A couple or a few thousand years ago, some say, a man marched out to the desert with his son and prepared to kill him. Disturbingly, as the years wore on, this became less notable of an event. It almost seems as though these days it takes some sort of mass suicide or ritual killing in the desert to garner any noteworthy attention, but I, once again, digress. Either way, thousands of years ago, this was a rather singular event. Fortunately his son, Isma'il or Ismail (depending on your persuasion), was spared at the last possible moment from being slaughtered by his father, Ibrahim or Abraham (depending on you persuasion), by the voice of Allah or God (once again, depending...) which told him to sacrifice a sheep and have a feast instead. A rather practical substitute.
Why is this worth mentioning in a blog that regularly touts all things most distant from any religious or vaguely moral code? Well, aside from living in a world that easily forgets random homicides carried out in barren landscapes, we also live in a world where a large number of people celebrate Eid al-Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) every year. This results in almost all government workers in the UAE receiving an additional week off during early November. I say almost all because one group of workers was not so inconspicuously left out and only received three days off. That group, of course, was the hard-working educators of Abu Dhabi. Either way, full week of or not, I took my opportunity to celebrate sacrifice by flying as quickly as possible to the diminutive island nation of Sri Lanka to do nothing in particular besides relax on the beach and...do beach things.
It was my first time flying out of the UAE, and my group of four wasted no time in jumping on the first Sri Lankan Airlines flight out of Dubai. Our plane left around 11:00 PM and the first leg of our journey began. One uneventful plane flight and four hours later, bleary-eyed and exhausted, we found our luggage and (amazingly) our taxi driver who would drive us the measly 100 kilometers down the coast to a sleepy little town by the name of Hikkaduwa. On most highways I am familiar with, 100 kilometers is a rather leisurely one hour jaunt. It soon became apparent that this highway was not one that I was even remotely familiar with. Galle Road runs the length of Sri Lanka from Colombo down to Galle. It is the ONLY road that connects Colombo and Galle. It is also, only a two lane highway, that is, supposedly one lane that goes in each direction. So basically, if you want to get anywhere in the southwestern quarter of Sri Lanka, you need to drive on this road. Our taxi driver was impressively adept at swerving into oncoming traffic, gunning the engine, and making it back into the correct lane with milliseconds to spare. In fact, most drivers there seemed to pull this off without a hitch. Even with tempting death every 30 seconds, it was still a four hour drive to Hikkaduwa. Ever the good host, our driver tried stopping at the very few western-looking restaurants in Colombo for us to have breakfast, but alas, it was only 5:00 AM and nothing was open yet. About halfway into our journey, he did find one establishment that was open. As luck would have it, it was an open air breakfast buffet of assorted fruits, curries, and breads. My less than adventurous companions decided to pass, but I marched up to the trough, swatted the flies away, and loaded up with what was probably fresh food the day before. As I sat down, the proprietor of this fine restaurant served me something that was a fried egg in only the strictest of definitions. I did not order it, because if I did, it would not have been nauseatingly undercooked, but I ate most of it anyway. When in doubt, I always follow the rule of eating the spiciest thing they have to offer last. I have been told that this kills bacteria. Maybe it is just an old wives tale, but either way, I probably should have been hanging my head out the car window and throwing up into oncoming traffic within the hour and, magically, I never did.
We eventually made it down to Hikkaduwa to settle in for a few days of serious relaxation. We certainly achieved our goal, but unfortunately this leads to very few exciting stories. I wandered up and down the one and only road. I wandered up and down the beach. As with anywhere I go, I was propositioned many times for a "massage," but as usual, I turned it down over, and over, and over again. I don't know if I should take it personally that instead of offering me the snorkeling package or elephant orphanage visit (which all of these gentlemen also deal in), they always start with the "massage." There must be something about me that says, "There is no way that this man will win a woman over with his charm and/or good looks. Certainly he will jump at the chance to pay for a rural Sri Lankan girl for an hour." In retrospect, I should have probably seen what he had to offer just for the story. I shan't make that mistake again. Now, I am only left to wonder exactly how depressing it would have been to slowly climb the stairs up to a dank room lit only by a single hanging light bulb that was slowing swinging with the ocean breeze which brought with it the only fresh air in a room populated by half a dozen sad women, well past their prime, who were still trying to make money off tourists the only way they knew how. Surely there would have been no privacy, just a dirty mattress on the ground in one corner hidden only by two bed sheets hung carelessly from an old, worn rope tied from one barred window to the next. Yes, surely I will not make the same mistake again.
So after our few days on the pristine beaches, meeting new people, eating strange fish, and drinking lots of ginger beer, we saddled up in another taxi and strapped in for the first leg of our journey back. We all had to be at work the next morning, and we were certainly not looking forward to a four hour drive from hell, a three hour wait in the airport, and a four hour flight followed by no sleep because we needed to be at school even though there would be no students (but that is another story). It was an exhausting, grueling 12 hours. During the first leg, I grew to loathe Galle Road, with all its twisting and turning, the headlights growing larger as each vehicle that barreled toward us seemed to be the one that would deliver our doom. All in all though, Sri Lanka was great, but as we boarded the plane, I found myself looking forward to getting back to Abu Dhabi. My familiar confines there would be a welcome reprieve from the changes inherent in any vacation. It was my first time flying back into Abu Dhabi International Airport. It isn't a very big place. Much of it, I was familiar with from my initial flight in. I slowly made it to school and, eventually, back to my apartment. I hesitate to say that it was good to be "home" because home will always be some undisclosed location in the Midwest. There is an unspoken rule among some of us teachers here that we will never refer to where we live right now as "home." None of us will be here forever, and it will always be foreign to us in some ways. So I didn't get to come back home (that will be in about a month), but I did get to come back to what is home for now, and it could not have been a more welcome place.
