Sigiriya

I visited Sigiriya in 2003 on my first trip to Sri Lanka. But, that was pre-Blog, so I'll give you the run-down now.

Sigiriya is among the coolest places to see in Sri Lanka. It's basically this humongous rock, 200 meters high. There's a long story around it, but in AD 473 this guy, Kasyapa, the son of King Dhatusena, killed the old man. This caused his brother, Moggallana, to flee to India, fearing for his life.

Kasyapa figured Moggie would eventually come back to get his. So he built an "impregnable" fortress atop the rock. And it was a piece of work. I've climbed this thing twice now with the aid of semi-, quasi-, sorta- modern stairs. Hope you aren't prone to vertigo. But, you can see the carved steps still on the cliff faces. They must have had ropes or something, because there is NO WAY a person could shinny up those things without help. Up top there was a water system, storage buildings and even a palace. Talk about tactical high ground. Would have taken a month of Sundays to take it. In 491 ol' Moggie came back. He brought an army with him for backup. Just in case.

BUT, being no military genius, Kasyapa figured he might as well go on the offensive. So he rode atop an elephant out to meet Moggie at the head of HIS boys. Long story short, he took a wrong turn, got lost, his troops bailed on him and Kasyapa ended up taking his own life.

But, there's more to Sigiriya. To wit: The Fresco Damsels. They are painted on this long, sheltered gallery half way up the cliff face. In this niche there is a series of rock paintings of beautiful, topless women. They were done in the fifth century, the only non-religious paintings found in Sri Lanka. There may once have been around 500 of these paintings. But, only 22 survive today. A religious wack-job damaged several in 1967. Security is supposedly tight and some paintings are off limits. But, a few rupees got me full access.

It used to be the law (until the Brits showed up in the early 1800s) that all women had to go topless. I think that was a good rule. It''s so hot there you know.



At the Northern end of the rock there is a large platform on which sits the Lions Paws. Back in the day a giant brick lion sat there. People climbing the rock actually entered the mouth of the beast to a stairway to the top. It must have been cool. All that's left now are the paws and the stairway.

The Paws from Above.

Only the foundations of the buildings that once sat on top remain. The views are incredible. Every image you ever had of the Garden of Eden, every picture, every drawing, from atop Sigiriya you see what it would have looked like if it had actually existed. You can see buildings and some roads, but otherwise it looks probably much like what Kasyapa saw 1500 years ago. Right before he lost his nerve, his mind,his fortress, his way, his life.

I Found This New Web Site

43Things.com It, along with Mick and my parents being home, is why I haven't been posting here the last few days.

I don't quite get why 43 is significant, but it's a kind of personal inventory (shared with the world of course) of all you have done, would like to do and intend to do. Pretty cool actually. There's a country count link (in which Northern Cyprus is counted!).

You can comment on other folk's postings, as they can comment on yours.

Anyway, I'll get back to finishing my Sri Lanka posts. Got a nice trip to Central America coming up in a couple weeks. Mick will be joining for most of it.

Good deal!

I Went to this School Once...

I have no regrets.

A Word (or Three) About Barry Bonds

There's been lots of moaning, groaning and gnashing of teeth among sportwriters lately about Barry Bonds' home run record. Bonds, as you may know has been tainted by the BALCO steroids scandal.

Here is my take on the whole matter:

First, let's get one thing clear about sportswriters. They are considered, among true journalists, as the bastard sons of true writers. Any nitwit jock sniffer can be a sports writer. In fact, that's the living, breathing definition of sports writer. I have a J degree, so I'm not speaking entirely from ignorance. I've also done some sports writing so I'm even more qualified.

Remember the Robert Duvall character in "The Natural?" He told Robert Redford (Roy Hobbs)how sports writers make or break athletes. Now granted Bonds isn't the most sociable guy in the world. Maybe he doesn't suffer fools well when they ask the same question 50 times over. The Cal Ripkens, Sammy Sosas and Kirby Pucketts of the world knew the value of public relations. Barry couldn't care less. So that makes him bad? But the fact is, no matter how Barry responds, no matter what he says in public, no matter WHAT, he is painted in the worst possible light by the babblers. I hear people who've NEVER spoken to Bonds in their lives talk about what an asshole he is. I always say the only way you "know" he's an asshole is because these guys told you he is. People judge him with the barest of knowledge.

