Sri Lanka: No Sunset Ending (Part One)
On facing fears, detours that deliver, a cheeky Ayurvedic doctor, and a love affair with a mountain
If you read my last article about Bali, you may be disappointed to learn that this piece is not going to be erotica. Or maybe you’re my mother and you’re relieved to learn this. Either way, I want to set clear expectations for what you are reading 😜 (though the erotica is coming! …hmmm, pun intended?)
This is a story about what happens when you stop fighting what is, and let the detour take you for a ride. Sri Lanka had a different plan for me than I had for it, and it was perfect.
My feet are not yet planted back on NYC pavement. I am writing this from my hotel in Sri Lanka, the conclusion of 8 countries and 95 days of solo sabbatical travel. It will not end in a heart-melter, where all my wounds are healed and I ride off in the sunset with Javier Bardem. You probably never expected that story from me anyway. 😜 Let’s get to it.
An Out-of-Sync Arrival
My first day in Sri Lanka was April 14, Sri Lankan New Year’s Day. As with every New Year’s holiday across the globe, Sri Lanka was quiet and closed, which set the tone for my arrival.
My Sri Lanka plan was to spend 10 days in Mirissa, along the south coast, learning how to surf. This was meant to be a moment to face my fears, settle into beach time, pay my final worship to the sun, and make connections with my last group of travel companions.
When I arrived at surf camp, my host was not able to greet me, due to the holiday, so I changed into my swimsuit and went to the beach. The heat was suffocating. At first, I blamed Sri Lanka, then I realized that I’ve been on the road long enough to be part of the changing seasons into summer — “from hot to fucking hot” as I learned they described summer in Thailand. As much as I love the heat, I was unmistakably uncomfortable and potentially on the brink of heat stroke. My air-conditioned hotel room brought solace. Sadly.
That evening, I met a few other travelers at Surf & Yoga, my home for the next 10 days. We helped our chef, Hassid, prepare dinner, two Sri Lankan curries. I learned that the camp is exceptionally quiet right now, due to the war. Usually, they have ~50 guests but they only had ~10 at this time. I was disappointed to learn that everyone that night was scheduled to leave in the next two days.
Facing My Fears 🏄🏻♀️
The next morning, bright and early, I had my first surf lesson. This was kinda a big deal, and not in a bragging sense. More in a holy-shit-today-I-might-die sort of way.
As much as I love the ocean, she scares me. And I have a rule: don’t ever not do something just because it scares you. If fear is the only reason I’ve got, that’s my subconscious screaming at me to go fucking do it.
So that’s why surfing.
The possibilities of failure in surfing (in every trivial or absolute sense of that word) are endless: being pummeled by a wave, drowning, or being knocked unconscious by the “washing machine.” Losing a contact lens right before the next wave punches me in the face. Losing two contact lenses. Getting eaten by a shark. Getting eaten by a crocodile. Getting hit in the head with my surf board. Someone else’s surf board hitting me in the head.
And yet — Goddddddesss, I freaking love the ocean. The sun. The waves. The water. The ocean, while a source of paralyzing fear, is somehow also a happy place for me.
My lesson started on-land with instructions for how to “pop up,” then we progressed to the whitewash, the tail end of a wave with just enough momentum to practice standing, without the physics and skill required to catch an unbroken wave.
As my instructor Madu took me deeper, we were getting dangerously close to the scary waves. You know, the ones that were going to kill me. Surfboard in tow, my anxiety peaked. I stopped moving and shouted: “Where are you taking me? I am NOT comfortable!!” (High-five to me for saying that out loud.) Madu deserves heaps of credit for patiently guiding me through the anxiety.
After at least 1001 pop-ups on the whitewash, I was getting a fantastic workout and genuinely enjoying myself.
When your heart and mind are ready, but your body is not
Later that day, I felt an ear infection coming on. Being an avid swimmer, I’m no stranger to this dreaded feeling. But had to ask myself … ‘Is it? Could it be? Why now?’
The next morning the pain was real and my ear was clogged up. I went to the medical clinic to confirm what I already knew, and got some antibiotic ear drops. The number one cure for an ear infection is to keep the ear dry, so that was it. No more surfing until this thing was kicked.
