76 - Zen Desolation (Arugam Bay, Sri Lanka)
“Though I saw no one, the place was well maintained. It’s a forty-seven hundred hectare site of limestone outcrops, rock pools, hermit lodgings (for meditation I presume), small Buddhist shrines, and over two hundred forgotten caves. I was at peace the moment I set foot on the grounds. I farted Zen the whole time…”
by The Nostomaniac
SRI LANKA’S EAST COAST WAS A WELCOME RESPITE FROM HILL COUNTRY’S RAIN AND COLD. (“Cold” being relative.) It was nice to see blue sky. Feel the wind on my shoulder. Bask in the sun. Arugam Bay is known for the best surfing on the island. That’s not saying much, though the waves should satisfy the beginner and intermediate level crowd. No riding monsters. Still, the beach setting may be enough to compensate for any big-wave disappointment.
The area hadn’t recovered from the 2004 Tsunami as a disorganized layout of ramshackle huts and hotels/guesthouses along a dirt road would attest. Not so picturesque. And today? From what I can glean on the interwebs, AB has come a long way. The government was improving the roads, and I see from Google Maps much of the work was completed. Yeah for progress.
After inspecting a few hotel-ish guesthouses, I settled at the Surf n' Sun. Back then, it was a nice place with a mellow vibe. And now? If the website is any indication, there appears to have been substantial upgrades. All AB accommodation was overpriced. (My room was $20 sans hot water.) Everything was pricier than my naïveté allowed. Add high taxes, inflation, thirty years of war, and rampant corruption to an island economy and the puzzle fits together. I recognize little from the website and presume prices have increased.
Mundane photographs. I wish I’d taken more. Details. Where are the details? Places I stayed. Supporting “actors.” Restaurants. Train stations. Bus terminals. Insignificant details now feel less insignificant. Arugam Bay is a prime example. My recall regarding the town, my accommodation, and the locals I met is compromised. A few refresher photos would be an excellent bridge to the past. Ironic, is it not, in the digital era where we take billions of pics and bury them inside our devices? And yet, somehow I didn’t take enough. Silly rabbit.
What the Surf n' Sun lacked in value, it made up for in random. A co-owner hailed from Iceland. (The Icelandic diaspora expanded after the collapse of its economy.) Mina from Iceland found a home in Arugam Bay. (No clue if she’s still involved.) She found a home and made a home… for an owl. A navy seaman chanced upon Ms. Woodsy (my name, not theirs) on the ground beneath a nest. So, a seaman on shore leave rescued a baby owl in distress and left her in the capable hands of his favorite Icelandic woman. Anyone searching for compelling romcom ideas need look no further. There are few immutable universal laws. This is one: owls are fucking awesome. I was rather taken with the bird. Shadowing her during yard time was a worthwhile endeavor. Though healthy and capable of flight, Woodsy had zero interest in escaping. Home sweet home. Good for her. She was a magnificent creature.
The only thing more exciting than an Icelandic female and a Sri Lankan owl is a scorpion the length of my hand. Well, the Surf n’ Sun had one strolling about the overpriced restaurant. Mood lighting. Soft music. Gigantic scorpions. Ya know, ambiance. Assuming this newsworthy, I notified the staff. They extinguished its life posthaste. Not my intention, though I should’ve anticipated the outcome. Dangerous? Nope, but you wouldn’t know to look at them. Encountering one unexpectedly may lead to screeching and pants shitting.
The surfing bug did temp, but I was far too novice for my own good. Years earlier, I’d given it the ole college try (Bondi Beach, Sydney) and spent the afternoon trying not to drown. Had my visa not been half expired, I may have hunkered down for a few months and learned the trade. Such was not the case… sigh. Without surfing, Arugam Bay held little intrigue for me. I like a beach frolic as much as the next asshole, but there were ants in my pants. The surrounding region demanded investigation.
Explore. Explore. Explore. That was my mandate. I drove the Baja down random side roads, across open pastures, and navigated woodland paths littered with thorny brush. (I had the scratch wounds to prove it.) Ah, the freedom of motorcycle mobility. Trail rides and empty beaches were my rewards. My stops included Crocodile Rock, a series of rounded stone formations by the beach. I saw none of the landmark’s namesakes, but did spot two Asian elephants on a stroll and couldn’t resist getting a closer look. Ill-advised? Yep. Rather than stomp my stupid ass into dust, Team Dumbo scampered off when alerted to my presence.
