The Taj Mahal, People!

We just got back from two weeks in India, where I seem to have lost my motivation. I think I left it next to the bathroom sink in the hotel in Lucknow. I wonder if they’ll mail it back?

At one of our hotels, we were eating breakfast in the restaurant when another American sat down at the table next to us. This older gentleman looked at our kids and said, “Wow. Three little ones in India. You’re brave travelers.” Now, I know there are plenty of you out there who wouldn’t use the word “brave” when describing The Intrigue Family, or any other family who would drag their three very young children all over Third World South Asia. To you I quote Billy Joel, “You may be right, I may be crazy.” At this point, we’ve heard it all. There are plenty of naysayers who say, “I’d wait until they’re older and can appreciate it,” or, “I don’t want to raise my Little Explorers in a hotel room.” Luckily for us, for every naysayer, there are a dozen people who support us, even if it’s only so they can read our misadventures on Facebook or this blog. The truth of the matter is, it is hard to travel with small children sometimes, but we have been given an amazing opportunity and I think we’d be even crazier to let it pass by without seizing every chance for travel. It also helps that we’ve become experts on what to pack to make travel with Little Explorers a breeze. I’ll share the information with you for a small fee. Here’s a teaser: It helps if your Little Explorers are awesome. If they aren’t, well, I’m not sure even I can help you with that.

Despite all best efforts, sometimes things just don’t go according to plan. Take our day at the Taj Mahal. We got up early on a Thursday and left New Delhi to make the drive to Agra, planning on heading straight to the Taj Mahal, since it’s closed on Friday. I had convinced the entire Intrigue Family to dress in coordinating colors. (Ok, really, I convinced The International Man of Intrigue to wear a blue shirt, which made up about half of the shirts he packed anyway. I made the Little Explorers wear what I picked out.) A picture of The Intrigues in front of the Taj has the potential to be blown up and framed or make a really awesome Christmas card.

Less than ten minutes from the Taj Mahal, it happened. I heard that sickening, wet, awful sound that strikes fear into every mother’s heart. It was coming from directly behind me, where Amelia Earhart was sitting. I was powerless, in the middle row with Arthur Dent on my lap. (I know, carseats. Have you been to India? Then don't judge. Read my rant here.) The International Man of Intrigue was safely ensconced in the front seat, oblivious. I interrupted his conversation with our driver, which was taking place completely in Hindi, to call for emergency help and baby wipes. He said, “Did someone spill?” I said, “You don’t recognize that sound? Amelia Earhart just threw up. All over.” It was at this point that I finally turned around to assess the damages. Yep. Vomit, everywhere. Now, The Intrigue Family is pretty unphased by a good barf. There was a period of time where Gertrude Bell threw up in her plate at least once a week at the dinner table. Unfortunately, that period of time was almost a year, and may have resulted in some of our childless friends remaining childless to this day, but that’s another story. The problem with the current situation was that we were 5 minutes from the Taj Mahal, in a rented van, with a rented driver, and now that van was carrying what looked to be about a gallon of barf. I’ll bet you suddenly find yourself wishing I was doing my usual and referencing poop instead, don’t you?

Calm and collected as (almost) always, we changed plans and headed for the hotel, fingers crossed that our room would be ready. Thankfully, it was, and thankfully, our driver didn’t bat an eye at the mess (which, to continue using the word thankfully, was mostly on the floor mat, Amelia Earhart, and her backpack). After convincing every hotel employee we passed that I didn’t need help carrying Amelia Earhart’s backpack, (It’s covered in vomit, people! You don’t want to help!), we made it safely to the room and got my girl cleaned up. It was at this point my hopes for the perfect family photo at the Taj, with all of us in coordinating, but not matching, outfits were dashed. The disappointment was offset by the revelation that Amelia Earhart had just been carsick and had made a complete recovery, so we were at least going to be able to go to the Taj Mahal as a family.

Less than an hour after turning our van into The Vomit Comet, we rolled up to the parking area at the Taj Mahal! This was the moment everyone who visits India waits for! We got our tickets and got into the little electric shuttle bus that took us the quarter mile or so to the entrance. It’s at this point I had a moment of panic. The temperature in New Delhi and here in Agra had been unseasonably hot. It had been either 44 or 45 degrees Celsius every day since we arrived in India. I am not fluent in Celcius, but I know the weather in Colombo stays in the lower 30’s most days, and that’s on a tropical island. I also know that the locals were so hot that events like the New Delhi Gay Pride Parade were being cancelled due to heat. I didn't dare do the math to find out the actual temperature, but you can. Here I was, about to take my three Little Explorers to stand around on unairconditioned marble. I was wearing Arthur Dent on my back and we were both already soaked with sweat. They are amazing little travelers, but was this asking too much? There was nothing to do but press our luck. Big Bucks, No Whammys!