Bonds is a guy who has absolutely dedicated himself to being the best there ever was. I think he accomplished that. Maybe he took 'roids and maybe he didn't. The point is he did EVERYTHING he could possibly do to be a great baseball player. His workouts were legendary. His work ethic unassailable. People think when an athlete signs to a huge contract they just sit back and coast. Just collect a paycheck. I think it's the opposite. Athlete's practically KILL themselves to prove they are worth the big bucks. Bonds typifies that.

Yeah, you say, but Babe Ruth accomplished his deeds without the benefit of chemistry. True enough. But he also never faced a black or Latin pitcher. Nor a Korean, Japanese, Australian nor Dutch player for that matter. Babe Ruth's cohort was a bunch of white farm boys throwing 85 mile per hour pus. He never had to stand in against a 90 mile an hour change up or 97 mph gas. Split finger fast ball? Never heard of it. Sliders? Nope. Cut fastballs? Nah!

He had the luxury of train travel, shorter seasons, slower pace, less media intrusion, less fan intrusion. It was all stacked his way.

Even with the so-called advantages of steroids (if true) it is obvious Bonds is not having his way paved to the homerun record. He has tied Ruth in his 41st year of age. His knees are hammered and time is NOT on his side. I have serious doubts he will make Hank Aaron's mark. After a certain age athletes don't get better. They just get older.

As I said few fans have actually even spoken to Bonds. I have, once. It was early in the '92 season. He was still with Pittsburgh. He had won the 91 MVP, but was struggling in the early going, batting about .126. It was a miserable, rainy day. The Bucs were playing the Cubs (it actually turned out to be one of the greatest baseball comebacks EVER). I'll wager by the ninth inning there weren't 500 fans in the stadium. Several of us were out in the left field stands. During a pitching change Bonds came over and started talking with us. He was telling us how he was having trouble hitting. He and I had a short exchange, but it was just two guys talking baseball. I believe he was sincere. No big deal, but believe me if there had been a sportwriter there he would have been painted in the worst light.

And while I'm on it, why isn't Roger Clemens ever questioned about how he can still throw 95 mph at his advanced age? Jason Giambi ADMITTED taking steroids and he gets a pass. Is there some kind of color test here?

People say, "but look how much bigger he is than when he first came up?" Yeah, so what's your point? I look at my own son. He's 25 and has never taken steroids. But, he has been a dedicated lifter for the last six or seven years. There is no comparison to his size now and when he was 18. He's huge. This can't happen to a guy who makes $20 million a year, can hire a personal trainer, buy the best equipment to use in his own house, hire a personal chef to ensure he gets the best food?

People are stupid. I know a guy who played football in the early 1960s. He was First Team All-Ohio as a center. He weighed 153 pounds. 153 pounds! Are you kidding me?! What high school coach in his right mind would send a 153 pound kid out to play center in this day and age? Even in Division V HS football you probably couldn't get away with that. But, let a pro player develop himself and "he's cheating."

Did Bonds dope? I don't know and neither do you. I don't care. He did what he did against the best. He's a first round Hall of Famer. The babbling sports idiots will see to it he isn't. But, that doesn't make it so.

Hello From Montreal!

A little change of pace this week. I'm in Montreal until Friday for a conference. NAFSA, which I think means National Association of Foreign Student Advisors. It's the annual national conference. It's a big deal among international recruitment types. Many of my tribesfolk are coming, so it should be a blast.

I'll get back to the last of my Sri Lanka posts next week.

It ain't Paris, but it'll do.

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

Mick came home last night. He got a free ticket from the Virgin Islands to Detroit. I drove up to meet his 10PM flight last night. We didn't get back to the ranch until 3AM. Why I'm up is a mystery to me.

But, doesn't he look good?

HABARANA

There's this rural village a couple hours southeast of MEF that lies smack in the middle of the elephant corridor. That means it is ground zero for the human-elephant conflict in Sri Lanka. People encroach on elephant habitat in order to grow rice and other crops to support their families. Elephants encroach back. Elephants get killed. People get killed.

MEF has made a committment to these people to try to alleviate the conflict so both species can live, thrive and survive. We visited Habarana as part of MEF's mission.

As we pulled up my thoughts were on the obvious poverty here. It seemed these people had nothing. I was wrong.

