Tag Archives: Sri Lanka

Leaving Lanka

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I was never meant to end up in Sri Lanka, and wouldn’t have if not for a series of unusual events. I met a girl, cancelled my flight home to be with her, and when things didn’t work out I was left with no ticket back to Australia, and no burning desire to go there anyway.

In Santorini I met a strange man who told me that something I was looking for was in Sri Lanka. I often base major life decisions on advice for overweight strangers in Hawaiian shirts, so I organised to spend three weeks exploring the island nation on my way home. I didn’t know if I’d find what I wanted in Sri Lanka, but it seemed like a good enough plan at the time.

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Sri Lanka is a fantastic country that I will remember fondly for the rest of my life. It has a personality all of its own, a positive vibe that stands out amongst the poverty. The people are wonderful, the beaches at times magnificent, and travelling from place to place feels like an adventure without ever feeling like a massive chore. On top of that, the weather is perfect and the clash of cultures – Sri Lankan, British, Dutch, Portuguese – makes for a fascinating nation that is unlike any other. They also love their cricket, which is never a bad thing.

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While it’s not a place to go to if you want to party or get drunk (and, to be honest, after two months of near-constant boozing in Europe, I needed a break) the food makes up for that. Sri Lankan food is simple but delicious – lots of seafood, tomatoes, onions, rice. I truly will miss this place, and I’m so happy I was able to spend an extended amount of time here, without having to rush from one place to another. I’m so glad I did make the journey, because I did find what I was looking for.

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Last year, fresh off receiving my redundancy from the evil bastards at Bauer Media, I set off on a trip through Asia, with no steady plan to return, wanting to go as far as I could and let the experience change me. I was back inside six weeks after struggling to cope with life on the road, feeling ashamed of myself. I barely thought about travelling for the next year, which is unusual for me because I’m always thinking about places I’d rather be.

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That’s why this trip was so important. I originally planned to be away for nine weeks, making sure I booked a return flight that I couldn’t back out of. I ended up staying 13, and could happily travel for longer that. I climbed mountains and walked through ancient cities, kayaked along lonely stretches of water and got chased by drunk Polish dudes. I chased waterfalls and danced with beatniks and rode up a mountain on a fucking quad bike. I met people who changed my life, some for a long time, some for a night. I had the adventure of a fucking lifetime as I travelled from the top of Europe to the bottom, but it was coming to Sri Lanka that enabled me to find what I’ve been searching for.

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In Sri Lanka, I came to realise that I can stay overseas by myself for a long time, and that I don’t need other people. I don’t need to scurry back to my house, I don’t need to go back to Australia. I’ve always been independent, but I was never sure of just how independent. This trip has set the foundations for something much, much bigger to come – an epic journey around the world that will push me to my limits and open my eyes to new people, countries and cultures. But until then, I need a sleep, because all this adventuring has made me fucking tired.

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Train of the Sri Lankan Dead

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I was looking forward to travelling across Sri Lanka by train as much as I’m looking forward to the new Ghostbusters remake with all those fat chicks in it. After three lengthy rides in overcrowded and uncomfortable buses, I thought the nine-and-a-half journey from Batticaloa to Combo would be as much fun as having afternoon tea with a registered sex offender, but it was actually quite pleasant. I suppose afternoon tea with a sex offender could be alright, too, as long as he was a good conversationalist and promised not to bugger any dogs until he got home.

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It’s way too early for this shit

The train left Batti at 6:10am, which is a time I didn’t even know existed, and was mostly empty. I had two large, reasonably comfortable seats to myself, and a big window to open up and look out of, so I could wave to happy little Sri Lankans as I went.  We rolled past a world waking up, with farmers starting their day’s work, shops opening, and dogs being chased by hungry people looking for breakfast. Palm trees, rivers, wetlands and villages all slid past.

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Maybe someone farted?

At every stop, little blokes would climb onto the train and start singing as they did their best to sell food to the passengers. Some of it looked edible, some of it didn’t, but I passed on it all because Sri Lankan trains don’t have toilets and I didn’t like the thought of hanging my blurter out the window for the next five hours. It’s certainly a colourful and interesting journey that’s far more enjoyable than catching the bus.

