Having touched down before sunrise this morning, our van driver took us down city streets and small lanes, careening to avoid cyclists and playing chicken with incoming traffic that crossed over to our side momentarily. To say it was a culture shock is some kind of understatement. As we drove on, the rising sun slowly illuminated the roadside until the darkness faded into an overcast glare.
On the beach in Negombo, men vigorously shook nets trampolining gleaming silver fish onto tarps on the sand. There were no industrial fishing boats (at least that we could see) and birds and stray dogs waited patiently for bits that might get flung their way.
Too early for the hotel, we meandered through the back streets of Negombo, long-standing site of fishermen and a noisy, raucous fish market. The day's catch was shuttled by sinewy men who loaded sturdy blue crates on the back rack of their bicycles to take the seafood to nearby restaurants and hotels.
Children in white school uniforms (their school denoted by the color of a necktie or scarf) waited for buses or rode swaying tri-shaws or the family Toyota.
The glaring juxtaposition of tiny stuccoed ancestral homes, probably dating back to the turn of the 20th century against sleek aluminum and glass buildings housing posh wedding supply purveyors gave every street a random and mismatched color. There doesn't seem to be much quarter given to suburban planning or zone restrictions, but the result is an exercise for the eyes.
After our morning's drive through chaos, we retreated unashamedly to our hotel to take a dip in the blue-tiled pool and rest a little.
This afternoon, we have plans to visit an elder aunt then tomorrow make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to 2000-year-old Anuradhapura, the once and former great city, home to kings and deities.
On the beach in Negombo, men vigorously shook nets trampolining gleaming silver fish onto tarps on the sand. There were no industrial fishing boats (at least that we could see) and birds and stray dogs waited patiently for bits that might get flung their way.
Too early for the hotel, we meandered through the back streets of Negombo, long-standing site of fishermen and a noisy, raucous fish market. The day's catch was shuttled by sinewy men who loaded sturdy blue crates on the back rack of their bicycles to take the seafood to nearby restaurants and hotels.
Children in white school uniforms (their school denoted by the color of a necktie or scarf) waited for buses or rode swaying tri-shaws or the family Toyota.
The glaring juxtaposition of tiny stuccoed ancestral homes, probably dating back to the turn of the 20th century against sleek aluminum and glass buildings housing posh wedding supply purveyors gave every street a random and mismatched color. There doesn't seem to be much quarter given to suburban planning or zone restrictions, but the result is an exercise for the eyes.
After our morning's drive through chaos, we retreated unashamedly to our hotel to take a dip in the blue-tiled pool and rest a little.
This afternoon, we have plans to visit an elder aunt then tomorrow make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to 2000-year-old Anuradhapura, the once and former great city, home to kings and deities.
Negombo lagoon
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