Pearl of the Indian Ocean

England

2006-08-28T14:47:00.001+04:30

I've left Colombo.

I still believe that I don't deserve special treatment because of my nationality. So it might come as a surprise that, by the time you read this, I'll already be home in England.

I'm sitting on the plane, this page full of crossed our scribble already. It's difficult to put into words what I'm wanting to say.

The situation deteriorated while I was in India. I spoke to a number of Sri Lankans during my time in Colombo, and many said that, if they had the choice, they would leave. The thing is, I don't believe it's right that I have options and they do not. But ... my not taking those options does not magically empower Sri Lankans. Though I wish it could, somehow.

I started to get scared. Not so much about dying, as hard as that may be to believe, but about some life changing injury that would completely alter the paths I could tread. You see, Sri Lanka, for me, was about personal development. I learnt so much from so many people - about health, discipline, dedication, respect, fun, and patience. But opening my mind only served to make me realise how much more I have to learn - and how much I want to go on learning.

But this does not change how I feel about Sri Lanka - and, more definitively, Sri Lankans. I sincerely admire these people. I admire their tenacity, grit and determination to not let the LTTE take everything from them. From all that I saw and heard, it seems truly woven into the Sri Lankan spirit that to stop their lives for mourning would be to signal defeat. By no means is this a heartless attitude - they pray daily, thanking whomever they believe to be watching over them for their immense fortune in still being alive. But what is life for, if not to be lived? They take every chance to live fully, and for this they should and must be applauded. For this I will remember Sri Lankans.

And for so much else, too! Sri Lanka, Sri Lanka. What does she mean to me. Rows and rows of palm trees. Lush green colours, everywhere. Dangerous driving, and no seatbelts! Endless all night partying. Buddhists, Christians, Muslims and Hindus all working and living together in the capital. Checkpoints. Poya - the monthly one day holiday to recharge your batteries and celebrate the full moon. (Mr. Blair, I hope you're reading.)

Beautiful beaches and warm seas. Beautiful weather. Odel, the one and only haven of a department store. World cup football matches in Cheers pub. Colombo's love for all things gossip. Breezy, carefree attitudes. (Their most frequented saying being "what to do?" - translated, this means "why complain, when nothing can be done?" A wonderful phrase to remember.)

Hot Milo, a scrumptious chocolate malt drink. (I was thoroughly disheartened when I found out it was made by Nestle. Let's just pretend it was a local delicacy.) 5am dinner in Pilawoos. Dancing in the street. SALSA. Journeying to work with Muditha, talking about all things girly. That sexy singer at Tantra. Terrible music remixes! Pestering tuk-tuk drivers. Smiling faces, and warm hearts.

And what am I looking forward to? Food stuffs with nutrition information in ENGLISH. Home cooked meals. Aerobics classes. Being able to share my 21st birthday with everybody who I love. (A little) free time to do NOTHING! Relaxed studying sessions. Saved money. New clothes. Digital weighing scales! Low fat hot chocolate! Compiling a Sri Lanka photo album. Cereal, and NON-POWDERED COLD milk! My bass speakers. Tesco. My FLAT bed (my Sri Lankan one was decidedly dipped). Arranging and displaying the plethora of souvenirs that I somehow fit into my suitcase. Eve magazine. My friends. My family.

Ok, over and out. "Time to London" is showing at 0:49 (thank goodness it no longer says 9:50!). I'm coming home, I'm coming home. I'm coming homeee.

Your loyal readership and kind comments have, once again, truly enriched my experience. Thank you so much. Be assured that for as long as you read, I will write.

Much love to everybody.

Sam xx

I heart India

2006-08-20T12:24:00.000+04:30

I have been hit by a giant pang of nostalgia.

India is incredible. Wandering around the hotel, Delhi impressed upon me as exhilirating, poor, and humid. Alive, bustling, colourful ... sleepless, open and buzzing. India is an attack on all five senses, and her unique aroma felt like home for me. The food, too, is far superior to Sri Lanka's (only, of course, in my humble opinion).

