Tokyo By Trial (And Error)

Tokyo Tower: At 332.5 meters (1,091 ft), it is the second tallest artificial structure in Japan. The structure is an Eiffel Tower-inspired lattice tower that is painted white and international orange to comply with air safety regulations. (yes, Wikipedia)

Tokyo left me a little out of breath. It is too vast for a few days of wandering about to fully grasp. But I think like any city, it’s possible to cop a feel of its general personality in that amount of time. After visiting Beijing last year I was sort of expecting Tokyo to be the same (yes i’m all sorts of stereotypical aren’t I?). Full of modern amenities but with a harsh, grimy edge; the people coarse but friendly. That was stupid of me. And I couldn’t have been more wrong.

View of Yokohama from the deck of the Fujimaru

Tokyo is like the refined, polite and reticent aristocratic brother to Beijing’s boozy, belligerent business magnate. It’s a city in which you feel completely safe. So long as you don’t do something criminal.  People minds their own business and hardly look you in the eye. In the midst of thousands, you can feel alone and isolated. This is not generally a good thing for me and a little strange since I like company (In Colombo, at least two people are in your business and your face at any given time. Which is probably the other extreme).

Skating rink along side the Yokohama Red Brick Warehouse Aka “Renga Souko”. A historic port building dating from 1907. Recently renovated and now housing several boutiques and shops

But after while I got used to it. And felt liberated to be able to just wander around the city taking pictures of weird things and not having to explain myself with complacent smiles or forgive-me-please shrugs of the shoulder. Tokyoites are not overly friendly, but they are very courteous and insanely polite. for example, once i was taking pictures of a rare rusty poster board by the side of a street, trying to frame the profiles of passing salarymen against it. And people would literally stop and walk around me on the street, or duck, or run along really fast ostensibly to avoid getting in the way of my picture, defeating my purpose. On no occasion did any of them so much as glance at me with annoyance. Maybe they were being considerate, or maybe they thought i was some foreign, uncouth creep.

Salarymen are not amused. Somewhere near Asakusa

Tokyoites will stop at the don’t walk sign even if there are no vehicles on the six feet of street separating them from the other side. They will always stick to the left side of public escalators and leave the right side free for people in a hurry, sort of a ‘fast lane’ to run through. They will literally wait until everyone gets off the train before proceeding to board in an orderly manner, standing politely in pre-drawn lines on the platform in front of which the train doors always stop with remarkable precision. Their good behavior had me fairly gaping. What, nobody shoves you and accidentally tries to kill you when boarding the train at rush hour? What sorcery is this?

Train discipline is tight

In the trains I used to travel in when going to school there’d be at least one impromptu ‘band’ singing moany Sinhala love songs near the toilet and at least five gangsies of state sector workers struggling to have their gossip heard above the hubbub. But inside the Tokyo metro there is pindrop silence. Here most people will either read, text, play games on their smart phones or sleep; even if they are standing up. They are nearly always immaculately dressed, well groomed and stoic. Always going somewhere, always purposeful, always subtly ignoring me as I not-so-subtly stare at their faces in deep anthropological curiosity.

Old man in a pottery shop near the Yoyogi cemetery. Probably one of the oldest surviving districts in Tokyo, which was largely torn up after the last world war

Getting around is a cinch if you take the subway. It’s a layered and complicated looking multi-tentacled beast, but organized to the nth degree. So with a map and a good sense of direction I easily got around. Most Tokyoites don’t speak English, so I got to practice my sign language a little. Couple of times I accidentally bought the wrong ticket and found myself on the wrong line, but the guards I approached gave me a refund right away and went to great pains to point me in the right direction. Not like Sri Lankan railway workers at all, or any public servant I’ve ever met here actually. Public servants who actually serve the public? A few years ago I would have laughed at your face.

The Imperial Palace. Japan’s emperor and royal family have a largely diminished political role, but the institution of the monarchy still holds an important place in the public conscience, and the tabloid pages.

They say that even Tokyoites get lost in Tokyo at least once. And it happened to me at the worst time possible. The SWY program is very strict about punctuality, as the Japanese famously are. It was a Friday and I had gotten special permission to attend prayers. And dallied a little longer than I should have talking to people and enjoying the architecture of a beautiful pre-WW2 Turkish mosque. By the time I was in the subway, I had no time to spare, and obviously this was a perfect time for me to realize that the station I thought I was supposed to get off at, was in fact not my station. I walked out and after panicking a bit decided to take a cab. I spent the next 20 minutes on the edge of my seat literally asking the driver if I was there yet. His patient smile had turned into a tight grimace by the time he dropped me off.

The mosque: Tokyo cami (meaning mosque in Turkish) and Turkish cultural center started in 1938

There are quite a few places to see, a Lonely Planet will sort you out nicely. It probably knows much more about the city’s attractions than most of its inhabitants. Most of Tokyo is new, rebuilt after the thrashing it received in the Second World War, a real pity. But some ancient relics still remain. The history is still strong in the people though and Japanese are fiercely proud of their culture and heritage. Even if they do wear business suits, work themselves half to death and drink themselves silly when they’re not.

