Let Freedom Ring

As you may or may not know, my end date here in India has been about as fluid as the Ganges River. When I agreed to come, the time period was 6-9 months, which is pretty ambiguous. Then because of certain projects being pushed back, I thought I might get to come home in mid May, as all I had to do was finish a simple remodel project. I sat down in March to come up with a schedule of two months that while ambitious, it was realistic. In the US, we could get the same done in a month or month and a half easy. The contractor himself said it would take 10 weeks.

Boy was I off. Way off. I mean, not even close. Although I had been here for several months and had already experienced one India construction project, and a very successful one at that, I didn’t realize just how challenging this job would be. I mean, the scope seems simple. Tear down a few walls, build a few offices, a new hand wash area in the cafeteria, replace some carpet and wallpaper, and call it a day. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. Remodels like this just aren’t done in India. Especially in buildings where employees are still working. Especially when many of your materials are stuck on a boat somewhere between the US and India. We are swimming in uncharted waters.

Before I knew it, mid May became the first of June. The first of June became mid-June so I could make it home in time for a wedding. Mid June became late June. Late June became getting home July 3^rd, just in time to drive to Kansas for possibly my favorite holiday. When I finally conceded defeat, that there was no way I’d be home for the 4^th, I was pretty upset. Not Christmas in Dixie upset, but pretty bummed that I was going to miss my family and fireworks and celebrating the independence of our great country on actual US soil. Luckily Andrea and Alan promised me at the time that they’d try to throw a 4^th of July party to try to make up for my disappointment. Did they ever come through!

But first, I need to explain my typical 4^th of July, if for no other reason than to remind myself how awesome it is. The day starts around 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, when I set the alarm to wake up and light off the biggest Saturn Missile Battery that I could find in my fireworks shopping. Why? Tradition, that’s why. I’ve been doing it ever since I can remember. What better way to start the day than to wake up the fam and all of the surrounding neighbors than with a minute of screeches and explosions?! Later in the morning, we always dig out an ancient VHS tape that has an episode of Looney Tunes where Elmer Fudd battles a colony of ants with fireworks. Classic episode. Again, a family tradition that we’ve been doing as long as I can remember. The only reason we keep a VCR around the house is to watch that episode once a year. Later in the morning I usually light off some smaller fireworks with the nieces and nephews, or if we’re still cutting wheat as we usually are, help with harvest.



Possibly the greatest Looney Tunes episode ever.

Here’s where I need to bring up that 4^th of July is my favorite meal day of the year. Better than Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, all of them. Lunch is usually the one time a year mom makes her delicious fried chicken, accompanied by heaps of steaming real mashed potatoes and corn on the cop, and glass after glass of ice cold sun tea. For dessert, homemade cherry pie fresh out of the oven made with cherries picked from the trees out back, accompanied with vanilla ice cream. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Later that evening we head down the road three miles to River View Farm, where the granddaddy of all Independence Day celebrations is held. There we get together with my mom’s side of the family and have an amazing BBQ, which probably takes the cake as my favorite meal of the year. Burgers, brats, baked beans, taco salad, raspberry chipotle dip, all of my favorite BBQ foods accompanied by a few cold beers. It’s absolutely heaven. After our family BBQ other guests start arriving, bringing with them all sorts of homemade desserts that we enjoy with at least 3 different kinds of homemade ice cream. There is always homemade vanilla, strawberry, and lemon sherbet. Sometimes other flavors will make appearances as well. But it’s always homemade, and it’s always delicious.

After everyone’s bellies are full, we settle down for the show. The 4^th of July celebration on the farm was started by my Grandpa Art somewhere around 30 years ago (I think). Since then, it has become one of our most important and beloved family traditions. It’s not just eating and fireworks. After ice cream and before fireworks, there is always a speaker or two. In years past, Grandpa Art used to give a speech and then call upon people randomly to give an impromptu speech on what the 4^th of July or the family means to you. We’ve had speeches from nearly every family member, state representatives, members of the military, foreigners who have become US citizens, and the list goes on and on. The point is that we like to recognize what the holiday is, and not just for the fireworks and food. Sometimes we might even sing patriotic songs.

That being said, after all of the speeches and food, come what I must say is a very impressive fireworks display. My Uncle Jim is a wizard with fireworks shows, and I’ll say we probably have one of the most diverse shows around. We have what you might call three different stations. Closer to the crowd we have the fountains and roman candle station as well as a few smaller things. Just behind that, there is a board where we have pinwheel and Saxons. Then in the back, what we call the “pit” we have the bigger guys, the artillery shells and other giant monstrosities. Jim usually needs a crew of at least 3 people to pull off this type of show, and before this year, I’ve worked in the pit for the last 6 or 7 years. We work in perfect harmony with each other, someone always has a firework cued up and ready to go. Since the 90% of the fireworks are provided by the 70+ guests every year, we always let the crowd know who brought what before we light them off, so they can either be praised or chided for their purchases. Right around dusk, we have sparkler time. Everyone, no matter of their age, has to do at least one sparkler. And everyone does, as no one wants to be the one to break the tradition.

And that wraps up one of my favorite days of the year. So you can see why I might be bummed to not be back for it. And like Christmas, this might be the first time I’ve ever missed our family’s Independence Day celebration. And I don’t plan on missing it ever again.

Now back to this year’s celebration. I arrived at Andrea and Alan’s excited with what I saw. Jayme and Adam and their wives joined us, along with a couple of other Americans. We had quite the feast! We had Juicy Lucy’s (which are hamburgers stuffed with cheese and cermelized onions) which were incredible, corn on the cob, 7-Layer dip, Doritos, peanut butter pie, and even a blue cake with red and white frosting. It might be the best meal I’ve had in India. Everyone dressed as festively as they could with what they brought to India, and we had a grand old time.



Enjoying our delicious Indian BBQ!



Patriotism is delicious.



Andrea and Alan’s driver even went out and found some fireworks for us. They weren’t anything big, and weren’t exactly what you would call “safe”, as the fuses would burn for about .2 seconds before igniting the rockets, but they were fireworks, and that’s all that matters. We even had sparklers! I almost felt as though I could be back home in Kansas. We ended the night with a sing-a-long, passing a guitar around the circle. All in all, it was a perfect substitute and more than I could have ever asked for in an Indian Independence Day party.



Some of our fireworks...I didn't know that fireworks could actually be racist. Leave it to India. You can't really tell from this picture, but the one on the left is actually Jennifer Hudson. Do you think she knows an India Fireworks company is using her picture on their box?

Later that week on the actual 4^th of July, I brought Baskin Robbins (not exactly homemade ice cream but tasty nonetheless) to my construction site meeting for everyone, and explained to them the significance of 4^th of July in America. I tried not to rub it in that we gained our independence from the British about 175 years before India did. Later on in the meeting I had to get a little stern with my contractor, and it did feel a little funny to have to set down my spoon of ice cream to do some yelling. Usually I’m happy when I’m eating ice cream. Not this time.

Eventually July 3^rd became July 26^th, and I’m confident enough in that date to have booked my plane ticket.