India is, of course, still India. "NO SPITTING" signs were conspicuously displayed at New Delhi train station. Outside the station, people wrapped in colourful clothes lay sleeping, peacefully, as dawn embraced the capital. And I experienced "light at the end of the tunnel" in the train bathroom. (The toilet was bottomless.)

Settling into our seats, David found himself next to - in his own words - an "internationally renowned computer scientist". The man had no shame in repeatedly reminding us of his wealth, or in firmly telling David that his destiny was to be a musician. (He could not "tell" my own career ... no surprise there!)

As the hours passed, I heard him explaining "yog" to David. Yog is a union between men and the almighty ... a state of deep meditation. According to the scientist:

"You can go for years without food, water, or urination. Others will call you dead, but you will be alive inside."

Right, then ... there is hope for us mere mortals. ;)

Himalayas!

2006-08-17T13:34:00.000+04:30

I am to return to India.

I'm using my 21st birthday money to head to the Himalayas and go trekking.

I am very excited, but let me get a few things straight. I have never officially been "trekking". Neither have I been camping. Nor have I ever been without toilet facilities for four days running. ("The forest will be your toilet", my guide instructed.) Seeing as I have a non-budging mental block re: all hole-in-the-ground facilities, next week should be interesting.

I fly to Delhi tomorrow, and meet up with David - my travel partner in crime. We then have the luxury of a beautiful hotel in the capital, before an early rise on Saturday when we are to embark on India's trains. Upon arriving in Mussoorie, Uttaranchal, we have another gorgeous hotel waiting for a weekend of acclimatising.

Then the trek will begin. Descriptions of "four hour uphill walk" and "three hour climb" grace our itinery.

I am feeling somewhat meek. Prayers should be directed towards my stamina and mental well-being.

... back in a week!

Colombo

2006-08-16T12:55:00.000+04:30

There was another bomb. The most recent data says that 7 were killed, and 17 injured.

To think of the families is the most sobering. How they are now forced to deal with such sudden and unfair losses. The majority of Sri Lankans continue with their business as normal - just quickly kissing their loved ones goodbye, and not pausing to think that it might be the last time. I'm sure this makes such tragedies harder. And then there are the injured, some of whom must live with those wounds for the rest of their lives.

We can do a lot to avoid being caught up. Travel only in the early morning or evenings; the attacks (so far) have been in the day time, when the targeted officials are out and about. Travel in cars, not tuk-tuks. Stay inside as much as possible. Away from the centre as much as possible.
This might work in Colombo. But what about the North? This article details citizens fleeing from their homes. In the North, it's not safe at any time of day. How these people get up each day is beyond me. We are so fortunate to be living in the capital ... we must never forget this.

P.S. Thank you for the comments to my last entry - they did a lot to help me reflect on this desperate situation.

Telling it straight

2006-08-08T14:38:00.000+04:30

Nobody will know yet, because it hasn't reached the news. We only know because a few of us heard it. A bomb just went off in Colombo - the first in the capital.

From what information we have, they targeted and killed a member of parliament. No civilians are dead - so far - though I'm not sure about the number injured.

What happens, when this happens? When we're on the "brink of civil war", as BBC News will persuade you? Actually, not too much. A sense of urgency will fill the air, with people talking in whispers of "have you heard ... ?". Then the mobile phone networks will crash, as people phone their loved ones to check that they were not there.

Then the urgency returns. But not towards the situation - towards the next office deadlines. People return to their work. Nobody cancels their plans. They still ask whether I'm going to the full moon celebration party at H2O tonight - and they will still go.

I will still go.

Because what else can we do?

Leo Burnett Sri Lanka

2006-08-03T10:46:00.000+04:30

An ad we did for a restaurant promotion at the Hilton ... loving it!