I missed two lessons before becoming enmeshed in a classic case of the blues. I was at the ocean, unable to carry on as planned. It was hotter than the gates of hell and I couldn’t go in the water. The pain was outrageous, to boot. It was clear that this was not an easy or typical run-of-the-mill ear infection.
The tailspin of ‘what is the universe trying to tell me?’ ensued, rattling my head around the way I feared those deadly waves were going to do to me. And yet here I was, doing it to myself.
In Search of Greener Pastures
A few other travelers at the camp mentioned Ella, a town 2 hours north of Mirissa. It was described as “peaceful, but touristy,” with “beautiful views and a few great hikes.” My ears perked at the mention of hikes and after some research I made arrangements to escape to Ella for a couple nights until the ear infection cleared up.
The area around Ella is a hotbed of plantations for tea and spices. In a short detour before arriving in Ella, my driver took me to a spice field, where I was greeted by a lean Sri Lankan man, wearing sandals, sarong, and a warm smile.
“Ayubovan,” he said, looking warmly into my eyes, hands in Namaste. “This is how we say hello in my country. It means ‘may you live long.’” I tried it back and he nodded approvingly, still smiling.
He walked me through his garden of labeled spice beds, explaining each plant's role in Ayurvedic medicine. There was a mix of oils that made a “shaving cream” that removed hair on my legs in within 15 minutes. A plant for arthritis. One for spider veins. He examined my legs and said, without holding back:
“You have cellulite. This will help.”
😳 I hated — and when I say ‘hated’ I mean ‘loved’ - his honesty.
He looked at my face and pointed to the scar above my right eyebrow. “This is from chickenpox?” He had a remedy for that, too.
As we walked around, he asked, “How old do you think I am?”
Cheeky bastard. This is a trap. He looked 63. I guessed 78. He was 81.
“How old am I?,” I asked. Gotta admit, I expected to hear 35-to-37, which I had become accustomed to hearing. He looked me dead in the eyes and without skipping a beat, “You are 49. Maybe 48.”
I wanted to punch him right in the face! 😡 And at the same time was dazzled. 🤩
“How do you know how old I am?,” I asked.
“It’s in your eyes. I see the expression in your eyes,” he said.
I learned his name is Dr. Susa and he is a third-generation Ayurvedic Doctor. He set out to Himalaya on his own to learn everything about Ayurvedic medicine. When he returned home, his knowledge impressed his father, who then agreed to pay for his degree.
He took me to his student (I assume) for a face massage with sandalwood oil, a head massage with red coconut oil, and a leg massage with the magic anti-cellulite potion. I left with a few Ayurvedic oils — for the skin, the hair, and yes, the legs — his WhatsApp number so we could stay in touch, and genuine affection for this lovely, lovely man ❤️
My Sri Lanka
The view of Ella Rock from my hotel balcony hit me like a bear hug from an old friend. And I knew instantly that this was the great purpose of the ear infection — it brought me here.
I hiked Ella Rock and Little Adam's Peak. In between, I sketched, journaled, drank a couple cocktails, and sat in nature. The infinite emerald in every direction filled me with homesickness. Everything reminded me of the Pacific Northwest, more in feeling than in facade. Mountains are so deeply embedded in my body, I swear I feel them before I see them. This is what I mean when I say that mountains have my heart.
Ella Rock was my travel companion. I fell in love with her complex beauty rather quickly. She watched over me from my hotel room balcony. She was the first thing that I saw when I opened my eyes in the morning. She held me at her summit — peaks of Yala National Park to the south, and layered mountains disappearing into a haze to the north. She sat patiently as my muse for an afternoon sketch, baring her ridges and textures for me to trace with my pen and massage with my colored pencils.
Ella didn’t give me the surfing I planned for, but it gave exactly what I needed — solitude with a view, and space to feel what was coming to the surface.
Part Two is coming. It’s got some heaviness that I’m still processing. Stay tuned.
Thank you so much for sharing all of it, the everythingness of it all! I may be embarking on my own adventures in Bali and beyond in the fall, and you are inspiring me to be brave, to dare to discover all of the beauty and travails of travel and exploration! Onward!
I’m still out here cheering for you! The way you describe the mountains—feeling before/without seeing, is how I feel about the ocean. She’s a compass for me. I’m sorry for the ear infection but the detour sounds so nourishing.