan army. I wasn’t about to say I disagreed with military occupation, or to liken it to Iraq and Afghanistan, I just shook his hand and assured him there was no problem, satisfied, they dispersed and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been waiting for it to kick off, sure they were too drunk to do me any harm, but still tense, waiting for something to happen. Shit, me and authority eh! (Photos: 1] Full moon tropical fantasy; 2] Under alien surveillance on my laptop- French Garden guesthouse, Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)

Classic culture

Lazy beach life can be time consuming, broken with bouts of writing makes it more productive. It was the excuse I made for coming here for such a prolonged period of time. But I’ve not been too harsh on myself, despite not writing as fast as hoped, there are many aspects to life, it doesn’t do to be too blinkered. Having friends around induces a greater desire to join in with parties at night, with the associated wooziness the following morning. At least today it hasn’t been accompanied with a hangover. But stepping off my pedestal have affected my writing, basically I’ve not done as much in the last week, though have finished the North American part of the trip. Despite only taking up 25% of the time spent travelling, the mileage is more than half. I’m expecting Central America to be the smaller part of the book, though mustn’t skim over the time spent relaxing. I think the experience of living again will need to be expressed, it’s a vital part of the bereavement process. In many ways it’s the period where I stopped running scared, where my self-analysis kicked in. I won’t claim to have sorted my emotions out, I didn’t feel wholesome, but I started to open up again, allowed myself to laugh with new found friends. (Photo: Shoreline - Trincomalee fishing village, Sri Lanka)

Last night was the most in-depth discussion I’ve had with Sri Lankans, crossing inter-cultural issues and breaking into topics like how the local men view white women. Interestingly they like seeing tourists wander around in bikinis, but would not like to see their own women exposing themselves. They firmly believed the local women should stay covered in public! I didn’t want to get too personal, I didn’t question them whether this was to hide them from western eyes, it was certainly their preference to see their own women clothed, it added a bit of mystique for them. They were honest in saying that most Sri Lankan men would like to have sex with a white woman, I didn’t broach the subject of white men having sex with Sri Lankan women, again I didn’t want to push too hard. (Photo: Hindu Temple - Trincomalee fishing village, Sri Lanka)

Dancing was another observation, between locals the women don’t seem to be up on their feet strutting their stuff on the dance floor. The men invariably dance, in fact really enjoy dancing, but it is with other males, and I don’t mean in a smoochy way. Having been seen having a boogy in my porch, one guy was very persistent about dancing with me. He found it hard to understand, or maybe accept, that I didn’t feel like dancing at that particular time. He kept reiterating that he wanted to dance with me, he’d seen me, he liked the way I danced, he wanted to dance with me. Not for one minute did I think it was a sexual thing, there was no hint of him getting fresh with me. Unlike the guy the other night, patting my arse and inviting me into his boat with him. I’ve sort of got used to declarations of my tattoos being beautiful, but when a guy tries twiddling my nipple ring and telling me he thinks I’m beautiful, I tend to assume it is a sexual statement. (Photo: Card game under the shelter of UN tarpaulin, Trincomalee fishing villlage, Sri Lanka)

Prostitution is common, hence all the offers of finding me a woman, mainly from tuk-tuk drivers. They are definitely the sleaziest of characters, no one else comes near. I small group of women on the beach the other day were really pissed, almost unheard of with Sri Lankan women. The fact that a guy was almost lying on top of one, on the beach, and getting amorous leads me to believe they might have been prostitutes. Narrow-minded attitude? I don’t think so; that type of behaviour is not acceptable amongst local women. Such restrictions do not apply to smiling and being openly friendly with western males, I shows a fairly open minded attitude to women in this culture, There is no shortage of women in public, they are not so down-trodden they are expected to avert their eyes, or avoid us altogether. There is a difference between the sexes though, women will not engage in conversation with me to the same extent that men will. In general the women tend to hang out together, seldom do you see them eating in restaurants or sat with the men when the guys are drinking. (Photo: Fishing village, protected from Tsunami - Trincomalee, Sri Lanka)

Rain has been a big surprise, for the locals and me. It rained two nights on the trot a couple of weeks ago, then yesterday it hammered down for hours. A really spectacular storm rolled in, forked lightning streaking across the sky, framed by a double rainbow. It was glorious, as it generally is with tropical storms. Getting wet and remaining warm is heavenly, it just doesn’t seem to matter in the slightest. As I walked round Trinco countless Tuk-tuk drivers stopped to entice me out of the rain, all at an exorbitant price. They seemed surprised that I refused even when they came down in price, I took the time to explain, if they had offered a reasonable price straight away I would have accepted. By asking twice the price it’s possible to pay they will not get my custom, however much they reduce it by. I really want to get the point across, by trying to be greedy they are the ones who miss out.(Photo: Moonlit night - Uppuveli Beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