Partying, partying ... oh, and a little bit more partying

2006-08-02T09:00:00.003+04:30

I've fallen into a really great bunch of people here. High on energy and life, they are fabulous dancers who party until dawn. They promise to return me home as a little salsa queen (no complaints there).

I met them quite randomly. Julia, another LB intern (though one who has just left), knew one of them through the person she was staying with. We then bumped into him at that simply wonderful English pub: Cheers. (It really is wonderful: think chip butties and sticky toffee puddings.)

His name is Shohan, and I had barely said hi before talk of the petrol strikes began. Julia and I complained of having to limit our night to the club next door, as we could only trust the hotels to have cabs available - the strike meant that we had already wasted two hours waiting to get to the centre. Without question, and within two minutes of meeting me, he said not to worry about the cabs - he'd drop us to wherever we wanted to go.

And that was it. Complete acceptance, no questions asked. He introduced me to the rest of "the gang" as "the one we've adopted for two months". There are so many of them, their names all beginning with Sh ... I got so confused, I renamed them all "HEY, how are you!". (Far easier.)

The night at Cheers was last Wednesday. We then club hopped to three places: Onyx, H2O, RnB. Too shy to dance on an empty dance floor, I told him to wait until my drink had started to work its magic. He laughed, and promised that after a week of partying with him, I'd be the first one up. (I think he might just be right.)

We got back at 4am. I got up at 7am. (They told me to get by on 3 hours by taking a half hour nap the following evening - to re-energise myself before going out again!)

On Thursday, we salsa danced the night away at Bistro, finishing in the AC haven of Clancy's. We then went to Pilawoos, a late night food place. Arch and I sat in the boot of the car, feeling the bass of the music vibrate through our every bone, watching the guys dance across the empty street.

On Friday, I went to Unawatuna with the AIESEC trainees. We partied until 7:30am. (We had breakfast, went to bed, then were at the sea by 11am.) On Saturday, we went to a beach party. We played drinking games (I told far too much in "two truths and a lie") ... danced and sat on the sand. We went to bed at 3am, then were up for breakfast at the beach by 9am.

On Sunday, I returned to Colombo, re-met with Shohan and the gang and listened to a live band at Tantra. (Fell in love with the lead singer's voice.) We then had dinner in Mount Lavinia, eating at tables ON the beach (sand underfoot!). I wandered out of the fenced area, onto the shore - to cries of "no Samantha, don't go alone!". I feel so taken care of.

We went on to Clancys ... left at 4am. On Monday, there was a private party, then RnB ... I got back at 5am, got up at 7am. Then went out to dinner that night. ;)

Shohan told me that yesterday must be my day of rest, for he wouldn't give me another night off for some time.

Feel like I've finally found my place.

Nausea, darkness and twelve hundred steps

2006-07-27T08:57:00.000+04:30

(TRIP PHOTOS UPLOADED HERE)

Last weekend was FUN!

Torn between nursing an upset stomach on a four hour bus journey (with no toilets, might I add), or staying at home and feeling sorry for myself, I took the risk and packed my bags for another weekend trip. When I finally met the others at the station (after I was mercilessly ripped off by tuk-tuk drivers), we had the choice of a dilapidated, cranky old bus or a two hour wait. And we weren't entirely sure that the two hours would not mysteriously become three: with neither warning, nor reason.

Onto the dilapidated bus we trooped.

Ittttttt shooooook andddddd itttttttt shoooook. Andddddddd therrrrrrre wereeeeeee waaaaaaars innnnnnnnnn myyyyyyyy stooomaaach.

Plagued with nausea (but fortunately nothing else), I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and held on tight. I snuck a peak at the bus clock; it showed seven thirty. (It was one in the afternoon. Another "welcome to Sri Lanka!" moment.)

One hour down. Two, three. THERE! I had survived.

In Dambulla, we saw monkeys and a giant golden Buddha statue. We climbed to the top of the Cave Temple, pausing only to munch on fresh mango and drink over-priced water. Beautiful views awaited us, along with mighty gusts of wind (see here!).