I’m bummed that I missed my usual celebration, but some good came from it as well. I think almost as much as Thanksgiving,  4^th of July is a holiday to give thanks. I love America. I’m very thankful that I call it home. I’m thankful to our forefathers who fought so hard and sacrificed so much for our independence. I’m thankful to those who are still making sacrifices and serving our country overseas and at home. I’m thankful to have the opportunity to be truly free and everything that comes along with it. I’m thankful for my ancestors who persevered and settled in Kansas and lived a harder life than I’ll ever imagine. I’m thankful, and damn proud, to be an American.

India calls itself the world’s largest democracy. And I guess technically, they are right. Having 1.2 billion people in your country will let you claim a lot of things.  But make no mistake, they have a long way to go. Things I’ve witnessed here have made that very clear. Democracy is a good start, but several hurdles, some of which seem insurmountable, stand in the way of them being a first rate country. Human rights issues, corruption, infrastructure problems, lack of what you and I might refer to as "common sense" and so much more hold them back from being a truly free and truly great nation. I hope they get there someday, I really do. They have come a lot way, but still have twice as far to go.

If nothing else, being here on the 4^th of July really made me reflect on how good I (and we as Americans) have it. There is a big deal between first world problems and third world problems, and I hope that’s one of the things I take away from this experience. While the average American is sitting in their air conditioned houses complaining about gas prices or whatever else, an average Indian is doing whatever they can to scrape together a few rupees to buy enough rice to feed their family.  If nothing else, India has given me the gift of perspective.  On July 4^th 2013, while enjoying my homemade ice cream and fireworks at River View Farm, I hope it’s a gift that I remember.

Driver Tales

One of my regrets from my time here is not writing down enough stuff. More specifically, priceless conversations and interactions with random people. Many of these happen daily at work or at my hotel, but the bulk happen with the person I spend the most time with, Shyam.

 Shyam has been my driver since my first day in India. But I feel that calling him my driver is selling him short. He is also my tour guide, my news source, my gossip source, my advisor, always knows where to go to get what I need, my errand runner, designated driver, and my friend. Sometimes he knows where I’m going (like to dinner or a concert or something) even before I do via the expat chain of communication. He is wildly underpaid considering all he does for me. He knows all of the secret roads and ways to get places faster than anyone else, he’ll drive to 5 different liquor stores looking for Old Monk in the Monk bottle for me (and place special orders when they don’t have it), he’s helped me barter prices so I don’t get taken advantage of, and so many more things.



My driver Shyam and I after a night at Romanos!  Getting Indians to smile for a picture is a monumental task. So I won't complain too much that he isn't looking at the camera.

 I was shocked and a little bit humbled when I learned a while after I got here that his day basically revolves around me. He’s up well before me to drive into his office, pick up the car, and be at my apartment to pick me up for work. During the day, he sits in a hot, smelly, stuffy parking garage with the other drivers playing cards or chess and probably talking about the crazy things his American says, waiting for me to call to say it’s time to go home. If I work late, that means he works later. If I want a night out at Romanos, he doesn't get home until after midnight. If I need to run errands on a weekend, that means he’s working. So I will forever be grateful to Shyam for all that he’s done for me during my time here.

He is also a source of entertainment with the stories he tells, which aren’t anything special to him, but often times make my day. Things that are common occurrences to him fascinate me. And I’m sure some of the stories I tell are tough for him to fathom as well. That's all part of the major clash in cultures between "middle class" Indians (as being a driver for an American expat is considered a pretty good job here) and middle class Americans.

For example, he had requested the day off on Monday to attend a wedding, which I happily allowed. He was going to send a substitute driver. When he showed up on Monday, this was our conversation:

Me: Shyam, why aren’t you at the wedding?

Shyam: Wedding was postponed, sir.

Me: Why?

Shyam: Groom was bitten by a snake, sir.

Me: Holy cow, what kind of snake was it?

Shyam: King Cobra sir. [said very nonchalantly, like it’s an every day occurrence]

Me: Wow! Are you serious? Is he ok? 

Shyam: Oh yes, sir. They cut his arm open and put stones on the wound and wrapped it in herbal leaves. [it took me awhile to understand what he was saying here...I'm not expert but this doesn't seem like a fruitful treatment for a cobra bite.]

Me: And that’s enough to cure a king cobra bite?

Shyam: Yes, although when they sliced open his arm, they cut a nerve. So then he had to go to the hospital.  

Me: That sounds awful, and very painful.

Shyam: Yes, sir. Wedding is back on next week.

Another favorite of mine, I didn’t experience, but was emailed to me by a co-worker whose friend had this conversation with his driver while in India:

It started when I saw a cow walking down the road turn to eat what appeared to be garbage.  It went something like this.

Me: Is that a cow?

Yomesh: Of course, cow.

M: What's it eating?

Y: Food, cows have to eat. [It appears to be eating trash, but I drop it.]

M: Well whose cow is it?

Y: Somebody's.  It eats.

M: Well how do you know whose cow it is?

Y: It will go home at 5:30.

M: At 5:30?

Y: Of course, that's when cows go home.

M: How does it know where to go?

Y: It goes back the way it came.

M: But did the owner just let it out?

Y: Of course, how else would it eat?

M: Where do they go to eat?

Y: Each cow goes to its place to eat.  Then it sleeps.  Then it's 5:30 and it goes home.

[Note that I'm traveling to the hotel at about 5:15]

M: So is this cow going home?

Y: Of course, it's almost 5:30.  That's why traffic is bad.  Cows have to go home.  Unless it gets a ticket.

M: A ticket?

Y: Of course.  If it stops in road, the cow gets a ticket.

M: Who pays the ticket?

Y: The cow's owner of course.  They have to pay the ticket to get their cow back from police.

M: So the police take the cow?

Y: Of course.  After they give ticket.

M: Like towing a car? [I can't imagine I have this right.]

Y: Exactly.  But my cow doesn't get ticket.  He is already home.

M: You have a cow?

Y: Of course, how else would I have milk?  My cow is already home though.  He goes home at 5:00 and gives 2 liters.  Do you have a cow Mr. John?

M: No. [I am trying hard not to laugh]

Y: Well how do you get milk? [I've never thought much about this]

M: We have dairy farms.  Many cows give milk at once and trucks deliver it to stores.

Y: Wow.  That's awful.  Traffic must be awful by your dairy farms.



Apparently three cows have dibs on this trash pile. Who wouldn't want to drink their milk?



There have been countless stories like this that I should have been writing down. If I had the other expats write down their stories as well, we would have the makings of an awesome book that would give its readers a stunningly accurate and humorous look into the Indian culture in an awesome format: Indian natives who know the “real India” , not the India shown to you on TV, better than anyone, trying to explain that life to American businessmen.

Jayme's driver, Hari, has grown to love American music. There is a station in Bangalore that plays mostly American pop music, and most of that is from the 90'sand early 2000's. It really is a trip down memory lane any time you turn that station on. Apparently Hari really gets into the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and drumming to the beat. He is always proud when he can identify a Bryan Adams song, always alerting Jayme with a "Sir. Bryan Adams sir." (I think I've spoken before about India's obsession with Bryan Adams. It's amazing.) Lately Hari has even been identifying different instruments. Recently, while playing a Tom Petty CD for the 200th time, Hari spoke up with a, "Sir. Bass Guitar Sir." Always proud of being able to connect with Jayme and Andrea and their American music roots. I asked Hari who his favorite American artist was the other day, and I was surprised to hear him say, "The Jacaksons, sir". "Like Michael and Janet?" "Yes, sir. Also like Lionel Ritchie and Kenny G. I like to take the drink and night and listen to Kenny G." Who doesn't?

