clint.gif

Marketing hack. Bike polo enthusiast. Funk party providore.

[clintohanlon]

I wrote a thing for MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE on @theworldbar blog about the new #nsw #smoking laws. Read at theworldbar.com... (at The World Bar)

[clintohanlon]

This Mess's new album - In Half Light Also... Choose your weapon: ITUNES - https://itunes.apple.com/au/album/in-half-light/id892306878 SOUNDCLOUD (Free Download) - https://soundcloud.com/thismessmusic/sets/in-half-light Let me know what you think!

[clintohanlon]

Strawberry Time Lapse from Clint O'Hanlon on Vimeo.

This Mess 2am Strawberry Fields

[clintohanlon]

Into The Wind from Clint O'Hanlon on Vimeo.

[clintohanlon]

On the 1st of August, 2012, my buddy Ritchy and I cycled our single-speed bikes from Amsterdam to Paris. Here's an abridged version of the action. Stay tuned for the directors cut.

[clintohanlon]

I want one.

[clintohanlon]

HILLTOP ADVENTURE

30th June, 2011

We'd heard about a break called "Lighthouse" and decided to make it our next tuk-tuk adventure destination. We rose as early as a relaxed holiday permits and did some yoga on the roof of one of the buildings at our hotel. Cass was the instructor and I found it was an awesome way for me to wake up and warm up for a day in the surf. We had some breakfast and then piled into the tuk, hopes high for reaching Lighthouse.

The directions we'd gotten weren't the most solid but a few days before we'd ventured past some dirt track which we suspected lead to the break we were looking for, so we just headed in that direction with our fingers crossed. Before we veered off the beaten track we came across a shrine to Ganesh on the side of the road. We took some photographs of the little fella and made an offering of bananas and chocolate biscuits (resting assured that the offerings would be stolen by crows) before shoving off down the dirt track

Offerings not so firmly in place we chose a dirt track and tried to commit. At the intersection a dude on a motorcycle flailed his arms in an attempt to warn us off going down that track. On the basis that the locals get a little overzealous about LOTS of things, we pushed on. It was when we got bogged in sand and spent an embarrassing ten minutes (which felt like at least three hours) trying to free up the back wheel that we realised we should have taken the poorly executed advice. It wouldn't have been half as bad if we weren't being closely watched (as usual) by the people whose house we got bogged in front of. Also, a couple of signature Justin McKinnon stalls didn't help our anxiousness but after a couple of tricks I learned watching the Lleyland Brothers when I was a kid, we were back on the main road and following the local's infuriatingly flailed directions.

The NEXT dirt track we headed down was a fair way off the main road. We travelled a couple of kilometres along a very nicely asphalted road and then whipped a couple of obligatory wrong turns before eventually sign-languaging our way onto the track. This one turned out to be the most treacherous bit of tuk-tuk driving that we would come across. The track consisted of the signature three strips of dirt winding through the grass, shrubs or trees but it had a nice little difference... At no point did it seem like it was leading in the right direction.

I'm sure there is some proverb out there which I am not privy to which goes something like this: "The most rewarding rewards are found by the tuk-tukkers who tuk-tuk past the most dangerous dangers." Subsequently... Please apply this non-existent proverb to our incredibly harrowing trek through the unmarked landscape of eastern Sri Lanka, because just when we thought we weren't going to find anything, we found what I consider to be the priceless jewel in the Arugam Bay crown. The sign, slapped nonchalantly amongst the shrubbery and seemingly pointless and random fences, read "Hilltop Restaurant and Bungalows".

We'd actually just decided to grab something to eat or drink there before heading back because we had started to consider the fact that too much more adventuring would leave us without enough fuel to get back to town. When we arrived, we were met by an Israeli guy whom we assumed was the proprietor but who turned out to just be someone staying in one of the bungalows. The owner, Dilani, whom we met later after we went for a surf, had left this guy in charge while she went to temple for the day. Unheard of! He served us lunch, which she'd made before she left for temple, and it was incredible. We vowed then and there to come back and stay another night.

Hilltop consisted of one main building with a huge awning, covering the large, communal dining table, three stand-alone bungalows, obviously all built separately and a single outdoor toilet with a woven, palm-frond outer wall. There was a hand dug well, a path down to the beach, lined with large stones and then there was the shower. This bad boy had two palm-frond walls and a 180° view of the ocean. Definitely an incredible feature.

We'd had a cheeky surf before lunch, but it was a bit choppy and the current made it slightly harder work than I was prepared to deal with that day so I paddled in a shot some photos of Justin and Cass and a random couple...

Awwww!

Ripping.

Signature move, McKinnon...

Ripping or just about to stack it?

Repunzelesque.

Handsome man!

As usual in Sri Lanka, the guy looks like he's posing and the gal looks natural.

Anyway, after lunch we ended up heading back out for a second surf during which I got even MORE fed up with my lack of fitness and ended up hanging out on the beach until Justin had had his fill of the surf and the sun began teetering on the horizon. Dilani told us that she was booked out for the following week but assured us that we were welcome to set up some tents if we were interested. We definitely were so we bode the Hilltop inhabitants farewell and arranged with Dilani to return a few days later and camp out.

We drove back to Arugam Bay in the dark and actually kind of got pulled over at one of the many, seemingly unnecessary military check-points but when they saw that it was a foreigner piloting the tuk-tuk and that it was full of more foreigners, they must have decided it was too much trouble and just waved us through. Too many people in an unnecessary military force leads to boredom. The thing is, even if they were just looking for a ride back to town we couldn't help but feel like some shit was going to go down because they all carry AK-47's. It's intimidating but nothing happened so water under the bridge.

