Trincomalee (part2)
As we approached Trincomalee, the vegetation thinned and the landscape became more arid. On either side of the road, large swathes had been cleared of shrubs and trees as an anti-ambush measure during the long war between government troops and the LTTE , the ‘Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam’. Now, with a ceasefire in place for almost two years, the plants were slowly growing back. A few remaining large trees stood out, many of them in the grip of the banyan fig (Ficus benghalensis), their trunks encaged by the roots of the parasite who was slowly strangling them.
Roadblocks appeared at regular intervals and although they were all wide open, there was a heavy military presence. It had been a long time since I last travelled through a conflict zone. As we approached Trincomalee, signs of the recent trouble were all too apparent: the scenery came complete with UN jeeps and soldiers patrolling the streets with AK-47s. Two of these stood guard by the clocktower in front of ‘Trinco Rest’, a cheap hostel where I had decided to stay to save a few rupees. I don’t know whether they were supposed to make me feel safe.
My room was situated directly behind the reception desk, just a few paces away from the guards. Not only was I the only woman staying there, I was the only foreigner. In fact it appeared that I was the only westerner in town, except for the NGOs in their jeeps. And I thought I would have a hard time finding a room! This was turning out to be more of an adventure than I had bargained for….
The room was barren and felt very exposed. There were aeration holes in the walls above the window which faced the reception area. The window frame was hanging from its hinges. A thin layer of plywood two thirds up to the ceiling was all that separated mine from the neighboring room. There was no mosquito net to hide under, or a blanket for that matter. To avoid prying eyes, I would have to sleep fully dressed. The door to the bathroom across the yard didn’t lock. I kept a nervous look-out through the slightly gaping door while I took a shower, but saw no suspicious movements outside. I kept my fingers crossed for the night ahead.
*****
It was still early afternoon, so I went for a walk. A unique feature of Trinco are the herds of spotted deer (Axis axis) which graze freely all around the town. The deer had been kept by the British in the Fort but had since spread. This is a cause for concern as they are in danger from stray dogs and rubbish, mainly polythene bags, which can kill them. I was startled when I looked up and saw a doe and her fawn casually browsing among discarded rubbish by the roadside, not 10 yards away from where I stood. They took no notice of me. Further on, a small herd had gathered around a watering hole in a school yard, attended by a crowd of the ubiquitous crows. Two of the birds were sitting on the back of a stag, picking off parasites from his hide.
The road took me to the beach at Dutch Bay at the northeastern end of the town. I turned right and walked through the historic gate of Fort Frederick, built in 1679 and now an army base.
I walked up a small path, following the sign to a temple. Two stages were fighting in a clearing. Indifferent to them, a couple of fawns browsed in the lush vegetation nearby. I felt like Eve in Paradise as they parted unhurridly to make way for me. At the end of the path, I ascended steps hewn into the rocks and reached a Buddhist temple which overlooked the sea. Not a soul was present. I paused for a while, feeling a little apprehensive, alone on this holy site.
Back on the main road I was joined by crowds of pilgrims on their way to worship at the Koneswaram temple on top of Swami Rock. Past the garrison area, stalls selling tea, fruit and softdrinks appeared by the roadside. Buses trundled past, ferrying visitors up the hill. It was busy, but the pace was unhurried. Signs by the side of the road invited people to pause and reflect on the wonders of nature. One of these was erected next to an impressive peepal fig (Ficus religiosa) growing against the backdrop of the ocean. The sea and cliffs were visible through columns of roots which cascaded down where once the host tree stood. It was an impressive sight. A fruitbat was hanging from a telegraph wire overhead. Despite the crowds, I felt at peace.
Together with the pilgrims, I left my shoes in the care of a keeper by the temple entrance and we ascended the hot concrete steps barefoot. The Koneswaram temple was once renowned all over India as ‘the temple of a thousand columns’. Like all Hindu temples in Sri Lanka, it was destroyed by the Portugese in the seventeenth century and is still in the process of being rebuilt. The new structure houses remnants of the original shrine which were recovered from the waters below just a few years previously. It stands majestically on top of the rocks, a spectacular vantage point over the bay of Bengal.
I kept a respectful distance from the worshippers gathered around the shrine and joined the crowd looking out to sea. On the rocks just behind the fence, an altar had been built on the edge of the cliff. It was surrounded by trees, their branches festooned with colourful prayerbands which fluttered in the breeze. The gate leading down to the altar was locked, but a couple of devout young men jumped over the fence to place their offerings. They gave me a wide smile as they clambered back to re-join the crowds. Apparently, the attitude to worship was easy-going.