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Sunrise over a nightmare

I was reading a book when I felt my hair being pulled, and turned around to see a strange creature staring back at me. It had a frog-like face and was making unusual choking noises, its tongue flicking in and out as if it wanted to lick me. I swiped out with my book but the beastie ducked and spat something acidic at me. I dodged it, and the spit hit the seat in front of me, melting it. I squealed and the creature crawled under the seat and scuttled away like a bug, never to be seen again. I went back to reading my book and enjoying the view out the window.

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“We are going to eat you!”

But then, everything went wrong when a FLESH-EATING ZOMBIE shambled into the carriage! With eyes rolling back in his skull and a foul odour emanating from his emaciated body, the ghoul lurched from seat to seat, violently biting and eating the occupants, sending blood spurting through the carriage while people screamed and ran away. The corpse shambled up to me and leant in to tear out my throat, but I wasn’t having any of that, so I told him to sit down and shut up, because he was fucking around and wasting everyone’s time. The monster had no choice but to wander off and take a seat and stop being a dickhead.

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“I love you, I want to eat your brains!”

With all the blood and gore and headless bodies lying around, I was glad when we finally pulled into Colombo at around 3:30pm. It was a long but memorable journey, and brought me one step closer to the end of a journey that’s taken me through 15 countries across two continents. While I could definitely keep going and see more of the world, it will be good to relax at home for a few weeks before heading off again – this time to Bali for a fortnight’s paragliding, before checking out Japan. That’s just going to be an appetiser, because I’ve got a feeling the trip after that’s going to be a big one…

Cheers, motherfuckers!

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You son of a beach!

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Sri Lanka doesn’t have a whole lot of Olympic gold medal-winning racewalkers. Alright, there’s Surav Fingabang and Karu Sukadingdong, and Anil Pushapooalong probably would’ve won in 2012 if he hadn’t been bitten by a dog during his warm up, but the fact is these people don’t like walking. There’s a reason for that – it’s really fucking hot.

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Don’t have a cow, man [polite chuckles]

That didn’t stop me pointing at a spot on the map six kilometres from my hotel and saying, “I can bloody well walk there!” That’s because I’m a complete dickhead. I toodled out the door with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, aiming to get to the end of Batticaloa’s famous Dutch Bar, so that I could catch a glimpse of the legendary Batticaloa Lighthouse. After a couple of kilometres of I was huffing and puffing in the 37 degree heat, so I stopped off for a swim.

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Can you spot the mermaid?

Kallady Beach is wide and sandy, and the water is warm and clear, but it’s not one of the world’s best beaches. It’s very Asian, in the sense that there’s rubbish everywhere. If you’re after a broken pen and couple of hundred bottles full of seawater, this is your place. In saying that, it’s still a beaut place for a swim on a bloody hot day, and it has some waves. which sets it apart from every beach I’ve been to since leaving Aussieland.

I made it another couple of kilometres along dusty, abandoned roads, before calling it quits. I was dehydrated and overheated to the point where I seriously considered sucking the milk out of a passing cow’s teat (even worse, it was a male cow), so I turned around and started back along the road, without ever seeing the lighthouse.

Oh, and I stopped to ride a merry-go-round. Weeeeeeeeeee!

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I don’t have to stay 200m away from playgrounds in Sri Lanka

When I finally made it back to m hotel I was half-mad from exhaustion and dehydration, and brought myself back to life by swimming in the pool in my undies and doing bombs to impress some big-titted Norwegian sheilas who were hanging out there. They weren’t impressed at all and asked me to stop, which leads me to believe they’re probably lesbians – gay lesbians. happens all the time.

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Havin’ a pool…

To make up for that disappointment, the sun put on a fantastic performance as it went down (I’ve described my ex-girlfriend in similar terms). The sky burned orange as I said goodbye to another brilliant day in Sri Lanka, and turned my sights towards the long, difficult journey back to Australia…

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Batti Boy

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Trincomalee was a tropical oasis where the biggest problem I had was working out which beer to have with my dinner. And then I went and fucked it all up.

One of the women at my hotel took a liking to me, and after serving me extra large portions at dinner to let me know she was interested, I served her an ‘extra large portion’ of my own. Understandably, she became infatuated with me, so it was poor judgement on my behalf when I returned to the hotel one evening with an Asian woman I’d met. In fact, she threw me out and told me she was going to call her brother to come and kick my head in.

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Sri Lankans: not good drivers

With nowhere to stay and not really liking the idea of being hoofed by some cricket-mad Sri Lankan bloke, I took a tuk-tuk to the bus station and climbed onto the next ride out of there. Fortunately, it wasn’t heading to the sewage works or anything, but to the pleasant coastal city of Batticaloa – famous for being ‘the land of the singing fish.’ I love singing and I love fish, so it turned out to be a great decision.