I actually meet two other tourists in Trinco yesterday, next to the internet cafes recommended by the guidebooks. If there was one obvious place that was it, from the looks I received from passers-by you rarely see tourists around other parts of town. Which I like, it makes me feel special, makes the effort of walking all over town worthwhile. Most people are perplexed as to what I’m doing, walking and looking is the usual answer, which confuses many people. It doesn’t detract from their interest or friendliness, which is standard here. For the first time over here, on the east coast, I’ve been subjected to overcharging. A liquor storeowner added 15% onto the price of a bottle of Arrak, he lost my custom. I couldn’t believe it, he’d shown me the bottle, the price was marked on it. What really got to me, I’d bought Arrak there twice before. (Photo: Princess, motherless puppy saved from near death - French Garden guesthouse, Uppuveli beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

Beach of a life!

At the end of last week I took a well deserved rest for a weekend of fun, with a random selection of Brits. Last week a couple arrived, Leanne and Steve. We got on well, got hammered the first night and stoned the second. And then the girls showed up! Jo and Amy, 2 ex-pats living in Hong Kong, and Saiorsia, of Irish descent, a recent graduate in chemistry. We all got on like a house on fire, so I wisely called a halt to writing, to enjoy some time to play.I didn’t want to keep myself from enjoying the company, nor to feel crap about not applying myself. Once I found out they were all leaving today, the decision to take a break was made. So now I’m back on track, after a great weekend, with some lovely people. One must maintain a healthy balance to life, mustn’t one? We had a go at skim boarding, played rounder’s, catch and generally buggered about. A few of the staff here commented on the transformation in me, agreeing on the wisdom of having a break and letting my hair down. (Photo: Puffer fish, slowly dying in fresh water - French Garden guesthouse, Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)

I’ve also improved my suntan; spending time socializing on the beach sorted that out. Being honest I’m too bored lying out there in the sun, I can’t be bothered to sit and do nothing, there’s too much I could be doing. Mind you, my legs and arms ache like hell now, after the beach activities. I didn’t join in the fishing trawl; just enjoyed watching the combined might of the four women team, ‘the fit family Austrian.’ It’s unbelievably touching seeing family groups travelling further afield together. This lot are all toting backpacks, even the young lad. He joined us playing rounder’s, at least that way it wasn’t two guys against three women. Out of quite a few of the tourists asked he was the only one who would join in. At the time I thought that was a poor show, on reflection it’s how I would have reacted to strangers asking me if I wanted to join in a ball game. Shame on me! Only time will tell if that realization alters future decisions for such opportunities. (Photo: Aryan supremacy at its best - Uppuveli beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

Another rethink, the presence of so many police and army here! Being there to sort out problems with two drunks and a Tuktuk, it removed the chance of the possible escalation of an argument. Having gone to town, for a leaving meal, the last three of us found one of the few remaining Tuktuks around town. The driver said 300 rupees, so we got him to agree on 200, and away we went; or so we thought! A huge drunken Sri Lankan got into the front with the driver, and proceeded to shout greetings and declarations of love for the English. It wasn’t nice, loud drunkenness isn’t pleasant to be around, but not a problem. It became apparent the driver was drunk too, he spent half the journey veering over to the wrong side of the road. They spoke together in Tamil a bit, then the giant declares, “so you pay 300 rupees to Uppuveli.” NO, was the resounding reply from all three of us. From that point on, it could easily have gone badly wrong. They were both shouting and insisting we pay 300, my response was to demand they stop and let us off. It was starting to get physical, Steve’s wrist being grabbed as we walked away, money being demanded, 200 rupees there or 300 back to our hotel. I was emphatic, no chance, they were either going to take us all the way for 200, or only get 100. The guy actually threw the 100 on the floor, so we picked it up again and went to walk away. At that point, 2 army guys and about 6 police arrived, seemingly from nowhere, then another couple of police on a motorcycle. It wasn’t long before a sea of assault rifles surrounded us. I didn’t personally think there was any chance of it going wrong for us, from that point. I didn’t harangue the police; I used the most senior one to explain the situation, and also the guy who seemed to have a good grasp of the English language. The big Sri Lankan was well over the top, roaring protests and accusations. They were told to leave us and return to Trinco, as they drove away the giant was leaning out the open doorway, hurling some threat or insult back at us in Tamil. Poor Jo was a bit shaken by the ordeal, she hasn’t had many experiences with gun toting militia; I couldn’t see them getting heavy with tourists who refused to pay a rip-off. (Photos: 1] Fishermen hauling in the catch; 2] Lazy cows - Uppuveli beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

