Can the ‘Spectacular’ live within the ‘Higgledy-piggledy?’

August 30, 2010

A friend and colleague here suggested I submit an abstract to an archaeological congress that would be held in Sri Lanka as a way to introduce my work with history, mythology and drama and also get a chance to visit the island country located closer to Chennai than most of the other major Indian cities.  So I did.  As the organizer turned out to be a friend of my colleague, getting into the conference and arranging the journey proved easy.  And thanks to the Fulbright office, additional funding was provided to support my trip.

Almost immediately my colleague whispered that there might be some disorganization in this first ever Sri Lankan conference.  No problem, I answered.  If it gave me the chance to get to another country for a visit, I could deal with whatever.  The first sign verified this whispered warning—as I arrived by Taxi at the Chennai airport I had still heard nothing about where I was staying, when I was presenting, how long the presentation should be, what else might be happening with the conference.  In short, other than an acceptance letter and an estimate of the costs, everything else was proceeding on faith.  My colleague did promise to meet me at the airport in Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka.  About 10 minutes before my flight, I received an SMS.  My friend would NOT make it to the airport.  They were on the road somewhere, as the conference organizations sought housing for them.  I was to find the conference volunteers at the airport and see what would happen from there.

The small group that assembled at the Colombo airport at the same time as I proved to be pliant and easy to work with, although our bus ride to the accommodations needed to be diverted halfway and our journey lasted twice as long as it might have. The YMCA we ended up at seemed unaware of who was coming, so there was some jockeying around until I ended sharing a room with an archaeologist from north India. Thank goodness, as he helped my discover things like the fact that dinner was available here which I would have known nothing about.  Hence began the higgledy-piggledy.

At dinner another group informed us that we were to be up and out to the bus, bags packed at 6:30 am.  My ‘roomie’ expressed displeasure and stated that we would not move, since it was comfortable there and he had heard rumors of government dorms with toilets on lower floors and lack of a/c, etc.  So in the morning, we ignored the 6:30 call and went down to breakfast at about 7:15. The bus was waiting.  We got on. I talked to one of the volunteers there with the bus. What did exchanging rooms mean? He called one of the organizers who said we would be moved closer to shopping and such. Torn, I went to get my bags. My roomie did as well, stating that he would now be without a partner. Others wandered out and we finally got going a little after 7:30.

Upon arrival at the University of Kelaniya, where the conference was to be held, we left bags on the bus and went to ‘register’ at the conference, which entailed bustling with a load of ethnologists, anthropologists, other ists and professor.  Handed a bag of conference paraphernalia, we signed our name and e-mail address. No one asked for payment. I met my friends finally, who were relieved I was there, having tried to contact me all night to no avail. They paid my registration at a small table that seemed to operate on trust rather than a registration list. Then I found out that 50% more people showed up at the conference than expected and rooms had run short and last minute revisions were being to the organization of the conference.

The opening of the conference began with a lighting of candles which we couldn’t see because the official videographers and photographers surrounded the ceremony. This was followed by a long list of short speeches, most repeating how many times this conference had been staged and thanking everyone in the room. An hour and a half of that and we had our first tea break, at which there was a lack of tea and too many people jostling for places at the tables. We returned to the main hall for the rest of the opening, which had fewer people in attendance and longer speeches with more thank yous and etc. About half of the speakers couldn’t be seen because a flower arrangement on the podium engulfed them.

Then lunch. Late by forty-five minutes. No one minded. They all wolfed down their meals and headed off to the plethora of sessions.  I was on first in my section. Now here is where some fun began, because all presentations were scheduled for 15 minutes only.  A whirlwind of flash drives, CDs, DVDs, powerpoint presentations, reading papers and the occasional discussion, which really meant someone wanted to get their own opinion in, rather than listen to the speaker’s opinion.  Each segment was ‘chaired,’ but as I watched and participated, the chairs all handled the situation differently.  Some introduced, some gave wrap-up synopses, some commented, some hurried the speakers along and some didn’t show up so others were swept up into the role. As the two days hustled on, over 150 people presented these mini-lectures, about 30% of which were effective, according to one gentleman.  What I know is that this group of scientists, doctors and professors had a bang up of a time, enjoying each other’s company almost like kids, but presenting a wide range of intellectual ideas and topics.  It was almost a slumber party for historians, who sat up late at night giggling about ancient bones and rituals rather than cute boys.

The end of the first day found us trundled back to the YMCA, an isolated little hostel on a lonely stretch of road. Oh, but not before the bus driver got lost and our return trip lasted twice as long as the trip over. At the end of the second day, we retuned ‘home’ with the knowledge that we would soon be off on an archaeological tour of Sri Lanka, a nation famous for its conservation efforts and respect for their historical sites.

The road trip north lasted about 7 hours. In a school bus type bus.  We stopped three times for tea, because this group of travelers was dying for their tea time.  But apparently tea time is not so big in Sri Lanka, and it became a difficult endeavor.  At one mountain roadside stall, there was a bit of tea, but the group concentrated heavily on the fresh coconuts and snacks available there.