We'd organised with the boys at Friendship to eat a special curry made from a fruit we'd seen or heard of called "wood apple". It stunk and it looked gnarly but it turned out to make a delicious juice and an even MORE delicious curry. Apparently it went best with beef but we threw the chef a curve ball, requesting a vegetarian curry and he totally hit the nail on the head. Definitely a culinary highlight.

Our entree: Dhal cakes with red onion and roasted chilli flakes. Incredible.

The amazing "wood apple".

Wood apple curry, sweet potato curry and dhal with rice and papadums. The piece de resistance!

A delicious meal to top off a delicious day.

[clintohanlon]

FRIENDSHIP RESTAURANT COOL SPORT, ARUGAMBAY

There once was a wondrous and magical place, named Friendship Restaurant Cool Sport, Arugambay. One day, three wandering outsiders chanced upon the secret and well-hidden location of Friendship Cool Sport and made themselves known to the people.

They found that the Chief of this place was Fifty-Five year old Eddie Murphy. He took care of all of the day-to-day runnings of the family affairs as well as dealing with the people that might happen to chance upon Friendship Cool Sport. He was a happy man who always smiled and laughed freely and who wanted the Outsiders to have the best memories of Friendship Cool Sport.

There also lived here, a young Michael J. Fox with Parkinson’s Disease, who best spoke the language of the Outsiders. He had the power to appear and disappear by putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out. This was a result of a deal he’d made with the Devil, but the Devil had tricked him and when his hands were out of his pockets he could not stop moving, looking distracted or shaking uncontrollably. This meant that when he could be seen… it was almost impossible to look at him. Knowing this, he had figured out that his role at Friendship Cool Sport was appear just long enough to find out what people need and then wheeling and dealing in his absence, organising and getting things sorted the fuck OUT!

Here also lived Evil Knievel the Sincere, who spoke volumes about many things and meant every one of his own words, right from the bottom of his enormous heart. Though his heart was huge, it was hard to know where he fit it, because he himself was a tiny, tiny man. He stood atop the seats to be seen over the tables as he talked and talked and talked, sometimes dropping pearls of heavenly wisdom, making the most incredible delicacies or doing daring stunts to amuse the Outsiders between speeches.

Young Michael J. Fox with Parkinson’s disease had an uncle named the Godfather. This man was obviously a warrior of great renown who had decided to put his skills with the blade to better and more spiritual use, practicing a form of musical martial arts, which he himself had documented in scores from the depths of his soul. Using this new form of meditative battle song, the Godfather had ascended to the status of demi-god, remaining in his earthly body to give guidance and a sense of order in a place otherwise ruled by whim.

Fifty-Five year old Eddie Murphy’s brother, Skinny Old Drunk Charlie Murphy was a destructive force. He would swoop into Friendship Cool Sport and kill the radical vibe with a sweep of his dismissive hand whilst shouting random inane comments into a talking box. The box was also inane and usually not that interested in talking with Skinny Old Drunk Charlie Murphy so the dialogue always made sure to leave the Outsiders and all the Friendship Dudes on edge.

The Outsiders loved Friendship Cool Sport, but they had eaten their fill of the amazing food and drinks prepared by Evil Knievel the Sincere. They had also filled their souls with the delicious enlightenment played like a symphony by the Godfather on his comforting blades of fury. A fiery green steed with three legs had been arranged for the Outsiders, by young Michael J. Fox with Parkinson’s disease for the duration of their stay at Friendship Cool Sport. Evil Knievel the Sincere had entertained them and made them unique and intriguing culinary treats. Fifty-Five year old Eddie Murphy had welcomed them and did his best to make them forget that they were outsiders.

The odd thing was, even though they were used to his ridiculousness, Skinny Old Drunk Charlie Murphy seemed to make the Friendship Dudes more uncomfortable than the Outsiders. They seemed embarrassed by him and thought this would lessen their standing in the eyes of the Outsiders. But this could never be the case. The Friendship Dudes had made the Outsiders feel like fellow Friendship Dudes but from a faraway land.

Unfortunately for the EVERYONE, the presence of Skinny Old Drunk Charlie Murphy was too hard to ignore. He seemed like more of an outsider than the Outsiders did because he was a total mood spoiler, struggling to embrace the laid back vibe and instead imposing himself on the Friendship Dudes who deserved much better. The three friends decided to leave but vowed to return soon, bringing back the three-legged steed and staying for some more good food, good times and good company. They also assured Fifty-Five year old Eddie Murphy that he had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of or apoligise for.

The three friends would never forget the Friendship Dudes or Friendship Restaurant Cool Sport, Arugambay and when they come back to this land they would definitely find the Friendship Dudes and party with them again.

The end.

[clintohanlon]

HELL ON THREE WHEELS

27th June 2011

After a few days keeping a close eye on my fresh tattoo and staying out of the sun and surf, Justin and Cass arrived in Arugam Bay. Apparently they’d had a harrowing bus journey from Colombo across to Trincomalee, which is a couple of hundred kilometres north of Arugam Bay. They then managed to get on the slowest bus in the history of man, taking about seven hours to travel the remaining distance. I’m glad that I had organised a driver at greater expense after hearing their stories about the bus trips. One bus trip began with a guy eating a light bulb and then begging for money. Yeah. Hectic.

Understandably, after such a set of taxing bus trips, they were pretty tired and just headed to bed after a brief catch-up and some general banter. Unfortunately I’d agreed to go on a safari to one of the national parks in the area the following morning. Pick up at 5am. Sigh. It turned out to be a little bit of a fizzler because there was a pilgrimage going on and one of the main paths is directly through the national park. The likelihood of the jungle cats hanging around while thousands of humans wander along a dirt track is very low. I got a few photographs of the safari and some of the beasts…

Awake at 5am on my holidays. Rookie error.

A display case full of dead things.

Not sure what this little critter was. Maybe an armadillo?

The closest we got to a wild elephant on the safari... Pretty dead.

