Colombo, Sri Lanka

There's the good fantasy: scorning the "tourist bubble", where I sit in an air-conditioned bus and watch someone else's idea of what Sri Lanka is about move past the window ("To your left, you will see magnificent veeblefetzers, central to Sri Lankan culture, while to your left is an outstanding example of seventh century amadamanama architecture... "), I stride confidently forth from the ship, finding The Real Sri Lanka in quiet parks and unexpected encounters, returning with insights and anecdotes that enthrall my readers.

There's the bad fantasy: I get lost in the twisting back alleys of a city about which I know nothing. I realize that there are several young Sri Lankan men staring at me in a hostile fashion, and I realize furthermore I am a woman alone in a (possibly conservative Muslim) culture where solitary women can only be non-believers or prostitutes, and that I am wearing shorts and exposing my naked legs. I am never heard of again.

Then there's what actually happened. Sri Lanka is Buddhist, not Muslim -- one of the first buildings I pass once I leave the dock area is the Young Men's Buddhist Association, labeled in a couple different beautiful curlique scripts as well as English. The "striding confidently" part is not possible because the streets are all under construction and getting from point A to point B requires maneuvering around piles of sand and chunks of what used to be pavement. There are numerous -- very numerous -- taxi and tuk-tuk* drivers eager to drive me on tours of the city, all including the Buddhist ceremony that begins soon and includes baby elephants. They are not importunate -- one or two "No, thank you"s dissuades them, and I continue on my way.

It's hot. It's midday, Colombo is about 7 degrees north of the equator, and my personal thermostat is set for Oregon, where I understand it has just been snowing. (Atypical, but still.) And in my zeal to travel lightly, I have neglected to bring along any water.

A young man from among the taxi drivers has decided to accompany me on foot, continuing to praise the ceremony with the baby elephants as well as a sale of gemstones -- Sri Lanka is apparently known for its sapphires. He is not frightening -- his insistence is courteous, and in fact he may just be practicing his English. We walk together for a block or so to an intersection marked by the statue of a big hand holding a telephone receiver. I try to ask my companion what it's there for, but fail to communicate, as he just continues to talk about the baby elephants. (If this had not actually happened to me, I could mistake this sequence for the recounting of a dream.)

My mouth is getting really dry. The shops we pass do not inspire my confidence in their cleanliness, and Bad Fantasy wonders whether Pepsi in Sri Lanka contains the same things Pepsi in the USA does. I decide it's time to return to the ship. My companion is disappointed, but we part ways amicably. I get back to the docks without problems, but then I need guidance from several men in reddish brown uniforms who see at once that (a) I am trying to get back to the ship, and (b) I don't know how to do it, even though I can see the Amsterdam looming hospitably just over that direction. It's generous of them not to laugh at me, at least not while I can still see them.

*A tuk-tuk is the offspring of a taxi and a motorbike. Powered by an electric engine, it has seating for two people behind the driver, usually protected from sun and rain by a canopy. Tuk-tuks are named for the sound their engine makes and are usually cheaper, slower, and less comfortable than taxis.