We later journeyed to Sigiriya, staying in a simple but clean hotel. (Having said that, I did find a tiny frog waiting for me on the toilet seat.) Dinner prices were expensive, so we ventured to a new Sri Lankan restaurant that was, according to the owner, "just down the road".

"Just down the road" turned out to be a twenty minute walk. Which would have been fine (I'm not quite that lazy), had there not been an absence of street lights. And not a slight absence: a complete absence.

The total darkness consumed us, arousing both nerves and excitement. A passing tuk-tuk driver told us not to walk in case the "wild elephants" got us. (I later found out that there were no wild elephants here - what a sales line, eh.) But we chose to walk, looking up in awe at the huge, bright stars that were scattered across the sky. The food was good, and I had lime mixed into my sweet lassi drink to calm my troubled tummy.

We rose at six on Sunday. From as early as nine, the Sri Lankan sun gushes relentless heat onto the island, so we started on Sigiriya Rock at seven-thirty.

Now, when the trainees told me about Sigiriya Rock, I thought we were going to look at it. What I failed to realise was that, as an ancient fortress, there is actually a blo*dy trail all the way to the blo*dy top.

A trail of twelve hundred steps.

It took us two hours to reach the summit. (Ok, it wasn't quite a summit, though it sure felt like one by the time we got there). But it truly was an incredible climb. With so many wonky staircases and open spaces, it was like an oversized playground for grown ups. (Actually, I'm not quite sure that I'm a grown up. A playground for 'big people' is perhaps a better phrase.)

We had a wonderful guide. He amused us with glorious tales of the fortress, but didn't always understand our English. Relaxing at the top, we asked him what his fastest climb time was.

-- "Four hours!" he smiled. We looked somewhat puzzled - four hours was too long.
-- "No, how many minutes ... from down [hand motions], to here [hand motions again]?"
-- "Ah. Four years!" Trying to suppress our giggles, we once more tried to rephrase the question. Again he answered us:
-- "AH! Ten minutes, it is!"

Ten minutes? Hmm. We still weren't sure if he fully understood. Well, if he did, he sure was a fast little man.

We started the descent. Guiding me down some steep steps, I grimaced. "Ohh, I'm going to die here, I know it!" I told him. Once more, he smiled.

-- "No problem, miss."

A train, some snorkelling, and a lot of sunburn

2006-07-17T10:37:00.002+04:30

I got into full trainee mode last weekend and journeyed to Matara, down South. I was promised a beautiful beach and beautiful weather - which I got, but only after a four and a half hour train journey.

And what a funny journey it was! The trains here are comfortable - padded leather seats with a lot of space. The only issue I have is with their movement. Side to side, up and down, up and to the right, down and to the left. Up and down again. A fifteen minute stop at a station for no obvious reason. Forwards, then backwards, with mysterious revisits to places the train has already passed through. A sudden LURCH and you're on the move again (and awake from any kind of slumber). Then once more: side to side, up and down ... but no complaints from me. I paid just 78p for this journey.

It is the sellers that are the most amusing. They hop on the train when we stop, anxious to get rid of a few items before they must jump off again. So what's up for grabs? Magazines. Horns. Seafood. Peanuts. Apples. Singing concerts. Chicken. Flute playing. All in all, an amazing array of products and performances to add to the beautiful green scenery from the windows.

So what was there in Matara? A beach, first and foremost! I've never seen a shore with palm trees. Likewise, I've never jumped right into a sea without the shock of Britain's cold waters. We had so much time: to sunbathe, to buy ice creams, to just read and read and read.

On Sunday morning we went snorkelling. We saw coral reefs! Bright pinks and greens and yellows. Tropical fish. The sea was strong though - my poor instructor had to put his arm around me tightly, to stop me from being swept away. (He told me not to worry if this happened - the current would take me back to the shore. Comforting.)