Fantastic Mr. Fox.

Komodo dragon? Water dragon? Goanna? Whatever it was, it was big.

The elusive "Sleeping Israeli".

Overexposed pelican.

Overexposed me.

Pumba.

Purrrdy flowers.

An eagle feather.

Ant.

Frog.

Baby monkey!

Tame deer. The driver was feeding it lemon biscuits.

One of the pilgrims preparing dinner for her family.

The Buddha in a small shrine. 

Anyway, it was amazing to finally have Justin and Cass with me. They seemed pretty stoked on the accommodation at Rupa’s and we proceeded to find all of the best places to eat in the nearish vicinity. One such place was Friendship Restaurant Cool Sport Arugambay, flouting possibly the most random, broken English restaurant name we’d come across. It was actually a place that had been suggested to me by Jan, the tattooist who did my knee. He said the egg roti was awesome and because I haven’t been eating meat in Sri Lanka, I’ve been smashing heaps of eggs to keep the protein levels up so his description sounded heavenly.

We rocked into Friendship on the night after their arrival and ordered some of their house specialty: cottu roti. It’s basically a variation on fried rice but instead of rice they use the roti that is leftover from the day’s trade, chopped into a rustic kind of pasta. It was delicious and one of the best things about it is when the chef is making it, he makes it on a hotplate right on the street and he uses two really heavy steel blades to chop and mix it all together, making this awesome rhythmic sound which acts as a kind of sonic advertising.

Soon enough we were chatting away with the guys who work at the shop, figuring out their stories and roles at the very low-key restaurant. There seemed to be a man for every role: A curry and general chef, a roti and cottu roti chef, a guy who ties up all the loose ends in the kitchen, from fresh juices to sauces and accompaniments then the dude who runs the floor. After plenty of small talk and a little bit of broken English rambling, the curry master dropped an absolute corker. If we weren’t trying so hard to follow on with what he was saying we may have missed it. He’d rambled his way into offering to rent us their tuk-tuk! After a series of “Wait… WHAT!?”’s we jumped at the chance to get behind the wheel of one of the little machines. We agreed to come back the following and pick it up, bid them an excited farewell and headed back to the bungalows for some scrabble and an early night. I left a note for Jules, a guy from Brisbane I’d met on the safari earlier that day, saying “Dude, transport is sorted for tomorrow. Have we got a surprise for you?!” and hit the hay.

Justin and Cass headed up to Friendship at 7am and returned triumphantly in our new steed. The guys were so lovely and trustworthy that they didn’t even take a deposit for the rental. They just told us that they trusted us and sent us on our merry way! Legends.

So we loaded up the boards onto the roof and set out on our little adventure. The destination: Okanda, about an hour tuk-ride south of Arugam Bay. Jules and I had spotted the surf spot on our safari the previous day and hoped the swell would be surfable. Which it definitely turned out to be.

We spent a good portion of the scorching hot day out in the water or in a little grotto of trees we found near the beach. It turned out to be a good little session with fun, consistent waves that weren’t too fast. If we weren’t surfing we were doing  some SERIOUS eating these ingenious little sandwiches Cass invented, consisting of a piece of banana pressed between two Chocolate Maries (these awesome little chocolate biscuits sold at all the little supermarkets). We’d bought a bunch of twenty little bananas for sixty rupees. That’s about 3¢ per banana for all of you Australians paying $14 per kilo and let me tell you, these bananas are some of the best I’ve ever eaten. We made a habit of buying a bunch of bananas every couple of days. Delish. 

After a full day of surfing we jumped back in the tuk-tuk, just as pumped about having our own as we were at 7am that morning. There was a couple of close calls on the sketchy dirt track which lead to and from Okanda but we made it home safe and sound and excited for the following day of adventuring.

We’d happened upon a little secret surf break on the way to Okanda so we hit that up first thing the next morning. Justin dubbed it Razor Wire Break because of some lame artistic shots he took through some razor wire we found on the beach. Like this…

 So we got in a good little session and then headed to Okanda for some afternoon waves. The pilgrims had started to gather in hordes and at one point, whilst Cass was chilling in the grotto, she was surrounded by fifteen horny youths all wanting photos, English conversation and just general personal space infiltration. Cass dealt with them with far more patience than I would have afforded them and eventually they left of their own accord and she came down to the water to sub in for some surfing.

We’d been told about how a break called “Peanut Farm” was the best place to watch the sunset so we cut and run with about an hour left and followed the vague directions we’d gotten earlier that day. We managed to find the little dirt track leading around a dried up lagoon and down to Peanut Farm. After circumnavigating the lagoon we entered into some pretty thick bush (not euphemisms) and as we rounded a blind corner, there was a guy standing in the middle of the dirt track. He halted us and a stilted conversation followed during which we deduced that there was some kind of “Navy problem” on the coast and Peanut Farm would be closed for the next few days.

We took it as a sign and decided to head home for the night. I fought off an urge to sleep in the tuk-tuk and jumped into bed. At about 4am I realised that it may have been better to sleep in the tuk because I woke up to a mouse eating my toe. Little bastard. I shone a torch on him and he brazenly sat up and stared down the barrel. The next five seconds were spent in a Mexican standoff before I employed my brute strength and booted the little vermin across the room. I then took some serious measures to rodent-proof my sleeping quarters and dropped off to sleep, dreaming of the next day of tuk-tuk adventuring.

[clintohanlon]

JAPANESWILANKAN INK

24th June 2011

On my first day in Arugam Bay, I went out to the main point to check out the surf. It turned out to be a long, slow right with one or two sloppy but manageable sections. There were about ten people out there but it’s a big break so I paddled out to see what I could do. This turned out to be considerably less than I had anticipated.