The other day while driving home, Shyam started laughing uncontrollably. I asked him what was so funny, and he said that about 10 years ago he went to this company that if you sign up and pay a nominal fee, they will find you a wife. So he had signed up, but never heard back on a match (I’m unsure what the criteria is for matchmaking.) In the meantime, his parents had arranged his marriage themselves, and he has been married for 8 or 9 years with two kids. So the other day, he got an SMS (that’s what they call texting) from the company from 10 years ago saying they had found him a wife. He thought this was hilarious. I jokingly said he should go check her out to see if she was an upgrade, and I don’t think he thought that was very funny. I think we still have some work to do on understanding my sarcasm.

I have explained before about Shyam's skill of getting where we need to go rather quickly. Since I have gotten used to the car rides, and used to the speed at which we gets there, I have learned to appreciate this "skill". Well, it does come with its risks as well. Last week after a team volunteer event I rode with Jayme and Hari to our "happy hours" afterwards, while I sent Shyam back to the office to drop off some of my co-workers. Hari is more of a careful driver, so in no time Shyam had left us in the dust. About 15 minutes later, Hari points out "Ah, speed trap sir," as he had noticed some cop cars ahead. Sure enough, as we got closer, I recognized my car's license plate. There was Shyam outside the car, arguing with the cop. I couldn't help but laugh. And even though Hari and Shyam are friends, I think Hari got some satisfaction out of it as well. As we drove by, Hari said "10 years with no tickets, sir." I asked Shyam about it the next day, and he laughed and said, "Yes, I had to pay 300 rupees (less than $6). Very high fee! I tried to bribe him with first 100 rupees and then 200 rupees, but he said they have installed cameras now so the cops can no longer accept bribes. I couldn't believe it! Then I tried to tell him that I had very important people in the car, and that I didn't want to be shamed by getting a ticket. None of it worked! Honest cop. "

If I’m ever back in India for a long period of time (God forbid), I will always carry two things with me in the car at all times. A camera and pen and paper (I guess that’s technically three things). A couple times a week I wish I had my camera on my drive home as we always pass something that I wish I had a picture of. Sometimes they must think we are idiots for asking the questions that we ask. Sometimes I’ll ask Shyam to pull over so I can take a picture of something, like a storefront or a sign I find humorous (as in the picture below).  It’s so fascinating as to what they find normal and we find extraordinary, and vice versa.

This is genius marketing. If you are going to buy your fruits and vegetables somewhere, might as well buy them from Infant Jesus! It makes me want to open "Infant Jesus Bar & Grill" when I get home, just to see if the marketing translates.

I'll always remember my time in my car with Shyam as some of the entertaining and educational times I had while in India.

The White Mischief

I feel like I need to apologize in my very first sentence. I’m sure maybe some of you thought that maybe “The White Mischief” was a nickname I had acquired here, and that there would be some cool story about how I got the name.

Nope. Sorry to disappoint. But I couldn’t help but to adorn this post with the title. I’ll tie it in somewhere in this post, I promise.

This post won’t be about cow tipping (which is probably punishable by death), or stealing a tuk tuk and taking it for a lap around the block, or something similar that could earn me such a nickname. Rather, it will be about my first experience with India’s national pastime, cricket.



Enjoying my first cricket match in my newly purchased cricket jersey!



It’s hard to describe the actual game of cricket itself. I suppose its closest relative that I’m aware of would be baseball. Basically there is a bowler (very similar to a pitcher) who bowls (pitches) the ball towards the batsman (batter) and tries to either get it past him and hit the wicket behind him, or get him to hit the ball in the air so that one of the fielders can catch it. Until that happens, the batsman just keeps hitting. That’s not a very thorough description of the game, but it’s as good as I can do without making this another 4000 word post. The batsmen protects the wicket by hitting the ball, and he gets a certain amount of points when he does hit it. 6 points if it goes out of the playing field in the air (similar to a home run), and 4 points if it rolls off the playing field. If the ball is kept in play by the fielders, the batsman runs from wicket to wicket (scoring 1 point for each length) until he doesn’t think he can make it another length before the fielders get the ball back in and hits the wicket before the batsman touches the line.



As opposed to the non-strategic timeouts?

Confused? Thought so. Me too. It took me an afternoon of watching cricket on TV (which isn’t hard to find, as there are 4 channels devoted to it) while reading the rules on Wikipedia to even begin to understand it. For a better short description of the sport than I just gave, read THIS DESCRIPTION. Much more helpful.

Nothing capped off the experience like watching the match in blue lawn chairs.



Cricket fans are crazy. I went to the game with Jayme’s team from work. I work with many of the people daily, some of whom are very quiet. Well, get them to a cricket match and that changes quickly. They go absolutely ballistic. And unlike baseball or football, proportionately there is a lot to cheer about in cricket. Every time someone hits a 6, the crowd goes absolutely berserk. All sorts of noise makers going off and flags being waved in your face.



Jayme isn't nearly excited enough. Could he be mesmerized by the White Mischief?

The game we were at was particularly entertaining. After 4 hours of playing, it came down to the last at-bat. Note: There are several different lengths of cricket matches. “Test Matches” which this was, last about 4 hours. Those are the shortest games. Real cricket matches can last an entire day…..     The Bangalore Royal Challengers (named after a whiskey, of course) were batting last, and had stormed back from a pretty healthy defecit, but our star batter Chris Gayle had hit several 6’s to pull us back into striking distance. After he was retired, it seemed like we didn’t have much hope. But our next couple of batters hit well enough to give us a chance at the end. With one last pitch left, we needed a 6 to win. And sure enough, the batter sent the ball sailing out of the playing field into the stands. Absolute chaos ensued. One of my co-workers who I had heard speak about 2 times in my life gave me a huge bear hug in celebration. I even got caught up in the celebration! It was the equivalent to hitting a walk off grand slam in baseball.

Now to explain the title of my post. The White Mischief is the name of the cheerleading squad for the RC’s. The cheerleaders are mostly Caucasian, and dressed more scandalously that you would ever see anyone else in India dressed. I’m not sure if this is racist or not….I’m assuming probably so….but whatever. Not sure that you could get away with anything like this anywhere other than India. It’s interesting that in such a conservative culture that they can get away with something like this without any sort of major backlash. But I guess it’s pretty much a side show. They are treated somewhat like zoo animals, as all the Indian men crowd around the fence that separates the cheerleaders from the stands trying to catch a close glimpse and get a picture on their cameras.

Mischevious indeed....



Commonplace in the US, not so much in India.



Interestingly enough, the visiting Pune Warriors team had Indian cheerleaders dressed in traditional sarees…..

This would be considered normal and acceptable in India.