All of that was taken away when we caught our first glimpse of the Taj Mahal. A little history lesson: The Taj Mahal was built by Shah Jahan as a tomb for his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, after she died giving birth to their fourteenth child. He loved her so much he wanted to make the most beautiful building in the world to house her earthly body. It’s made of white marble inlaid with precious stones and is perfectly symmetrical. If you are fortunate enough to be in the actual burial chamber when there aren’t many people around, you can hear the wind whispering through—it is said to be the sound of infinity. It took 10 years to build the Taj and another 12 years to build the surrounding buildings and gardens. Soon after its completion, Shah Jahan’s son forcibly took the throne from his father and had him imprisoned in Agra Fort, across town. The Shah’s prison rooms afforded him an unobstructed view of the Taj Mahal, and he spent the rest of his days staring at the Taj and mourning his wife. He had this to say about the Taj Mahal:

Should guilty seek asylum here,
Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin.
Should a sinner make his way to this mansion,
All his past sins are to be washed away.
The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs;
And the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes.
In this world this edifice has been made;
To display thereby the creator's glory.

Yes, beautiful. Pretty much one of the greatest love stories ever told, right up there with Romeo and Juliet and The International Man of Intrigue and Dorothy Gale. You know what? The Taj Mahal totally lived up to its hype. It is breathtaking in its beauty. Even in the sweltering heat, the beauty makes a person want to stop and linger. Amazing inlaid flowers and Arabic script are around every corner. Screens are carved out of marble. The heat also gave us a wonderful gift—a day without too many tourists. We were able to take our time and even catch the whisper of infinity.

In true Intrigue style, the day was a memorable one. From vomit to sweat to one of the most amazing landmarks on the planet, it was a day that will go down in family history. Stay tuned for more Intrigue Family adventures, just as soon as my motivation returns from India.

Poop is Poop

Sorry to leave you for so long, Fellow Adventurers. We just got back last night from a trip to Nepal. I really loved it. I got to celebrate Mothers' Day and my thirty-sixth er...thirtieth er...twenty fifth birthday there. There was just one negative. I got a horrible third world intestinal parasite for my birthday. It's bound to happen eventually, when you live in this part of the world. The fact that I (and the rest of the Intrigue Family) made it four and a half months without it is actually pretty astounding. In honor of that, and because I'm home but not at all on the mend (although the antibiotics should kick in soon) here's a little list of the places we've been and the stomach/intestinal illness names associated with them.

Dhaka, Bangladesh: Dhaka Caca
Delhi, India: Delhi Belly
Pokhara, Nepal: Pokhara Poops
Kathmandu, Nepal: The Kathmandoodoos

I'll be back soon, hopefully feeling like a whole new person. Until then, what are some other place/illness nicknames?

Bangladesh passport stamp? Check.

We just got back from a five day trip to Dhaka. For those of you who aren’t fluent in geography or political history, Dhaka is the capitol of Bangladesh. Bangladesh is almost completely surrounded by India, other than touching a tiny piece of Myanmar (Burma), and, until 1971, was part of Pakistan. It’s a third world country.

There were several high points of our trip. The first was the airport in Delhi, India. The restrooms were clean. In a third world country developing nation, most restrooms are on the shady side of filling station clean, so this was a very pleasant change. There was also a myriad of fast food and other things to eat and buy. We got McDonald's! The International Man of Intrigue had a Chicken Maharaja Mac and I had a spicy veggie burger that was delicious. The Little Explorers were content with chicken nuggets, fries, and a Sprite to share. All that, and still time to catch our flight to Dhaka.

Oh, there was one more bright spot. All the way home from the Colombo airport, I was terrified of unlocking the door and finding who-knows-what going on in our house. I pictured the squirrels building a lakeside resort in the flooded dining room. Nope! The house was dry and squirrel free. I guess they’re good at cleaning up their post-party messes, at least.

The rest of the trip? With the exception of lots of time with our friends, the Madlingers, and bringing back a cooler full of cheddar and jack cheese from the American Embassy’s commissary in Dhaka, it was no fun. Really, it was all that we expected it to be. It definitely lived up to its hype as a third world country. I’m going to need a few days to find the funny in it all, besides the part where Dhaka rhymes with caca. As you know, Fellow Adventurers, a poop joke is always funny.

You Say "Tip", I Say "Bribe"

So, I realized in reading back through it that my last post (here) sounded kind of grouchy. Totally unintentional. Sorry about that. I actually really enjoyed going to the movies and thought the experience was as interesting as the movie itself.

The International Man of Intrigue and I often chuckle about what I like to call "The Synonym Game". Sri Lanka was a former British colony and English as a language got deported but never went home with The Crown, so many people speak it as a second, but very familiar language. The funny part comes in when these people, who most days are very fluent, look at you like you have nine heads if you use a word they aren't familiar with. Last week we were asking our driver about getting a ticket for traffic violations. It took him a few minutes to figure out we were talking about what he calls a "chit". If someone asks your phone number and it is, for example, 700-549-332, you have to say "seven, double zero, five four nine, double three, two." If you say "seven zero zero, five four nine, three three two", I swear to you, your phone number will not be understood. (I also swear to you that I made that number up, and if you try to call it, I don't know what will happen or who you'll talk to.)