We bought food and candy for the kids. The food was taken by the local women to prepare a meal for the volunteers. Homes were modest. Concrete floors. They had water available via a pump outside the house. Windows, but of course, no glass. Pictures cut from magazines decorated the insides of the homes. There was a local power grid, so electricity was available.

MEF provided bells to be hung from a tree outside the home in order to ward off wandering elephants and to warn the neighbors. Look closely. You can just see one in the upper right half of the picture.

The villagers proudly led us to their Montessori school.

Dirt floor. Roughed out wooden desks. They couldn't afford an actual blackboard, so they used a sheet of plywood painted black. But, they were proud of what they had. MEF had brought some bags of cement for the floor, but they weren't enough. I kicked in enough for the rest of the floor. Maybe $20.

In the end my initial impressions were wrong. Sure, by our standards, they would seem to be poor. But, they were happy and healthy. The kids were fit, curious and energetic. The locals were fairly self-sufficient. They didn't seek handouts, but were grateful for the assistance. It turns out they actually grew crops for sale rather than consumption. This means there was an outside source of income.

They valued education, even for the girls, which is a huge deal in developing countries. When the females receive education they are more likely to enter the workforce at some level than to be married off at 14 with six kids by 18. With the new source of income they are able to save and improve the family's quality of life. Also, with education women tend to have smaller families, which in a generation or so leads to less need for more land to grow crops. Smaller croplands can mean less intrusion on elephant habitat, smaller, healthier, more educated families. It's happened before in other countries and is happening now in many (see India).

So that was Habarana.

Elephant Doo Doo Duties

I've kind of gotten away from what I actually did with the elephants. These first two pix show what I did the first thing every morning. Rani was chained (chains are part of every tame elephant's life.) to a tree stump alongside a little meadow each night. Her "stall," as it were, was a concrete slab. One of my jobs was to clean her stall area from the previous night's "stuff." "Stuff" included the remains of the palm leaves, Jak fruit and anything else she would dine on and her dung. She ate alot of food and always left ALOT of dung. I'm guessing 100 to 150 pounds per night. And I'd have to say she was a "regular" gal.

At first, in a show of macho bravado, I did everything bare handed. After all, the mahouts did everything barehanded. And barefooted. Sure it was filthy, but an elephant only digests about 30% of the stuff they eat anyway. So it was mostly just leaves and twigs. Aromatic leaves and twigs. But, elephant dung tends to attract these nasty little caterpiller-like critters that had a nasty bite. After one such nip I started wearing the gloves. Why they didn't use shovels I'll never know. Basically I got rid of the poop by tossing it over the river embankment. The local paper factory routinely came over to collect some of the dung, but that's a whole 'nother story. Anyway, the morning stall mucking usually only took about fifteen minutes. After sweeping up and washing the spot down with a couple buckets of water it was time to go down to the river for the morning bath.

This was the first elephant I washed when I first arrived. I didn't know what I was doing, but the mahout said I did a good job.

Chananda, Rani's mahout, told me several times that I was good at washing elephants. It was gratifying. After 56 years on this planet I'd finally found a skill at which I was a natural (that is if you discount Bullshit Artist). We did it by scrubbing that tough hide with sliced coconut husks. You know, it was surreal. You'd be laying all over the animal, pushing her ears, yelling at her to lift her leg (Whatina BILA!!), focusing on a small area, when all of a sudden the mahout would command her to stand up. You'd look at her and think, "Holy Smokes!" They really are big.

After about an hour and a half we would be finished. By that time tourists would be showing up to see and ride the elephants. That's how the mahouts make their money. Through the tips they get. It's not a lush life.

After breakfast the volunteers would gather in the Vet room to make up the day's vitamins and dough balls for the MEF herd. Every elephant is checked daily and evaluated weekly for nutrition needs. Some of the older elephants come to MEF in poor physical health and need LOTS of attention as they are nursed back to health.
A couple hours after the morning bath, the mahouts would bring them around so we could check their feet for cuts, stones or foot rot (a common problem. After all, they tend to stand around in piles of their own poop all day long.) Any cuts, abrasions, infections or sores are treated. And finally they're fed the daily doughball.


And that was the basic duties with the elephants every day. Tara, the MEF guy in charge of the volunteers always urged us to talk to the elephants, because they would get used to us and come to know who we were. I think it worked. Chananda and I talked and sang to Rani everyday. He in Sinhalese, me in English. I'm sure she was quite confused.