After probably two years of my surfboard gathering dust in storage or sitting inanimately under my bed, I just assumed that I would still be able to surf again without any problems. Turns out, when your skills are already pretty low, surfing after such a hiatus is NOT just like riding a bike. It’s more like riding an incredibly old, rusty bike, covered in cobwebs and in serious need of some oil and possibly some panel beating to straighten out the wheels again after someone ran over it in a garage.

So the first attempt at getting back on the board was pretty dismal, but I didn’t let that stop me. What I DID let stop me was the honking great tattoo that I got the next day.

On arriving at Rupa’s Hotel, I’d met a bunch of people in a short amount of time and I just happened to get talking to this Swiss guy named Jan. He’d moved to Sri Lanka about a year ago with his wife, Hilaria, and his four-year-old daughter, India (named after where Jan and Hilaria met... which I think may have been somewhere in Scotland..?). They were a cool trio to watch interact. India spoke German with Jan and Italian with Hilaria (who is from Sardinia) and Hilaria and Jan spoke English with one another. Apparently India was picking up English very quickly as well but ultimately had very little need to speak the language except in regards to interacting with strangers. I’m pretty sure she understood a lot of English and could usually follow on with what her parents were chatting about. It’s SO cool how kids minds are like little sponges.

I got the gist that Jan was a relatively successful business owner in Switzerland but basically they’d moved to Sri Lanka for a lifestyle change and tattooing had just fit in nicely with the plans. They rent a four-bedroom house in Kandy for a RIDICULOUSLY cheap 25,000 rupees a month (approx. AUD$230) and just travel to Arugam Bay and Hikkaduwa, doing tattoos for the locals during the low seasons and the tourists in the peak seasons. I’d actually seen them at a restaurant in Hikkaduwa the week before when they’d been visiting a friend. Anyway Jan came to the hotel to pick me up around 2pm the following day and we headed to his hotel where he had all of his equipment set up.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned the heat in this country, but I can only describe it roughly as “hotter than the fucking sun”. Fortunately, Jan always rents hotel rooms with air conditioning when he does tattoos. Genius. When I walked into the room it was like an industrial refrigerator and when I told Jan so he responded with “Yeah, would you believe it’s set to twenty-six degrees?” to which I said, “You’re a fucking liar”, quickly followed by an apology after I checked the thermostat and found out that it was actually set to twenty-SEVEN degrees.  I couldn’t believe how cold it felt but obviously I’ve just been acclimatising to living on the surface of the sun.

So I hopped on the bed and Jan started freehand drawing the design we’d picked out for my knee. It’s a Japanese-esque spiral and water flow with a flower floating along the stream. It’s also an original piece that Jan had done on canvas and was pretty much his first attempt at art without a tattoo gun. The reality is that Jan is still learning (though he is obviously learning fast and is primarily self-taught) so I thought it a good idea to let him do his own piece instead of some design that I’d slapped together.

We weren’t sure how far we’d get on the first day so we just rolled up and got settled in for the afternoon. It was actually a pretty lo-fi set up, with Jan’s guns, needles and inks laid out on the table and me perched on the bed with India set up next to me watching a cartoon feature film and Hilaria chilling out and occasionally teeing up a joint or five for the break times when my skin or Jan’s hand needed a rest. It was really quite pleasant.

Except the intense levels on discomfort I was feeling. I would describe getting my knee tattooed as “bracing”. Normally when I’m being tattooed I can work myself into a pain-induced trance during which you ride a steady wave of endorphins until all of a sudden, the session is finished and you have a brand spankin’ new tattoo. But in this case, every single line brought me crashing through the kaleidoscope wall of endorphins into the stark pain of reality.

The problem wasn’t so much the actual method of tattoo, I’m completely used to that now, it was more the location. Almost every line crossed a bone or two. My kneecap and my shin got absolutely punished and when the gun ground into the thin skin around the joint, I could feel the vibration travelling through the bone, all the way down my shin and into my foot. The pain of the needles was NOTHING compared to the odd sensation of having your bones LITERALLY rattled inside your flesh. Very weird indeed.

We got through it eventually. The first day I’d forgotten to bring my camera, which was a shame because taking photos seemed to keep my mind off the sensation. I also found that watching the screen of India’s little DVD player helped to keep me distracted. I’m pretty sure she was watching a kids film called “Reef” but it was all in Italian so I was struggling a little to follow the story line. I guess that helped because I was concentrating harder just to try and understand.

I was really happy when it was all over. The main reason was that it looked sweet and went pretty well with the Buddha on my thigh but it was also a wicked relief to not have that bizarre vibration shaking my skeleton. There’s already talk of expanding the tattoo next time I come back to Sri Lanka. The wonders of social networking should ensure that we can stay in touch.

[clintohanlon]