All that is to bring me to the point of my post, the garbage service. Don't say trash, or refuse, or rubbish, or poopy diapers (poop again!) and empty Diet Coke cans and dirty tissues, or no one will understand you. The garbage in Colombo is partially privatized, but the government took it over after the end of the thirty year civil war to give soldiers something to do, and to see to it that it actually got done instead of not done, which was apparently the case. (I'm not sure how close to the truth this last sentence is, but I'm sure that if you asked seven people who would know, you'd get seven different, but similar answers. That's Sri Lanka, Fellow Adventurers.) ANYWAY, here's the crazy part about our garbage men. (And they are all men. I have seen women sweeping streets with a garbage cart, but all the people who come to actually pick our trash up from the curb are men.) They come several times a week. One of them runs ahead and rings all the bells, because no one leaves their trash ahem, garbage, on the curb. I have no idea why. After he rings the bell, someone, usually our driver, Kumar, if it's during the week, takes all the garbage to the curb and brings back the bin. If the garbage collectors help, they literally dump the contents of the bin onto the sidewalk and then pick the trash up off the sidewalk and put it on the truck.

All of this only happens because we "tip" the garbage men each month. We moved into our house in mid-February, so we didn't tip them right away, but we did give them more than the typical monthly tip to haul off our boxes. At the beginning of March, they showed up, asking for a tip more than three times the going rate from The International Man of Intrigue. When he gave them the amount that is the going rate, the foreman rubbed his belly and said, "But we're hungry." Since the dude looked like he might actually be eating for two, it was hard to be sympathetic. The International Man of Intrigue was even less likely to be sympathetic when the head garbage dude asked if we were Russian. My husband is a child of the 80's and loves the movie "Red Dawn," so you could say he didn't exactly take this as a compliment.

The kicker of all this is, after we paid them, the garbage collectors refused to come back and didn't pick up our trash for over a week. The International Man of Intrigue was ready to climb our wall and scream "WOLVERINES!" every time they passed us by. This is one of the reasons we have employees like our driver, who is five feet five inches of awesomeness. He went to straighten things out with the garbage men and when they tried to tell him that we hadn't "tipped" them this month, Kumar called BS. The guys have never missed our house again and are extra polite and carry all the trash out for me if Kumar isn't around. Of course, the first thing out of their mouths on April 1st was "Money, Madame?" which proves what I have been saying all along. If I have to pay it or you don't do your job, it's either a salary or a bribe. Since I don't get a bill and I'm just supposed to know how much to give them, and they are supposed to technically pick it up whether I pay them or not, I'm going with the latter. Anyway, it sounds so much more glamourous and fancy to tell The International Man of Intrigue over dinner that I remembered to bribe the garbage men this month.

Let's Go To The Movies!

On Wednesday, I ran around the house singing this little song from the movie musical Annie, not just because my kids have watched the movie about a thousand times and someone in this house sings a line from it at least every day. I had a special reason. Guess what I did Wednesday afternoon? I went to see The Hunger Games at a theater here in Colombo. I read the books last summer, over Fourth of July Weekend when The International Man of Intrigue and Gertrude Bell had what was probably the worst stomach bug of their lives. It just happened to hit while we were in a hotel in Las Vegas, where we’d met The International Man of Intrigue’s family for a mini-reunion. It also just happened to hit right after he and I and his sister and brother in law had gone to see the movie Bridesmaids and laughed until we cried over the scene where everyone gets violently ill. I told you guys, we don’t do normal or boring in this family. Anyway, that is all a story for another time (or maybe for never. It’s pretty gross and involves the word “poop”, again, of course.). The bottom line is, I spent an entire day in the hotel room and between taking care of the sickies and also nursing Arthur Dent, who was still a mere infant and nursed all the time, I read the Hunger Games Trilogy.

Like most people who read The Hunger Games books, I was anxious to see the movie, so I was thrilled to go with some ladies from my book club and their teens and tweens. I was not, however, sure I would be thrilled to see a movie in Sri Lanka. I’ve only been here three months, but that is long enough to make an educated guess that something like going to a movie is going to be a cultural experience in and of itself. It was. Let’s discuss the differences, shall we?

We saw it on “opening week” here, which was a week later than the rest of you saw it.

It cost a mere 340 rupees to get in. At the current exchange rate, that’s about $2.65. Did I mention that the $2.65 also included a Coke and two popcorns?

Let’s talk about that free food for a minute: The Coke here comes in glass bottles that have to be opened with a bottle opener. You get a long straw to drink it out of, which makes you feel like you’ve gone back in time about 70 years. Adding to the effect is that it’s the Coke made with sugar instead of the corn syrup stuff. I'm a die hard Diet Coke drinker, and I can not stomach a regular Coke in the States, but, I guess because of the sugar, I will drink it on occasion here. The popcorn was surprisingly good, despite the fact that it was not popped on site, but came in little chip size bags. Of course, it could just be good because after you’ve lived in a strange place long enough, anything familiar tastes good.

Now, if you can get past the fact that I paid $2.65 for a first run movie, Coke, and two bags of popcorn, we can move on. Actually, we can move on anyway, because I still can’t get over it. I’m glad that’s all I paid, though, for a couple of reasons.

