The belly of Lanka

After a two day trip to ‘Little England’ – Nuwara Eliya – up in the highlands of Sri Lanka, I’m back in Kandy.

A couple of nights ago, strolling rather bored around the city at night I came across an open air boxing match. I could hear the chants of “Army Army Army!” from round the block and I wondered if the civil war had moved a little further south.

Nope it was just the Police vs Army boxing tournament. The army, it seems, are more popular. I think it was the first boxing match I’ve actually witnessed in the flesh. I’ll admit, I did take perverse enjoyment from seeing a big guy in blue shorts punch the shit out of a copper.

Last night I went to do a touristy thing. I went to watch the Traditional Kandyan Dance at the Cultural Hall. It is shown daily at 6pm and I was intrigued on a performance level as much as a cultural level. Could these guys possibly put on a good show considering they have been performing it every day for, well, ever?

Ahh, it was nice. They were clearly pissing around a bit. There were drummers in traditional dress, spinning plates, acrobatics. Though sometimes it was just a guy in a silly costume doing big moon steps, pretending to be an elephant. What to do? Mostly due to the predominantly middle-aged audience, the whole affair smacked of a school drama performance.

It was genuinely exciting when towards the end of the show the audience was told to get off their asses and make a big circle in front of the stage to watch some fire action. It was just two of the dancers abusing themselves with flames. It was utterly artless as they slowly rubbed fire sticks across their arms or held them in their mouths, no doubt destroying their tongues. Then they walked on burning coals. We all gasped.

How they find the motivation on an off day I’ll never know.

So, in the last two days I’ve witnessed two rather visual spectacles and managed to have my camera at neither of them. Fucking noddy.

After the show I was hungry and decided to try my luck at the expensive Chinese restaurant next to my guesthouse. The manager, without thinking, agreed to my proposal of free food and drink in exchange for a performance. He told me he’d done a similar thing years ago with a guitarist friend and said that he really enjoyed it and that he admired my balls (I never showed them to him).

Andre he was called, Chinese guy – he’s travelled all over the world and is actually a professional travel documentary film maker. Restaurant owners are often interesting characters I find.

I got chatting to two young Sri Lankan guys at the bear and within a couple of minutes they said they had to go soon because they were about to go “fuck a hoe.”

I beg your pardon?

”Gonna go fuck a hoe.”

I see. Ahem.

I’ll be honest, I was intrigued. Apart from maybe being in Amsterdam, no one’s ever said these words to me. In fact, even in Amsterdam people are more discreet. They tell you they're going for a piss or something.

I asked them what was the deal. They said they were students (aged 19) and when they have a little cash and a spare evening they like to treat themselves to a nice meal and if they have any money left over (!) they will take turns at fucking a hoe.

Oh really?

”Yep.”

Alright then.

I was curious to know the price. 2500 rupees. Which is approx. 15 quid. They seemed shocked that I was shocked and couldn’t believe that I didn’t like to indulge myself. I had a hard time trying to explain that yes, it is common in England but having thought about it the opportunity never really arises and it’s not common amongst my friends and besides, I don’t need to pay for it you big freaks.

Anyway, just before they went to do cheap things to a cheap woman I discover that one of the guys is a rapper. I tapped a beat for him and he gave me a nice rap about smoking endo and fucking hoes. I appreciated his originality.

I love my guitar – it’s like a musical metal detector.

So I ate my free food, drank my free gin and tonic (I’m not in India any more) and got chatting to the boys who worked at the restaurant. They were so cute. Honestly. So polite and sweet. One of them started talking excitedly about his girlfriend who he’s only met six times, and kissed five times and who he is deeply in love with and can’t wait to marry. It is a long distance affair and it seems that the constant absence was perpetually making his heart grow fonder.

I had a hard time explaining my girlfriend status. It’s complicated.

And then again I discovered for the second time in one night the seedy underside of Sri Lanka. The boys pointed to a couple in the corner of the restaurant.

“See that girl?”

Uhuh.

“Pretty. Very nice.”

Yep, sure.

“Six thousand, maybe seven thousand.”

Really?

“Uhuh.”

Turns out that she too was a pro. Just a little classier, perhaps, I dunno.

Now, you see what happens to a country when the women don’t put out?

On a more innocent note I read The Little Prince yesterday. What a beautiful book. I totally agree, adults are very strange creatures.

Anyway, visa permitting, I will be back in India on Thursday. I am excited. It’s like I’ve been given a second chance to push myself further in my travels. I will be travelling more on my own. I intend to earn more from playing music. I intend to write more songs. Also I want to be doing yoga regularly and massage and…oh alright, calm down.

I do like the fact that the Bollywood film I appeared in on my first week in India is released on the same day that I return to India. There’s quite a nice circularity to the whole affair. Check it out, it’s called Taxi Number 9211. Here’s a picture from the scene I was in the background for.