'DUWA TO THE BAY IN JUST ONE DAY

24th July, 2011   I'd organised my taxi to Arugam Bay to pick me up at 3am but I was torn. Should I get an early night, risking not being able to sleep during the sevenish hour drive? Or should I stay up until 3am, ensuring I'd sleep during the drive but possibly miss some of the scenery that the drive had to offer. Oh the rigors of being on holidays can be so stressful!   Anyway in true Clint fashion I decided to meet halfway, stay up until 1am before realising I was too tired, then sleep through my alarm and wake up to the hotel dogs attacking the driver as he tried to open the front gate. Stupid but ultimately hilarious. So I quickly hustled my stuff down into the van and we got away about half an hour late.   Driving in Sri Lanka is nothing short of terrifying. There never seems to be more than two lanes on any road, one in each direction, but that doesn't stop the drivers from hammering along at break-neck speed and overtaking around blind corners whilst "indicating" with a blaring horn. Also EVERYONE is on their mobile, yammering away and gesticulating with their "free" hand (bear in mind that this hand is meant to be controlling their vehicle). Just imagine that the road system here is like a demolition derby with a less collisions and better mobile coverage. This said, after fifteen minutes of narrowly missing a set after set of high-beam head lights I decided it was better to miss out on some night scenery and avoid a heart attack by getting some more sleep.   I was rousted from my sleep a few times by bumpy road or a particularly heinous corner but I wasn't really properly conscious again until about 7.30am. We were driving through another little town perfumed by small piles of burning garbage, which is pretty disgusting but considering there is no sanitary service it's kind of understandable. Standing next to every stinky smoke stack were the kids from each house, waiting for the school bus in their little uniforms; white dresses with a royal blue neck ribbon for the girls and white shirts and shorts in a matching blue. Every now and then a pair of shoes thrown in the mix.   About five minutes out of the town we came to a road with a clearing on both sides. The driver slowed down and told me that at night you can see wild elephants crossing the road. Amazing. Sure enough, within a few moments we saw a cluster of wild elephants, two cows and a calf... Or as I like to call it... Two mamas and a wittle baayyyybeeeee!!!! Lesbians I'm guessing. Crazy cute. Just like Disney's Dumbo, but with smaller ears and slightly less racism.   We also saw shitloads of peacocks on the drive, walking nonchalantly across the road with zero regard for their lives. Actually now that I think about it, all of the animals seem to wander about like they have right of way. Little spazzy herds of cattle, the occasional idiocy of goats (yes, that's the correct collective noun) and the usual BAZILLION dogs wandering around and skylarking on the road. Incidentally no skylarks.   One thing I DIDN'T see was roadkill. Not a single frisbee frog (weirdly... as I typed frog one appeared at my feet and hopped past me... oooOOOOOOOooooh!) or pancake puppy. Not one manhole-cover mongrel or filleted feline. And come to think of it, a pigeon was standing in the middle of the road and the driver almost slowed to a halt after honking his horn for the 100m leading up to the stupid thing. Maybe the animals DO have right of way here?   The next stop, after the pigeon, was for breakfast. We stopped at a little hut on the side of the road where the only sign in English advertised "Milo" tetra-pack drinks. The driver ordered us some food and we were very promptly (suspiciously so...) served two curries and a coconut sambal dish that I've come to love. I hit up the potato curry and, of course, the coconut but I left the mystery meat curry a wide berth. I'm not saying "mystery meat" because I think the animal of origin is questionable, although it probably is, I'm saying it because the food hygiene leaves a little to be desired. For instance, the Milo that I also got (I know...) came out of a fridge which must have been sitting at a balmy fifteen degrees celsius. Room temperature fresh!   Along with the curries came these things called "string hoppers". The "string" part I get, but where the "hoppers" bit comes from is far beyond me. They're basically like thin, soft wheat noodles, loosely gathered into a patty-type situation about six centimetres in diameter. Why they go to the effort of making them into a patty is also beyond me, because they are just mashed into all the other food unceremoniously. Anyway I will describe breakfast as "edible" and we can move on.   A few more little towns and then Arugam Bay popped up out of the jungle. We crossed a bridge which gave a pretty sexy view of the bay. A long curving beach with blue and white paddle-propelled fishing catamarans lined up along it, ready to launch. The greater bay has a small secondary bay which is torso-deep and perfect for swimming, obviously a popular place for locals to chill out and escape the heat. We pulled into the main street and looked for the hotel the driver's brother had suggested. Far too pricey. Next up was Rupa's Hotel and Restaurant. Little bungalows with power, a fan and a shared bathroom about fifty metres from the beach, all for the bargain basement price of about $7.50 per night. Bingo.   After a week of relative solitude I was ready to start socialising again, and Rupa's turned out to be the perfect place. Within fifteen minutes of dropping off my bag in my little bungalow, I'd met people from New Zealand, France, Israel, Switzerland, Sardinia, Australia and a bunch of cool locals. I'd got some info on the best places and times to surf and teed up a tattoo for tomorrow. And to top it all off, Justin and Cass are due here in the next few days!   I think I'm gonna like this place.

[clintohanlon]

IDLE ISLAND HANDS

23rd June, 2011   So the last few days have been blissfully non-event. I have been sleeping, eating, sunning myself, watching movies, reading, writing, sunning myself a little more and just generally relaxing. The surf has been atrocious due to the high and erratic winds blustering all day but the breeze has definitely made the blistering heat a lot more bearable. I'm not sure whether my lethargy is mainly due to my lowered intake of food and general laze-aboutiness or the ridiculously balmy heat but either way, after a solid week of nothing, I'm happy to be heading to surf country for some serious tubularness.   After I recovered from being ill, I scraped myself out of bed and headed down to Top Secret Restaurant for some breakfast. I started small, or fully intended to, with a little fruit but in no time at all I had five empty plates and a belly full of eggs, baked beans, toast with jam and butter, a full pot of tea and another plate of fruit. I spent the next portion of the day digesting and then the following portion in a mild food coma on the beach. It's nice to be eating again.   Sometimes when you're travelling you make travel mistakes like the one that got me food poisoning. I ordered a chinese style noodle soup because I wasn't overly hungry. The mistake consisted of doing so a) in Sri Lanka and b) in a restaurant which seats over one hundred patrons where I was the only one. It was literally a 6:1 staff to patron ratio. So the produce probably wasn't rotating as fast as it should have been.   Then there are the the happy mistakes where you take a small gamble and it pays off. So one night, not really feeling like a curry, I jumped in a tuk-tuk and asked if there were any good pizza places close by. He took me to a restaurant called Sea View. The sign out front had various phrases misspelled in Italian like "Fruiti del Marr" and "Neopolitano Sause" and I thought to myself, "Here we go..." as I sat down and accepted a menu.   I ordered a vegetarian pizza and a ginger beer. As I waited, rethinking my choice to eat at an Italian restaurant in Hikkaduwa, my fears were slowly alleviated. First of all, the proprietor, a five foot nothing Sri Lankan man who closely resembles the Oompa Loompahs from the Johnny Depp run chocolate factory, could be seen cutting from table to table speaking fluentish Italian with the customers who were that way inclined. Then I notice the decor. Every table covered in a stereo-typical Italian restaurant red and white table cloth, arched serviced windows leading into the kitchen and a herb garden which is fully visible from the outdoor dining terrace.   In my limited experience, Sri Lankans are influenced heavily by the "take it or leave it" movement of interior design. Given this, and the other indicators, I deduced that the restauranteur had spent some time in Italy.  And let me tell you, as someone who spent a couple of months in Italy, basically just eating, the pizza base at this little Sri Lankan restaurant was just as good as any I had all across Italy. As far as the toppings go it was a bit of a mixed bag but considering the availability I think they did pretty well indeed.   I later found out that the boss had lived in Milan for six years, working his way up through the ranks of the restaurant in one of the major hotels in the city. He eventually gained the title of "head pizza chef", which would have been totally prestigious, before heading back to Sri Lanka to start his own restaurant. He brought some basil seeds back from Italy and he now has a flourishing garden which he uses to top his pizzas. Love it.   As soon as he gets his music sorted out, he'll have a wicked little night spot on his hands. I'm as big a Michael Jackson fan as the next guy but there is only so many times during a meal that you can hear "Man in the Mirror" before you feel like punching an albino rhinoceros. Use your internet connection and search "Not man in the mirror" and watch the customers roll in.