The previews/commercials here are insanely loud. It might be tolerable if the sound quality was good, but it’s horrible and so is the picture, often.

Next up, the theater is kind of, hmmm…gross. I was convinced at one point I was going to get lice. I swear, I’m not a complete germaphobe, although I did completely freak out earlier this week when Arthur Dent had a giant cockroach clutched in his chubby little hand. Aaah, the joys of tropical island life. Anyway, I’m telling you, the seats in this theater gave me a bit of the creepy crawlies, and I know I’m not the only one since one of the other moms confided she made her kids take showers right after they got home.

Can we talk about the noise level from the audience? Luckily, the theater was mostly empty, besides us, because I can’t imagine how it would have been had it been a packed house. Unfortunately, just like in the US, some couple brought their 5ish year old, who was obviously too young to see the movie and wasn’t very well behaved. There were also plenty of poorly behaved adults messing with and talking on cell phones, but instead of it being an isolated incident, it seemed like everyone was doing it.

There is intermission in every movie here. Sounds like a great time for a bathroom break (if you can stomach a public bathroom here), but it’s just a disappointing moment when some character gets cut off mid sentence and you are jarred out of your voluntary suspension of disbelief for another set of annoying commercials.

Now for the absolute worst part of the whole experience, possibly worse than the thought of getting lice (which I didn’t by the way): The projectionist was watching a movie. I know, you are thinking, “Of course he was watching The Hunger Games, he was running the projector.” Well, that’s where you’d need to get out your mat, because you'd be jumping to conclusions. He wasn’t watching The Hunger Games. I don’t know what he was watching, but it wasn't in English and it was turned up full volume on his portable T.V. For real, the guy was watching a movie at full volume on a portable television in the projection room. As if it wasn’t bad enough, during the most dramatic scene in the entire movie, the one that I’ve heard from other friends brought them to tears, the movie’s sound was almost completely drowned out by the soundtrack of this winner’s movie. Of course, this is Sri Lanka, so it’s just one of those little parts of life you roll your eyes at and try your best to tune out.

I am very glad I got to see The Hunger Games, though. It lived up to my expectations even after reading the books and I’m really looking forward to seeing the rest of the movies as they come out, wherever we’re living then.

The bottom line is that, while I wouldn’t exactly dance around in my slip like Grace from Annie, I would go see another movie if I really couldn’t stand the wait for it to come out on DVD!

Oh, and since I’m talking about a movie with a mythical bird, the Mockingjay, I have to give a shoutout to my favorite mythical bird, the Jayhawk! I’ll be getting up early Tuesday morning to watch the Kansas Jayhawks play for the NCAA Basketball Championship!

The Rest of the Road Trip

I’m sure you can barely remember my two most recent blog posts, since they weren’t that recent anymore. Sorry about that. We went on another trip (which I’m sure I’ll blog about at some point since it involved sea turtle hatchlings and was awesome). Anyway, to recap, we survived getting lost taking the scenic route and a trip to the elephant orphanage.

Rather than drag this trip out into thirty seven and a half more blog posts, I’m going to hit the highlights for you today. Someone also told me I’m not getting paid by the word, which probably means I should be a bit more brief. Then again, I’m not getting paid at all, so I guess it doesn’t really matter, unless any one of you Fellow Adventurers wants to send me a check. I promise not to spend it all on beer, but only because beer is cheap here.

Getting back to business, I’ll summarize some things. Our hotel in Kandy was awesome. It was back off the main road toward the mountain a bit and it was very much a part of the surroundings, almost like a hotel had grown out of the mountain.
We ventured out our first morning there to see Kandy’s main tourist attraction and the most important Buddhist holy site in all of Sri Lanka, The Temple of the Tooth. The temple holds the tooth of Buddha. The belief is that after the Buddha’s funeral pyre, some guy went and snatched a tooth, and, to make a long story short, during the 300’s AD, the tooth was brought to Sri Lanka for safekeeping. Interestingly, it was believed that whoever possessed the tooth was the rightful ruler of the country. True to belief, Kandy was the last home of the Sri Lankan kings. The temple itself was very interesting as well as super crowded. It happened to be a time when the reliquary holding the tooth was going to be displayed. Apparently they never display the actual tooth. Being there on a day you can see the reliquary and visiting the temple in general is supposed to give you good karma. After fighting the crowds in the main temple I was hoping that getting our karma recharged was worth the hassle. The monks also bathe the tooth once a week on Wednesday in some special water and then hand the water out to worshippers to take home because it is believed to have powerful curative properties. I wish I’d known that before our visit. I could not figure out why people were carrying what looked like dirty water home in bottles. Everyone in the temple also wanted to touch our kids, which The Little Explorers do not find endearing in the least.

There were some other interesting things about being around the Temple of the Tooth, like the crazy monkeys living in the area around the central pond. They have little fear of humans and beg for snacks and such. We even got to see a monkey fight. Big entertainment. Less entertaining and more frightening were the chicken ducks. These things were freaky. I swear, it was like a Frankenstein combination of a chicken and a duck. I’m not generally one to get freaked out about animals, but these things gave me the heeby jeebies. They were so frightening and weird I took some pictures to share with you. When I got home, I asked my brother-in-law, who is a bird watcher, about these freaks of nature. He told me they are Muscovy ducks, and are really neither ducks or chickens. Freaks of nature, indeed.