So it was that I found myself once again in the grounds of a Hindu temple looking down steep cliffs into the serene waters beneath. It reminded me of Bhaghalpur, northern India, where a friend and I had observed Ganges dolphins (Platanista gangetica) from a temple island back in 1985. That had been my first encounter with cetaceans in the wild. But here, the water was the deep blue ocean and the cetaceans I hoped to see would be much bigger. The temple was renowned as a whale-watching site. The Ultimate Guide to Marine Mammals claims that ‘within an hour, several cetacean species can often be spotted’. But today I was unlucky. Not that it mattered. I had just arrived and my fruitless outlook only served to heighten my sense of anticipation. What would be waiting for me in this ocean?
I drank in the scenery. In the clear water 100 m below, colourful fishing boats were bobbing on the waves. On the rocks next to me, a group of monkeys, tocque macaques (Macaca sinica) to be specific, had gathered. Most were resting, the adults grooming each other while the juveniles played. A few of the older males kept look-out. The only blight on this idyllic scene was rubbish dumped in a crevice between the rocks. Plastic bags were carried out over the ocean by the wind. I worried about the turtles which swim in these waters. Turtles feed on jellyfish and are known to ingest drifting plastic bags, mistaking them for prey. Another casualty of man-made waste.
After about an hour, the man from the stall where I had left my shoes came up to tell me he was about to close. It would be dark soon. Reluctantly, I tore myself away.
As I walked back down the hill it occured to be that I had just been in the vicinity of a military base, training my heavy-duty field binoculars on the entrance to an international harbour and there had been no suspicion of any kind. And to think that in Greece they arrest people for plane-spotting. Here, everybody, soldiers and pilgrims alike, seemed to be relaxed and happy now the ceasefire was holding. Many people smiled at me and shook my hands, pleased to welcome back visitors. The soldiers at the checkpoints waved cheerfully. In all my travels, this was the first time I felt relaxed in the presence of soldiers with loaded guns.
I decided to walk to the internal harbour, on the other side of the peninsula, before sunset. Just outside the Fort, I passed a pretty stretch of beach with rows of wooden fishing boats and a small café, a ‘cool-spot’ offering ice-cold soda and a pretty view, but I pressed on. When I reached the harbour bay, the sea was glimmering in the last rays of the light. Fish were jumping in the water, their shapes obscured by the rising shadows of the islands which were dotted over the bay. Dark forms skimmed just below the surface. For a heady moment, I had a vision of small inshore cetaceans, perhaps finless porpoises (Neophocoena phocanoides) hunting, but there was no giveaway blow. I continued to stare out into the bay while slowly walking down the road and promptly stepped into a pat of cow shit.
Luckily, nobody witnessed my embarrassment, there were few people about. They smiled as they passed but did not distract me much. One of them stopped to talk but I only paused for a brief greeting. I had come half-way around the world and braved cockroaches, snakes and armed soldiers to study this bay and I was not prepared to lose any time. I stood in the last rays of the dying sun and only stopped staring after it had set completely.
The cows were coming home. Literally. A small herd emerged from a road to my right, crossed the street and headed to a patch of grass by the sea to spend the night. It was high time to find my way back — working street lights are not a feature of Trincomalee. As I stumbled back through the darkness, I became painfully aware that walking in my wretched flip flops had given me open blisters between my toes.
*****
At about ten thirty, the guards outside the door called it a night. Strange really, I thought if there was going to be any fighting it would kick off about now. Before going off duty, one of the soldiers switched on the lights in the yard for me and, as I walked past him, rubbed himself suggestively against me. I did a quick double take to check that he didn’t carry his gun, poked a finger into his belly and told him if he tried that again, he would be a dead man. He gaped at me and quickly walked on.
By 11 o’clock, even the dogs had fallen silent. I could not put it off any longer; it was time to go to bed. I pulled the rucksack closer to me, took out my wooden spoon and tucked it into the buckles on top, within easy reach. I always travel with a wooden spoon. Apart from beating off amorous advances and would-be thieves, it makes for an excellent back-scratcher. I have even been known to use it for cooking. Now, it was my only weapon, a psychological crutch which made it possible for me to relax. I slept through the night unmolested.
Tags: The Whales of Trincomalee, Tag Index
Denni