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.)