Doing some more research, White Mischief is also the name of a vodka made by the UB Group, who owns the team (and UB City where I live, and Kingfisher airlines, and Kingfisher beer, just to name a few). But still. Can you imagine if a team in the US had all Indian cheerleaders and called them the Brown Mischief, or the Curry Crusaders, or the Stray Dogs? Just another paradox that is the country of India I guess.

It was cool to see the sport that is so important to the country up close and personal. I don’t think I could ever own season tickets…as the matches are too damn long, but I would highly recommend going to one if you are ever in India during cricket season. It also made me miss American sports, and going to Target Field on a summer night to watch the Royals beat the Twins (or anyone else beat the Twins for that matter, not a rare occurrence). As much as I miss baseball, I also miss ballpark food. I definitely would have rather had a nice bratwurst and a cold beer over the very questionable looking curry and rice buffet.

All in all, it was a great experience, and was another activity I got to cross off of my India bucket list.

Mr. Cliff and Friends go to Sri Lanka, Part 3: Elephants and The Tooth

I hereby declare this to be a womit-free post! Please continue reading taking solace in that fact. After a short hiatus from talking about my Sri Lanka vacation, I’ll wrap it up in this post.

It’s strange how quickly my sickness came and left. Besides being utterly exhausted, after my dip in the pool, a little bit of fruit, and a 30 minute nap, I felt great. Or maybe I just thought I felt great because anything was better than what I had just gone through. We had a 7 hour drive ahead of us still to get to our destination for the night, but aside from the 40 near-head on crashes we had, the drive was quite relaxing. Still playing the sick card, I got to sit in the reclined front seat with air conditioning vents trained directly on my face. It was nearly impossible to sleep with all of the braking and speeding up and swerving, ect., but the beautiful scenery of Sri Lanka was more than enough to hold my attention. Also, we got to have a nature stop on the way. Andrea said she needed to use the restroom the next time we passed a public toilet. Hermal just kind of grimaced and said that we were hours from a toilet that would be acceptable for us to use. I believed him, as public toilets over here shouldn’t even exist. You can’t just stop by a gas station to relieve yourself and grab some beef jerky and some Mountain Dew. I guess that’s probably why you see so many people just peeing (and going #2 on one occasion) on the side of the road. Being dudes, it wasn’t a big deal for Alan and I, but I was impressed with Andrea’s willingness for a nature squat. I guess growing up on a farm in Ohio helped prepare her for such situations! Or maybe she just really had to go.

Natives working the rice paddies.

We reached our destination of Kandy around 8:00, and climbed up to the top of the hill where our hotel sat. Since we were at the very top of the hill/mountain, there wasn’t really anywhere else to eat, so we settled for the overpriced dinner buffet at the hotel restaurant. The ambiance was nice, but the only food that sounded good to me was ice cream and some fruit. I needed to stay 20ft minimum away from the curries and rice. So after three helpings of ice cream, I went to bed exhausted and ready to start a new day.



The view from our hotel on the top of the hill.

The next morning we got checked out of our hotel and were off to the Temple of the Tooth Relic. Alan has a doctorate in religious studies, so he can explain it better than I ever could. Here is the link to his blog explaining it in detail. The Cliff’s Notes Version (see what I did there?) is that it is a temple built to house one of Buddha’s teeth. It’s crazy to think about it actually being one of his teeth. (Even though I have my doubts that it actually is….but I’ll save my skepticism for another time). But can you imagine if we as Christians had one of Jesus Christ’s teeth? That would be a big deal. I mean we go crazy over the shroud of Turin, and even the possibility of the Holy Grail. Just think if we had one of his teeth! I mean there have been wars fought over this thing, and thousands of people have died to protect/steal it. It is possibly one of the holiest places for people of the Buddhist religion to go. So it was a surreal experience to be there and witness it.

Now we didn’t actually get to see the tooth, as they only bring it out once a year for cleaning and to parade around on an elephant. Side Note: Do you think they use Crest or Colgate when brushing it? (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) But the whole temple complex was amazing. It had several different parts and halls, and even included a library of ancient Buddhists texts. It was another very cool religious and cultural experience that I’m glad I got to experience. Of course, there were the typical annoyances like paying a foreigners entrance fee and another “voluntary tip” for them to keep our shoes safe (while all of the non foreigners just piled theirs along a wall) but it was a small price to pay for such a cool experience.



Temple of the Tooth Relic complex.



A moat is very effective when trying to keep captors from stealing your tooth.



Entrance to the tooth shrine.



Our agenda called for several things throughout the day, including a gem museum, royal botanical gardens, and spice gardens. We went to the gem museum tour which consisted of a 10 minute informational video followed by a 5 minute walkthrough and explanation of different Sri Lanka gems, followed by a hard sales pitch to get you to buy this place’s jewelry. It was all very beautiful stuff, but pretty pricey. Plus I always get annoyed with rackets like this. I’m sure the “gem museum” gives a cut of the profits to the travel company that takes you there. Aaaaaaand of course I got suckered into buying some earrings for the lady friend. Oh well. They were pretty, and maybe will earn me some boyfriend points that I need to catch up on for leaving for 7 months.



Incredible fruit stand we stopped at on the side of the road. They had a lot of cool exotic fruits you don't see anywhere else.



After that we decided to skip the botanical gardens and the spice garden to spend more time at the highlight of the day, and maybe the trip, which was the Pinawala Elephant Orphanage. On the way we stopped at a place where you could actually bathe and ride elephants! Of course, it was pretty much another scam, as your tour guide gave you a 5 minute tour of the “elephant museum” which necessitated a tip at the end, even though we had already paid $20 to get into the damn place. In the interest of time and saving our clothes we decided to skip the bathing but we all decided to take an elephant ride, which was fun. Each elephant has its own trainer, or Mahout, that is the only person the elephant will listen to and take commands from. Basically the elephants and mahouts spend all day every day with each other, sometimes until one of them dies. So they walk alongside giving the elephant orders. We paid for a 15 minute ride, and got about half of that. But I guess the other 7 or 8 minutes would have been about the same. Afterwards we were told to tip the mahout if we had a good time. Then we were told that our tip was not enough. So, during our 30 minute stay at this place, we paid an entry fee to ride the elephant and tipped two separate people. It was pretty annoying, but I guess we did get to ride elephants and have some good pictures from it.



Unfortunately they have to attach a chain from his leg to her neck so it doesn't take off on a rampage.



Another 15 minute ride we arrived at the village where the elephant orphanage is. We got there towards the end of the day. The elephants were about ready to return from the river where they were bathing and frolicking, back to the actual orphanage grounds. It was so cool to see 70 elephants walking through the streets of this village! It was like the running of the bulls in Pamplona, but with larger animals that no one wanted to test and get gored by. We followed the elephants back to the grounds where you could get very close to them and watch them eat and interact. Such a fun experience!



Mahouts preparing for the running of the pachyderms.



And they're off!



The orphanage houses around 70 elephants. Many of the elephants there had been injured in the wild, either by hunters who had shot them to harvest their tusks and left them for dead  or were just plain old.  There was even one who had stepped on a land mine, which was a remnant of the 26 year long Sri Lankan civil war that finally ended in 2009. Most of the elephants there are that were either born there, or born in captivity somewhere else. We were told that the success rate of releasing elephants back into the wild that were born in captivity somewhere else is extremely low, so it is rarely attempted.