Tell me that's not horrifying.


Shudder. Freaky deaky.

After our time in Kandy, we headed to Nuwara Eliya, which is in the mountains of Sri Lanka and in the heart of tea country. For some reason we can’t figure out, it’s actually pronounced Nurellia, as if it’s all one word. Try to pronounce it as two words and native Sri Lankans will look at you like you have two heads and speak Pig Latin. Hey, I’m not the one who named it a name that is clearly two separate words. That’s all you, Sri Lankans. While there, we visited a tea plantation, which, in the interest of proving that the workers are no longer actually slaves, is now more politically correctly called a tea estate. I’m sure that doesn’t make much difference to the practically indentured servants who live and work there, but it might make us westerners feel a little less guilty about drinking tea, which I guess is the point. Human rights aside, it was actually very interesting. Did you know black tea and green tea are actually the same thing, only the black tea leaves are left to ferment for three days? You do now. Amelia Earhart was the most captivated with the process and was excited to get home and tell her Grandma, who likes to drink tea, all about the tea production process.

In Nuwara Eliya, every road seemed to lead us by the same really beautiful park. Each time we passed it, The Little Explorers would exclaim, “A not-broken playground! Can we go play at it Mama? Daddy, look! Can we please go to the not-broken playground?!” I guess that gives you an idea of what the playground was like, and what most of the playgrounds we find here in Sri Lanka are like in comparison. Finally, on our way out of town, we obliged the kids and stopped at the park. We immediately understood why this playground wasn’t broken. There was an admission charge to go into the park and garden. We once again confused the heck out of some Sri Lankans by asking for the resident admission fee, got that straightened out, and headed inside. We strolled leisurely through the park on the way to the playground. Upon reaching the playground, all three Little Explorers took off running gleefully and began playing on all the equipment, most of which was, indeed, not broken. Of course, all that fun came to a screeching halt when Gertrude Bell announced, “I have to poop, NOW.” (You didn’t think we could go an entire blog post without talking about poop, did you?!) The International Man of Intrigue agreed to take Gertrude Bell on a quest for a restroom, since we figured there was a high likelihood of there being a potty in a place that had an entrance fee. About two seconds after they turned to walk away, Arthur Dent walked headlong into the side of a metal slide, fell, and started screaming. I sprinted the five feet to him and just as I was scooping him up, heard Amelia Earhart let out a shriek of terror. I whipped around just in time to see her trying to scramble out of some sort of drainage ditch. I screamed and tried to run over with a still hysterical Arthur Dent in my arms. Luckily, since The International Man of Intrigue had only gotten two steps in the search for the restrooms, he was by Amelia Earhart’s side before I could take more than a half step. This is how we roll, Fellow Adventurers. If one thing crazy happens, several more must happen in quick succession. It’s just our life. Lucky for me, The International Man of Intrigue is trained in acting quickly in emergencies and wasted no time in assessing the damage to Amelia Earhart. Our big fears were broken bones and snake bites, so when she came up a bit dirty and scraped up, missing her glasses, we took a deep breath of relief. Not so, Amelia Earhart, who kept screaming hysterically, especially once she realized her glasses were gone. The International Man of Intrigue bravely went over the side of the foot bridge (really just a dug-in plank) in the search for the glasses. He came up with them, and while they weren’t completely smashed, it was painfully obvious Amelia Earhart had stepped on them in her scramble for safety.

Can you blame us at this point for cutting our losses and deciding to head home? We did stop back at the hotel we had already checked out of and begged use of their facilities one last time. Once we had Amelia Earhart cleaned up and Gertrude Bell feeling relieved, we hit the road for Colombo.

I’m going to admit, I wasn’t sure of the drive home at first. We were on a one lane road in the mountains. I mean one lane, not as in one lane in either direction, but one lane. I got my passenger brake foot ready and warmed up my vocal chords for lots of screams of, “Red bus!” Fortunately, while there were a couple of moments I slammed on my imaginary brake, for the most part, it was a very scenic drive, complete with waterfalls and only a few moments of panic. Of course, the closer we got to Colombo, the crazier the traffic became. Apparently we didn’t get the memo that it was “No Brake Light Friday”. It definitely kept us on our toes, and probably explains the first ever car accident we’ve seen in our time here. We were coming up on a small village when traffic inexplicably stopped. In Sri Lanka, this, of course, means that everyone jockeyed for position and drove on the shoulder until cars were jammed in three wide on our side of the road (with a few cars actually being partially or mostly on the wrong side of the road). We were wedged in behind a van that claimed to be a Nissan Homy. We laughed at the name until a group of about 9 guys piled out of the car, all in matching black slacks and each wearing a different color of pastel button down shirt. Then we absolutely roared with laughter. A Homy van full of homies?! You have got to be kidding me! As they came back to the car, they made motions indicating that there was an accident ahead. We figured that meant we’d be sitting for hours. Nope. Cars started to go around the accident and eventually we were close enough to see a bunch of men prying the door open and pulling some guy out of a van. By the time we got up to the scene, there was no scene. Someone else pulled the car off the road and that was that. No police, no ambulance, nothing. Weird, right?