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After a three-and-a-half-hour journey in a bus so full of humans that I thought I would die of BO-inhalation, I finally made it to Batti. And the good news is, it’s a bloody nice place. Smaller and less chaotic than Trinco or Kandy, the city is set out around a giant lagoon, and has plenty of trees and other lovely things. I wasted no time getting out and seeing what it had to offer.

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EVERYONE LOVES ICE CREAM

The Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum, the Great Wall of China. I’ve seen them all, but none come close to the Batti Gate for sheer awe-inspiring beautness. Alright, that’s a major exaggeration, because it’s quite small and not very impressive at all. In fact, the Gate is possibly the stupidest gate in the world, because it goes nowhere and is full of homeless men. And not the good sort of homeless men – the ones who dance for a sandwich – but the type who just sit around in their own filth, yelling at pigeons.

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Uh, the homeless dude is behind me

There’s even a statue of much-loved bald man Mahatma Gandhi, which is particularly impressive because the golden dude is wearing an actual pair of glasses on his handsome little face. If you’re a four-eyed geek on a vacation to Sri Lanka and your specs fall off and smash – probably while someone’s giving you a wedgie – it’s nice to know that you can pluck a set off this dude’s noggin and go about your geeky life.

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That’s an impressive camel toe

The Batticaloa Fort is the other major tourist attraction in Batti, and came as a throwback to my time in Europe, where I saw more forts and old towns than Julia Gillard has had married men. It was built by the Portuguese back in 1622 to store all their prostitutes, before the Dutch captured it a few years later, ripped it apart for reasons I don’t understand (and probably kissed all the hookers) before rebuilding it. It’s cool to look at and strange to see on a tropical island like this. It’s also small and there’s not much to check out inside, because it’s been converted into government offices. Four hundred years old and the most exciting thing that happens there is when the rubber bands run out.

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OK, I admit it, I’m cool

There’s also a gigantic book outside. Sadly, it’s not the literary classic Red, White and Bruce, but there’s no accounting for taste.

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I think I’ll wait for the movie

The best attraction by far is a statue of a giant singing fish, which almost makes up for the fact there aren’t any real singing fish around here. There’s even a speaker inside that plays a sort of warbling sound, which was hauntingly beautiful. I started swaying in time to it, and eventually began twirling around, lost in its cadence. After a few moments, the mood was shattered when I heard a voice say, “Hello sir!” and looked over to see a little Sri Lankan dude lying on the ground behind the fish, holding his ankle. “I have been crying out for help and you just dance in time to my cries. I’ve hurt my leg, are you going to help me up or what?” So much for the legend of the singing fish…

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Paddling with Pigeons

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Everyone loves pigeons. They’re nature’s comedians and very popular with children and the elderly, so when I had a chance to go snorkelling at Pigeon Island, Sri Lanka, I grabbed it with both hands. The opportunity, not an actual pigeon, just to be clear.

I jumped on a boat full of happy-faced Asians (you can’t miss them on the main stretch of beach at Uppuveli) and headed out there. The snorkelling was good, if not completely awe-inspiring. Pigeon Island provides a decent number of fish – big blue ones, little yellow ones, and everything in between – and some nice coral as soon as you get away from the area where tourists have killed it all. The water is a bit churned up, so visibility isn’t great, but it’s certainly a good place to paddle around for a few hours.

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I love Aeroplane Jelly

There were plenty of jellyfish flopping around like idiots, and I even managed to get stung by some bizarre orange coral. I didn’t die, but I went close. It really was a very pleasant way to spend my last day in my adopted home of Uppuveli, and a trip to Pigeon island is highly recommended for anyone in the area.

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Some stupid fish

I was feeling a little bit cheeky, so I decided to pull my shorts down and take a few photos with my bum out. Oi, don’t judge me, it’s a normal thing for a 33-year-old fella to do. Anyway, I was showing my bottom off and having a fantastic time when I turned around and saw a group of Sri Lankan children snorkelling nearby and shaking their heads in disgust. I went after them to explain what I was doing, but they turned around and swam off, and I felt that pursuing them any further would be asking for trouble.