It's amazing to watch these guys eat. They literally just rip bark off of trees and eat it.



It was amazing to be this up close and personal with these awesome beasts, and watch them interact with each other. Definitely another experience I’ll never forget.

After the orphanage closed, it was back to the van to drive three hours back to Negombo, the same town we stayed in the first night. That night we ate in a beachfront restaurant and had a couple of drinks. The place was really cool, and was right on the beach. Amazingly we were the only people there. We had a couple of drinks, and since my throat was still recovering and couldn’t handle carbonated beverages, I resorted to drinking the fruity chick drinks on the menu. I think our waiter thought I was joking as I ordered the cocktail of day, which was named Paradise or something like that. He was embarrassed when he realized that I indeed wanted a nice refreshing fruity drink, and after that helped me pick out some other delicious tropical flavored/colored drinks that didn't bring my manhood into question at all.

Decent place to chill at our hotel!

The final day was spent relaxing on the beach. It really was amazing how dead it was. The beaches were amazing, and this is coming from a guy who lived in Hawaii for a year. They were nice and big, with awesome sand and great water. . I don’t really know why there weren’t more people there…I can only guess it’s because Sri Lanka isn’t a place where people think to go.  Even though the weather was beautiful, we were there in the dead period of the tourist season.



Cool outrigger boat on the beach.



I’m not sure where to advise you to put Sri Lanka on your travel bucket list, but I know of the places I’ve been it is at or near the top. For such a small country island, it has so much to offer. If you want history and religious landmarks, it has plenty, and some good ones at that. If you want nature, it has a one of a kind rainforest, and you can also go on safaris to see elephants in the wild, as well as leopards in the right places. You can go on whale watching cruises on the southern coast. If you just want to lay on the beach and not be bothered by huge crowds, this is a perfect place. I know if I ever have the chance, I would jump at the chance to go back to experience more of the island.

Well, this wraps up my Sri Lanka vacation, and might be the last post about travels over here. I might be going to a couple of smaller places, but as far as foreign countries go, this is it! I’ve had some amazing opportunities to travel here, something I’m very thankful for. Thinking back on my first couple of posts where India was the first foreign country I had stepped foot in, it’s amazing how much I’ve been able to do in such a short period of time. I have definitely learned a lot from my travels, and all it’s done is make me thirsty for more adventures! It has also made me appreciate the good old United States of America and how lucky we are to be Americans. There are still many more places I need to travel in my own country!

In about a month I’ll be ending my adventure here and moving back home to America. While this has been an awesome and unforgettable adventure, I absolutely can’t wait to be back amongst family, friends, beef, and the thousands of other things I miss about home. I guess that will also mark the end of this blog, so if there’s anything you want to hear about, speak not or forever hold your peace!

Permanent Souvenir

It hit me last month that I graduated high school 10 years ago. That’s crazy to think about. I won’t make it back for my 10 year high school reunion, but discussing it with my former classmates has made me really think about how much my life has changed since I walked across the stage in the Little River High School gymnasium holding a diploma.

If you would have told me at that time that I’d be living in India in 10 years, there’s no way I would have believed you. In fact, if you would have told me I would be living anywhere but Kansas, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. It’s funny how life happens when you’re too busy to pay attention.  

At the time, I admit I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I knew I was going to go to K-State and major in mechanical engineering. Why mechanical engineering? Because I loved the show Battle Bots, and when I asked my brother what the guys majored in who built robots and fought them on TV, he said probably mechanical engineering. After a year of learning how to size air conditioning ducts, I decided that mechanical engineering wasn’t for me. So what was next? I had no clue. Teaching and coaching sounded pretty appealing. I also had dreams of being in the FBI. So while contemplating this important life decision at 3 AM with a few Busch Lights in the system, my good friend Byron Noll told me all about a major he was changing to called Construction Science and Management, which I had never heard of before. Hey, sounded pretty good to me though. A few days later, that was my new major.

It only took me 5 years to graduate too! Side note: I would strongly recommend taking a victory lap in college. You’re going to be paying off student loans for the next 20 years anyway, might as well throw one more year on there. I had entirely too much fun in college to graduate “on time”. Two of my favorite quotes of all time are on this subject. The first being from my Uncle Jim; “Graduating in 4 years is like leaving a party at 11 o'clock.” The second being from someone almost as esteemed, Mr. Albert Einstein, who said “Never let schooling get in the way of your education.”

Anyways, my point is that life never takes you where you think it will. You probably won’t grow up to be what you thought you were going to be, even in High School. And as much as you love your high school girlfriend, it probably won’t work out. It’s ok. (I actually didn’t intend for this to be an advice column for high schoolers. I wish my stupid brain could stay on track sometimes). Hell, I went to senior prom with a blow-up doll. (That is actually true. And even though I paid for two dinners, they only let me eat one. I was upset about that. Apparently I still am. Oh, and I also feel the need to tell you that it wasn't my doll, and I'm pretty sure it was unused.)

Getting back to my original point, I’m not where I thought I would be 10 years ago, and I am so happy about that. I never thought that after college I would move from Kansas to Minnesota to New Jersey to Hawaii back to Minnesota then to India. FREAKING INDIA. If you would have told me then…hell…if you would have told me a year ago that I’d be living in India right now, I would have called you crazy. If you would have told me in high school that I would grow out my hair to my shoulders and throw it back in a pony tail every once in a while, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you would have told me I would have not one, but two tattoos, I would call you crazy. (And finally, 6 paragraphs later, I come to the subject of the post.) A lot of people are surprised that I have tattoos. I’m a pretty conservative guy, and don’t do off the wall type stuff very often.  But those who know me well enough know that I can be pretty random, and like to shake things up every once in a while.

I got my first tattoo during my second senior year in college. I already had a job locked down, and it was hard to concentrate on school, so I did just about anything and everything else instead to occupy my time and squeeze every last bit of fun out of my college years. My friend Andy and I had always talked about getting a tattoo together, so one day we actually decided to quit talking about it and do it. I had been thinking about it for a few years, so I already had a design in mind and knew just what I wanted. So we headed to Aggieville to Stray Cat Tattoo, made our appointments, and showed up a week later to have them done.

Don't let the massive bicep distract you.

It’s important to note that I feel if you are getting a tattoo, it needs to mean something. I’m not someone to get barbed wire around my bicep. Or a random Chinese symbol is supposed to mean “courage” but actually means “douchebag”, especially since I’ve never set foot in China. If I’m going to get something permanently tattooed onto my skin, I’ve got to have a deep personal connection with it, and I need to be completely confident that I won’t regret the subject matter or the body placement 10, 20, or 30 years down the road. Spontaneity and risk taking can be good things, but never with tattoos.

Fail. (Just so we're clear, this is not my arm.)

The internet is littered with pictures and stories of failed tattoo attempts. Just google "tattoo fail" and you'll get thousands of pictures. It's amazing how many misspellings there are in tattoos. Or people who thought it would be a good idea to get a face of a loved one tattooed on them by someone who wasn't really qualified to do so. Shawn Marion (NBA player) thought he was getting his nickname of "the matrix" in Chinese symbols. What he really got was something resembling "demon bird moth balls". Keep it simple people, and know what you're getting!

