Life in Colombo

Forgive me if some of my comments over the next few weeks seem slightly clichéd or old-hat. This is my first trip to the subcontinent and it doesn’t matter how much you hear from other people, there is nothing like first-hand experience.

My flight left Dubai in the early hours of Wednesday morning, meaning there was very little sleep beforehand and, with the journey taking just four hours, very little sleep on board. So, it was with slightly bleary eyes that I stared out of the window as we descended into Colombo, the lush, green landscape appearing out of the haze. However, any feeling of weariness was soon cast aside as my senses were sent into overdrive on entering the bustling – and at first glance, chaotic - Colombo life.

The first challenge was to locate the correct taxi driver amid a sea of people outside the arrivals hall. I gambled that a man holding a slightly miss spelt version of my name was the right guy – taking the view that not too many people with a similar surname would be getting off a flight from Dubai. Next came the baggage handler, who didn’t miss a trick and was convinced I was hiding some nice “London money” from him. The best I could offer was some left over Dirhams, which I’m sure he never quite believed.

Airport negotiated, it was time for the trip into town. If I’d had any ideas about nodding off for an hour, that notion didn’t last long. Parts of the journey were breathless; faced head-on with a large truck on the wrong side of the road, there is not much you can do than have total faith in your driver. But as we progressed further along our route it dawned on me that the system of tooting horns and waving arms actually worked and kept things moving. The tuk-tuks squeezed in among the lorries, which vied for position with the cars and four-wheel drives.

Midway through the journey into Colombo, the driver asked how I would be paying for the trip. Good question; I knew I’d forgotten something at the airport. No problem. The car was swung around, pulled up in front of a bank and I was pointed in the direction of an ATM. I’d not given much thought to the exchange rate and had to think for a moment before keying in the seemingly absurd amount of 5000 rupees. If I was to ask for anything greater than double figures back home, the machine would probably start smoking, chew up my card and tell me not to be so stupid. To ask for a thousand anything, never mind the currency, took some getting used to.

But here I have the joy of being able to divide by roughly 180 to get the equivalent in pounds. Now, my 180 times table is a little rusty these days so, back in the cab, my phone-cum-calculator told me I’d withdrawn the princely sum of £27. Excess baggage and merchandise might well be an issue in three weeks time. Until then, this is an experience I’m intent on living to the full.