Shibuya crossing by day. A mad scramble. Sadly couldn’t get the elevation needed for a truly expansive picture. Google pics of Shibuya. or watch Lost in Translation, Tokyo Drift or any number of movies set in Tokyo

In the night the city comes alive. I went up to Shibuya and it was literally like a scene from Lost in Translation. In other areas like Rippongi things can get a little dodge, with shady looking characters leaning against street corners. I’m thinking Yakuza, and was wise enough not to look them in the eye. Over in Akihabara, the area famous for Cosplay, the shops are full of anime figures, AKB48 merchandise and electronics. Here the geeks or otaku gather in full force. And the streets are lined with maids trying to entice you with all sorts of merch, all legal, ostensibly.

Shibuya, street by night

Tokyo is not a cheap city. A simple meal with set you back about 600 yen, around 1800 rupees, lodging is way beyond. It’s cosmopolitan, but not in an obvious way. You only notice the gaijin if you look carefully. Tokyo seems to absorb everything that comes its way, and even Asians become a part of the background, slinking along in their own little worlds, self absorbed and purposeful.  That’s not to say it is a lonely city. On the contrary it felt like a place you could be at peace with the whole world at your fingertips. No one bothers you so long as you bother no one else.

Takeshita st (yes, you read that right), Shibuya is one long street of cheap shops frequented by dealhunters, hipsters and otaku (i.e. anime/geeks) By night

But even to me its obvious that the glory days are maturing. Japan’s economic growth hasn’t been that great lately. The cars on the streets aren’t as shiny as you’d expect. Most people drive practical cars, whereas in China the nouveau riche are out in force with their luxury European sedans. Creative destruction and innovation, once its primary drivers, has slowed down in the recent past along with its declining manufacturing industry. But Japan is still a force to be reckoned with, and still the world’s third largest economy.

More pictures of Tokyo can be found here  pics of the SWY program can be found here, here and here not forgetting here. I’ve also got thousands more, i have no idea when i’ll get about processing them. Also some on Flickr.

Party Pooping Vesak

Tuktuk wisdom this Vesak? No thanks. Pic by Jerry

How many hundreds of millions were spent on the Vesak celebrations this year? I know i sound like a wet blanket. Why can’t I just chillax and enjoy the party? Incidentally, do Sri Lankans party to forget everything else, or do we forget everything else when we party?

That question is purely academic, but the government knows the only important answer. Give us a party and we are ready to forget, and at least temporarily forgive, anything. High fuel prices? Borderline monetary policy mismanagement? Pending international condemnation? Rise in prices of everything from milk powder to cement? How do we solve these pressing economic problems? Simple, throw a party for Vesak. Have the loudspeakers sing the praises of the President. Have various philanthropers give free food to the masses and have them blinded by mesmerizing, colorful fairy lights.

Colombo was decked out to kill. The Beira was lit up by fairy lights consuming electricity in quantities probably enough to power North Korea for a couple of nights. People were out in force, enjoying themselves. Families were traveling from far off places in the backs of lorries and hand tractors to witness the spectacle. Dansals were sporting queues hundreds of meters long. Even Beyond Borders, that is me and my friends, had what we called an ‘inspiration dansal’; we distributed stickers with enlightening quotes promoting peace and tolerance, for what it was worth.

The complete front facade of the Museum was made into a surrealist pandol composed of LCD screens light projections. Very postmodern and very, very expensive. How expensive? Sadly we will probably never know. It was sponsored by the milk board or the National Livestock and Development Board (NLDB) an entity already bleeding cash, suffering from acute mismanagement and misappropriation of funds.

So as Sri Lankans ‘shoo’ and ‘shaa’ at the beautiful bright lights and marvel at how far the country has come there is a greedy elite basking in the success of yet another PR event of massive proportions aimed at pulling the wool over the public’s eyes. Or maybe i don’t have a right to comment since i’m a Muslim, and have no understanding of the need to spend needless millions on a religious festival that is really about contemplation and inner peace.

Maybe my idea that the recent Vesak extravagance only serves to emphasize the cronyism and institutional corruption prevalent in our state is manifesting in my brain because i just don’t know how to have a good time. Maybe i should just get out more instead. And yes, maybe the sus domesticus is aerially mobile.

(Literally) Hanging At Lakegala

“Hanging by my fingers and toes, looking for purchase on a near vertical surface of rock. Jerry is behind me, KP below him,  then Indi and a fall of a few thousand feet after that” Probably would be a good tweet to describe this moment, if i’m in a position to tweet, which i’m not.

Lakegala is in the depths of  Deaneston, in the South Knuckles area. It is famous for its rumored place in Ravanic legends. At this very moment however, Ravanic thoughts are not on my mind. Because at this very moment I’m grappling with the ultimate understanding of the cliched phrase ‘don’t look down’. I’m pep talking my mind, telling it to be strong, while simultaneously trying to get comfortable with the immediacy of my own death. Wondering if Allah will disapprove that it came about as a result of purely recreational pursuits.