Awesome Tattoo Fail Article in the New York Times

So with my first tattoo, I was very confident that I wouldn’t regret it. It is three stalks of wheat with the family farm brand, the Broken Bar “O”, in the intersection of the plants. It’s all about having pride in where I came from, and all about remembering my roots. At that point I knew my life would probably take me a few different places, and maybe never back to Kansas long term, who knows? But I wanted a reminder of where I came from every time I looked in the mirror. Mission accomplished. I haven’t regretted that tattoo a single day since I’ve gotten it. It is a good souvenir to have from a major checkpoint in my life.

Which brings me to today and my second tattoo. Living in India has been a life altering event. I’ve seen and learned so much here, it’s almost unfathomable. I was thinking a while ago about what souvenirs I wanted to bring back with me to remember my time here. I don’t have a lot of luggage space to bring anything big back with me, so the idea popped in my head of marking this new landmark in my life with another tattoo. I had wanted to get another one for a while, but wasn’t sure I had a good enough reason or subject matter. So I determined this would be as good a time as any. The next decision was what to get. I wanted to get something that has a deep cultural meaning here, but also something that wouldn’t piss off my God, and something that wouldn’t piss off Indians if they saw it. Not the easiest thing to do. But after much deliberation, I decided to go with the “Aum” (or "om") symbol.

One of the coolest things about living in Southern Asia is learning about the different cultures, and especially how they tie into religion. Learning about other religions is fascinating to me, and I’ve been lucky enough to be immersed into three of the world’s most practiced religions (besides Christianity) in the places I’ve traveled: Hinduism in India, Buddhism in Nepal and Sri Lanka, and Islam in the UAE. The more you learn about other religions, the more it helps you understand your own. I truly believe that. Also, the more you learn about other religions, the more you learn how alike most of them are. It was interesting to me during my research that the concept of “Aum” has roots that transcend culture and religion. I’ll attempt to summarize a little bit.

At the core of “Aum”, it contains the “essence of the universe.” It is believed by many cultures that it was the sound made at the moment of creation. It contains all other sounds and all other words. If you make a natural sound with your mouth closed it would sound like humming. (Go ahead, try it) Now, while still making that same sound, open your mouth and then close it. Sounded like “aum” or “om”, right? Go ahead try to make a different sound. It’s always the same. So in that regard, that is how it contains all other words. When you open your mouth to say anything, it will always sound like “au” and when you close your mouth, it will sound like “m”. You can then relate it to being all-encompassing, the culmination of everything, or the alpha and omega (sound familiar?). Beyond that, it also represents the 4 divine states, metta (loving kindness), karuna (compassion), mudita (sympathetic joy), and upekkha (equanimity). Those are all good things that I can get on board with.

The actual symbol is written in Sanskrit, and each part of the symbol has a very significant meaning. The two curls on top of each other (that look like the number 3), with the downward curl that spirals out from the "3" shape, represent a different state of consciousness. The large, bottom curl stands for the normal state of being awake. The curl above it stands for deep sleep, while the curl emanating out from the center of the two represents the dream state. Those are the states of consciousness that every human on earth experiences. But the dot and the open curve above is what elevates the symbol to a much higher and more sacred meaning. The dot represents absolute consciousness; that's not the same as merely being awake, but it means being fully aware of yourself and everything around you. The open curve that cradles the dot represents an infinitely open mind, which is required to achieve that level of absolute consciousness.

Those of you who have ever meditated and made this sound, or done so during a yoga class, you now know what the sound means and what the concept is behind it. Hopefully you can have a little more appreciation for it now. You're welcome.

After the “what” was solved, the next step was “where and when”. I was a little concerned about finding a place in India that I would deem safe to get a tattoo, but a quick google search brought up a couple of places that looked like decent possibilities. So a couple of Saturdays ago, I hopped in my car and asked Shyam to drive me to one of them. After telling him where I was going, he informed me that he has a friend that does very good tattoos. And if I logged onto a website called the facebook, I could see his work. I didn’t tell him I was leery about getting a back alley tattoo in India from his friend, but told him I might check it out if this place didn’t work out.

I walked into the place, and it seemed clean enough. After a short wait, I was escorted into the actual room where the work happens to talk to the tattoo artist. I had viewed some of his work in photo albums in the waiting area, so I knew he could do pretty good work. Plus, my tattoo was pretty straightforward and easy. As long as he could stay in the lines, it would be pretty tough to mess up. After asking a couple questions about the safety precautions they used, I was satisfied. He had an opening in his schedule, so I decided to jump right in and get it done! The artist was a very religious guy, which I guess is good. He talked to me about my choice of symbol, maybe to make sure I knew its significance. He prayed to 3 different gods before, during, and after he gave me the tattoo. It also appeared that he bestowed some sort of blessing on all of his equipment before he started. So that’s a good thing, right?

Thirty minutes later he was done. He got me all bandaged up, and the blood returned to my fingers from squeezing my hands so hard together. Whoever says that getting a tattoo doesn’t hurt is an idiot trying to sound like a tough guy. Of course getting poked with a needle repeatedly for a half hour is going to hurt. But it wasn’t unbearable. It's kind of like someone slapping you in the same spot that is severly sunburned over and over again. That sort of acute, burning pain.

So, as I head home from my journey here, amongst all the wooden statues, pictures, pashmina scarves, refrigerator magnets, a guitar, and whatever else I find to blow my money on between now and the time I leave here, I’ll be bringing back a little piece of India that’s more permanent. It’s something I can look at every time I step in front of a mirror to remind myself of my experiences here, both good and bad, and what I’ve learned from them. More than anything, it will help me remember this significant time in my life. And just as growing up on Hilltop Farm in Little River, Kansas helped prepare me for the next phase of my life, hopefully living in a city of 8 million in Bangalore, India will do the same for whatever lies ahead for me from this point forward. At least until I reach the next checkpoint that perhaps will warrant another permanent souvenir.

Mr. Cliff and Friends Go to Sri Lanka, Part 2: The Womit

*Warning: This blog post will be 50% about throwing up, and 50% about the once in a lifetime opportunity to trek through a world heritage rainforest site, the only one of its kind on the planet. It’s unfortunate that those two things are intertwined, but in order to accurately portray my experience, I feel the need to tell it like it happened and try to help you understand what I felt at the time. I’ll try to keep it entertaining, so you have a little bit of reason to keep reading. But if this post isn’t the least read of all my blog posts, there is something seriously wrong with my readership. But it will also be an interesting challenge for me to make a post about womit (for explanation of womit, read my PREVIOUS POST) entertaining.

Let’s get graphic. Don’t think less of me after reading this post.

**I actually decided to make the text talking about ralfing a different color, so you can skip over those parts if you want to. Also, special thanks to urban dictionary and thesaurus.com for all of the different synonyms of “vomit”. If you don't want to read about spewing, don't read the maroon text.

If you want to read about the experience from the viewpoint of someone who was actually able to enjoy it, I highly recommend reading Andrea and Alan’s blog! They do a much better job of writing an actual Blog, and not a collection of 3,000 word short stories like I do.