A Different Kind of Orphanage

There was this village, Rambukkana (Rahm BOOK' ana), about four miles from MEF. A boys orphanage had been established there by an order of Buddhist monks. From time to time some of the volunteers would go over in the evening to teach a little english and basically just play with the kids. They ranged in age from probably ten to 18 years old.

They had an old TV, but otherwise this was the barest of places. No XBox would ever come within 100 miles of this place.

The boys would cling to us like Saran wrap. They were eager to learn and to have human contact. AND they loved to mug for photos. The beauty of digital. Instant gratification.

They were proud of their english books and struggled mightily to improve. I'm sorry to say I'm not much of a teacher, but together we would all work to improve our communication skills.

It's not all sunrises on Adam's Peak and World Heritage sites. But, maybe this was the best of it.

The Tsunami

This mural was on the wall of a seaside bar/restaurant near Galle. An odd choice I thought.

I didn't take many pictures of the devastated areas. For one thing most of it has been pretty well cleaned up. Sure there were concrete slabs where once a house stood. And a few buildings obviously damaged by the giant wave. Lots of rebuilt areas. Many signs indicating assistance from countries around the world.

And the cemetaries.

There weren't all that many cemetaries. So many of the bodies were simply washed out to sea. As we were passing one small plot while onboard a bus I noticed a small sculpture. A blue wave (looked like it was made of concrete)curling high with about five white hands reaching out of the water. We were past it so fast I couldn't get a picture. It was eerie, disturbing, thought-provoking, poignant and effective.

When we were changing buses in Galle I started to say something about it when one of the other volunteers said "Did you see that wave sculpture with the hands?" A third volunteer had seen it also. One said a Sri Lankan man sitting next to her had expressed distaste for it. She couldn't tell why he felt that way.

We had a discussion about the meaning of it. Would you want to be remembered more by the way you died than by the way you lived? I think sometimes it's not your call. The inspiration (the lost victims of the tsunami) for the sculpture has made a powerful statement on the manner of their deaths that may have far overshadowed the lives they lived.

A different take. A few evenings earlier I was relaxing at the Peacock Bar in Unawatuna, a beach side party area. I was on my third iced coffee and, was "uncharacteristically" (Yeah, I know) talkative. The owner had come over and was sitting at our table. It was the night I saw the Southern Cross. The subject rolled around to the tsunami. I figure that must happen alot with us foreign tourists. I asked him if anyone was lost at his place. He replied, rather matter-of-factly, that his mother and a cook were taken by the wave. I thought about that later and talked it over with the other volunteers. They felt it was due to his Buddhist believe that "Kharma is Kharma" that he was able to accept his mother's fate so "easily." (I'm sure it wasn't easy.) Maybe that shows some of the differences between the Eastern and Western ways of thought.

At any rate, as beautiful as the coasts and beaches were, I could never look at them without imagining what it must have been like when the water receded into the sea.

More Elephants

This was taken at Pinnewala Elephant Orphanage. This is the big State run orphanage located a couple miles from MEF. The elephants spend the days frolicking in a nearby river. In the afternoon they are driven up this road to the jungle area where they spend the nights.

Look early on in the video at the very right of the picture. There is an elephant missing part of his right front leg. I first saw it three years ago. The story is it stepped on a land mine laid in the Sri Lankan civil war. Don't know which side laid it. Doesn't matter.

Adam's Peak

This was taken on my way back down. I think most people would have said "Screw it" if they saw how hard the climb was in daylight.

At 7,336 feet, Adam's Peak is only the third or fourth tallest mountain in Sri Lanka. But, it is possibly the only place in the world considered sacred by four major religions. At the very peak, legend has it, is an imprint of Adam's foot created when he was cast out of Heaven and landed on Earth, or where the Hindu God Shiva once stood, or where the Buddha once stood (although Buddha never came to Sri Lanka). Adam, being the first man mentioned in the bible covers for Islam and Christianity since he is the first prophet. Hey, if you buy "Creationism" I guess you could buy this. But essentially it's a Buddhist thing.

At any rate the place has been a pilgrimage for over a thousand years. Although people of ALLages make the ascent day and night, the deal is to get to the top in time to see the sun rise. So you have to start in the wee small hours (about 3AM) to make it in time.