See that little line on the rock up there? That's what you need to climb up to get to the top

Punchi Banda from Meemure is our guide. He is now a few feet above me in the narrow crevice in the rock face that we are climbing. We soon realize that our preparations for this climb are woefully inadequate. We have only thirty feet of rope, while we actually need like, two hundred. We were supposed to do religious rituals to appease the mountain gods (and i think, our guide). The guide is supposed to be a master climber. He is supposed to negotiate some three hundred feet of precarious free climbing to get to the top and send us down a rope.

But after having scaled the mountain some three times in his life, Punchi Banda has only deep respect mixed with fear for it. He had promised himself to never climb it again before we came along. And now he’s kind of freaking out. Mostly because he thinks that we can’t make it there and back alive.

Jerry and Punchi Banda

The balance tips when we have to stop, and wait till a bunch of university students about twenty feet ahead of us send us down a bit of their rope. Waiting is slow torture. The rock is sharp and unforgiving, it is hard to stand comfortably for extended periods of time. We slowly begin to feel more and more fatigue and the hot midday sun isn’t helping.

After asking us what religions we belonged to, and making us panic, Punchi Banda decides to take this moment to start chanting pirith. This is a Very Bad Idea. The lilting tones of mournful Pali verse only succeed in driving home the cold reality of our situation. We are stuck thousands of feet in the air, in a narrow crevice in a vertical rock face. this is not a casual weekend adventure. Mortality stares me in the face, a small slip on the rock, an unsteady toehold and we’re all crashing down to the fishes. I glance down at KP, I can see him thinking about his family. Jerry’s face is impassive, but i can tell he’s under quite a bit of strain. Indi is below us, apparently comfortably wedged between rock taking pictures, assures me later that he was only fervently thinking about his mother.

Where we were supposed to get to

We would have still gone on. But when the students above us announced that they were giving up and were coming back down, we had no choice but to turn back; only a hundred feet from that taunting peak that has been on my mind ever since we first stepped into the beautiful, unforgiving landscape of Deanston. I think we were all secretly relieved. in the words of KP; ‘there is a very narrow line between being courageous and being stupid’ and i think we almost crossed that line on this rock. Below is a pic from that trip, from the Sinhalaya Travels post. Lakegala is the triangular peak at the top left, in case you missed it.

The rock was a monster, and i can see why King Ravana would choose it as his love nest/ palace/ garage (depending on which version of the legend you believe). One version of the story says that his private jet is still hidden somewhere up there in the mountain. The retired postmaster whose hospitality we enjoyed told us that there is a cave on the other face, virtually inaccessible, that seemingly has some mysterious signs of Ravana’s existence, but he has only heard it from people who claim to have stumbled upon it.

The villagers are uniquely protective of the mountain. They strongly discourage people from going up there. They lie about the conditions (too slippery, too hot) and withhold guides if they can. They claim that is is because its too dangerous. Yet, once, practically the whole village went up there for an overnight pirith session (a Bhuddist religious service). It must have been quite the venture, priests, disciples, mothers, kids, grandparents and even electric power generators making that grueling trek and climbing that rock face to spend the night up there. Its obvious that they consider the rock to be sacred for some reason. Its not something that even the village boys climb for fun (our guide didn’t climb the peak until he was in his late thirties, despite having spent his whole life there). The thought of legions of outsiders making their way up Lakegala just for kicks is probably repulsive to them.

Not that its easy to get there, oh no. To get to the rock you must first get to Meemure, a village at the very bottom of the basin of Deanston. Most cabs won’t go there if they know the quality of the roads. The driver that took us ended up demanding much more than the agreed price to make up for vehicular damage. the journey takes all of three hours and involves a lot of cussing, mostly from the driver.

And if you thought getting to Meemure was a challenge, wait until you start the trek up to the rock. After a little while, we literally had to cut our way through the scrubby, thorny jungle. The ground is very steep and covered in loose rock. Any paths that exist have been created by buffalo roaming in search of grass. On the way down its even harder, we got disoriented and lost. Lucky thing we had a guide. The whole place is smothered in a deadly, wild beauty. Nature here has not been tamed, and you put a foot wrong and there’s no one to help you, then you’re in trouble.

Meemure itself is idyllic. A small village of a hundred families, time passes at a different pace. Apparently the village was founded because a princess belonging to one of the Rajasinghe kings was brought here to be hidden, some two hundred years ago. This makes sense, as Meemure doesn’t seem like a place people would just stumble upon and decide to stay in. Don’t go here looking for creature comforts; they have no hotels or rest houses here. But ultimately we didn’t do to badly. We got a temple floor to sleep on, a nice rivers and water pools to bathe in and wonderful home cooked rice and curry to eat. Here in this place in the depths of a mountain range, original Sri Lankan hospitality still survives.

The nearest town to Meemure is Hunnasgiriya and the only way back there is in either a rickety van or truck, we took the latter. It bounced along and they kept packing people in, and we kept finding room for them. At tough uphill bends, of which there were many, we had to get down to allow the truck to be able to negotiate the turns. We then had to cut across the road through leech infested jungle paths to catch up with it as it sped ahead. The whole journey takes about three hours.

All in all it was a wonderful experience, barring the fail at the top of the rock. All the more reason to go back (insha Allah).

