Return to the Temple of Doom, pt. II

Laying there, I guess my first thought was "Wow - that was really stupid." But, the ankle still worked, so I got up and looked at the branch, thinking "What if it had split, and impaled my leg?" (I always have these thoughts after it too late to do any good with them.)

But, since I was still able to walk, (Though that ankle would still bother me a bit for another six weeks.) I continued down the hill. After another 15 minutes or so I was really close, but I ran into a similar obstacle - a large rock on my right, and the razor-wire fence on the left, but I was just barely able to squeeze through the gap in between, with only minor damage to my shirt because of the wire. Down some more, now that shirt is almost completely soaked through with sweat, and I'm completely covered in, I don't know - grass seeds? Jungle detritus? Sticky, itchy, plant crap. 

But now I'm so close I can even see the faux decoration on the faux pillars. I stumble a bit farther, and stop to try to figure out how to get the rest of the way, since the stupid things are, naturally, on the other side of the fence. Good thing, too, as a few feet farther would have probably taken me over the edge of the cliff, which was hidden in the undergrowth.

Now, a reasonable individual might have decided that it was a good idea not to try and cross the fence into the security zone, but I hadn't put myself through all that for nothing, and, after all, it was only a little ways over. And I'm sure that if I could ask the guards, they would let me through, I mean, what's the harm, right? So... looking around I did find a spot where I could snake my way underneath, with only a little more damage to the cut-up shirt. And there, in all their artificial magnificence, where the concrete supports made to look like stone and the remnants of the steel cables that supported the bridge. I took a bunch of photos, making sure not to get any of the dam in case I got stopped later. (Seriously, who cares? If you really want, you can even get  lat. and long. coordinates and print images off of Google Earth. (That's what I did, anyway.)) I only ducked back into the jungle once when I heard a truck approaching on the other side, discretion being the better part of valor, after all.

Time to go back up. I can tell you that even in 112 degree heat, hiking with a pack in the deserts of WY, (Yes, it did happen once on an arch. survey.) I have never been so hot in my entire life. Even the Turkish sauna in Amman (That was a slightly bizarre experience that I'll share later.) seemed pleasant in comparison. Maybe it was not having any water, or maybe it was the humidity, but the slog back was exceedingly miserable. Never mind having to go under, around, and over all the obstacles from before. (The tree branch held together enough I could use it to climb back up the rock.) It got to the point where I would walk ten steps, lay down in a shady spot, or just the grass, rest, then do it again. I started to wonder what heat stroke was like. Probably like hypothermia - irrational thinking. But at what point in this venture was there any? The thing that kept me going, besides not wanting to lay down and die, was remembering a little stream that formed a beautiful little pool under a bridge I had seen earlier. (Beautiful may be an exaggeration, but you'll remember my heat-induced delusional thinking.)

Finally, after about ten years, I made it to the top. I was half expecting armed guards to be there waiting on the road for me, so I was pleasantly surprised to find there weren't any. A quick hike up the road brought me to the bridge, and a short crawl through one of the concrete culverts underneath brought me to my swimming-hole. It took about three seconds and I was naked as a jay-bird, splashing around in the cool, refreshing water. I briefly considered that the black wiggly things in the water with me might be leeches, but they were actually only tadpoles. And tadpoles are cool - they don't hurt anything. I spent as long as I could there, wishing I could drink the water (I wasn't that delusional.) and rinsing out my clothes.

When I was done, I got back on the road feeling like a new man, which probably helped my cause when a couple young army guys on a motorcycle stopped and asked me where I had been. I told them the truth: "In the jungle - it's too bloody hot! But there's some very pretty butterfly's over by the stream there. I don't imagine you could give me a ride?" They gave me a slightly puzzled look, then an apologetic look, and continued down the road.

Eventually, I found a tuk-tuk that drove me back into town past the first security gate, without stopping there. It was for the best - I wanted the guard to see me, which I think he did, so he didn't think I was still inside, but I also didn't want to have to answer questions about what had taken me so long. ("Well, after crawling  under the fence and taking a bunch of photos I was really hot, so I went skinny-dipping...." )

Return to the Temple of Doom

So... I wasn't planning on going to Sri Lanka. I don't think it even occurred to me until I took that three-day train trip from Delhi to the South of India.  (It really wasn't as bad as it sounds - I had a coach with A/C and a sleeping bunk. Plus, it gave me a chance to read my guide book and figure out what I actually wanted to see besides the Taj Mahal, and the oh-so-polluted Ganges where all the cremated bodies get dumped. (Turns out they don't all get cremated - more on that, later.)) And with a chance to look a little more closely the map it became a pretty obvious side-trip.  I mean, when would I ever be this close again?

And, there was actually another reason, that I hate to admit. Growing up, my knowledge about India didn't come from Rudyard Kipling or even Richard Attenborough's Gandhi, it came from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. (Sorry, India.)  At some point I started wondering where they had filmed it. A quick google search revealed they didn't film it in India at all - the government wouldn't let them because of the script. (The whole British saving the day at the end probably didn't go over so well - that and the eating of chilled monkey brains. Seriously, Lucas?) So, instead, they went to Sri Lanka, and that sealed the deal in terms of me wanting to visit there. Who wouldn't want to see where Harrison Ford muttered the classic line: "Prepare to me Kali - in Hell!"
(Again, India, sorry.)

