Finding the hope of a small world from a chance encounter in Sri Lanka
How big the world used to be.
I love maps. All maps. Three sentences in and those who know me are either smirking or rolling their eyes. My map adoration is not what one would cal... unexpressed. At their best they are works of art, labours of love that depict the physical and created relationships of place. At their worst they are propaganda pushing a narrative through names, borders and purposeful omissions. Most maps will have elements of both. Maps are like photographs this way… actually in a lot of ways. For one, they both capture a moment in time that has already gone upon first viewing.
This is a beautiful map. It is also a memoir to a world that has passed. Travel has not just gotten much quicker but much easier and cheaper as well. A one way 3rd class ticket from New York to London with Cunard cost $37.50 (USD) in 1914, the equivalent of $1150 (USD) today. A return trip to Japan looks like it’ll run you about $13,000 of today’s greenbacks. And Sri Lanka: ‘only’ $10,700. Needless to say, I probably would not have been able to go.
That would have been a shame. First off because Sri Lanka is a beautiful country with incredible nature, history, people, culture and food! And secondly because it is there that I had the most unbelievable chance encounter of my life.
You have probably heard of the concept of six degrees of separation. If you haven’t or need a refresher it’s the idea that we are all connected to each other by at most six streams of relationships. You may not know me but you are a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend; that sort of thing. There have been some attempts to calculate this precisely and on average six isn’t too far off. Lets focus more on the idea though, the metaphor.
The realization that we are all connected is cliche and cheesy but nonetheless profound. We dress it up through art, film, song, dance- really all sorts of human expression, because it is something that we cannot stop expressing. To accept this fully requires great vulnerability to the despair of knowing we can hurt and be hurt by the actions of others, including those we never meet. I don’t believe turning away from this is a recipe for hope though, for what is hope if not an act of perseverance?
That is the lens I wish to tell this story through. It is surely an example of the serendipity of travel but to me at least, the hope given by a small world.
This story, like so many seem to, begins somewhere else. In 2018 a close friend and I had the privilege of attending the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics in South Korea. I love the Olympics. I know they are fraught with controversy and corruption and err… financially questionable at best but the spirit captures me fully. They are a celebration of a small world. The first event we attended was the third and fourth legs of women’s luge. It was freezing. The temperature was around -7 if I remember correctly. As a Canadian I find that to be an acceptable temperature to walk to the car or hit the outdoor rink in. Just sitting still in the dark is a different story entirely and I had almost certainly not dressed for it. To remedy this we decided to walk around at the break. The announcers called for a little bit more - what better way to generate some heat than with dancing? I was the perfect mix of cold and cheery to oblige.
Myself and one of the volunteers took this call a bit more seriously than everyone else so when we walked by I put out my hand and she took it. About 5 seconds of gym class twisting (that is the dance style) later I was taking a picture with a giant group of Chinese tourists who had somehow adopted my friend in the same time period. Oh how I love the Olympics. A great little memory but too short a story to be worthy of an entry here! Turns out it wasn’t over.
Two months later I was in Kandy, the namesake of Sri Lanka’s last pre-colonial Kingdom. Its historic centre around the lake is picturesque and home to the sacred Temple of the Tooth which, as the name suggests, holds a tooth relic of the Lord Buddha. It is an extremely holy site and I feel blessed to have gone. I only wish I had also had time to climb Sri Pada which is revered by many Buddhist, Hindus, Christians and Muslims who believe the footprint at the top belongs to the Buddha, Shiva (or Hanuman), and Adam respectively. Next time.
I had come to Kandy a day earlier than planned. I originally intended to spend an extra day in Dambulla. The main draw of the city is its proximity to Sigiriya, one of many places claiming to be the ‘eighth wonders of the world.' Subjective ranking aside, it is well worth the visit and expensive entry ticket ($30USD). After spending the morning exploring the grounds, climbing the rock and admiring the view from the top, the heat started to become a bit too much to bear. April is the hot season in Sri Lanka and Dambulla doesn’t offer much reprieve. I saw a bus leaving for Kandy and its cooler climate and seized the opportunity.
Sri Lanka is very mountainous hence the ability to escape from the heat at higher ground. It also means that transportation is slow. Whether by road or rail the path is windy and steep, limiting what even the wildest bus drivers can accomplish. This would be especially impactful a couple days later when I headed further upland to the English colonial town of Nuwara Eliya. Look up any travel guide for Sri Lanka and the two things that pop up most regularly will be Sigiriya and the train into the highlands. I had really wanted to see the teafields in Nuwara Eliya but the train journey was the primary motivation. I’m happy to say that on the way back it was gorgeous, because the way there was hell.
It was entirely my fault. I had waited too long to book tickets and hadn’t checked public holidays in advance. Little did I know I was traveling on Sinhala and Tamil New Years. In Sri Lanka 3rd class tickets do not sell out. This had not been a problem for me before but on this day the train was packed. I was squished up against the wall next to the bathroom without even enough space to stop the child on his father’s back from grabbing at my headphones. My arms were trapped by my side. Another man was stepping on me. I was going to ask him to move but realized there was no other place for him to stand and I could at least wriggle my foot out of my shoe a bit. Also did I mention that April was the hot season? This is a 75km journey but takes about three and half hours. Slow and windy. By the time we pulled into the station it felt like a lifetime. It wasn’t even noon.
I arrived at my hostel absolutely determined to make the most of the day, determined to create a better memory to associate with Nuwara Eliya. I noticed a guy sitting in the lobby wearing a Pyeongchang 2018 volunteers jacket. Normally I think I would have said hi, but damnit, I was on a mission. The world had other ideas. A lightning flash greeted me the second I stepped out the door as if I was in a haunted house film. The torrential downpour followed seconds later. Nevermind.
So I did actually say hi to the man in the jacket. I asked him what volunteering was like and eventually mentioned I had been there. He asked me if I ever went to any events at the sliding centre. Is it possible we were at the same place at the same time? He started flipping through his phone to find his old schedule. While doing so a selfie of him, another guy and a girl flashed across his screen. She looked kinda familiar too… Now a decade of working at Starbucks has made me pretty good with faces and names but there was no way right? It was a 30 second moment and a 2 second glimpse 2 months later. I felt it’d be insane to ask him cause I felt insane just for thinking of the possibility. Instead I decided to tell him the story and see how he reacted.
With recognition.
I kid you not before I had even finished recounting the story he had gone on to instagram and pulled up a video of our dance. I had no idea it had been filmed. Was this happening? We called her and had a brief conversation translated by my new friend to express our shock. I don’t think I have ever fully come to believe it actually happened.
The rain eventually subsided and the two of us went out for dinner. I insisted on treating him to a fancy meal. He was on a very strict budget trying to stretch his limited savings across a 5-week trip. This too felt familiar, a younger me had done the same thing in Belize and Guatemala. To this day it’s one of the best meals I’ve ever had. The food was great and as a celebration of a small world? Unrivaled. He and I still talk from time to time and I hope one day we can meet up again somewhere. We’re both very into mountains which gives us a lot of options. Her and I have not spoken since, which is totally fine. The story is not just a good one but also one that helped forge a new friendship. That alone is amazing. Sometimes her photos come up on my feed and I smile reliving the moment all over again.
This experience cemented my global worldview as much as any other I’ve had. I can only imagine what lies hidden in the degrees of separation unexplored. I will not find all of these nodes but it’s enough to know they exist. It’s a small world after all and there’s no going back. Hopefully.
