Old colonial home, maybe over hundred years old with a history in every piece of furniture and door. Cobwebs in windows, dusty curtains, windows that open wide. Old furniture with an old iron key with a ring at the end. An antic clock with roman numerals and a dong at every hour. It tick tocks, and reminds me of the time when people drove early combustion engined cars. Or of Sherlock Holmes solving a case while smoking a pipe next to the ticking clock. Though this clock ticked its time in a completely different place, during the old Ceylon that people seem to be now naming New Lanka.
Outside our window we hear the wind brush the palm leaves, and the variety of birds some of which migrated from way up north, as Marcus passionately told us. This morning I saw, not knowing bird names, a large black bird with a rounded head and long tail with chestnut brown wings. She was about a foot and a half long and very quiet and shy. We also saw a tiny little bird, about two inches with a long curved narrow beak, that Marcus called a Honey bird because they drink the nectar from the flowers. He said that the nightingales are starting to arrive and that we can hear them at night. There are so many bird sounds that chirp about. It seems that the garden outside this guesthouse is a haven to all sorts of birds. Sadly, though, it seems that the crows are starting to outnumber the other birds. These crows can be seen flying about higher in the trees, all the train route.
Our room is warm, with the balmiest of breezes that pass through the thin curtains that drape our windows and balcony door. In comes the sounds of the night, that we listen to as we lie under our one person mosquito net. Rustling leaves, birds going to sleep, and bugs singing gently into the night. It lulls us to sleep at an early hour and I wish with all my hear to be able to linger in this balmy night.
Old photo of 80 year Jarania, black and white photo of a young man in a white shirt, a tennis champion over 30 years ago when Sri Lanka was still called Ceylon, won Ceylon verses New York. Tall man, over 6 feet, who had to bend down before entering the guesthouse door. Marcus, the guesthouse manager said he was a techincle tennis player and the books he read are still in the house. He remembers him reading them and studying the moves. An avid reader of the news. An accomplished civil engineer. He is now immobile and in a wheel chair, but he loves talking to guest, we will pay him a visit.
Marcus said that Jarania is the last name of the famous cricket player who scored a 30 in a game, he said the record score was 36, which is a perfect score in cricket, so we just learned. He called the famous Sri Lankan, the "master blaster" scoring 6 in the first round. Clearly we need to learn more about cricket.
His wife's name is (perhaps I will remember later...) they had three sons, two live in New Zealand and one lives in America. They each have two children. An older woman, maybe late eighties, with a great sense of humour. When I told her about our train ride, she giggled and said "like riding on horse back".
Many people here, especially the older generation, are proud and confident in what they do. They have stories to tell with vigour and excitement
. Even on the third class train, I noticed that some of the men where very well dressed and had the air of being very knowledgeable
about their country and the world. They seemed very proud even amongst the chaos of the train ride. While we seemed exhausted and exasperated, they seem calm, collected and strong.
We had breakfast this morning, and two very friendly Sri Lankan men in Sarongs brought us some tea in old fashioned china. Heated milk, sugar and spoon, a Mrs.Pots tea pot, and granny china cups and saucers. We drank this warm tea at old wooden table and rattan chairs. We ate papaya, eggs, and a large stack of toast with marmalade and butter. When the middle aged man collected our empty plate of toast he thought he wanted more by our gestures. And soon came out with a new stack with more butter. We smiled very gratefully, we haven't had toast this good in a long time. This was our free breakfast, served with huge generosity
. Every plate was set at the tables to the amount of guest that were in the guesthouse. Our plates had pictures of beautiful brown birds with longs tails, these too were antique.
I try to picture the people that lived in this house. The tennis player, drinking tea studying his tennis books or newspaper. I wonder how many people lived in this house, I wonder if it initially belonged to a Sri Lankan family. The colonial influences, Dutch, Portugese, British, seemed to have been elegantly adopted by the higher Sri Lankan class. The garden terrace outside seems part of the home inside. It feels like a fine transgression between outside and in. The warm air carries into the house and makes its way around your body, and calms you the way a beer does with a good meal. Its a high without the drug, and it is a feeling I will remember.
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