Other than that, it was a pretty uneventful trip home, except for that time we passed a mobile fish cupcake truck three wide on a two lane bridge. Gotta keep it interesting, after all.

The Elephant Orphanage

When you last left the tale of the Intrigue Family’s first Sri Lankan road trip, we had survived red busses, driving blisters, and potty breaks and had just pulled in to our first destination. Realizing that it was past lunchtime and that Amelia Earhart and I get hangry when we don’t eat, the International Man of Intrigue suggested we have some lunch before heading across the street to the Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage. You don’t know the term “hangry”? Well, let me introduce you. Hangry, this is a Fellow Adventurer. Fellow Adventurer, this is hangry. It is a combination of the words hungry and angry. While I didn’t make it up, it is the perfect description for the snappy, emotional place Amelia Earhart and I land when we are hungry or haven’t had enough protein and our blood sugar gets a bit off kilter. Lucky for us, the International Man of Intrigue and Gertrude Bell don’t have that problem and could live off of only cotton candy and sugar packets for days. We’re not sure about Arthur Dent yet, since he hasn’t missed one of his six-ish meals a day since he started eating solid food. We passed out lunch: Peanut butter squeeze packets for the International Man of Intrigue, Amelia Earhart, and myself and peanut butter crackers for Gertrude Bell and Arthur Dent. We washed it down with some swigs of water and put a few extras in the International Man of Intrigue’s pocket just in case.

Paying the parking “attendant” in Sri Lanka is one of those things that one has to write off to not causing a stir most days. At more upscale places, the attendant will be wearing some semblance of a uniform. Most of the time, though, it’s a pretty gritty looking person that may or may not have just purchased their receipt book at the office supply store in the hopes of making a buck. We paid the guy with the grubby receipt book and waved off the guy trying to hustle us into a “tour” and we were off. We entered the gates of the elephant orphanage and found the ticket booth. This is another part where things get entertaining. In Sri Lanka (and India, and other countries in the region, I’m told), there is a price for residents and a price for tourists. Sometimes there are even different prices for different tourists. Can you imagine going to see the Statue of Liberty and seeing a sign that says, “US Residents, 25 cents. Non residents, $25.” That’s exactly what happens at almost every tourist destination we visit here. The hilarious part is when we tell whoever is working that we are, in fact, Sri Lankan residents. They inevitably raise an eyebrow and mutter something that I’m pretty sure translates to, “Crazy white people don’t know what resident means.” Once we convinced them that we do, in fact, live in Colombo and showed them the resident visa stamp on our passports, we were in for pennies, literally. If we hadn’t had the visa, it would have cost us around $17 a person. Since we’re residents, it cost us less than a dollar for the adults and 20 cents for Amelia Earhart and Gertrude Bell. Arthur Dent was free either way, which is always good since he generally sleeps through everything, unless he’s busy eating, that is.

After our obligatory stop at the restroom, we were off to see the elephants. We knew that bathing time was almost over so we didn’t need to trek down to the river. We headed back over to the area where we saw a huge “tusker” as the locals call elephants. About the time we got near, we were rushed inside an area fenced in by large log fencing. We weren’t sure why until it happened: We saw dozens of elephants walking up the path we had just been standing on! Amazing. We took pictures. We oohed and aah-ed. Suddenly I had a thought. I let the camera swing freely around my neck as I grabbed the International Man of Intrigue by the shirt and hissed, “Oh, my Lord. We are insane. We are the worst. Parents. EVER. How strong do you think this fence is?!” He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. It’s a look he gets once a day, at least, and probably with due cause. I whispered, “What did we have for lunch? Peanut butter. What is an elephant’s favorite food in all the cartoons? PEANUTS! We’re going to cause a stampede! I knew I should have eaten the tuna!” There is never a dull moment in this family. Luckily, not an elephant even glanced in our direction, so I cautiously resumed taking pictures, convinced a tusker was going to reach over and snatch the peanut butter packets out of the International Man of Intrigue’s cargo pocket, or worse, snatch cute, little, rosy cheeked, peanut butter cracker crumb coated Arthur Dent right out of the Ergo Baby carrier on my husband’s back.

Eventually, all the elephants made it to the pasture over the rise, and the people who had walked from watching them bathe at the river made it back, too. At that point, all the tourists just sort of stood where the path ended and took pictures of the elephants in the pasture. Some were posing to have their pictures taken with the big elephant under the awning who was busy eating his lunch, which looked to be peanut free, by the way. We cautiously wandered over, still feeling like this was a bad idea no matter what one had just eaten. The elephant handlers, or mahouts, were offering to bring elephants over from the herd for tourists to pet them and take photos. One of the mahouts was insistent that he would bring a baby elephant over for the Little Explorers to pet. The International Man of Intrigue politely refused and he and I exchanged that knowing glance that married couples have when one spouse can tell what the other is thinking. In this case it was, “We had peanut butter for lunch and now you want to rip a baby elephant away from its mother and bring it over to us? We saw Dumbo. We’re not stupid.” We continued to watch in amazement. Yes, we were amazed by the elephants, but we were also amazed that people could just walk wherever they wanted to. This seemed like Bad Idea Jeans. Really Bad Idea Jeans. I kept looking around. Shouldn’t there at least be a sign saying something like “__Days Since Our Last Fatal Elephant Stampede”?