[clintohanlon]

I SAID A HICK! AHH! DOO! WAH! I SAID A HIKKADUWA!

18th June, 2011

We arrived into Hikkaduwa around 1pm and I gave Ruben the address of the hotel I'd booked for the night. He stopped to ask directions, knowing that the hotel was on the road we'd been driving on for the last hour or so as we headed into town. The not-so-helpful chap who we first spoke to told us that the hotel was closed for the low season and that there was nobody there. I'd already made a booking online.

He suggested that I check into another hotel just across the road and that's when my spidey sense began to tingle. Ruben, lovely as he is, took this schmuck's word for it and tried to convince me to just check in. I asked Ruben to politely tell the salesman to fuck off and we headed further down the road until we found the place, complete with low season staff and all.
 
The grifter turned out to be half right. As far as guests went, the place was completely empty. A twenty-two room hotel and not a single guest.

The only open windows are mine and the towels on the line belong to the staff.

Given that I had the pick of the rooms, I chose a first floor double with no air conditioning just to see whether it was bearable. I changed out into my swimming attire and went to check out the surf. It was pretty messy and the wind wasn't doing me any favours so I opted for a swim and my first bit of sun-baking in over six months. Heaven. The wind eased the blistering sun and kept me cool enough to stay down there until sunset, wave-watching.

The view from the hotel beachfront. Pretty hard to deal with every day.

I said “hello” to the boss, a fifty-something Sri Lankan woman who'd returned from a knee operation in Colombo during the afternoon, talked turkey about the room rates and then headed to bed to watch a couple of films and rehydrate. Sleeping turned out to be a piece of cake with the mild case of sun-stroke I'd administered to myself so in the morning I properly unpacked my bags, resolved to stay for a few more days.

Early rise and down to the beach with my board. Incidentally not and early enough rise as the wind had kicked in again and the surf was messy. A couple of locals came up to flex their English muscles and told me that the surf was much better the day before I'd arrived. Thanks guys. So I set my dial to "maxi-relax" and settled in for some more tanning.

This time I gave myself a slightly more serious case of sun-stroke complete with headaches and nausea. Damned equatorial sun. Then when I returned to my room I think I gave myself a mild concussion coming out of the bathroom and hitting my head on the door frame. Damned short Sri Lankans. And later when I ventured out for some dinner I must have given myself a cheeky case of food poisoning. Damned general lack of refrigeration and food preparation hygiene.

The night was spent in "evacuation mode", firmly planted on the porcelain and spewing onto the shower floor. Sexy, right?

I seem to have awoken feeling a little better. My headache has subsided and my skin is no longer painfully prickly though I'm feeling pretty dehydrated. It's not likely I'll be venturing into the sun at any point today, or attempting to eat anything other than some dry biscuits and drink HEAPS of water.

Stay tuned for more updates, kiddies!

[clintohanlon]

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

17th June, 2011

After my amazing tour of Colombo city, I headed back to the hotel to write up the days experiences. As I wrote bout the delish fish I had for lunch I started to get hungry again so when I'd finished writing I headed up to the hotel restaurant for a bite to eat. As someone who rarely eats out alone, I was unprepared for a semi-busy restaurant of sideways glancing people.

I was doing my best to look preoccupied and nonchalant, but I'm guessing I just looked anxious and fidgety. In future, when I plan to dine alone, I must remember to bring a book or game or phone or Apple iSomething to concentrate on so I'm not left staring morosely at the adjacent buildings visible from the rooftop restaurant.

My problem was solved when I offered to take a photograph for a Canadian family and they asked me to come and join them at their table (further proving that my attempts to not look lonely were futile). Turns out the mother and father were volunteering at a hospital in the north and their daughter, her cousin and her grandmother were all visiting from BC. There was also a Sri Lankan dude at the table who turned out to be a gem dealer whom they were considering doing some export business with when they returned home.

Introductions were swiftly followed by my food hitting the table and they informed me playfully that if I was going to be sitting at their table then I had to eat my rice and curry with my hands, in traditional Sri Lankan fashion. I called their bluff and asked for a demonstration. Without skipping a beat, Mama Canada plunged her hand right into my plate and started mashing everything together, forming a mouthful-sized ball and then proceeded to offer it up to me. Whether it was when we all started laughing or when I actually ate the ball of rice and curry I'm not entirely sure, but the ice was well and truly broken and the conversation flowed with the following drinks.