How My Maruti Raced Another Maruti.. And Won

It was late, the roads were empty, and I was cruising with my arm on the window sill. I’m approaching the Dehiwala flyover when I see him. A pair of headlights, their proximity indicating that they belonged to a car of Indian make, appears behind me and to the left. I am now really close to the flyover and am reaching the barricade separating it from the rest of the road.

Suddenly, the guy behind cuts through in front of me, in what is an insane maneuver, and just manages to edge past in between me and the barricades without causing an accident. He then zooms triumphantly off up the flyover, only to come up short at the top behind an old, rickety lorry (which shouldn’t have been there in the first place).

According to Scott (2000) road rage is ‘quite unlike other forms of interpersonal violence’ and therefore leaves ‘conflict resolution practitioners’ in a fix. And why is this? Three reasons

1) It involves strangers,

2) It’s related to a driving incident and

3) It hinges upon invasion of personal ‘space’ and thereby is a challenge to identity.

Anyway, after a kilometer or so I roll up next to him, we’re both caught in a patch of traffic as someone makes a right turn into a by lane. My initial instinct is to be superior and above it all. So I ignore him. At first. But then I can’t resist taking one look at this belligerent idiot who almost killed himself and took me with him. So I turn my head and take a look. He is about my age, arrogant looking and is staring me back right in the eye. And upon contact I swear our eyes narrowed, and we coldly assessed each other for a split second, and in this split second we exchanged a mountain of information, most of it not good. The outcome then is predictable.

As soon as the patch of traffic clears up. We’re off. He’s driving what looks like a late model Alto, while i drive a 2005 Zen. He gets a head start because he obviously raced off the first gear. I let him get in front, and use the opportunity to scope out the path ahead. There’s just a slow moving Honda Civic on the road in front of us. The roads are wide in this part of Mt. Lavinia so there’s plenty of room. All I need to do is pass the Civic on the outside, and I have passed my newfound enemy. My car has good acceleration and weighs less than his. So it’s no contest, after a few seconds, I’m ahead of him.

But he doesn’t give up. He’s dogging my tail. This is one determined belligerent idiot. So I go faster. My eyesight narrows into tunnel vision and I only see what is ahead. A yellow crossing materializes, and a pedestrian appears in my line of sight, I slow down slightly and swerve a bit to give him room to walk. Whether he avoids my tail is not my problem. But my tail is still on me. If anything, my slowing down has given him an edge. And now he’s catching up.

I accelerate some more. We are both probably traveling at near optimum speeds. He keeps up, and is now scoping out a way of passing me on the inside. I am calm. My mind is on a different plane, detached, observant and analytical. We are reaching the junction at Templers Road when I see an opportunity ahead.

The man is on a bicycle, and he’s slowly crossing the road on a yellow line. He approaches the middle of the crossing. And I slow down just a bit in order to let him pass in front of me. I know my pursuer can’t see the bicycle but he must know that I slowed down for a reason,  but still he insists on making the mistake of accelerating and trying to pass me on the inside despite this, but now the bicycle is directly in his path, and his only options are either to brake hard or to kill someone, possibly himself.

As I reach the junction, now accelerating again, I don’t hear a crash. And I don’t see my tail anymore. I have won. Despite myself, this makes me feel good. What I did was absolutely stupid. Several people could have died. But the soaring feeling of triumph in my gut is not going away.

But after a while I feel a little shame. And in response my mind becomes analytical again. I suppose that’s why I wrote this post. Because this little drama that went through last night is played out over Sri Lankan roads on a daily basis. Tuk tuks, buses, Marutis, Hondas, Defenders they all do it. Uncles, mallis, thathhaas and Guney aiyyas. We all get a thrill out of the occasional road race. The rage of being wronged is hard to contain. And righteous victory must always be ours.

I was in Japan two months ago and it’s impossible to imagine something like this happening there. The Japanese are immeasurably polite, pedestrians would rather wait five minutes until the ‘don’t walk’ sign turns green rather than violate social protocol. And mind you this is when the street is absolutely empty of cars. Drivers respect pedestrians even more than pedestrians respect drivers, and they will stop abruptly well in advance of almost breaking your knees (which is how lowly pedestrian are treated here).

In Japan they don’t appear to dehumanize other people on the roads. Over here other people are just inanimate objects. As if we are all playing Need For Speed. Because you know, if we die, we can just hit the restart button.

Hungry Like The Wolf In Pettah

 

This Duran Duran video was shot in Pettah. I like the song and call me a noob but i just saw the video thanks to Raisa. If the eighties rock. Pettah in the eighties rocks more. And Pettah in a Duran Duran video is probably the only thing that rocks even more.

The tea shop has a snake charmer sitting on a table and a gypsy with a monkey walking around entertaining guests. This is possibly apocryphal. I won’t know for sure until i ask one of my uncles. The cops wear tight khakis and the roads are full of nuns, heck even the tea shops. Where’d they all go?

The video was ostensibly shot in the jungles of Sri Lanka but the jungle bits are mostly mangrove swamps and a beautifully dubious bit in what must be Anuradhapura. But Pettah is jungle enough if you ask me. This was after the Temple of Doom was shot here obviously before the war. Sri Lanka really had something going there. This post is dedicated to Jerry, who likes Duran Duran and Pettah and finally managed to turn twenty.