Eventually, we were ready to head back to the car, but not before another mahout tried to convince the International Man of Intrigue to have his picture taken petting the huge old elephant under the awning. When he refused, the mahout said, “Don’t worry, he’s blind.” Um, yeaaaaah, that makes it seem sooo much safer. Let’s all go poke the blind elephant, shall we? My Lord, were we the only people who realized just how bad an idea this whole place was? Does no one here ever catch a few seconds of “When Animals Attack” while flipping channels? Brand new, just born baby elephants are bigger than big strong guys, people. Yes, elephants are beautiful, and nature is amazing, but she is also mean, people. Luckily, since no one seemed to have thought of this besides us, I figured that upped our survival chances at least a thousand percent if the poop started to hit the fan.

Hot and ready for safety and a break, we stopped and got sodas at the snack stand. The four sodas we got cost us 600 rupees, while our entrance to the park had cost us 250 rupees. After cooling off and rehydrating a bit, I suggested we go across the street to where they make paper out of elephant poop. Sounds gross, but Amelia Earhart loves arts and crafts and I figured she’d be fascinated. All of our kids love to say the word “poop”, so I figured they’d be excited to use a bathroom word outside of the bathroom. She was. They were. We even got a tour of how they make the paper. Tuskers eat mostly fibrous leaves, so when their dung is boiled, clean fibers that look like what is found in handmade paper is all that is left, and it’s used to make (stink free) paper.

After that, it was time to load everyone back in the car, remind the parking “attendant” that we had already paid for parking once, and head to the Botanical Gardens outside of our final destination for the night, Kandy. Kandy was the last native kingdom in Sri Lanka and held out against colonization until 1815. It’s also home to The Temple of the Tooth, a Buddhist shrine that holds the sacred relic of Buddha’s tooth.

True to Intrigue form, it started pouring down rain and we missed out on the gardens. Truer to Intrigue form, we got lost took a detour on the way to the hotel, which was on the far side of Kandy. Luckily, this gave us the lay of the land for the next day’s adventures. When we finally did get to the hotel, The International Man of Intrigue and I collapsed in heaps on the bed. The Little Explorers proceeded to bounce off the walls with abandon. Since it was raining, there was no pool time in their future. Irritatingly, no one in this country eats until well after preschoolers’ bedtime, so most restaurants don’ t even open until 7:30. This was fine with our girls, who love getting “food service” and eating in the hotel room. Our room had a covered, private balcony with a great view and an adorable table and chairs, which made the little ladies’ dining experience that much more fun, and let Mr. Intrigue and I enjoy a semi private dining experience inside the room. Well, so maybe “enjoy” isn’t the right word, but it was nice to only have one kid eating all the fries off my plate and dropping silverware on the floor. After dinner, we turned in early to prepare for another day of adventures. (…to be continued, probably…)

The Rest of The Perahera Post, weeks later.

Yes, I’ve been absent for a couple of weeks, but I brought you the International Man of Intrigue, so we’re square, right?

Oh, my pictures of the Perahera? That’s what you’ve come to see? I was hoping that The International Man of Intrigue’s guest post would distract you. Hmm…well…how do I put this? Let’s just say after agonizing over the pictures, and after much soul searching, I came to grips with the fact that I’m a writer, not a photographer. I think rather than water down my blog with a bunch of crappy pictures I’ll just stick with what I do best and write for you. I really struggled with this because I feel like a good travel blog needs lots of gorgeous pictures. Really, a good travel blog, a good travel magazine, a good travel book, they all have great pictures. I don’t. Then I realized, Bill Bryson doesn’t clutter his books with lots of pictures, and people still love to read his writings. I know I’m no Bill Bryson, but I do think I’ll just go with my strength on this one. I will still include the occasional picture, it’s just not going to be a focus, or in focus for that matter.(Ba-dump-bump-ching!)

Anyway, do you still want to hear about the Perahera? It was amazing! We walked the two blocks down from the hotel. As we got closer, a carnival atmosphere filled the air. There were vendors everywhere. There was all kinds of food and some of it smelled delicious. Wooden carts filled with corn had little platforms with flames burning on them. The salesmen would roast the corn right there and hand it to you. Of course, being westerners, we didn’t eat any of it, since we had no desire to spend the next week living in the bathroom. As anyone who has done it can attest, when you move, or even travel, to a Third World Country Emerging Nation, you spend a lot of time thinking about poop, enough time to devote an entire blog post to it. Anyone interested in reading that? That’s why we don’t eat street food, even though it often looks and smells delicious. Sometimes it doesn’t look and smell delicious. I still regret not photographing the fish cupcakes we saw on one of our first days in Colombo. FISH CUPCAKES, PEOPLE. Yes, little cupcake looking things with dried fish, complete with eyeballs, on top. Eating one of those would definitely result in a blog about poop, no question.