So I tried finding a ferry. There were rumors about one starting up again after a 30 year hiatus because of the war. (Yes, if you haven't been paying attention, the country had been having a civil war until just a couple of years ago.) Theoretically, it should have started about the exact same time I was wanting to go, but it got delayed, again, indefinitely, as the ship that was going to be used was sent to Libya to transport refugees out of the country. (Stupid refugees, interfering with my travel plans.) So, I bought a 1:30 AM flight from Chennai (Madras) to Colombo, instead.

My first impression of the country wasn't a good one. I stuck my head out the door of the airport shuttle bus to call over a couple other backpackers and a woman scolded me for not paying close enough attention to my bag. So I wondered -were there really people who would board a crowded bus in the pre-dawn hours, grab my 40 lb. backpack, and run off into the jungle as I stood three feet away and we all watched? I was doubtful, but still...a little disconcerting. The bus took an eternity to get to the city, and after the bus dropped me off, I remembered I never got my 200 Rupees in change for the fare.

But my second impression was even worse - downtown Colombo is about as bad as any city in India. (Well, maybe not that bad.) Crowded, polluted, hectic, and ugly in only the way that modern third-world sprawl can achieve. I was ready to get the heck out of Dodge when a motherly woman who I'd have guessed was from Hawaii, stopped me on the street and offered to help. 99% of the time this leads to the offering individual A) providing terrible help and b) wanting money for it. But her smile seemed genuine, and her calm demeanor seemed to lack the desperation that you often find with most touts. Plus, her slow, precise way of explaining things made me think she actually knew what she was talking about. And for once, I was right. She took me to her house, fed me, did my laundry, found a cheap place for me to stay nearby, and arranged a trip to the zoo. ( I got to see meerkats and dancing elephants -not bad!) She also fed me a snack when I got back, and then dinner later after a walk along the beach that night. (Maybe she was concerned about my weight?)

There was one thing she was off the mark about, though - Sri Lankan busses are NOT any better than the ones in India. Of course, I could have paid the extra $1.00 for the bus with A/C like she recommended, but nooo... I wanted to take pictures out of the open window on my way to Kandy. Because of that, I was treated to an interminable ride past what looked like one long, run-down, strip-mall lining the crowded, diesel-fume-choked, two-lane "highway" in the jungle with stops every 100 ft. for about 5 hours.

My first tourist activity once I got there, finally, was to visit holy Temple of the Tooth. My unsolicited guide explained that it's importance was that the only mortal remains of Buddha were housed there. They consist of, obviously, a tooth. This tooth, all that remained after Lord Buddahs' cremation, is locked behind a door which gets opened every evening about 5:00 to reveal... a big gold cup which covers... another gold cup, and then... five others. But under that final cup is, well, maybe a replica of the tooth according to some conspiracy theorists. Still a big deal, though, and a lot of people come to check it out.

The nest day was off the tourist trail. I was in search of the former "Indian" village set that Indiana Jones and crew visit in the film. On the way I met a very nice young banker who was up in the hills visiting a plot of land he was farming. He offered to help me find the right spot, which he might not have if he'd have known how long it would take. It wasn't easy to find - the jungle has overgrown everything. I could tell he was getting a bit impatient, so I was glad when I found the niche carved in a rock where the "sacred Shiva Lingam" was kept. He got into it then, and thought that was pretty cool. (He even paid for the rickshaw - what a guy!)

The following day was a bit... er... crazy. Maybe stupid is the word I'm looking for - you be the judge. I went to the gorge where the infamous rope-bridge sequence was filmed. And here's an interesting bit of trivia - just upstream from that spot a dam was being built, so the filmmakers had the British firm that was building the dam also build the "rope" (steel cable) bridge. The upshot of all this is that the area is a bit of a high-security zone now. Because of that I had to go past a guard at a check-point, who said I could go into the area, then got stopped at a second one where they said I couldn't go any farther. (Actually, they didn't speak English, but I got the point.) Back up the road I found a way down to the canyon edge and could just make out what was left of the rope-bridge, but it was quite a long way off, so I went back down and asked again at the guard post about how to get down to the spot. They knew what I was trying to do, apparently, as I could make out "Spielberg" in the conversation, but were, again, not too helpful. Good natured, though, as I could hear them laughing as I left.

So I went as close as I could, which was along the 10-foot-tall razor wire covered fence, and started slogging my way through the jungle down to the canyon edge. The grass was about five foot tall, and at some point I started thinking about what might be lurking there. Now, unlike Indy, I'm not especially afraid of snakes, but I certainly wouldn't want to get bitten by a cobra in the middle of nowhere, especially when no one knew where I was. And then I saw it - far down below, the top of one of the bridge support pillars. Down, down, down, I went until I reached a ten-foot tall drop off the edge of a smooth boulder. To the left - razor wire. To the right - impenetrable jungle trees. So I thought to myself - is this really worth it? It was hot and humid, I was nearly out of water, and I would still have to climb all the way back up. All this because of a really crappy movie from 30 years ago. I'd have to be insane to continue.

But wait... what's this? A broken tree limb, with a fork, leaning conveniently half-way up the rock? All I'd have to do is drop five feet, land one foot in the Y of the branch, and that would slow my fall enough to make it the rest of the way. Sure - why not?

The last thing I heard was a loud pop from my ankle as I fell into the thick, snake-infested undergrowth below.

(You know I lived, so it's not so suspenseful, but I really need to get off of the computer for a while, so I'll tell you the rest later.)