The tea shop in the video is a favorite of backpackers, i’m told. worth checking out.

The Economics of Colombo Traffic

A Beijing subway map

Traffic in Colombo is not pleasant. Leaving home at the wrong time can ruin your whole day. Do this for a while, and soon cursing behind the wheel everyday will likely give you grey hairs and a prematurely weak heart.

Blame The Cars

Tax reform, low interest rates and possibly increasing middle class incomes have multiplied vehicle imports faster than road networks can expand. The UDA has been trying to keep up, they’ve extended Marine Drive to Colpetty, opened up Bullers Road and have generally tried to fix things like perennially bad maintenance. Traffic lights and police presence has been increased, but still cars pile up faster than hungry people at a dansala.

I drive down Galle Rd often and it used to be that i’d invariably try to take Marine Drive to avoid evening traffic, but now i steer clear because of the massive wait at the turn off back into Galle rd. Similar situations are playing out along all of the major exit-entryways to the city. Baseline Road, Negombo Road and Kandy Road are veritable nightmares in rush hour. Let’s not even go near Rajagiriya, literally, you want to stay away from there when other people exit their offices. There are just too many. freakin. cars bob.

Don’t Blame The Cars

But blaming the vehicles is moot. There are good reasons why people feel they need cars. People are worried about getting to work on time, they also need to get there smelling good. So will drive if they can afford it, or paradoxically take a tuk tuk if they cant. As traffic increases, drivers get more and more frustrated and will wish for alternative ways to travel. But aside from moving closer to the city (an unthinkably expensive option for most) they have no other alternatives. This is absurd, but that’s just the way things stand now.

Public transport is unreliable, too congested, and completely ruins the attire of your average executive, discouraging most of them from opting for it. The lack of a cheap taxi network is also a problem. Tuk tuks, even metre tuks, are overpriced.

Building Our Way Out

The Defense Ministry/UDA (whats up with that? no one even talks about it anymore) has followed a strategy to expand capacity and increase efficiency by improving roads, building flyovers and increasing police presence. But it has only worked so well. In fact, capacity is so limited that everyone breaks road rules when the cops aren’t looking to get ahead. Our roads are ganglands, whatever you can get way with is legal, Gehan has a good post on driving and its malcontents.

The situation poses some interesting problems for urban policymakers. Things have come to a point where even the bureaucracy must realise that there is no building our way out of this, at least not in the conventional add-em-as-you-go fashion.

Trains have worked remarkably well in other cities. But Colombo’s existing train lines only circle the city and do not venture inside, making them just feed lines to hubs just outside the city centre and that too only from the North and along the coast.

The bus networks are mass market. And probably already transport double the amount of people travelling in cars. The recently launched Executive Bus service has failed to spark much interest. Again due to unreliability, irregularity, coverage gaps arising from the fact that they only traverse a single main route, and did I mention unreliability, the bus service can only do so much too. The much touted ferry service is also floating about aimlessly if you’ll excuse the bad pun.

Innovative work policies can help. Firms can rethink employment policy and offer the option of working from home. Or offer flexible hours to enable employees to beat traffic to and from work, like my new workplace. Individuals can also avoid traffic if they decide to leave early because not everyone will do it especially here where being fashionably late starts half an hour after an appointment.

Bring The Commonwealth Games to Colombo

A subway system would be ideal, as indi says, a good subway system can completely eliminate the need for cars. The Delhi Subway system cost somewhere around 700 million USD. Peanuts in comparison to how much we are borrowing for other projects of dubious worth. Maybe the Chinese can help us out with a loan and even expertise, the Beijing subway lines are superb; and are an excellent way of getting around in an otherwise smoky, congested city.

Both the Delhi and Beijing lines were conceptualised and hurried up because of the 2010 Commonwealth games and the Olympic Games respectively. The need to show off and provide seamless transport to attendees forced these cities to consider building what is probably the most efficient urban transport mechanism invented by man.

Colombo is the centre of the country still, the heart that pumps out all the country’s logistics. The main arteries of it are now getting clogged. If hosting big international games can bring a city a subway then Hambantota might end up getting one. But Hambantota doesn’t need a subway system, Colombo does. So bring the Commonwealth Games to Colombo, and build something useful to the economy in the process.

This is a policymaker standing on a minefield

But the relationship between expanding capacity and reduced traffic is not always direct. This study done by USCB shows that when capacity expands and some traffic is diverted through other channels, latent demand clogs up the free space. Meaning when more drivers take buses, people who took buses because the traffic was too much will start driving.

Colombo being a very decentralized city doesn’t help. Public transport is simply not capable of reaching all the crannies where people need to go, most of the inroads can’t accommodate buses anyway. I work on Thimbirigasyaya Road and it’s barely wide enough for two cars. There is an expansion program going on but it had been in the works for over two years now, no results.

There is also mispriced congestion. Drivers don’t pay for the time loss they cause to others, and so will make inefficient decisions on when and how to travel. These ‘negative externalities’ are the social cost of congestion, and can result in little or no reduction in traffic.

