Tourist Traps Will Trap You

My first three days in Sri Lanka bordered on the boring, and uneventful. Despite my research into the state of affairs in Sri Lanka, I was quite reluctant to leave the city of Colombo, assuming that, as its capital city, it would be more than capable of providing a week’s worth of culture and entertainment. I soon found out that it was more like a day – of what was filled with culture, but on the other hand hardly entertaining.

I did find out from a lot of Sri Lankans that Australia is performing pretty badly (understatement of the year) at the Ashes, and they struggled with the concept that I was from Australia, considering the fact that they recognised my face as Asian.

Train and tuk tuks by the beach in Colombo

I ended up exploring a bit of Colombo though, and started making a stop motion picture that I hope to share with you all by the end of this trip. Pettah market, again, was full of culture, but scored a generous 1 out of ten in terms of entertainment and pleasure. The market was for locals and reeked of diesel fumes and dried fish, and one old woman spat at a girl I was with, an action that highlighted the atmosphere in the place. It was as though the locals didn’t want tourists in a place that was their own (Which could be completely true, considering that I too despise busloads of tourists taking photos of lampposts in Sydney). A look on tripadvisor would later confirm that it wasn’t that great of a place to start my journeying. The people at the hostel advised me to go to another part of Sri Lanka to explore a bit more, and I decided to head down south to Galle, an old Dutch fort turned seaside town.

From Galle Fort

While Colombo was definitely not made for travellers, Galle is a place that seems to thrive on the tourism of locals and foreigners. And with places like this comes the inevitability of the tourist trap. And as someone who’s been on the road for 4 months, I feel ashamed to say that I was too full of pride to assert myself out of the situation.

It kicked off when I approached a tuk tuk driver for directions to a guesthouse that someone at the hostel had stayed at the night before. A man came out from the side of the road and started asking questions, friendly enough. “Did I need a place to sleep?” “Where am I from?” “How long are you staying in Sri Lanka?” All the while leading me to where I thought would be the guesthouse I was talking about. He then proceeded to tell me that all guesthouses had booked out rooms or ridiculously expensive rooms, and led me to a dinghy villa where he showed me a room and asked if it was alright. I said that it was, not having inspected it properly. I promptly left my clothes bag in the room, locked it and after paying for it, left to explore the old fort. The man left with me, not because I requested it, but because this was what he did for money (unknown to me at the time). He showed me around the fort, presenting me with historical detail that I didn’t really care for, and honestly couldn’t understand anyway. Later on, he presented me with a story about his daughter and how he had to take care of his family. Whether it was true or not, it was an inevitable guilt trip asking me to pay him for his unannounced and unwanted tour around Ye Olde Fort Galle. At the end of the trip I realised that I didn’t have enough Sri Lankan Rupees to pay the amount that he requested, and so he asked for other forms of currency. I, wanting to just go by myself, relax and read a book, obliged, partly to get rid of old Kumar, but also because his guilt trip actually worked.

Walking on a precarious ledge with my "guide" Kumar

And so, having been left on a street in Galle with no directions to go anywhere, I started my adventure.

I went for a casual walk around the other side of the fort that I had not been shown before and came to rest on an outcrop of the fort where I sat on the edge (with a 20 metre drop below) and read my book, feeling the wind blowing in my face and listening to the sound of the waves crashing below. There is a certain sense of serenity that comes with sitting somewhere, where the slightest of touches could leave you falling to your death, or at least multiple injuries. A feeling of balance and trust that you are steady enough to be still and safe.

I left after two hours, a hundred pages, and a lot of Sri Lankans who had apparently never seen an Asian man in their life and wanted to take photos with me (maybe I’m just ridiculously attractive). As the sun set on the fort behind the clouds, the sky turned into the intense purply-orange blend of colour that you only see in sunsets and sunrises, and soon turned to darkness. I watched a group of young Sri Lankan youths dancing to others singing and clapping along with a Sri Lankan song blaring from the speakers of a tuk tuk. I was considering joining the dance but then I remembered that my dancing is reminiscent of that of a log. Instead, I decided that I would go and appease my tastebuds and found a nice rooftop restaurant above a much nicer guesthouse than where I was staying and ordered rice and curry – something simple to enjoy. Or not. Half an hour later, the waiter came out with an empty plate, A platter of rice about 30 cm long, a bowl of papadums, and 8 different curries.

mmm dat sunset

Another 2 hours later I was finished and bloated. As I entered my room with non-working fan, moth eaten sheet and dirty blue walls, I thought to myself that something like this is absolutely inevitable.

It is an inherent and intrinsic part of travel, it is something that has to be experienced.