Indecision still reigns, I still can’t make my mind up where to set off for next. I do believe that a journey is what I need, my own transport for another adventure. Already, my working beach break has allowed me to see that backpacking isn’t what I want. I’ve no intention of trawling the beaches and tourists sites, of whatever country I venture to. Sitting around doing very little for prolonged periods of time is not on the agenda. I want something to get my teeth into; I have so many places I’d like to ride around. So bearing that in mind, I feel I should look closely at my options. South America, Africa or Asia. Presently the prospect of leaving Britain overland is the most inspiring, Africa is the most daunting. As a ride, Africa will be very hard work, the rewards would be immense though. Barring that it leaves an overland trip to Asia, by an unusual route, at least one little travelled. A Chinese woman has recently assured me that foreigners can get permits to use their own transport within China; you no longer have to hire a guide as chaperone. If that proves to be the case, my choice will probably swing towards Russia, Mongolia and China, then keep going round Asia. But I can’t push Africa completely from my mind, even the thoughts of AK47 toting teenagers doesn’t put me off. (Photo: Skim boarding, Steve, Leanne & Aimee - Uppuveli beach, East coast, Sri Lanka)

It isn’t important yet! If I want to get away quickly when I arrive home, I’d be pushed to organize an overland trip. There’s too much paperwork, Carnet’s, Visa’s, insurances, decent maps; they all take time. For some reason I’ve gone off the idea of South America, I can’t explain why! Nothing in particular has put me off. I’m slightly put off by the harsh Latino attitudes to life, by the catholic conservatism, rife all over Latin America, and too much crime and aggression. Personal safety and security would be no worse than Africa, I believe it would actually be an easier trip than Africa. The beauty of overland trips is to use my own bike, equipped and prepared by myself; tried and tested. Having recently completed my rebuild, sparing no expense in upgrading it to full expedition spec, it would be nice to use that. But we shall see, at present I can’t even decide to stay at this beach or try another. (Photo: Local lads dancing to my tunes - French Garden guesthouse,Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)

My observations and blog writing have taken a back seat, they’re lacking the creative edge I believe I had whilst in Cuba. I’m not staying in an all-inclusive, or even a hotel, but it is more of a tourist retreat. The beach is a mix of locals and tourists, but the few hotels here are gaudily lit expanses of western elitism, ablaze with light all night, every night. The smaller hotel, next along the beach from my guesthouse, has started pumping out banging techno every night. It doesn’t disturb my sleep, but I can hear it anywhere outside. Last night here they even bought in a snake charmer, with his performing monkey too; I’m glad to say I was not the only one who refused to participate. It’s been a delightful haven here for nearly four weeks, but it’s time to move on. My petty criticisms are increasing, as are the number of tourists. When I first arrived there were only three other tourists, now dozens line the beach each day. It is nice, but Trincomalee is back on the map, no more war, tsunami is all but forgotten and the Singals are back in business. (Photo: Commemorative tattoo - By Dave's Tattoo's, Bangor, North Wales)

Three years later & a lifetime to go.

As I sat down to write this the only thought that went through me mind was that I couldn’t be bothered. I’ve spent so much time writing each day it’s wearing me out. Another reason behind this is that my time is being spent at the laptop, not walking around observing new stuff. I’ve not been into town again since last week; my excursions into the local village have been the extent of my explorations. I do go in along there most days though, to supplement my diet and reduce my expenditure. The guesthouse I’m at does a limited menu and it’s a lot more expensive that the local cafes. I rather like the surprise on people’s faces when they see a foreigner eating locally, it doesn’t happen much. But my reasons for coming over the east coast are to put some money into the local economy. If I eat in-house all I do is line the pocket of the Singhalese owner. OK, it’s not as simple as that! The produce used here is all locally sourced, so wherever I eat it benefits the local economy, I’d rather do it first hand though. (Photo: Hauling in the catch - Tamil fishermen, Uppuveli, East coast of Sri Lanka)