Expansion in trains might divert commuters away from the bus service, because the latter is crap, while not affecting the amount of cars on the road. Deteriorating the bus service even further while causing no improvement to traffic.

So wuttudoo? Maybe an expansion in overall capacity, trains, roads and buses, thereby taking levels of capacity beyond ‘latent demand’. Together with innovative alternatives like carpools, office vans and flexi hours and urban planning focusing on centralized corporate space, these policies might help. What is really needed before anything else is a comprehensive study of the city by specialists (its much more complicated than it looks) followed by bottom up policy making to prevent us from arbitrarily building roads that lead to nowhere worth going slowly.

But all this takes intelligent policy making followed by quick implementation. And so far the Defense Ministry/UDA has only been implementing like mad, where the intelligent planning?

Milinda Moragoda has set out a manifesto here, in it he gives some vague outlines of a transport policy that are a bit vague. Aside form promising clean pavements it promises circular bus routes but fails to describe how they will be different from existing bus routes, which cover the city’s main highways pretty well.

Thainess

A while ago I went to Thailand. I pretended it was for work, but really it was a paid holiday. Wrote these for the Leader. Now I’ll reproduce this in the blog to fill space/ keep a record/ get hits,but not to be a general prick about getting a free holiday to Thailand.

1. Experiencing ‘Thainess’

Where our protagonist is introduced to the horrors of a famous war monument after developing an affinity for Business Class travel, and wherein he finally confronts mortality itself at the hands of a belligerent masseur.

The feeling of “Thai-ness” is apparently a verb here. Sounds like something one teeny bopper would say to another, but the brochures don’t lie. It encapsulates everything about being Thai; the culture, politics, food and people. Most Thais claim that an outsider can never realize what true ‘Thai-ness’ is because it’s such a multi-faceted concept, but they can come close. After five days there, I have only a vague idea.

I arrived in seats that actually reclined more than those in your average second class train. Business class is something a man can get used to. The stewardesses even know your name. And they also give unlimited refills of mixed nuts. I’m on a Cathay Pacific flight, and sleep comes easy in the three hours it takes to get from Colombo to Thailand.*

The bridge on the river Kwai is in the West of Thailand. Yes I know, you always thought it was in Kithulgala. But that was just a replica made for the movie. The real one is here, in a place called Kanchanaburi, which incidentally, has nothing to do with navels.

The bridge was a part of a railway that was built by the Japanese during the Second World War. They basically enslaved hundreds of thousands of Asian men, and used tens of thousands of Prisoners of War (PoWs). They needed the bridge and a massive 400km long rail track to supply their forces in Burma, which neighbours Thailand and was a key strategic location in the theater of war.

The Japanese lived up to their wartime image of merciless brutality. By the end of the railway’s construction, over a hundred thousand Asians were dead. But more importantly for conventional historians, about 12000 PoWs (mostly Brits and Aussies) also perished. Their killers were brutal labor, diseases like malaria and cholera and probably sheer hopelessness. Sadly, it is only the names of the PoWs that are remembered to this day. This grates the sentiments of many Thais. The city has five massive burial grounds that house the dead. They are kept spick and span with their names forever interred in marble headstones.

I suppose native Thai’s are a bit peeved about their own not being remembered. Our guide certainly seemed to be. But it hasn’t stopped them from marketing the bridge and the Death Railway (creative brilliance there) as an emerging historical site for tourism.

We stayed at the Felix Kwai Hotel. It’s a large complex by the river and very comfortable. I decided on a massage. The masseur was a beady eyed strong woman whom I’ll call the iron lady. She twisted me this way and that. And I discovered I owned various new muscle groups when they revealed themselves by screaming in response to her merciless tweaking. I had no idea my legs were so knotted. Half the time I was in pain and the other half I was unsure whether to scream in pain or laugh ‘cause I was being tickled. I imagined myself being tortured “you can do whatever you want to me but you’ll never get the truth outta me!” I kept saying to myself over and over and over. When she started on my back, head and shoulders though, it was utter bliss. Especially my head, I’ve had too much on the old mind lately. Massages can take between 60-90 minutes and leave you feeling utterly relaxed.

Later it was a cruise down the river Kwai on a barge. We had dinner on the said same barge. The river is quiet in the night. And the barge passes along Kanchanaburi’s empty waterside market. The bridge is all lit up in changing colors. David (the hotel manager) and his staff joined us for dinner and everyone ended up singing karaoke. I contributed to the fun by singing many songs in my toneless voice, which needless to say made everyone’s night.
After we disembarked from the barge, we lit some sky lanterns. These lanterns are supposed to drive away all embarrassing moments that happen at a lively night out. So I made sure to join in lighting one after my attempts at singing. Mine refused to fly until I had made a wish on it. So I wished for it to hurry up and fly. They are like mini hot air balloons and floated away into the night. They speckled the sky with glowing yellow dots as they flew upwards. I imagine they kept burning right up until they got stuck in some clouds.

Tomorrow we visit the Tiger Temple, we are expressly forewarned not to wear red and other bright colors. Apparently tigers take after Spanish bulls in these parts, and like to pounce on garish t-shirts. More on that next week.