Why is this worth mentioning in a blog that regularly touts all things most distant from any religious or vaguely moral code? Well, aside from living in a world that easily forgets random homicides carried out in barren landscapes, we also live in a world where a large number of people celebrate Eid al-Adha (Festival of Sacrifice) every year. This results in almost all government workers in the UAE receiving an additional week off during early November. I say almost all because one group of workers was not so inconspicuously left out and only received three days off. That group, of course, was the hard-working educators of Abu Dhabi. Either way, full week of or not, I took my opportunity to celebrate sacrifice by flying as quickly as possible to the diminutive island nation of Sri Lanka to do nothing in particular besides relax on the beach and...do beach things.
It was my first time flying out of the UAE, and my group of four wasted no time in jumping on the first Sri Lankan Airlines flight out of Dubai. Our plane left around 11:00 PM and the first leg of our journey began. One uneventful plane flight and four hours later, bleary-eyed and exhausted, we found our luggage and (amazingly) our taxi driver who would drive us the measly 100 kilometers down the coast to a sleepy little town by the name of Hikkaduwa. On most highways I am familiar with, 100 kilometers is a rather leisurely one hour jaunt. It soon became apparent that this highway was not one that I was even remotely familiar with. Galle Road runs the length of Sri Lanka from Colombo down to Galle. It is the ONLY road that connects Colombo and Galle. It is also, only a two lane highway, that is, supposedly one lane that goes in each direction. So basically, if you want to get anywhere in the southwestern quarter of Sri Lanka, you need to drive on this road. Our taxi driver was impressively adept at swerving into oncoming traffic, gunning the engine, and making it back into the correct lane with milliseconds to spare. In fact, most drivers there seemed to pull this off without a hitch. Even with tempting death every 30 seconds, it was still a four hour drive to Hikkaduwa. Ever the good host, our driver tried stopping at the very few western-looking restaurants in Colombo for us to have breakfast, but alas, it was only 5:00 AM and nothing was open yet. About halfway into our journey, he did find one establishment that was open. As luck would have it, it was an open air breakfast buffet of assorted fruits, curries, and breads. My less than adventurous companions decided to pass, but I marched up to the trough, swatted the flies away, and loaded up with what was probably fresh food the day before. As I sat down, the proprietor of this fine restaurant served me something that was a fried egg in only the strictest of definitions. I did not order it, because if I did, it would not have been nauseatingly undercooked, but I ate most of it anyway. When in doubt, I always follow the rule of eating the spiciest thing they have to offer last. I have been told that this kills bacteria. Maybe it is just an old wives tale, but either way, I probably should have been hanging my head out the car window and throwing up into oncoming traffic within the hour and, magically, I never did.
We eventually made it down to Hikkaduwa to settle in for a few days of serious relaxation. We certainly achieved our goal, but unfortunately this leads to very few exciting stories. I wandered up and down the one and only road. I wandered up and down the beach. As with anywhere I go, I was propositioned many times for a "massage," but as usual, I turned it down over, and over, and over again. I don't know if I should take it personally that instead of offering me the snorkeling package or elephant orphanage visit (which all of these gentlemen also deal in), they always start with the "massage." There must be something about me that says, "There is no way that this man will win a woman over with his charm and/or good looks. Certainly he will jump at the chance to pay for a rural Sri Lankan girl for an hour." In retrospect, I should have probably seen what he had to offer just for the story. I shan't make that mistake again. Now, I am only left to wonder exactly how depressing it would have been to slowly climb the stairs up to a dank room lit only by a single hanging light bulb that was slowing swinging with the ocean breeze which brought with it the only fresh air in a room populated by half a dozen sad women, well past their prime, who were still trying to make money off tourists the only way they knew how. Surely there would have been no privacy, just a dirty mattress on the ground in one corner hidden only by two bed sheets hung carelessly from an old, worn rope tied from one barred window to the next. Yes, surely I will not make the same mistake again.
So after our few days on the pristine beaches, meeting new people, eating strange fish, and drinking lots of ginger beer, we saddled up in another taxi and strapped in for the first leg of our journey back. We all had to be at work the next morning, and we were certainly not looking forward to a four hour drive from hell, a three hour wait in the airport, and a four hour flight followed by no sleep because we needed to be at school even though there would be no students (but that is another story). It was an exhausting, grueling 12 hours. During the first leg, I grew to loathe Galle Road, with all its twisting and turning, the headlights growing larger as each vehicle that barreled toward us seemed to be the one that would deliver our doom. All in all though, Sri Lanka was great, but as we boarded the plane, I found myself looking forward to getting back to Abu Dhabi. My familiar confines there would be a welcome reprieve from the changes inherent in any vacation. It was my first time flying back into Abu Dhabi International Airport. It isn't a very big place. Much of it, I was familiar with from my initial flight in. I slowly made it to school and, eventually, back to my apartment. I hesitate to say that it was good to be "home" because home will always be some undisclosed location in the Midwest. There is an unspoken rule among some of us teachers here that we will never refer to where we live right now as "home." None of us will be here forever, and it will always be foreign to us in some ways. So I didn't get to come back home (that will be in about a month), but I did get to come back to what is home for now, and it could not have been a more welcome place.