We booked this little place, "The Green House," at the base of the mountain for our stay the night before the ascent. One of two places in Sri Lanka where I got a hot shower. The lady of the house was very nice and provided a huge breakfast after we had finished. I think the total cost was about five bucks, give or take.

Three AM and off we go. The path is mostly steps, some stone, some concrete, many broken or irregular. But the way is lit by flourescent lights. It's still a good idea to carry a flashlight, because there are gaps in the lighting. Over there they call flashlights "torches" (British influence) which always threw me off. When I hear torch, I think of a thing with fire on the end. Angry villagers with pitchforks going after the Frankenstein monster kind of thing.

Near the start of the trail pilgrims receive blessings from both Buddhist and Hindu priests who are there 24/7. Like me.

They had all these little tea shops along the way. We stopped for a cup. But, the tea was TERRIBLE! It was more milk and sugar than tea. And this place is smack in the middle of Sri Lankan tea country.

Sri Lankan ethno-techno music blared from every shop and was with us all they way to the top. Some complained, but since I kind of like that music anyway I didn't mind.

Made it to the top with time to spare. Nearly every inch of the peak is covered with people waiting to see the sun pop up over the clouds. I guess in the heavy tourist season many can't even get to the top because the crowds are so thick. This day was pretty good.

Here Comes The Sun... With the cloud layer below us the sunrise was a beautiful moment. Now it was time to see what this footprint business is all about.

The shrine of the footprint is at the top of the stairs behind me. You weren't allowed to take pictures of it up there. Actually, you can't even see the footprint itself. Its covered with a sheet in order to collect the monetary offerings tossed by pilgrims. They keep talking about all these pilgrims, but I never saw anyone wearing those big black hats nor square belt buckles nor muskets. (Sorry)

Anyway, you climbed the steps and had about ten seconds to look upon it. The priest instructed each to bow three times (The Buddha, the Sangha, the Dharma). Then we moved on.

The fellow to the extreme left of the picture was one of the few Americans I met over there. He was from Bala Cynwyd, a suburb of Philly. After talking to him I realized I had pronounced the name of his village wrong all these years. If you try to say it while pretending to cough up a hairball, you'll just about have it right.

Another big thing with being on top of Adam's Peak at sunrise is to capture the shadow of the mountain cast by the sun against the hillside. It's supposed to be a perfect triangle. Unfortunately you need a clear day to get the effect. So this was my shadow picture. One of the volunteers who had climbed Adam's a couple weeks earlier got a beautiful shot. I thought I had copied it to my folder, but I can't find it. So here's one from Goggle image.

The hardest part for me was the descent off the mountain. Shades of Macchu Picchu! But, now that it was daylight we could see what we had just done. The views were spectacular! But my thighs gave me the business for the next three days. Still it was a great little adventure.

Here's a clear picture taken from the air of Adam's Peak. I boosted it from my old friend Google Image:


Sonofagun if I didn't find a picture of the uncovered footprint on Google. Some footprint. Where do people come up with this stuff?

Mass Transit, Sri Lankan Style

Orange vendor on a bus selling his wares as we wait to go.




I've mentioned Tuk-Tuks a couple times. If you've ever been to south Asia you'll know what I'm talking about. These ubiquitous three wheelers are EVERYWHERE! They compete with buses,trucks (lorries, in the vernacular), vans, cars, motorbikes, bicycles and pedestrians for road space, making every trip an adventure. Normally two or three passengers can be handled "comfortably," but I've heard of as many as 11 passengers. Those wheels must have been flat! Tuk-Tuk drivers are almost universally friendly, courteous, knowledgable (Many, though illiterate, speak several languages fluently. Business is business throughout the world after all.) and drive like they're on crack.

I'd love to have a Tuk-Tuk here to putter around the community. I'm pretty sure, however, there is NO WAY a Tuk-Tuk could ever be legally licensed.

The buses are great. In the major cities they run constantly, pretty much on time and they are cheap. Depending on the degree of "luxury" you're willing to pay for a two hour ride can cost as low as 27 rupees (about 30 cents) or as high as Rs135 ($1.40)for an air conditioned, newer version. The bus drivers, like the Tuk-Tuk drivers, are also universally on crack, I'm pretty sure.