*If you’re feeling more economical, Cathay also offers  weekend packages to Thailand and back, call them up for more information.

(And obviously they are paying for my trip).

(..Next week)

2. Through the Tiger Temple

Where our protagonist steps lightly around fully grown tigers, rides elephants and cools down with a tranquil bamboo raft ride in the continuation of his adventures in Thailand.

The road is dusty and a strange smell of dung permeates the air. The very stench of the striped pelts of tigers, I realized only later. Souvenir shops dotted the road to the entrance. A ticket here costs about Rs. 1,800.

The tiger temple, as the story goes, was a regular Theravada Buddhist temple back in the day. One day, a wounded tiger was found inside the complex and was cared for by the monks. The tiger left, then came back and decided to stay. It also brought some  friends along. And soon the temple was functioning as a refuge for tigers from the area. Somewhat implausibly, the temple also attracted boars, deer and other traditional tiger prey. And now it is a veritable zoo.

With one difference; visitors can get up close and personal with the tigers. You can pet them, take pictures with them and walk with them. Volunteers and workers will warn you to take precautions however, the tiger is still a wild beast and if you crouch down in front of it, you become the size of prey. It will then pounce on you and, if you are within the range of the chains that bind it to the ground, you are dead meat. Otherwise, you get a terrible fright, and the tiger gets a terribly sore neck.

The tigers aren’t drugged, but they are tame beasts. They frolic with the volunteers and the cubs are fed for and cared by the temple priests. Visitors sit behind the beasts and pat them on the rump while they get their pictures taken by temple workers. They can later walk the tigers to the feeding grounds.

The priests themselves are quite intriguing. Complex tattoos mark the visible parts of their skin. They are in whorls of colour and mystic designs and are drawn with bamboo needles. The tattoos are called Sak Yant (Sak means tattoo and Yant means sacred prayers), a cross between art and mysticism, they are supposed to render the wearer with magical powers of protection.

The Tiger Temple is also in Kanchanaburi Province, in the same location as the Bridge on the River Kwai. Visitors to the temple are only allowed in the afternoon. When the tigers have been fed and are sated enough not to make goggle eyes at the nearest piece of walking meat i.e., you.

In the morning before we visited the temple, we headed for a quiet boat ride on the river Kwai. We were transported on bamboo craft with a thatched roof that were pushed along by oars. Elephants bathe along the river and the water is shallow enough for penetrating sunlight to show silvery fish running along beside the boat. I trail my feet in the water and relax, thinking of the elephant I was riding not half an hour ago.

In the evening we take off to Hua Hin. A beachside district that was a favorite retreat of the Thai Royal Family. Thailand was never colonized, a source of pride for Thais, and their monarch is regarded with respect. The current king of Thailand is King Bhumibol Adulyadej. Await more on Hua Hin and the teeming city of Bangkok in weeks to come.

___________________

In reality the Tiger Temple stank a bit, and not only of tiger dung.  The tigers are tigers only in appearance and are so meek that your average kitten shows more life when confronting a dead fish. I found out later that the place has faced a lot of controversy and is accused of some serious tiger abuse. Thanks Naren.

Full set of pictures can be found here.

A Multi-Ethnic Mosque (Pics)

The Puttalam Grand Mosque was conceptualized by Muslims, engineered by a Burgher, designed by a Sinhalese and built by Tamils. Its founders were pretty keen to go out of their way to bring in some symbolic multi-ethnicity in what is usually considered to be a Muslim only place.

The mosque was built in 1934 and the trustee board still continues efforts to integrate with other religious communities in the region by inviting them for meetings and functions. It was built on top of an ancient mosque that apparently stood since the seventeenth century and was visited by a Sinhala king (maybe one of the Seethavaka’s)

There’s this really cool clock in the tower. It occupies half the room and requires a dedicated person to operate it. The gongs are massively loud and peal out the hours. The views are pretty spectacular also. Like a lot of picturesque spots in this area, the mosque looks over the lagoon.

There have been problems in Puttalam lately, mostly grease yaka related. The mosque authorities are quick to distance themselves from troublemakers, but itis clear that they might not have the whole of the Muslim community here under their peaceful influence. There is some evidence of simmering discontent.

They’re proud of the fact that the 1915 Muslim-Sinhala riots didn’t reach Puttalam. The people of Puttalam joined up sans religious barriers and collectively put a stop to things then. The story wasn’t that sweet in 1976 though. An altercation that happened because of rice rations prevalent during Sirimavo’s time saw bloody racial violence permeating the city, killing many.

Needless to say, everyone here is keen to avoid something like that happening again. But most violent events are created by one insane person or a few and then spread through the laity like a disease, riding on the backs of rumor, stupidity and misplaced loyalties.

If the community is not strong and interfaith relationships aren’t sturdy, the fragile situation in Puttlam might erupt. Last week, in response to the death of a policeman, a group of Sinhala protestors were due to stage a harthaal. This would have spelled disaster since the Muslims in the area were the obvious targets, them being wired up already. But saner heads prevailed and it looks like the worst is over Alhamdulillah.

If you ever go to Puttlam, try and get a tour of the mosque. More pictures here.

