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Thimbolketiya to Pallebedda-Badanamure
Kilometers: 25.46 Elevation gain/loss: 629/527
Where are you going?" "Ko-hed-duh yaa-nawa?"
Sometimes it comes out a little grammatically challenged as,
"Where are you?" or
"Where you go?" or
"How are you go?"
or simply just,
"Where?"
A command of the English language is not a requisite to starting a conversation.
There's no getting away from it. Every encounter opens with this question. Sri Lankans are a curious lot and you have to give an answer, they want an answer, though what they will do with this information is lost on me. As you pass a stranger on the street, they'll ask. From out of a kitchen dooi, even before you can see the face calling out to you, you'll hear it. Sometimes they will shout it out to you from the window of a passing car as it speeds away, with no possibility of hearing your reply. Many foreigners here, tourists and residents alike, find the constant curiosity, the incessant questioning, to be intrusive, annoying, even harrassing. But I get it. There is no offence meant. Neither do they really care where you are actually going. It's their own version of "Howzit going? Whachcha up to?" You expect a reply, of course, but really are not that interested in how it truly is going. A simple "Ya' know, that way." will do the job just fine.
I rarely tell the truth, as just about any plausible answer will suffice, and my true destinations usually cause too many further questions. I'll name a the immediate next town, whatever that may be, or better yet a local Buddhist temple showing up on my GPS and give that as my stopping point. As long as I give these replies, heads will nod, as if to say "yes right, carry on then." It's when I tell the truth, that I'm walking twenty or thirty kilometers, or more incomprehensibly that I'm walking to Jaffna, that I open myself up to a barrage of further questions.
As I trudge along the roads I get many reactions, but shock tops the list. Followed by complete disbelief. A foreigner. A woman. Alone. Sometimes in a part of Sri Lanka that rarely sees a white face. And to top it off, she's WALKING, pack hanging heavy off her back. "PINE? Pine yaa-nawa?" "ON FOOT? You're going on foot?" Why?, they want to know. Is something wrong? Have I run away from my guest house? Has my car broken down? Did an unscrupulous driver abandon me on the road? Am I very, very lost? Could I be searching for a bus?
Nope. I'm walking by choice.
I get raised eyebrows, waves, thumbs up, the occasional tongue stuck out at me. Every now and then, I'll pass someone whose gob is literally hanging open, as if he has just seen a space alien with forehead tentacles or a three-headed monkey. The trucks peahaps win the contest for friendliness with horn-blows, flashing headlights and salutes, followed closely by the tuk-tuks. The scooters that honk their little horns invariably just sound like they're squeezing out constricted farts, but they mean well. Sometimes I think I'll cause an accident as an entire family piled onto a scooter corkscrews their heads back to ensure they actually have actually seen what they think they have seen, driver not excepted. Village children, shy but wide-eyed, excited and afraid, will peek fascinatedtfrom behind whatever they can hide -- mother's skirt, fence posts, doorframes. Women smile, mostly, or call out from their gardens. The older they are, they more likely they are just to grunt. Men are harder to read, mostly friendly but occasionally slightly disturbing. I've learned when to make eye contact, when to offer a "good morning", and when to look down and just keep walking.
Sometimes, I'll get called over to have a coconut cut from the tree just for me, or invited to share a cup of tea or have a hopper, the Sri Lankan rice pankake. I'll get endless offers for rides, on everything from tractors to bicycles, motorbikes to vans, and unlimited, unsolicited directions to the nearest bus stand. But most of all I get questions. There's no end to Sri Lankan curiosity.
Thimbolketiya to Pallebedda-Badanamure
Kilometers: 25.46 Elevation gain/loss: 629/527
Where are you going?" "Ko-hed-duh yaa-nawa?"
Sometimes it comes out a little grammatically challenged as,
"Where are you?" or
"Where you go?" or
"How are you go?"
or simply just,
"Where?"
A command of the English language is not a requisite to starting a conversation.
There's no getting away from it. Every encounter opens with this question. Sri Lankans are a curious lot and you have to give an answer, they want an answer, though what they will do with this information is lost on me. As you pass a stranger on the street, they'll ask. From out of a kitchen dooi, even before you can see the face calling out to you, you'll hear it. Sometimes they will shout it out to you from the window of a passing car as it speeds away, with no possibility of hearing your reply. Many foreigners here, tourists and residents alike, find the constant curiosity, the incessant questioning, to be intrusive, annoying, even harrassing. But I get it. There is no offence meant. Neither do they really care where you are actually going. It's their own version of "Howzit going? Whachcha up to?" You expect a reply, of course, but really are not that interested in how it truly is going. A simple "Ya' know, that way." will do the job just fine.
I rarely tell the truth, as just about any plausible answer will suffice, and my true destinations usually cause too many further questions. I'll name a the immediate next town, whatever that may be, or better yet a local Buddhist temple showing up on my GPS and give that as my stopping point. As long as I give these replies, heads will nod, as if to say "yes right, carry on then." It's when I tell the truth, that I'm walking twenty or thirty kilometers, or more incomprehensibly that I'm walking to Jaffna, that I open myself up to a barrage of further questions.
As I trudge along the roads I get many reactions, but shock tops the list. Followed by complete disbelief. A foreigner. A woman. Alone. Sometimes in a part of Sri Lanka that rarely sees a white face. And to top it off, she's WALKING, pack hanging heavy off her back. "PINE? Pine yaa-nawa?" "ON FOOT? You're going on foot?" Why?, they want to know. Is something wrong? Have I run away from my guest house? Has my car broken down? Did an unscrupulous driver abandon me on the road? Am I very, very lost? Could I be searching for a bus?
Nope. I'm walking by choice.
I get raised eyebrows, waves, thumbs up, the occasional tongue stuck out at me. Every now and then, I'll pass someone whose gob is literally hanging open, as if he has just seen a space alien with forehead tentacles or a three-headed monkey. The trucks peahaps win the contest for friendliness with horn-blows, flashing headlights and salutes, followed closely by the tuk-tuks. The scooters that honk their little horns invariably just sound like they're squeezing out constricted farts, but they mean well. Sometimes I think I'll cause an accident as an entire family piled onto a scooter corkscrews their heads back to ensure they actually have actually seen what they think they have seen, driver not excepted. Village children, shy but wide-eyed, excited and afraid, will peek fascinatedtfrom behind whatever they can hide -- mother's skirt, fence posts, doorframes. Women smile, mostly, or call out from their gardens. The older they are, they more likely they are just to grunt. Men are harder to read, mostly friendly but occasionally slightly disturbing. I've learned when to make eye contact, when to offer a "good morning", and when to look down and just keep walking.
Sometimes, I'll get called over to have a coconut cut from the tree just for me, or invited to share a cup of tea or have a hopper, the Sri Lankan rice pankake. I'll get endless offers for rides, on everything from tractors to bicycles, motorbikes to vans, and unlimited, unsolicited directions to the nearest bus stand. But most of all I get questions. There's no end to Sri Lankan curiosity.
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