South of Arugam Bay, I found the real treasure—southern Sri Lanka’s least inhabited region. And it feels like it. Ride through the coastal village of Panama and you’ll understand. Not a lot going on. I sped on through. There was a significant military presence to the south, a security measure related to the recent hostilities. As a precaution, the government stationed soldiers nearby. I stopped along the dirt road outside the village to scale a modest rock formation and have a look around. I thought I was alone. Imagine my surprise when three Sri Lankan soldiers rambled out of the jungle to investigate. Verbal communication was minimal. Tourist? Cool. Move along now. Curiosity fueled their inquiry… I think. Why were they hiding and what were they doing? No clue. There wasn’t a checkpoint close by, so one can only hazard a guess. Nothing like military peek-a-boo to mix up the afternoon.
I was stopped on two other occasions that day for a name, nationality and passport check. It felt like a formality but who the hell knows. They instructed me not to venture farther than Okanda. Perhaps, a remnant band of LTTE rebels skulked about. The language barrier prevented inquiry. Two national parks south of Okanda may have contained guerrillas, unexploded ordinance, or both. (This was also a concern in Wilpattu National Park. ) No Tamil Tigers, but I did cross paths with a peacock or two.
First picture of Crocodile Rock lagoon where Brit journalist was seen 'waving his hands as beast dragged him underwater'
By Chris kitching-Senior Reporter; Lucy Clarke-Billings- Deputy News Editor
08:17, 15 SEP 2017 UPDATED 08:37, 15 SEP 2017
Paul McClean was reportedly holidaying with friends in Sri Lanka when he was seized by a crocodile and pulled into a murky lagoon as horrified fishermen looked on…READ MORE
Turn off the coastal route to Kudimbigala Forest Hermitage and you won’t be disappointed. Given its remoteness and the ongoing hostilities across decades, the region was abandoned by the few inhabitants eking out a living. Resettlement efforts are underway, but you wouldn’t have known it when I was there. There’s a monastic complex in situ which dates back to 246 B.C. Though I saw no one, the place was well maintained. It’s a forty-seven hundred hectare site of limestone outcrops, rock pools, hermit lodgings (for meditation I presume), small Buddhist shrines, and over two hundred forgotten caves. I was at peace the moment I set foot on the grounds. I farted Zen the whole time.
I spot checked the highest array and steered skyward. This required navigating trees and brush as well as surmounting large rocks en route. A rudimentary staircase carved into stone let me know I was following in some ancient footsteps. The reward for my efforts was enormous—an expansive 360-degree view of the surrounding landscape which included a sweeping coastal panorama. A firm breeze provided welcome relief from the jungle heat and fueled my drive to linger. And linger I did. When people refer to themselves as “spiritual”, I have no idea what the hell that means. In places like Kudimbigala, however, I know how it feels. If I could bottle the peace and tranquility I felt on that rocky forlorn protrusion, I’d be a billionaire. It was exquisite. And so I lingered.
At the highest point on an adjacent rock lay a crumbling mini-stupa with an exposed diminutive Buddha statue. It took extra Indiana Jones-esque effort to get there, but this too was well worth the price of admission. I treasured the delicious solitude but yearned for a companion to share the soul-expanding panorama and ingest the mystical vibe. I long to pick up the phone and revisit with erstwhile companions. Memories and pictures are all I have. What I wouldn’t give for a backup “hard drive,” so to speak.
With great hardship, I pulled myself away and continued south. Always good to leave special places wanting more. True appreciation depends upon it, I should think. Okanda was somewhat the antithesis of Kudimbigala in mood and affect. Imagine the zombie apocalypse without the zombies… or the people. A few scattered shops and homes but not much else. Unless you count the trash. The small hamlet appeared to serve as a de facto landfill. Garbage was strewn about the road and surrounding area. The adjoining beach was trash-free but bolstered the Cormac McCarthy vibe. A stranded boat doomed to a future of slow disintegration punctuated the scene. (Or was it extended parking?) Was the apocalypse underway? Sure as hell felt so. Don’t get me wrong. It was every bit as beautiful as Kudimbigala, albeit for different reasons. Marvelous desolation.