Puttlam 24 Aug 2011

Arugam Bay and Anti-Capitalism

Nizam at Pottuvil Point

Arugam Bay is a happy town. Or should I say a hippy town? Surfers roam the streets and frequent small hotels run by locals. Everyone knows everyone else. Arugam Bay has remained largely unnoticed throughout the war. Now though, commercialization has begun to erode the idyllic charm of this once sleepy beach side town. The affects are still small, but the unmistakable smell of money is beginning to mix in with the heady tinge of brine in the air.

Sri Lankan airlines has started a flight there to coincide with the Surfing competition it is sponsoring, to be held at the end of the month. A flight costs Rs 13500 both ways, somewhat more than your standard budget airline fair to India. Though a bit on the expensive side, the flight cuts the travel time to the Bay by several hours. It takes only fifty minutes from take off at Kelaniya to landing at Arugam Bay.

The inaugural flight was on Wednesday (17) and I was one of three people on it. One of the others was a tourism operator simply going to check the flight out and the other a tourist. The plane can probably take about 20 people. And it got me thinking that perhaps Sri Lankan should re-think its marketing strategies and pricing mixes when it comes to their Air Taxis. Maybe if they reduced the price by a few thousand, mark it just above what it would cost in fuel to drive there. I’m sure they’d be able to bring in more passengers as a result. I of course traveled on company dosh.

On an aside, Sri Lankan has focused largely so far only on international tourists to market their domestic flights, I think they’re ignoring an increasingly wealthy emerging middle class looking to spend some disposable income on a good holiday.

As for the Bay itself, the locals are beginning to smell the opportunity. I went there two years ago, just after the war finished and in the preceding time there has been some heavy construction. Prices have also seen an upward shift, but not too much. The crowds that are drawn by Arugam Bay’s surfing opportunities are your typical backpackers, meaning that they are always looking to travel on a budget. They can stay put from anything between two weeks to six months in one place so expensive hotels aren’t really their most favorite thing.

Arugam Bay is not a resort town. It’s a place where you go and do stuff. Bringing in massive hotels with enclosed beaches that encourage visitors to spend their whole time within those walls will be a travesty of epic proportions. There’s just too much stuff to do here. You can cycle down to Panama. If you’re feeling more adventurous you can go all the way down to Kudumbigala, a monastery on the Eastern edge of Yala that was closed up during the war. Catch the Sunrise at Pottuvil point and check out dozens of postcard quality beaches. Run the risk of elephants chasing on you on the deserted roads after six p.m.  Safari rides to Kumana are also an option.

Then there’s the surfing. Surfing remains largely untried by Sri Lankans, but not for people in Arugam Bay. Exposure to international, award winning surfers have left some locals with some serious skills. Lessons are available if you want to grab some. Arugam Bay has some ideal surf spots just for beginners and local instructors are more than helpful in teaching you the ropes. Surfing is a tough sport, and requires stamina and balance, just look at a surfer and you’ll understand. But it’s also heaps of fun. I was tumbling off the board more often than i managed to stand on it, but Nizam is a patient teacher and says after one hour i got the basics and should be able to take it up from here alone insha Allah.

The local economy thrives on tourism, since the operations are small in relation to each other, the money trickles down everywhere. From small surf shops to tiny supermarkets to tuk tuk stalls, restaurants and budget hotels, they all get a share of the pie. Invasion of large corporations and big hotels can only destroy this fragile structure and disenfranchise the locals, reducing them to street hawkers, massage peddlers and beach boys. While scale economies can bring in massive revenues and commercialized tourism promotions can increase visits, the risk that this will reduce Arugam Bay’s culture and lifestyle are high. Money always has its drawbacks.

I know some may disagree; they may perceive the generic Sri Lankan buldoze-it-all-and-replace-with-luxury tourism model fits any place. But it pays to have diversity, just look at Thailand, its got its posh beach resorts for the rich and lazy as well as the edgy, remote places for the cheap and adventurous.

Arugam Bay is small and beautiful. It’s not a social cesspit, there are no sex-shows or pimps. The healthy local community involvement acts as moral policing. It’d be nice to try and keep it this way.

Jules Verne: Ballooning in Sigiriya

Hot air balloons have always made me think of Jules Verne. Funny, i can’t even remember a clear story of a hot air balloon being used in one of his books.I think there was one in Around the world in 80 Days. But these guys beg to differ. My kiddie years were spent poring over books that had numerous instances of epic balloon rides, anyone remember Willard Price and the Adventure Series?

Balloon rides cost a pretty rupee here though. So i was glad to bag one for free when my paper sponsored the balloon festival. This happens every year and pilots from all over the world come over. We flew over Sigiriya, but i couldn’t catch a glimpse of the rock. So instead we climbed it later in the scorching heat.

Going up in the balloon was great. things are so quiet and tranquil up there. You’re basically in a floating basket. But when the fire burns to heat the air inside the balloon over your head it sears your skin. Navigation is mostly just up and down. The wind decides which direction you go in. I’m told experienced pilots can patiently manipulate it otherwise. There are a couple of balloon companies over here.. You can bag a ride for about USD 200.