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Mr Sophisticated does his thing

I soon headed back to the beach, and as I neared the sand I noticed what can only be described as an angry mob huddled on the shore. They were shouting things out and punching the air with their fists, and as soon as one of them saw me he started pointing in my direction. I just assumed he was telling his mates there was a jellyfish in my general direction, so I strutted out of the water like a boss without paying him too much attention. Big mistake, baby.

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Some more stupid fish

As soon as I emerged a member of the mob – who were as angry and vocal as a group of first-year university students arguing the Brexit result – slapped the mask off my face, and the rest started jeering me and pushing me around. They thought I was a sex pest and I had only one option – run! I put my head down and plowed through the palm trees towards the boat, with the angry locals in hot pursuit. I could hear their footsteps and feel rocks and coconuts whizzing past my head, and I just kept on running like popular black man Usain Bolt.

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Yet more stupid fish

When the captain of the boat saw me being chased by the gang he shouted for me to jump in the boat, and fired up the engine as I got closer. I was puffing and wheezing but managed to leap over the side, banging my ship badly and landing on top of a startled Asian woman. The captain spun the boat around and zipped us out of there, while coconuts and other shit hurtled into us thanks to the maniacs on the shore. I apologised to the Asian woman, but she responded with a passionate kiss, which would’ve been more romantic if her husband wasn’t watching on and cheering the whole thing.

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Mr Awesome makes his escape

When we made it back home the husband, Ian, asked me to have sex with his wife while he watched. I politely declined, but made plans to meet up with the wife later on when Ian was busy playing cards with some of his chums. All things considered, it was a good day.

Jewel of the Nilaveli

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Uppuveli has a great beachTrinco city has a crap one, so I figured it’s time I checked out the other major beach on the northeastern coast of Sri Lanka. Nilaveli is about 10km north of where I’ve been staying, and has a completely different feel. Not as many tourists, a lot more locals, and barbed wire and military watch towers all over the place to give it that ‘tropical paradise’ feel.

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You have to watch out for sunburn, jellyfish stings, and tetanus

Jokes aside, it is a great spot, with palm trees and clear blue water. There aren’t as many restaurants or hotels as in Uppuveli and it’s a long stretch of sand, which means it’s easy to get away from everything and just let the day seep away under a tree. Of course, that brings with it the danger of having a herd of cows wander over and shit on your head, but that sort of thing is par for the course in Asia.

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Hottest motherfucker on the beach

Nilaveli is where Sri Lankans like to go for a dip, and the water around the main section of beach is teeming with the happy little bastards. They like to pack in tight, climb on each other’s shoulders, kiss each other, and generally act in baffling ways that confused and intrigued me. They were obviously curious about me, too, because I was stopped a few times to have my photo taken with groups of near-naked black men – usually holding their hands. I’d post a photo of it but 1) I thought better of handing my camera over to a bunch of strangers in a third world country and 2) anyone who saw it would probably assume I had, at some point, participated in a beach-themed interracial gangbang, which isn’t the case at all. I swear.

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The locals have fantastic tans

There’s a clutch of shops in the centre of the beach that sell everything from curry wraps to glass flowers (my favourite!), and, while small, it’s typically busy. Tuk-tuks and buses fang up and down the dusty road, while cows and dogs dick around, getting in the way and wasting everyone’s time. It’s aimed at the locals, not tourists, so unless you’re really after some cheap plastic toys of a snappy button-up shirt, there’s not much to buy. I was trying to find a signed and framed 1989 Canberra Raiders jersey, for instance, but had no luck and had to settle for one from 1990. I was crushed.

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“Gimme a red soccer ball and some cow shit, bro”

Tired from a long day of sitting on the beach and dancing with cows, I climbed into a tuk-tuk and pointed the little bloke in the front seat in the right direction. We rattled and rolled off down a track, my new friend singing Taylor Swift songs at the top of his lungs and wobbling his little head from side to side. Unfortunately the rock ‘n’ roll express came to a crashing halt when one of the wheels fell off the tuk-tuk, spinning off into a field and startling a cow. Taylor smashed the tuk-tuk into a fence and it almost flipped, which surely would have killed me.

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The moment of impact

We climbed out and Taylor was in tears, probably more for his damaged tuk-tuk than for the fact he almost murdered me. I cuddled him and told him everything would be alright, and he blew his nose loudly on my singlet. He finally settled down enough to pull out his phone and, not wanting to hike through the middle of nowhere, I just hung out, listening to music and dancing with a small group of goats. After a short time, another Sri Lankan dude rocked up in a tuk-tuk, tied Taylor’s to the back of it with some rope, then we all climbed into his ride and crawled out of there.

