"What do you think there are no social media?" It is one of the first panicker words from my mouth when I arrive at Bandaranaike International Airport in Colombo. I try to handle the SIM card to stay in touch with my children, my husband and the whole world, but I was informed that when I was airy, a national ban on social media was introduced. I have been desperate about the prospect of social exclusion, and my new friend has also unfortunately dropped the message that he was excluded and national state of emergency declared.
Tell me what? So let me do it. I am alone in a foreign country. It's at 12.30 and I have no contact with the outside world. Oh, and out there is a rebellion that started a state of emergency. No biggie, I think of myself when I look for an airport for a trade that sells Sri Lanka scented salt …
I'm going to start rocking back and forth when the gentleman smiles and imagines Dilan of Beyond Travel. He's my private guide and driver for next week and he's here to take me to my hotel, Jetwing Beach, even though he's in the middle of the night. This very attentive and attentive service will become a sign of our week with Dilan.
How we drive the ink night is not a soul around us. I ask him about this sudden state of emergency and he shrugs. In addition to offering me an alert to stay out the street outside the street, I promise everyone is happy and there is no problem, it's just a temporary security measure. I was relieved to sign up for my nearby Negombo hotel and fall into sleep, just someone who had been doing at airports for almost 20 hours.
At the sunrise, I raised a series of loud explosions. WTF! I was sure he said no problem. Silence I try to find out what is happening just to remember that I do not have access to the world or any kind of news (note to myself: it has to invest in the next VPN). Another blast sounds like a shot, and I slip out of sight to see the glittering pool and the golden beach, which in a special way gets rid of riots and bloodshed.
In fact, it seems that the whole site is abandoned, except for cleaner, ever-sweeping leaves from the pool.
Another loud sound explodes, this time it's really close. In fact, it seems to come from my stomach. I still have no idea where the explosions are coming, but given the choice between death and breakfast, I decided to go for another and head to me to meet both my producer and the beautiful lady who serves freshly cooked trays (rice plaques made from fermented rice flour and coconut milk ending with fried egg) in the dining room.
She seems to be totally unemployed with our approaching death, but I think if I die, I can stop worrying about calories and put a plate of fragrant curry, dahl and milk rice high.
The waiter will offer me tea, just like another blast will explode and dive under my desk. He laughs out that the noise is just a bunch of fireworks in pots around the restaurant to scare off the tirelessly crowded crows that are lined up and look for breakfast. Ah. That is right. I'm a melodramatic idiot.
Rather satisfied that I will not die this afternoon, I decide to take my chances out of the hotel and when Dilan arrives, she will accompany her overly imaginative fee to the rather fragrant Fish Market Negombo.
It is a hive of premature morning activity and I am happy to watch fish being interpreted directly from oruvas (excursion canoes) that line the beach.
The fisherman, with his sarongs tied high, fills the bins high with the fish and pulls them to the beach for cleaning.
In the uncovered wet market, busy sellers sell morning sharks, squids, prawns and crabs along with a number of unidentifiable marine creatures that shine in the sun.
There is blood and guts scattered everywhere where the fish are dimensioned and gutted, and there are cats and dogs waiting patiently by intermingling with any stray object that could fly their way.
It's smelly, chaotic and messy because I was raised by a fisherman, I feel at home.
Outside of the wet market, colorful stalls are filled with a great deal of fresh, fresh fruit and spices sold in paper pulp.
He fully recovered from my heart by pumping amateur drama, I felt completely relaxed, and caught fresh coconut to drink when I explored the larger market and its glittering silver tapestry that was so laid out.
An endless carpet drying fish proves an unreal look.
Huge fish are at all different stages, and when judged by the opposite efforts of local ladies, every fish is decomposed on a daily basis and the sun is doing its thing.
This is Sri Lankan culture in the most authentic and I'm a happy place on my holiday, even if I get social media out of it. Dilan is right, a state of emergency or not, everyone is happy and feels absolutely safe.
Well, I do it until I see the boy coming straight to me by waving the basket full of lively and lean cobras … but that's another story.
Strikes and frogs at the Negombo Fishing Market, Sri Lanka, first appeared on boyeatsworld.