At some point I slinked off to my room and crashed out but not before finishing the beers I'd bought earlier that day and having a drunken attempt at a blog entry. Sleep pattern still firmly in tact, I rose early and had some breakfast then jumped in my taxi bound for Hikkaduwa. The driver introduced himself as Ruben and we headed down the south-west coast and settled in for the next few hours.

We chatted most of the way there, Ruben very happy to practice his English and find out as much as possible about me and where I'm from. He also proved to be a wealth of knowledge on Sri Lanka and the landmarks along our route. He told me about the local specialties (we stopped to buy some roadside mangosteens and delicious king coconuts) and recent events but there was one thing that will stick with me for a long time.

In 2004 a tsunami hit the south-west of Sri Lanka with devastating effects. Ruben's son was on a trip with friends to a coastal town in the south when the tsunami hit. Ruben told me that after he failed to contact his son, he rallied a group of thirty friends and family to head south and find him. Knowing where his son had intended to spend his holiday, the crew set out in teams, wading through the wreckage and the bodies in search of the familiar face. After eight hours of searching, one of the teams called Ruben to tell him they'd found his son.

Ruben brought his son home to Colombo to be buried in the family plot. He told me that one of the hardest things he ever had to do was to tell his son's fiancé that she should stop mourning and open her heart to finding someone else to spend her life with. She moved to Australia to live and study but Ruben says that they have stayed in touch and she's doing well. He says that since his son was taken from him he has a totally different outlook on life and now he tries to live every day like it's his last.

Good luck, Ruben. I hope the last is far away and it’s as amazing a day as ever there was.

[clintohanlon]

NOW WHO'S PISSED!?

16th June, 2011

So just to clarify... It's me. I'M pissed.   To set the scene for this little bit of writing; I'm in my hotel room in Colombo, I've just had a Lion Lager in the shower to wash down/away the previous beers that I had over dinner at the hotel restaurant. I'm in my undies, the air conditioning is pumping and I'm typing furiously (or as furiously as my drunken state will allow) on my brand new iPad. His name is FlyPad. Anyone pick up the reference to the mode of transport/accommodation from my last adventure?? Big ups to all the mad legends back home who chucked in for this bad boy. It's already kicking butt and I love youse all!!   The flight from Abu Dhabi to Colombo is pretty hazy. I was a bit jet lagged and pretty much slept the whole way, occasionally waking to wipe the dribble from my mouth. What I CAN tell you is 1) I shared a row with a nice, polite Korean family. 2) the food was okay and 3) if the cockhead sitting in front of me yelled out "MUDDUMN!!!" one more time whilst the OBVIOUSLY very busy flight attendants were serving everyone else their meal, he was going to cop a serious punch to the back of the head. I know you want another scotch, MATE, but it's not our fault you sculled the first drink. So enjoy your meal, wait your turn, stop waving your hand like an idiot and shut your noise hole.   But I digress...   I awoke at Colombo International Airport to about eighty percent of the passengers standing up and scrambling wildly for their carry-on luggage before the seatbelt sign had been switched off. Now, even though I'm almost certain that moments before I'd woken up there had been an announcement in a minimum of three languages, specifically asking them not to do this... *sigh*... The cabin crew were forced to hustle all of the impatient jerks back into their seats as the plane was obviously still taxiing.   Ironically, as soon as these bustling, jostling, yammering, irate cattle had made their triumphant way off the aircraft they managed to reduce their intensity and walking speed to a herd of lame sloths lost in an airport, each meandering more slowly and absent-mindedly than the last. If I wasn't so amused by the situation I probably would have screamed.   Avoiding too much more ranting and digression... I grabbed my checked luggage and my board and jumped in a cab bound for my hotel. Ridiculously cheap taxi prices applied (definitely something I DON'T miss about Sydney) and after a brief mix-up at reception I was all tucked in and watching B-grade movies on a tiny hotel TV. Colombo City Hotel turned out to be pretty sweet digs and I booked one more night so I could explore the city.   So...   FAST FORWARD >> to the next day. I must have drunkenly fallen asleep last night whilst writing that but I've read over it and I reckon I was on auto-pilot because it's all pretty coherent. Either way I woke up early this morning so I decided to finish the entry before heading off to Hikkaduwa to begin my holiday in tropical paradise.   As I was saying, I had already booked in for another night at the hotel. I guess I hadn't put a great deal of thought into it, but as a hospitality worker who has a reverse sleeping pattern to all of you day walkers, jet lag actually worked in my favour. I woke early on the second day and grabbed my complimentary breakfast at the hotel buffet. Pretty western standard except for the random curry in the bane-marie between the scrambled eggs and the baked beans. It was potato based and it was delicious. When in Rome...   I chilled in my room for a little longer, enjoying the air-con, but eventually wandered out into the world to have a look around. I didn't take my map and instead just walked in the direction of the open sky, where the buildings seemed to stop. I'm no Indian tracker but it worked out pretty well and in no time at all I was face to face with open ocean. It seemed that Colombo, despite not being on the list of noted surfing locations in Sri Lanka, had a pretty consistent and ridable shore break. I later found out that this pretty much applies to the whole Sri Lankan coast, it's the scenery as you're paddling in which dictates the appeal as a surf spot.   As I headed down to the water to get my first taste of the sea I'd had in six months or more, I realised how much I'd missed her. Unfortunately (and also fortunately) I was intercepted by a 3-wheeler driver who called out for my attention as I was about to cross the street. I promptly told him that I was just keen to walk but he assured me that by getting in his tuk-tuk I would be doing HIM a serious solid and it wouldn't cost me a single rupee. Basically some gem shop owner had cut him a deal that for every westerner  he brought to his shop he would get one litre of fuel for free. My suspicions were alleviated when we pulled into the car park and Sumal told me that I shouldn't buy anything at the shop as the company actually specialised in garments but had moved into gemstones with no previous experience. We were just here for the fuel.   True to his word, Sumal didn't charge me a thing and he dutifully dropped me at a seafood restaurant I'd spotted on the way to the gem shop. He said a humble "thank you, sir", I said goodbye and then just as he was about to drive away I asked him to join me for lunch, which he bashfully did.