We arrived at a beautiful archaeological site, but instead of stopping, drove through to a small hotel where lunch was waiting.  Oh, my, the jockeying got position to get to the food.  I hung back because the line was too much of a crowded, desperate affair.  Same happened for the seating.  People grabbed chairs and squashed together at tables in a joyously random process that saw them eating faster than I have ever seen a group of adults eat.  As people finished, they started to wander off to the site, but the buses started to pull out and the conference leaders started to gather people.  Apparently, unbeknownst to the participants, we weren’t going to this site, but another one.  Another drive. More than an hour away.

Ah, but how do you measure the worth of a spectacular experience?  I know not, although I do know the joy and awe I felt as we wandered about this immense site, immensely captivating site, immensely well-cared for and clean site that begs no explanation for its beauty and grandeur, but boggles the mind in its existence.  How did such an extensively built, brick-based minor city with humungous stupa’s and gigantic buddhas come to be in such a small island?

A well-designed and laid out kingdom existed in this area we traversed.  It took us an hour plus to walk a small portion of it.  The shear enormity of creating such a space keep me occupied throughout the walk, wondering the extent of human labor needed to pull this off and the hierarchy that had to be in place to coordinate it all.

Unfortunately we were rushed along, needing to reboard those buses to get onto a museum.  Some grumbled that it was late and the museum would be closed, but the ace in the hole for us was one of the conference planners is the head of the archaeological site, so we could be where we wanted to be when we wanted to.  Although a nice place, most of us were too tired to really pay attention to the museum.

Another hefty bus ride to a lovely dinner, which was more relaxed.  But then came the great changing of the buses, as people were moved from one bus to another in anticipation of what hotel they would be staying at.  I got moved to the big, luxurious bus.  But then sat there. For more than an hour. At midnight.  The funny thing was that when the bus finally set off, we drove for about 7 minutes to get to the hotel!  We had waited an hour for one piece of luggage to be found and then drove 7 minutes!

Although we had to sleep three to a room that evening, the small hotel was a rural little cottage strewn place that was quite peaceful and cool.  A lovely respite from the city living that has been my life here.  One more bus ride and we came to we arrived at a large rock.  I saw this with a smirk, as this ‘rock’ is possibly one of the five or six greatest sights I have witnessed in my life.  Again, an area of well-laid out historical architecture that continues to beggar my imagination, but my focus stayed clamped on this looming rock that grew more attractive, albeit immense, as we walked the long, straight pathway that led directly to it.  Or I should say under it.  We climbed a set of swirling metal steps that delivered us to a thin ledge covered with historical paintings of ladies amongst the clouds.  Had the protective fence and canvas sheeting not prevented us from seeing the sky, the paintings would have fit seamlessly with nature.  Yet all I could think of was the artist that traversed the sheer rock face to create this mini-works of art.  And, my goodness, who looked at them?

The only thing that dampened the overwhelming nature of this climb and view proved to be the climb to the top of the rock.  Thin metal steps snaked up the side of the rock, barely able to fit two people across, but filled with dozens of tourists skimming by each other to make it to the stupefying 360o views.  Hundreds of miles across flat land dappled with peaks and a shimmering white Buddha staring directly at us—the sights sucked you in and reminded you of the tiny dot of your own existence.  I can see why a king, an emperor, a ruler would extract the necessary labor of his people to build his palace atop this geological wonder.  And one did.  Making people tote wood, rocks, bricks, logs and whatnot up thinly carved rock steps to build a palace temple that would dominate the sky, complete with a pool.  There is no stopping the human imagination and you are reminded of it in a place such as this.

On the way down, we met the Sri Lankan president, who flew in on a helicopter.  Apparently a hero to his people, he is a believer in preservation of history.  For me though, the more enjoyable time was that which I spent with the student volunteer guides and bus drivers.  A proud Sri Lankan lot, this group, they fell all over themselves saying how much they liked Americans ‘because they are on time.’ A couple of the student volunteers kept telling me how much they liked that I was there, since I was so kind to them and didn’t complain.  They struggled with their English, but since my Sinhalese is no-existent, I have to tip my hat to them and their efforts.

The day continued with a bus ride, of course, to yet another hotel for lunch.  Since I had to leave that day, with a group of West Bengalis, we were rushed off to another site, which we nearly ran through to see just a couple of sights.  To the panicked persuasion of two men who had to catch a flight that night, we squeezed onto the school bus with probably two more people than we could actually fit, and started our 6 hour journey back to Colombo.  Unfortunately the A/C had broken, so we were squished in and sweaty.  Despite being in a hurry, we stopped once for tea, and the group again descended on the snack shop, buying up bags of munchies.  It was a fitful sleep along the one road that was suffering from construction, but we got back to Colombo and checked into the YMCA once again.

The next day was a slow one, as several of us had flights in the afternoon. The airport was funny, since they do not exchange Indian Rupees there, and once past immigration, they mostly want US dollars (all price tags are listed such).  My iced coffee cost US$4 and they wanted to give me Sri Lankan change, so I had to argue with them. What would be the point since I was leaving the country?

A quick week of archaeology and archaeologists ended when I got back to India.  A recent law reads that tourists leaving India cannot return for 3 months. Although I have a research visa, I thought, you never know.  But re-entry was smooth and I caught a government taxi back home.  The guy stopped for directions. He talked for a good five minutes with an auto rickshaw driver, who gestured a series of directions.  My driver then drove down the road, turned once and stopped again for directions.  I was home.