I then spied some body boards at his restaurant. "Oooh!" I squealed - "Can we please go body boarding?" For those not in the know, body boarding is similar to surfing, except you catch the waves by lying on the board, not standing. I used to do it on family holidays and was thoroughly excited at the chance try it once more, and in such big waves.

Walking with the board under my arm, I felt like a real pro (yeah right). My arrogance was soon shattered when I reached the waves. So huge, and so powerful! I was rubbish at catching them. When I finally did, the men gave me a good shove to make sure I stayed at wave's front. Sooo fun, but sooo fast; I was frequently and repeatedly thrown from my board. And right into the sharp coral reefs.

My poor body is battered, scratched and bruised. And SUNBURNT. I must say that I look ridiculous. My legs are pasty white; my arms are a dark tan colour; my back is a deep and sore red; my arms are bruised; my legs are scratched and bitten; my hands are cut to shreds.

The joys of the Sri Lankan sea!

On a mission

2006-07-14T10:10:00.000+04:30

India does marriages with marriage match websites. Sri Lanka does marriages by looking to the stars.

The date, time and place of a person's birth are enough to find a host of suitors. "It's more than the horoscope - you still have to observe the men", says Aunty (Muditha's Mum). "But the horoscopes can help."

What rubbish, I thought. But I then spoke to Marsh, another 'Burnetter'. He studied for five years in England, so could fully understand my horror at the Sri Lankan system. He wasn't fully sure on it either, but did tell me one story that certainly made me wonder.

One of his best friends was certain that he wanted no help in finding his future wife. His mother, concerned at this decision, went to "the horoscope man" anyway. She found a girl. So perfect was this girl for her son that, upon meeting, they were destined to fall instantly in love.

"Right, Marsh! If only it was so easy. So what happened?"

"The mother arranged a dinner where they could 'accidentally' meet each other."

"Yes, and then?"

"They fell instantly in love, then got engaged and married."

Hmm. Muditha - equally sceptic - has also told me such stories of the accuracy of the horoscope people.

Hmm again.

Armed with the following information:

Date of birth: 5th September 1985
Time of birth: 12:30am
Place of birth: Sutton, England

I approached Aunty.

"Find me a husband, Aunty." She collapsed into squeals of laughter and happily took the piece of paper from me.

Let's see, shall we?!

Size matters

2006-07-03T13:56:00.000+04:30

The roads here are not quite as crazy as in Jaipur. (Emphasis there on the "not quite".) But there is still a code. The "code" is the body of rules that must be obeyed to survive a country's roads. The "code" for roads in England is largely determined by our driving tests.

In Sri Lanka, I am told that there are no driving tests.

The "code" is therefore crucial. Here it is an unwritten understanding; the Messiah looked up to by the mish mash of Sri Lanka's vehicles. It is largely unknown to foreigners ... but after a car journey with a colleague, I now have an insight.

Size matters.

The lorries always win. Next come pesky white vans, who like to think they rule. (Unless, of course, a lorry crosses their path. Then they'll give in.) Following the vans are cars, then tuk-tuks (see here), then motorbikes, then push bikes. Pedestrians, of course, make up the bottom.

A few sub-rules. The sex of the driver also influences size status. Nicola, my colleague, maintains that she is treated as a tuk-tuk driver because she is female. And then there are the makes: Ranil, the CEO, is elevated to van driver status because he owns a porsche.

The politics of automobiles: a complex matter.

Unrest

2006-06-26T11:56:00.000+04:30

A bomb went off in the outskirts of Colombo today. It was about 10km from where I'm staying, and was an attack on an Army General. He was killed.

It's a funny thing, living here in Sri Lanka. All English news reports say that Sri Lanka is on the brink of civil war ... that Sri Lanka is "gripped" by the growing conflict of the past few weeks. Though we don't talk about the civil unrest at work. We still go to work. We still have brainstorming sessions on how best to advertise an insurance company here - we have a pitch on Friday, where we will compete with other agencies to win the brand. We still go to clubs. We still stay up late to watch football matches. We still watch Desperate Housewives.