    We ate a whole grilled seer with some delicious garlic vegetables and a simple vegetable fried rice. It was fucking delicious. I asked for a chilli sauce for the fish and it was sweet and spicy and tied the whole meal together perfectly. We each had a beer and chatted about family and friends and life as it was for both of us. Sumal turned out to be a really nice and genuine dude, who spoke candidly about his wife and daughter, his aspirations and achievements and asked endless questions about life in Australia and my life in general. Good chat, Sumal. Good chat.   Lunch for both of us came to about AUD$20 and he thanked me profusely as he admitted that his usual lunch would be lucky to break the $1 mark. As he said that, I thought "I'd be lucky to get a bottle of water at a supermarket for $1 back home" but I kept my mouth shut because I had a feeling that his mental gears were in motion, planning the relocation of his family to Australia. As I waved off the necessity of his thanks I changed the subject by asking him to give me a tour of Colombo in his 3-wheeler.   His tour was awesome. We chatted more and he was pretty informative and patient with me as I snapped photograph after photograph of things he must have seen a million times. Here’s a little sample…

  Speeding train along the Colombo coast. And who's that handsome debil in the side mirror?

A stand of Buddha statues with awesomely tacky light set-ups behind their heads.

Crow. There's millions of them all around Sri Lanka. They should definitely be the national bird.

There was some sweet old rides at the temple we visited. Just sitting there preserved in time and not being used.

Independence Hall, Colombo.

Even at a Buddhist temple, people still find ways of demeaning and mistreating animals. Sumal told me that the three chains he is shackled with only get removed once a month for the full moon party.

Antique traffic lights.

The sun set over this park at the end of the day. Not a bad way to finish the tour.

  The best part was that I would have happily hung out with him anyway because we actually got along well. The sights were nice but the company totally made the day. When he dropped me at my hotel, I offered to pay him 3000 rupees (about $30) but he said it was too much. After haggling me DOWN to 2400 rupees (a situation which left me confused to say he least) we exchanged contact details, he let me take a couple of photos of him and his steed and then he rode off into the sunset.

    Cheers, Sumal. Your name will forever be synonymous with the city of Colombo and it's wonderful flavours, sights and experiences.

[clintohanlon]

SO WHAT NEXT? WELL… THIS, I GUESS.

15th June, 2011

I’m currently sitting at Abu Dhabi airport, in a cozyish recliner chair, facing a glass wall overlooking the tarmac and some positively vast and barren-looking desert landscape. It’s 8:30am and I’m awaiting my transfer flight to Colombo, the Sri Lankan capital. I’m also sitting next to a particularly loud nose-breather. Not a complaint. Just an observation.

The first leg of my newest little adventure is nearly complete. After sweet-talking the girl at the check-in counter in Sydney, I managed to hustle myself a better seat with some actual legroom, which also WASN’T an emergency exit or right near the shitter. The only compromise: the seat was next to a woman with a baby. One word: Headphones.

The gamble completely paid off because Kate turned out to be a super cool lady with plenty of banter and Alfie, her little five-month-old, turned out to an absolute dude-legend and ended up being the star of my flight. Kate and I juggled Alfie back and forth and kept him entertained and he acted a total champ for his first time flying. He just ate, slept and smiled his way from Sydney to Abu Dhabi.

Kate was nice enough to let me take a couple of photos of them before we got off the plane.

There were also plenty of other kids on the flight and definitely a few screaming babies but as always, the parents were far more annoying in the long run.

Here’s a helpful hint aimed at any of you new parents out there looking to travel with your horrible little gremlins: If they cry… Do your best to soothe them. There is a time and a place for letting a child “cry it out”. A packed plane is categorically NOT that time or that place. To the other extreme, if your little bundle of joy erupts into a full fledged fit of screaming during the “lights out, sleepy time” when every other passenger is in rest and repose, making an incredibly loud HISSING sound over the top of them is not doing anyone any good. You’re an idiot. You should put your child up for adoption and save them a long and arduous life dealing with you.

“HHSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!”

Some other notable people on the flight were:

The very loud couple whom insisted on yelling at each other in Arabic, even though they were sitting right next to each other and there was absolutely ZERO noise because everyone was trying to sleep.

The silly but apologetic lady sitting behind me, who fell asleep on the light button and activated a very slow and annoying strobe light which, despite supposedly being for her seat, shone directly into my eyes and the eyes of little Alfie as we were both attempting to sleep.

The nice old man who must have thought that, although I was covered in visible tattoos and (I am told) look aggressive and criminal in some way, I was nice enough to touch fondly on the shoulder and smile at every time he wandered down the isle to ward off an impending bout of deep vein thrombosis.

But now the flight is over and I’m just doing my best to kill some time. I have another three hours before my flight leaves so I’m going to explore the airport shops, figure out which gate my next flight leaves from and get the hell away from this nose-breather. So being in the United Arab Emirates I think it’s only appropriate that I sign off with this: PEACE.

[iamjennifernunez-deactivated201]

Drunken wisdom is by far the best kind...

[clintohanlon]

slummingoxford:

“if writing on this toilet wall is not for critical acclaim nor for monetary purposes, then it is the purest form of art.”

- a toilet in some bar