I’m the master of distraction today, no? Blame it on the fact that my kids have interrupted me about every third word. I’m not a slow typist, so that’s pretty often. As I was saying, the Perahera was amazing. We had VIP seats on a raised platform, so everything was up close and personal with a great view and none of the elephant poop that could hamper a good time if one was sitting at street level. (Poop again, I know.) The parade started off with young men in local costumes with what I first thought were huge pythons wrapped around them. The pythons were actually whips and the young men started cracking them with such speed that they sounded like firecrackers.

Well, crud. I stopped after writing this paragraph a couple of days ago, and here I am, trying to blame it on my children and the fact that the movers came Wednesday night at 7:30 and brought our stuff and I’ve been unpacking ever since. This is officially the longest blog post ever. And by longest, I don’t mean number of words. I mean amount of time per word. The Perahera was on February 7th. It’s now February 25th. You’d think that would make the writing better, since I’ve spent about a day per sentence. I’m a good writer, but not that good. Anyway, tonight is the night. I’m finishing this blog post and this beer I’m drinking and then going to bed. Now if the International Man of Intrigue calls me over to see another picture on Facebook of a friend of his I’ve never met or some cool thing he’s done on the Playstation, I’m going to scream. I have to write this Perahera stuff and then never promise you I’ll write about something again, because it just gives me writers’ block on the subject and makes me want to write about all kinds of other cool things, like the people who work for us or the room under our stairs.

ANYWAY, the parade, which I think was actually considered a procession since it was marching a relic of Buddha from place to place, went on, with the first elephants coming by. They were completely decked out from trunk to toe. They even wore masks. Many of their gowns were intricately decorated, beaded, or embroidered. The first elephants and the ones at the very end of the procession, nearest the Buddha relic, had little lights running up and down their masks. I set Amelia Earhart to the task of counting the elephants. I figured it would be good practice for her to keep track of something while she was excited and there was lots going on, and I knew I’d immediately get distracted and forget to count so I could tell you how many elephants marched in the procession.

There were lots of other amazing sights. Kandyan Drummers dressed up in their intricately beaded red and white costumes, Buddhist monks, some not much older than the Little Explorers, marching two by two, and my favorite, Cane Dancers. I searched the internet to try to link to a video, but I couldn’t find anything. I had seen these dancers when I watched from the breezeway at our hotel. From that vantage point, I was impressed by the rapidly spinning and spiraling groups circles of dancers, weaving in and out of one another. From the ground, it was an entirely different story. It turns out that these male dancers, who were in two concentric circles, with one guy in the center of the smaller circle, were all connected and interconnected to one another with bendable pieces of cane. The guy in the very center of both circles seemed to be holding the ends to all the pieces. They all walked along in formation until it was time to perform. Then, the guy in the center dropped to the ground and began spinning. All the other dancers in the two concentric circles began twirling and weaving in and out of one another at a dizzying speed. It was like the most insane Maypole dance ever, but the guy in the middle was the Maypole. I couldn’t believe it!

The Perahera went on for hours. The Little Explorers enjoyed it, but we could sense it was getting dangerously close to a melting point. One spilled water, one miscounted elephant, and this was over for us. We rounded up the kids and got ready to make our way back to the hotel. There was only one problem. The procession went down to a certain point, turned around and came back down the same street. Right now the beginning of the parade was just making its way to the point where we were sitting. It was double parade right down the street we needed to walk up. We did what we had to and walked two blocks in the *opposite* direction of the hotel, dodging elephant poop and people who wanted to touch Gertrude Bell’s blonde hair. When we turned off of the main parade route to double back, there were plenty of tuk-tuks waiting to rip off tourists. Normally, we wouldn’t consider letting the kids ride in the three wheeled, open sided cabs, but it was late, we were as exhausted as the Little Explorers, Gertrude Bell was going to have a meltdown if one more person touched her, and there wasn’t much traffic. Lucky for us, we didn’t show up in Sri Lanka yesterday (more like a month ago), so when the first driver tried to charge us triple what a fare should have been, we laughed and kept walking. We’re the Intrigue family. We know better. Sure enough, ten steps later, there was another driver who was willing to take us for a decent price. We all squished in the back seat and held on to the kids as tightly as possible. The girls decided it was almost as much fun as a ride at Disneyland, rushing down the back streets of Colombo toward our hotel. The full moon was bright and the breeze helped cool us all down.

So, there you have it. The Perahera. I am sure we’ll do many more exciting things during our year here, but I think I’ll always look back on the Perahera as a big deal. Walking through the crowds, experiencing the sights and sounds, that was what I really imagined it would be like to live here.

And, on that note, it’s way past my bedtime, and I’m out of beer. But, hey, I finished this post, right?! Oh, and Amelia Earhart counted sixty elephants. That's a lot of elephants for one parade!