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Inviting your mates around for a ‘barbie’ means something different in Nilaveli

We ended up in a little hut surrounded by dogs, where Taylor explained to his family that I was a hero, having been there for him when he was at his lowest point. Or something like that, his English was shithouse. They served me a delicious meal of rice and curry, during which Taylor’s children performed a traditional boogie for me, and then I was taken home in the working tuk-tuk and dumped. It wa an unusual experience.

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The other end of the beach

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I’ve settled into life in Uppuveli, the beachside community just north of Trincomalee on Sri Lanka’s east coast. I spend my days lying on the beach, swimming, and reading. Every night, I sit and eat cheap curry and drink cheap arrak while little Hindu fellas yell their heads off and dance around a fire like they’re possessed. It’s a simple life, but it beats getting a splinter in your dick.

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Yum

Not much happens here, and that’s fine. Days melt into each other and time slides by in a haze of saltwater and sand. There’s snorkeling and boat trips for those interested, but nothing beats just hanging out, which is the only real reason to come here. If you’re looking for rollercoasters and strip shows, you’ll be disappointed.

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Sea Queens sounds like a movie you wouldn’t want your missus to catch you watching

While the northern end of the beach is clean and calm and lined with swaying palm trees, I’ve long wondered about the southern end, which clings to the main streets of Trinco. Being an inquisitive chap, I decided to roll along and check it out, and discovered that the far end of the sand is like some sort of bizarro land that couldn’t possibly be further removed from my little tropical paradise.

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Trinco Beach: it’s beachy

The road into Trinco is busy and dirty, full of cows and goats, and changed rapidly as I strolled along. The tourist-oriented pizza and seafood restaurants (of which there are few) soon gave way to tiny bakeries, roadside stalls selling warm cans of Coke and packets of strange chips, and endless Huawei resellers. I didn’t have to walk far from the tourist area before people started staring at me. Not many westerners venture very far past their hotels (and fewer walk, because tuk-tuks are ubiquitous and cheap), and I had a constant stream of bewildered locals watching me, while children raced over to catch a glimpse of this strange, handsome creature walking through their streets.

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Motherfuckers just cross wherever they damn well please!

There’s really not a lot to see in downtown Trinco. It’s a typically hectic Asian town, although not large enough to make it a hassle to walk through. There are no footpaths, huge holes to fall into, and dopes hooning around on motorbikes, and it’s worth experiencing once, and nothing more than that. From there, it was time to check out the beach.

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This is the nude sunbathing section

I first went to the adjoining Dutch Bay, which was tidy enough but infested with stray dogs. The flea-bitten bastards were everywhere, only giving up their spots when a herd of cows rocked up to take their places. There are a handful of hotels on the beach, but I wouldn’t recommend staying there – it’s a not a particularly pretty beach, there are no restaurants around, and it seems a bit cut off from everything. Coming to Trinco and spending all your time around this area would be like getting a sheila back to your house and spending the night massaging her feet.

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This is where things get nasty

After a swim that had the local ladies (and a few of the cows) licking their lips, it was time to check out the southern end of the main Trinco beach. I was expecting to be able to swagger along it, getting ever closer to where I’m staying, but I wasn’t able to. The southern end is covered in fishing boats and garbage, and backs onto a series of slums, with the human filth spilling out onto the sand. As I walked, I was mobbed – people were yelling at me, trying to grab me, or steal stuff from me. Raw sewage flows from the slums into the ocean, and angry dogs bark and give chase. It’s not nice at all and a world away from the tranquility of the northern end, so I raced back, ripped the top of a big-titted slut beer  and chilled the fuck out.

Tomorrow’s adventure? I dunno, maybe I’ll get up before midday or somethin’.

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Crabbin’ with a clearly-disinterested deer – on of the many types of animals that roam through Trinco

Lion Strong beer is truly awful

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Beer isn’t easy to come across in Sri Lanka,so when I found a restaurant near my hotel that sells cans of God’s Golden Nectar (alright, the little fellas run down the street and buy it from some bloke and then race back with it, but it’s the same thing), I thought I was in heaven. To make things better, the beer in question, Lion Strong has an alcohol percentage of 8.8 – enough to kill a full-grown elephant.