Some things make you remember the violence. The checkpoints - soldiers with guns, watching who passes. Mostly they are there at night, and I have been stopped a number of times. Though it's not frightening ... I know that they are here to protect us. You smile and say good evening. They ask why you are in Sri Lanka, where you live, where you are going. You flash your passport, smile again, and they wave you on. And there are barricades too, restricting certain sections of the city. But if I'm honest, I have no desire to go beyond a point if danger lies ahead.

The explosions are getting closer. I said to my Mum earlier, and I will say it again ... I feel so strongly that to leave Sri Lanka would be to turn my back on all of those who have no choice but to stay.

I'm really not trying to be any sort of a martyr. But I've done nothing to deserve the privilege I have of being able to fly out whenever I want. Why me, not them? I've done no more than be born in a wealthy, Western country. And that wasn't through my doing.

The Bare Necessities

2006-06-22T16:56:00.000+04:30

Today I must leave the jungle.

So far I have been living in one of the AIESEC trainee houses. And the house is in the jungle. Really. There are palm trees and tall wild grass, and I have never heard so many animal sounds. Frogs and cockerels and crickets. Such odd combinations! A tiny dirt road that bends and winds and turns, and gets filled up with the monsoon rain. No lights - a challenge when battling the puddles at night. (Darkness here falls early: 6:30pm.)

I don't want to leave this jungle.

Yes, I am getting bitten to death, and my pretty shoes have been ruined by the muddy path. There are plenty of stray dogs, and little children that shriek "hiii, hiiiiiiiii!". I am told too that Sri Lankan men peer into the house at night, if windows are left open. They are not harmful, the trainees say, merely curious of our white skin colour. And inside we have tiny ants, and occasionally lizards. (It's ok - they eat the ants.)

Why do I want to stay here?

The trainees. It seems that AIESECers the world over are one and the same kind: warm, friendly, welcoming, caring, smiling, happy-go-lucky people. I have found my friends in this community.

Shek (India) touches my shoulder when he leaves; Rasmus (Denmark) eats any food that I have left. The perfect room mate - he doesn't snore! Juriaan (The Netherlands) has figured out how gullible I am, and uses this to his full advantage. (I have already been convinced that Sri Lankans eat just one meal a day.) Katia makes me tea and lets me eat her bananas.

Mandy (German) and I sing "It's commmmmming home, it's commmmmmming home" when preparing to watch a football match. Sietse (The Netherlands) lets me sit on his lap when four of us must cram into a rickshaw (or "tuk-tuk", as they are called by the trainees). Leonie (Hong Kong) gives me a tissue to press on weeping mosquito bites; Cherie (India) gave me Vicks balm to cure itching (it WORKS!).

These wonderful trainees have taken me to English pubs that serve vodka and bacon butties (essential, obviously). Juriaan drives me around on his scooter - it seems I'm addicted to the rush of riding on the back of them. (Helmetless and driven by a non-native in Sri Lanka - somewhat crazy, I know.) I have been invited to a trip to the South this weekend. And we have watched the World Cup two nights in the row - the final 8pm game airs at 12:30am here. (I'm getting good at feeling awake on 4 hours.) I can't quite believe that I've only been here for four days.

But I must leave the jungle today. I didn't arrange my internship with AIESEC, and now some new (and real) AIESEC trainees need to live in the house. AIESEC must provide their accommodation, so I must leave - it's only fair. I am going to live in an apartment rented out by a colleague's parent.

Though it's not all bad. Damitha - an AIESECer here - text me the following: "I know u like it dear, so sorry. ... It's not that I want u out." The trainees say I must do my laundry in their local launderette, so that I have an excuse to come and visit them. And Muditha (my colleague) says that she can drop me there at weekends.

They say it's people that make experiences - I won't argue with that.

Cheeky mosquitoes

2006-06-21T12:31:00.000+04:30

Sri Lankan mosquitoes are my new aspiration: they are persistent, never-failing and more than all this: downright cheeky.