- October, 2006-   Manhattan, Kansas

College kids do dumb things. That’s no secret. It’s also those dumb things that are what you talk about when getting together years after, and the things that make college the best time of your life. The dumb thing we were doing this particular weekend? 8 AM case race. BEFORE leaving to tailgate before a home football game.

The challenge had been thrown down. The eight of us who live at 823 Laramie had divided into two teams to see who could drink 30 beers faster. A good old fashioned case race. The four of us that live on the top floor vs. the four that live on the bottom two floors. What better way to assert your superior masculinity than to prove you can drink beer faster?  I look at my comrades in our huddle and see a beer drinking dynasty. Byron Noll, who has been described by many people as a mountain of a man. Brandon Deiter, 6’6” of pure Northeast Kansas fury. And the incomparable Branden Comfort, who you might not want in an all day drinking marathon, but this was a sprint, and he excelled at that. And then there's me. The only member of my team standing below 6’3”, but I make up for it with a healthy beer belly that I have worked hard to acquire the previous 4.5 years of college.

The opposition? It’s like the Washington Generals playing the Harlem Globetrotters. Andy Wilcox (as featured in my blog 1 Down, 6 To Go) is the only original member of the opposing team that showed up, as the others (including Brett Beem who I’m pretty sure had made the initial challenge) had fled in terror. You have to admire Andy’s courage as he prepares to go to battle with a ragtag group of replacements. A small crowd has gathered to watch the epic bout in our living room, where we have set up a table so we can keep track of the other team across from us. It’s not Holyfield vs. Tyson, but its close. You can feel the tension in the air as we wait for the signal to begin. My mind wanders back to the feeling of being in the starting blocks before a 100M dash at a track meet, 5 years and 30 pounds ago. The familiar butterflies flutter around in my stomach. Perhaps it knows what is about to happen.

Finally the gun sounds. As inspirational 80’s music plays in the background, the bottom floor sprints off to an early lead, as they chug their first cans of Natural Light in impressive time. They are excited, and are trying to intimidate us with their smashing of beer cans and fist pumping. But a smile forms on my lips, as I know that this is a foolhardy tactic. Even though it’s a sprint, chugging is not advisable, as your team will have to average 7.5 beers apiece, and your body can only take so much chugging before your stomach revolts. My team knows this, and we deploy our strategy of steady gulps followed by a few seconds of rest to allow ourselves to expel the excess carbonation. Its 10 minutes before we’ve caught up to their torrid pace. 15 minutes in, their first team member is down. He's headed outside to empty his stomach contents. 20 minutes in, their second team member is down, and it’s clear that we have it won.

But then, I get greedy. I do the quick math and realize that we have a chance to beat the 30 minute barrier. As “Eye of the Tiger” blares on the stereo, our team wordlessly agrees to kick it into high gear, a fierce determination in our eyes. We have a new opponent; the clock. 5 beers apiece down. 6 beers. 7. But it isn’t meant to be, as the clock ticks past the half hour point. We gave it our all, but just came up short. But we still have our original goal to finish, so we get back to business. As the clock ticks towards 32 minutes, I am the last person on my team with beer in my cup. My teammates start to slow clap, as “The Final Countdown” fittingly plays in the background.

I’m so full. I’m pretty sure that my stomach can’t take one more sip of beer. But it would be showing weakness to ask a teammate to finish for me. They have done their part, now it’s time for me to do mine. I stare into my red Solo cup, and see a mere half inch of Natty left in the bottom. One sip, that’s all. I steel myself to finish, driven forward by the slow clapping as it gradually increases pace. I close my eyes and throw it back, and hold my arms in the air in triumph. We embrace as a team, celebrating our achievement. But then it feels as though my throat is getting smaller. Uh oh.

There’s no time to navigate my way to the trash can. Luckily my cup is still in hand, and luckily the first wave is all foam. That allowed me time to get to the trash can for the subsequent waves of recycled beer ruminating from my system. After I finish, my dinosaur calls finally subsiding, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth so I can continue celebrating with my teammates and head to the tailgate. I look in the mirror as I wash my face and see that during the recent turn of events, I had broken blood vessels in my eyes from the sheer force of my recent regurgitations. When my parents ask what happened to my eyes when I meet up with them later at the tailgate, I realize that dancing around the topic is a fruitless effort around my friends. I’m not sure, but it’s possible that my mom has never been more proud of me than she was at that moment.

May 2012 – Sinharaja Rainforest Park, Friday May 18, 2012- 6 years later

I automatically knew something was wrong right when I woke up. It was early; 5:30 AM since we needed to leave for the rainforest by 6:30. I felt like crap. I was still stuffed from the three plates of Indian food I ate the night before. It didn’t feel like I had even started to digest it in the 10 hours since I ate it. So breakfast was out of the question for me. The nice people at the hotel had packed us a breakfast, but I didn’t even want to think about food. Especially as I started having curry burps. But as I got up and started moving around, I started feeling better. There was just this feeling deep down in my stomach things could unwind in a hurry if something in my belly was triggered.



Pre-wommit. Still thought I was invincible.



We got all packed up for the rainforest and met our Jeep driver, who our guide had hired the night before to take us to the rainforest entrance, because we definitely needed a jeep for the roads we were traveling on. This jeep had seen its share of rainforest roads, and it was the type with bench seats on the outside that faced each other. It also had open sides, so you could enjoy the view on the drive. After driving for a while, he pulled over to the side of the road and ran into a house, and came out with two adorable kids donned in their school uniforms and also a giant bag filled with something heavy enough he was carrying it with two hands. After inquiring what was in the bag, we were informed that it was a giant python, but not to worry because it was dead. I don’t know how big it was, but judging how much he was struggling to carry the bag, and judging by the size of the lump in the bag, I’m guessing the snake was 10-12 feet long, no joke.  I decided to poke the bag to ensure that it was indeed a snake. Yep. Snake. Later we found out from our guides that the snake was indeed not dead. But the residents that live near the rainforest often times find these snakes in their houses and they bring them back to the rainforest to turn free. WHAT?! A little ways further up the road the kids hopped out of the jeep on the side of the road that wound up further into the mountains to walk the rest of the way to school.



Stopping on the way up for a photo op. (Picture stolen from Andrea and Alan)

After half an hour more of driving, all the while viewing the lush and stark beauty of the the hills and trees and wildlife, we finally reached the outside edge of the rainforest where vehicles were no longer allowed. So we hopped out of the Jeep and met our guides. We were also provided with leech socks, which are big booties that you put over your socks and the bottom of your pants, and tie at the top. Obviously these are to keep the creepy crawlies from climbing up your pants legs. Or maybe it’s so they can laugh at the dumb sissy white tourists, since no one else had leech socks on.


Donning the leach socks. At this point, just assume that most pictures I stole from Alan and Andrea, as about 2 minutes after this picture was taken I was more worried about living than taking pictures.

 They also chopped open coconuts for us to have a nice refreshing snack. All it really did was stir up my stomach contents to prepare it for the onslaught that would soon start.

This was just a flame to the fuse. Just didn't know it yet.

