I couldn't even dawdle in my hotel room as I had to vacate it by 3:00 p.m. – the special late check-out.
After a long breakfast, I went upstairs to fit clothes and souvenirs into my one suitcase and one carry-on. Then I wandered into the lobby with a book which seemed much less interesting than the evening before. I watched people come and go, inquired of those I knew what time they were leaving that evening and waited for it to be lunch time.
Lankesh was coming after lunch to take me on a tour of Colombo. At last I’d see something of the city and have something to do. He came but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. I thought we’d stop and visit different monuments but we just passed by for the most part. I saw this statue
near the port but don’t know if it's of a real person or just a representation of colonialism.
We passed by the fort, the lighthouse, the cricket grounds, the university….. It was hard to take pictures in a moving car. We did stop once and I saw Lankesh’s mischievous grin for the only time that day.”The White House, Mum.”
It was, in fact, the Town Hall of Columbo, built in the 1920s. I also got to stroll in the nearby Viharamahadevi Park for a few minutes (It was originally Victoria Park which would have been easier for me to pronounce) and is near enough the University to be a between-class-hangout for students.
Then we were off to see (from the car) Independence Memorial Hall, built on the site of the Feb 4th 1948 ceremony which marked the end of British Colonial rule. It looked impressive from the glimpse I got.
We were back at the hotel by 4 p.m. Five more hours to fill before it would be time to leave for the airport. I thought of going out on my own but two weeks of being taken care of had sapped my independence. Besides, this was my last day. Too late for adventure. I wandered; I sat; I waited.
I took a picture of my last Sri Lankan sunset
and felt nostalgic.
Eventually it was dinner time. I made that last as long as possible. Then I went back to the lobby where I sat with other bored and fidgety visitors waiting for their guides.
The drive to the airport was long, dark and silent. Lankesh seemed to have already relegated me to his past. As we neared the airport he made a prepared speech saying he’d been pleased to show me his country and thrust a bouquet of orchids into my hands, a gift from his travel agency. He let me out at the departure section of the airport. The security check was at the door and only passengers could enter. I was a pampered queen no longer. Each person struggled to be the first to pass the security checkpoint. No deference was shown to my age, gender or western-ness.I was trampled by the same Buddhist monk three times which reminded me that the Sinhalese Buddhists have always been fighters contrary to western stereotypes of peace and gentleness.
Eventually things got better. I reached the oasis of the business class lounge and had a cup of tea and a massage. I reached my business class seat and slept until my delicious and copious breakfast served by smiling, peacock-sari-ed flight attendants. And we were back in Paris where my familiar taxi driver was waiting.
Later that evening I said to a friend “Well my suitcase is unpacked but it will take me much longer to unpack the memories.” And it has. – 103 days to be precise. But now I have. Thank you for letting me share.
