Minutes but Worlds Apart

After having talked about it for a while, Stuart and went about exploring the Hantana range yesterday. We both have a beautiful view of it from our houses and it is there, beckoning me every time I catch a bus to and from campus. It is there to catch my eye when I'm on campus too, especially in the morning time when a mystical mist pulls through the pine forests in the hillside. No wonder the first Vice-Chancellor of Peradeniya, Sir Ivor Jennings, stated that the university has the most beautiful environment of any university in the world. I never really contemplated climbing Hantana though, until Stuart said he had gone a good bit up and that it was beautiful.

Apparantly there are a couple of different ways of climbing the Hantanas; from the south, that is Peradeniya and from the north, that is Kandy. Apparantly there are a few different Hantana peaks to climb too, or 7 as one student told me. We went off with no clear idea of which one to conquer, but Stuart, having looked into this, said it would be easiest to go up from the north. He had been told of a road going behind the government hospital and a good bit up the hill to a the Hantana tea estate. Getting started rather late, after first having been to campus, we opted for the easiest version of the easiest route. In other words: we went caught a threewheeler a good bit up into the hillside, and got off just before the estate. Only minutes away from Kandy it was as if we had entered another world. This is the upcountry, conceptually an eternity away from the bright lights of the (not so big) city, with Tamil women bent over tea bushes in just the same way I've seen them bent over tea bushes in so many other estates now. I had no idea I hardly had to leave my doorstep to see this. Must be one of Kandy's best kept secrets.

We strode on upwards, waving to yelling children playing cricket, and dodging overloaded buses going both directions. A stop for refreshing king coconuts and people we met en route, provided ample opportunities for practicing Tamil, something Stuart regretably is much better at than I, explaining why he still has an edge on me. Neither one of us had the necessary proficiency to ask for directions to reach the top, though, so we stuck to the main road figuring it was a good thing as long as it was climbing.

Reaching the National Training Institute (for what??!) we seemed to have come to the road's end, though. That is, we had passed underneath the peak we felt like climbing, and while the road went on we felt we should push for the summit. Acres of tea plants covered the lower part of the hillside, giving away to high grass and forest underneath the peak, and I suggested we should head up through the tea to see if there was a path from there. And so we did, while the sky was turning dark grey, mocking us for not having brought umbrellas. Looking back we enjoyed a spectacular view down a valley to the north.

It seemed a path led from the edge of tea fields into the neighboring forest. Feeling a bit Indiana Jonesy as we followed it in underneath the canopy, we came to a holt in an clear space, surrounded by boulders overgrown with roots, creepers dangling like curtains from the branches above us, adding to the mystical atmosphere of it all. It is the kind of place where one half expects to come across face-painted, bow-carrying men in loin cloths, chanting while performing ancient ritual sacrifices - at least if one has seen a few adventure movies too many. Or if you're a Lord of the Rings-fan; it would have felt very appropriate if Tom Bombadill had come skipping along, singing a song (Tom Bombadill doesn't ring a bell? Read the book you lazy bastard). It was as if the trees were consuming everything, luring us on into the midst of the laberynth, where we in turn would pay for our foolishness being unable to find our way back.

Enough of this mombojombo.

We eventually gave up on finding a way to the top, deciding instead to return another day to push for the summit. And we had no problems finding our way back, although the leaches did their very best to stop us, or maybe they were just wanting to catch a ride to town. Either way, I seem to be popular among the bloodsuckers these days. The walk back to Kandy took us just more than an hour. An hour away, but so far removed.

Speaking of different worlds. Stuart and I live 20 minutes apart, he staying with a Tamil family in the neigborhood immediately adjacent town on the western side of Peradeniya Road. It is an ethnically mixed neighborhood, with the quality of housing varying from simple shacks to large concrete structures. He has a difficult time going anywhere without being "interrogated" by curious neighbors who seem to have no sense of privacy. Compared to this I live in Posh Paradise. Well, the name says it all: "Pichaud Gardens", which I am sure, to most people sound exactly like "Too-pricy-for-you". The men who come to collect our garbage take the opportunity to do some begging, and we are targeted by all kinds of travelling salesmen. It is a neighborhood in which I am sure you do not receive permission to build unless the blueprints contain plans for servants' quarters. A nice place but boring as hell.

For some though, a street is just a street - always fraught with danger. A stray dog in our road had a litter of puppies recently. They have been all over the place the last few days, yupping excitedly as I walk by. But what is a dog's life worth? Coming down to Peradeniya Road today to catch a bus to town, one of the puppies was lying remarkably still in a pool of it's own blood, it's head smashed in. Disturbing to see, but not as disturbing as the one I saw in the side of the road, coming home from Batticaloa last week, still kicking but unable to move. People see, shrug and go on with their business. What can you do? A dog is just a dog. Strays don't last long anyway. These are the harsh realities of life we are so sheltered from in the Western world. A world apart.

/haakon/