At this point Andrea said I should just throw up, but I informed her that my stomach was made of steel, and that I hadn’t thrown up in 6 years, and I wasn’t about to break that streak on an intentional puke. She then laughed and told me that I had just tempted the universe and that I would soon pay for it. I thought I had been keeping pretty good score with the universe, and I thought we were about even at the point. Turns out I was wrong. It soon became obvious that I was going to blow chunks all over the place. So I admitted defeat and separated myself from the others, who were standing and waiting. It’s an odd feeling, this whole throwing up thing. It had been so long. But as the inevitability came to pass, the last 5.5 years flashed before my eyes, as wave after wave of rice, curry, and coconut juice was spewed forth from my system. All I could think about was having to start the clock over. But man, did I feel better.  I was a brand new man. Of course I had to document the experience by taking a picture of it (which I’ll refrain from posting). I was also disappointed with myself that I had not asked Andrea and Alan to take a picture of me in the action. But just in case, I instructed them to do so in the future if the opportunity ever presented itself in the future.

Finally we were all set to go on our rainforest trek. It was amazing, and a very surreal experience to be walking through a famous rainforest in Sri Lanka. Our guides were awesome. They were incredibly knowledgeable about all types of plants, animals, and everything we saw really. If we had a question about something, they had an answer. They could spot things amongst the thousand different shades of green that an untrained eye would never be able to see. One time we stopped and one of the guides just dodged off the path and into the dense plants and trees. 4 or 5 minutes he reappeared and told us to come with him. He had found two awesome little forest owls that were sleeping. They were so cool! They were tiny, and vibrantly colored, as owls go. Here’s a little info about the plants and animals from our travel agent:

The vegetation is classified as tropical wet evergreen forest and the area under the reserve is 11,187 hectares. Out of the 331 woody trees and lianas identified 192 (60%) are endemic to Sinharaja. Regarding Fauna, 141 bird species recorded here and 24 are endemic (27 for the entire country), Butterflies 65 species (1 endemic), Fishes 10 (07 endemic), Amphibians 19 (08 endemic), Reptiles & Snakes 29 (14 endemic), and Mammals 40 (07 endemic).

Here are some pictures of some of the cooler things we saw:



Spider that was as big as my face. Saw a lot of these guys.



Cool kangaroo lizard. Looked just like a kangaroo when it jumped!




I don't remember what this plant was called, but it looks suspiciously like a condom. It traps bugs in the liquid at the bottom and digests them as food. Very cool.



Cool tiny frog.

One thing that was not cool about the rainforest; it was hot. Debilitatingly hot. And humid. I sweat quite a bit as it is. But ten minutes into the trek I was soaked in sweat, especially since my little barfing session. Twenty minutes in, it was clear that whatever it is that caused me to vanti etu (local language for vomit. See what I did there?) the first time was not done with me yet. I started to feel like crap yet again. So I hung back from the group again. It turns out that Alan and Andrea had been listening, as they got a picture of me tossing my cookies this time. And this time I coughed up even more than I did the first time. I was pounding water trying to keep hydrated, as I was sweating profusely by this time, my shirt completely saturated.



On the spot as they promised! This could be an Ansel Adams.

Soon after that we came to a fork in the road where we had the option to take a path that wound higher into the hills, and also got us into some of the thicker levels of the primary rainforest, which we all wanted to check out. After my second bout, I wasn’t feeling well at all, but I wasn’t going to let that stop us from exploring. Bad idea, for me anyways. The climb was much more rigorous that I had expected, and my energy was shot. Between being sick two times and sweating buckets, I didn’t have much left in me. I was no longer really able to enjoy the rainforest because I felt so awful. I didn’t really listen to any of the guides’ explanations anymore, as I was trying to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. I had one goal at that point, and that was to get out of the damn rainforest as quickly as possible. I don’t know how many spider webs I walked right into and didn’t care in the slightest, even though I knew the size of the beasts that spun said webs. That wasn’t a concern of mine at the time. There were a few times where I thought I might pass out, so I had to sit down on the ground to rest and try to muster up some energy. During one of these times of pure misery, while sitting on the root of a gigantic tree, it became clear that I was going to upchuck again. I didn’t even move from my position. I didn’t care anymore. My elbows on my knees and head in hands, I regurgitated curry and rice and coconut milk for the third time.

Womit #3. Pure misery.

After that bout was over, I wondered if I was going to be able to stand up. Realizing that there were no vehicles allowed in the rainforest, and even if there were, there’s no way they would make it up the tiny path we just climbed. I had to suck it up. So I mustered all the strength I could, and continued to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Finally we started heading back downhill, which made things a little easier. And a few minutes later, we emerged out of the thick, sticky forest into a bit of a clearing. Finally a little bit of air! But I was still on a mission to get the hell out of there.

Not an ideal path to be hiking on when you're about ready to fall over.

A few minutes later I spied a little shelter that housed some benches, which I made a bee-line for. Alan, Andrea, and one guide were going to take a trail to see some gigantic tree, but there was no way I was going to be able to make it off my bench. So they had one guide stay and watch me while the other three took off on a little side route. About a minute after they left, I passed out on the bench. I awoke to a now all too familiar feeling that I was going to hurl. So I leaned over the railing of the shelter and gave her the old heave ho. Finally I must have been completely out of stomach contents, as  the first wave contained only a few grains of rice and whatever coconut juice and water was left, and the last few waves were just dry heaves. It was kind of humorous because I looked at the guide who had drawn the short stick and had to watch over me, because he clearly didn’t know what to do. He sat probably 30 feet away in the common crouching position just kind of staring at me. There's not much else he could do I suppose.  I sat up for awhile just in case I wasn’t quite done, and a few minutes later Alan and Andrea came back.

Sometime around womit #4. Even my freaking quads and knees were sweating.



Finally, after the last flat stretch of trail, we emerged from the rainforest a few minutes later. I felt like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption after he emerged from the river of sewage.  I was upset because I wasn’t able to fully able to enjoy the awesomeness and diversity of the rainforest, but I was elated to be out of there at the same time. Luckily Alan and Andrea took a lot of pictures so I at least have something to remember to good parts by. I just wanted to be able to sit down and stop sweating. When we got back our jeep guy was waiting to take us back down the mountain and back to our rainforest lodge. I got the honor of sitting in the reclined front seat of the jeep, which felt awesome. When we got back to our lodge, we all took a quick dip in the pool, as it was the same spring water that was feeding our shower anyway. To be able to sit and soak in the cool water was amazing. That made me feel 20 times better, and after that I was pretty sure that I was done womiting. For lunch, the staff prepared pretty much the same meal that we had had the night before, in pretty much the same quantity. There was no way I was going to be able to eat that again, and very few things sounded good to me. So they brought me out a plate of different fruits, which tasted amazing. I decided to go take a nap while Andrea and Alan finished lunch, since the smell of their curry was threatening to awaken the demons inside me.



I felt good enough to pose for a picture, but not quite good enough to take off my awesome leech socks.



Soon after we checked out of our "hotel", andwe were off to Kandy, which was the next stop on our Sri Lanka adventure. We still had another seven hour drive ahead of us, but a lot had already happened that day. It was definitely a memorable experience, for more than one reason. I can only hope that it’s another 6 years before I have another one like it.  

**If you read this far, congratulations! You just spent 10 minutes of your life reading a 3500 word blog post about puke. Those are 10 minutes you'll never get back!