In the last week a lot of people have come and gone, some have been great company, and some I wish would drop down with an excruciating tropical disease. In particular an old ugly Brit, who seems to feel proud of his status as a sex tourist. His interest in countries is how much it costs to have sex with the local women, it disgusted me listening to him. Course and unpleasant, to imagine this guy taught in our schools for 25 years, and he funds his exploits with his teachers pension. How naïve to think we have upstanding members of society standing before our children, shining examples of humanity. Never having been a person to agree with too much about our education system at home, it doesn’t surprise me, it actually confirms my opinions of the average teacher. Very few teach because they have the kids best interests at heart, much more common are the ones who teach as a last resort. To me, this guy (Paul, 66yrs old, taught in Hackney, graduated from Liverpool Uni, originally from Yorkshire) really is the dregs of society! I’ve been very free with this information among the other guests here, he made me feel so disgusted with his bragging. (Photo: Playtime with baby brother - Young Hindu Girl, Uppuveli beach, Sri Lanka)

I’ve only laid in the sun once since arriving, normally my favorite past-time. Not being happy with the progress of my book I’ve become more disciplined. To some extent I’ll maintain the primary occupation of sat, attempting to write. Don’t get me wrong, it is coming along, but oh so slow. Chapter five is well under way, with a total of about 100 book pages so far. Hey, it’s better than I’ve managed since leaving Cuba. It took a few days reading and amending the first four chapters before even starting, there was no way round that, I had to get back into the groove. As ever, being harsh with myself comes easier than giving myself praise for what I have achieved. I am determined though, that doesn’t diminish in the slightest, I will finish this. (Photo: Family fun - Locals at play, Uppuveli beach, Sri Lanka)

My cynicism begins to reach new heights, which encourages me to become more and more withdrawn from the world around me. In many ways this is worrying, in others it makes me stronger. I don’t feel like participating in the unpleasantness of the world around me, I’d rather cut myself off completely. I don’t feel like pointing out the faults and shortcomings of the world to those involved, to those contributing to the problem. Even on a simplistic level; I’d rather pick up the bottles from the beach myself than point it out to the guesthouse crew that maybe they shouldn’t leave their empty spirit bottles laying on the sand. That is complacency, it isn’t what I believe in, nor how I’d like to be. But it is easier to allow everything to slide past without causing a ripple, what effect can I really hope to have on anything, isn’t it just easier to ensure I don’t add to the unpleasant side of life personally. (Photo: Some ugly cows on the beach - Uppuveli, Sri Lanka)

Since arriving in Uppuveli keeping track of the days has eluded me. It wasn’t by design, they just merge, one into the other, quietly slipping away unnoticed. Nothing special punctuates one from the next, even which day of the week it is generally remains a mystery to me. I check every few days, it’s sufficient. If I think about it a quick glance on the menu bar of the laptop keeps me informed, but most times the day doesn’t register, just the time. Is it time to eat, how long have I dozed off for? Ok, I knew it was due, but on Saturday it was only as I checked for emails that I realized the date. I’d not turned on my Blackberry for a few days, as it dawned on me that it was actually 3rd June, three years now since Cai died, the emails started coming. Its nice to know people think of me, especially on this date, but without wanting to seem in the least ungrateful, spare a thought for Cai himself. Think back on his life for a moment, maybe share a smile at the thought of his dimples, enjoy some happy memories of a life with him. And even saying that I know your thoughts are for my suffering, I know his suffering was over three years ago. So what more can I say but thank you folks, for your thoughts and messages, thank you for the hugs and love afforded me. They do mean a lot, believe me! (Photo: Dimples 'n' all - Cai at 16yrs old)

For a couple of days we had army personnel hanging around the guesthouse, not being nosey, not intruding, just hanging around firearms on show at all times. I've got used to seeing the police wander along the beach checking in with every hotel and guesthouse at least four times a day. The army patrol the beach regularly too; a pair will walk point, with another in radio contact with their control centre. But this was different, one guy with an AK casually loitering, though he never once put his weapon down, and had his hands on it, at the ready constantly. He looked chilled enough, was even smiling and chatting to some of the lads who work there. Please bear in mind they are nearly all Singhalese! While this went on an officer gradually worked his way around all the staff and all the guests extorting money for soldiers and their families who were killed or injured in the war. Now I say extort, their very presence could be said to be intimidating. A reluctance to accept no for an answer made for a very uncomfortable situation. When asked I was horrified at the idea of giving even the requested $1 towards the Sri Lankan military, from the look on their faces I knew they could see clearly how I felt; my own face must have said it all. Even now I keep asking, "why did I give the money?" I still think the only way would have to of been to explain how strongly I disagreed with their actions, how horrified I am by the SLA hold over all theTamil dominated areas of the island. To be honest, I'd rather not have the local military know my feelings against them. (Photo: Military patrol - Uppuveli beach, east coast, Sri Lanka)