I ordered five cans and carried them back to my room as carefully as if I were carrying the holy grail. I chucked some music on, took a seat on the balcony overlooking the ocean, and took a big swig of beer… Or, at least, I was expecting it to be beer, because what filled my mouth tasted like a mixture of unleaded petrol and runny dog shit.

Lion Strong can barely be called a beer. It tastes more like cheap, canned bourbon and coke due to the high alcohol content, and has a horrible, syrupy texture. It’s absolutely putrid. I was gagging like a midget in a blowbang as I tried to force the dirty water down my throat, and the locals probably thought I was dying, and planning to chuck me in that night’s curry.

While it’s a truly revolting drink, Lion Strong packs a massive punch, and after five cans I was fucking smashed and passed out under a palm tree, only to wake up with an old Sri Lankan woman stroking my hair and calling me a pretty baby. I think I’ll stay away from the Lion Strongs from now on.

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Shit what happens in Sri Lanka

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Here’s what I’ve done over the last few days: Sit around, drink beer, eat good food, swim, perv on hot chicks, and sleep. Trincomalee is as good a place as any to hang out if you want to do lazy things (well, unless you want to drink beer on a Sunday, because that’s illegal, which is gayer than Ricky Martin shitting in Elton John’s mouth while that “Leave Britney alone!” dude jerks off in the corner).

So, here’s a bunch of pictures that will make you wish you were here, rather than in whatever shithole you’re stuck in (I’m joking, I’m sure it’s lovely. But change the fucking curtains, they’re rubbish!). Toodles!

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Sober in Sri Lanka

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After a few days scratching around the grimiest backstreets Sri Lanka has to offer, today I finally got to take a refreshing dip in the calm, blue waters of the Bay of Bengal. I’ve set up camp in Trincomalee, a seemingly endless stretch of golden sand fringed by swaying palms. There are certainly worse places to stuff around in for a few weeks, that’s for bloody sure.

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The beach is pretty grouse

I’m staying right on the beach, with nothing but the ocean to look out on. Trinco (as all the cool people say – and some cockheads, probably) isn’t heavily developed, with just a smattering of hotels along the water. Go back a street and it’s a typical Sri Lankan village – busy and dirty, with little dudes storming around for the sake of appearing busy and cows standing around shitting all over the place.

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“Hey cow, I ate your mother!”

It really is a very nice place to sit back, relax, and smash a bunch of beers… Or it would be, if Sri Lanka didn’t have a bunch of weird laws that ensure that having a few drinks is a difficult endeavour. After rocking up on the bus, I just wanted a beer, and set out into the streets to find a place willing to sell me one. In Negombo they had specific shops with huge ‘BEER’ signs out the front, and in Kandy alcohol was available at the supermarket, so I didn’t think it would be hard. I was wrong.

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Honestly, what is this thing? This is the sort of shit I see when I don’t drink

I swaggered into the first shop I found and asked for a beer, only to be met by confused looks, as if I’d asked if they had any chickens I could fuck. They finally told me of a place down the road that could help me out, so I trotted off down there. When I asked them, they gave me a confused look and then pointed me towards the first place.

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Look how DISGUSTED I am by the lack of beer

I know Sri Lanka’s a developing country, but they need to sort their alcohol situation out. A bloke should be able to walk up the road and get himself a bloody beer on a hot afternoon. I ended up walking a round trip of 8km, only to come back empty handed and sadly sober. I settled for a beer at my hotel, which set me back $3.50 for a small bottle – hardly the cheap drinking experience I expected from one of the world’s poorest countries.

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The view from the bar ain’t bad, though

That’s the story of Sri Lanka, really. While it’s a povvo country like Indonesia or Thailand, it doesn’t provide a typical ‘povvo country’ holiday experience, with cheap accommodation and food. While $25 can get a lovely, modern unit in Bali, $40 gets an absolute shithole of a room in Sri Lanka – mine has bare concrete walls, no air con, and a hole in the ground where the advertised pool was mean to be. Meals are expensive unless you’re willing to risk the street food (I have), with basic meals running north of $10 a pop.

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“Move over, I’m gonna dive in the cunt!”

Trinco is a great part of the world, and if the Lankans ever sort out their pricing problems it will become a major tourist destination (and get fucked up in the process). Despite its problems, it’s a laid-back and relaxing village that is a great place to spend a relaxing few days, weeks, or even months. Right now, I’m just going to sit back on the beach with an overpriced beer, watch the sun down, and have a crack at the big-titted Pommy sheila who keeps giving me the eye. It’s a life…