Newsflash: Sam is ITCHY.
Explanation: My new repellent is a lotion, not a liquid, and my skin is now permanently a pasty-white colour. Annoying, but useful, I thought, for gauging when to reapply. Wrong.

Warning issued: A lesson for you all - it might look like it's still there, but it's NOT. Reapply!
Evidence for warning: The night that I didn't slap on a second coat, a single mosquito hopped, skipped and punctured its way down my arm. TEN TIMES.

Further warning: Mosquitoes are cheeky. Cover EVERYTHING.
Evidence for further warning: Get this - the top of my arm is free of bites, except for one tiny area ... underneath my watch. When I applied, I generously covered the skin both before and after my watch. Since when are mosquitoes this cheeky: biting bare skin underneath chain gaps? I have four bites to show off here!

Consequence if further warning is not followed: Watch must be worn on other wrist. Victim will cause unwanted laughter by (frequently) turning up the other (and now empty) wrist to see the time.

"Mr. Samantha" has arrived ...

2006-06-18T22:00:00.004+04:30

Last night we landed in the dark. We could see lights from the window: big, bright, lights. Whole areas would lurch into darkness: powercuts, I thought! "Look, that district's had a cut ... oh, and that one! And that first one's gone again!" I said. "Hmm ..." my neighbour replied. "It's either that, or we're just going through clouds". Ah. Yes ... that might have been it.

Landing was smooth, and I was soon in the taxi queue. A person from my hotel was supposed to meet me. Yes! I could see my surname on a sign. Yes! It was preceeded by Samantha. But what was that at the start? A Mr.? Oh dear. Damitha, my AIESEC contact here, warned me that Samantha was a boy's name in Sri Lanka. Suspicions were duly confirmed.

So, first impressions of Sri Lanka. It's LUSH. It's tropical and the colour green is everywhere. Oh, and humid too. Ever see that episode of Friends where they're in Barbados? Remember Monica's hair? Yeah, that's me at the moment - it's positively giant.

Will write more later ...

Two slices a day keeps the mossies away

2006-06-10T13:46:00.000+04:30

Remembering how much I got bitten last year - and, hence, how useless my repellent spray was - I asked the pharmacist if she could recommend anything else.

Vitamin B strong, she said. When taken, this magical substance emits an odour from your skin pores. Fortunately, it is not detectable to human senses, but mosquitoes CAN smell it and positively hate the stuff.

Sounded good, I thought, until she said that the recommended dose was 3 tablets a day. That added up to two hundred and seventy three tablets for the thirteen weeks - on top of the one hundred and four anti-malarials that I MUST take.

No, thank you, Ms. Pharmacist.

A google search online yielded an alternative, though. It turns out that marmite, that wonderful yeast spread, contains vitamin B in bucketloads. As well as consuming it when abroad, you can also prime your body for two weeks prior to departure. Accordingly, I am now on a strict breakfast diet of marmite on toast.

Luckily, I love marmite.

And again it starts ...

2006-05-30T22:57:00.000+04:30

Another summer, another trip ... another blog ...

Here I am sat in my room in Oxford. It's finally stopped raining, and the sky outside my window is clear. (Well, it's cloudy actually, but let's not spoil the story.)

Clear skies - a clean slate, perhaps. A new summer, a fresh start, another stab at making my mark on this big world. Time to cross another place off my "to go" list (yes, I have one, and yes, it's very long). And this time it's Sri Lanka - the pearl of the Indian ocean.

What's in Sri Lanka? Warm and friendly people, festivals, breathtaking national parks, and, of course, delicious food. A lot of fun, a steep learning curve, a 21st birthday.

Oh, and ...

MOSQUITOS. Mosquito spray! Mosquito nets that don't work. Malaria pills. BITES! Swollen ankles. Terror-seeking motorbike riders. Rickshaws. Ripper offers. HEAT! Stomach bugs. Sunburn. Honking horns.

Ouch. Think I'd forgotten all that.