Sri+Lanka

Untitled - Logan Coughran Travel Story: Sri Lanka
As the plane I am in is flying across the sky, I wonder why I am making such a journey just for tea. I am flying to Sri Lanka; I am a tea //connisuer, I am going to sri lanka for Ceylon tea, the best tea in the world. I want to find out how it is harvested and how they make and brew the tea. I also want to know a little bit more about where the tea comes from.// As the plane nears the airport I can see the city of Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital city. Well, it’s not really the capital. It’s considered the capital because it originally was the capital. They tried to move it, but they didn’t finish moving all the buildings.The supreme court, is in Colombo, half of the official buildings and officials are still there. It also has the largest population, so it’s considered the capital. Sri Lanka has a population of 23 million people and is slightly larger than west Virginia. As the plane lands in Bandaranaike International Airport**.** My guide, Bayya, was waiting for me. Bayya is a tall Sri Lankan man whom I hired to be my guide during my stay and travels. He has very dark skin, black thick hair, and no expression what-so-ever. I’ve read that in Sri Lanka, that you’re not supposed to show any emotion in public, so I’m not concerned. I’m sure he’s happy to have this job. He’s better than most in Sri Lanka. Most of Sri Lanka is traditional economy where they live in stick huts and the mud. Well, not in Colombo. Colombo is a nice, modern city. "Hi. Are you Bayya? My travel agent booked you?" He nods. I guess he understands. He says, "Follow me." He walks me out of the airport and to the car. It’s a cheap old Toyota. I’m quite sure of the color because it’s so old. The exterior is rusty. We’ll check in at the hotel and then he’ll take me to the tea sellers. I have a gift for Bayya, and I’m trying to remember the gift-giving etiquette. You have to use two hands to give the gift. You can’t use just one hand, even if it’s a tiny little box. That would be considered like it’s not full-hearted. I’m giving Bayya a watch as a gift besides paying him. I also have to remember not to point at anything with my index finger. I could use my other three fingers or my thumb. So It’s hard to keep my hands still.

At the tea farm, I see lots of people picking tea. It looks like tiring, hard work. I mean it’s picking leaves basically. These are really good tea leaves. Sri Lanka spends 50 billion per year, but they only make $5,000 per city. Basically, they don’t make much more than what they spend. Unfortunately, this was not really a good trip. I left not learning anything about the famous teas, and I lost my watch

Emma Shields media type="file" key="sri_lanka_S.m4a" width="300" height="50" Emma Shields The Buddha's Full Moon

 I gazed up into the bright blue sky. The wispy, barely-visible full moon soared high above the land like it was dancing with the sun. The easy breeze was refreshing for my hot body, which had been roasting in the sun since 7:00 a.m. It had only been eight months since I had hopped out of the muscular SUV that was plastered with the ‘Peace Corps’ logo and arrived at my village in Sri Lanka. In that time, my host family introduced me to a whole new life which so few people ever see. The luscious pastures of grass and monstrous trees dominated the land. The brilliant beaches gleamed alongside the dazzling sea. The clear blue sky made the setting a perfect day in my village. I returned to helping the young children of my village create the festive decorations for that night, the celebration for the holiday Vesak. Vesak is the major Buddhist holiday. It celebrates the birth, enlightenment, and death of the Buddha and is held on the first full moon in May. The day before, the first day of Vesak, worshippers had traveled to their temples to pray, give thanks to the Buddha, and give him sacrifices. On the next day comes the party, when everyone has a great time and celebrates a great life. My host mother, Sanduni, came over to check on our progress. She was wearing a blouse and a traditional dress called a saree. A saree is a wraparound dress that falls to the ankles and is made from six yards of fabric. Women drape the fabric over their shoulder and wrap or tie it around their waist. I clambered up from the dusty ground. We placed our palms together in front of our chests as we bowed our heads to each other. We both exclaimed “Ayubowen” to one another, which means, “May you be blessed with the gift of a long life.” I informed her that the children and I had finished creating the paper lanterns for the holiday celebration. We smiled and waved goodbye as the sun shone down on our faces like gold particles floating through the air. Inhaling a deep breath of fresh air, I sat down again on the dirt-covered floor and began to gather together some incense. The children, including my host brother Kasun, all had silly grins. They were excited for the party that night. The almost-deserted streets would be soon filled with joyous people. Walls and houses would be decorated with lanterns, incense, and fresh flowers making the air smell beautiful and fragrant. Hardworking Sri Lankans had started to build up the food vendor stalls, called dansalas. These vendors would give away free food, including rice and curry, ice cream, or sago porridge. Buddhist worshippers believe that if they achieve good deeds, the good deeds will erase the bad ones and increase their reward in the afterlife. After we had finished preparing the decorations, the children who helped out with the lanterns ushered me into my hosts’ house and forced me to stay indoors until the party would be ready for me to go outside and experience it fully. I obeyed their orders with a smile and waited in my room until the sky outside was a dim mix of navy blue and gray. I heard the sounds of my friends laughing and enjoying themselves in the warm, calm night. The children eagerly came into the small house and took my hand to lead me to the party. I pushed through the door and arrived in a different world. The people of the village were dancing around, eating food, and laughing. The mouth-watering smell of the dansalas’s food wafted through the air into my nose. The lights looked like fiery stars that traveled thousands of miles for the party. Smiling, I stepped out of my house and into the light of the full moon. Katherine Littman

Biravy - Life in Sri Lanka
by Katherine Littman Rumbling along on a dirt road, we drive through green. It’s all around us; hills and hills of it, covered in tea. I am visiting Sri Lanka and staying with a family who works on a tea farm. The jeep rumbles to a stop, and I jump out, grab my bags and head over to the family’s living quarters. Mostly Tamil people work on the plantations, so in their native language, I warmly say “Wanacome”, the word feeling strange on my American tongue. They look at me like I am the only white, blue-eyed person they have ever seen. I can see they are surprised to be acknowledged, possibly due to the fact that the Tamil people are segregated and neglected by the Simalese majority. They each press their palms together and tilt their heads down. I reach out my fingertips to lightly touch their foreheads, and they respond with “Wanacome.” There is a mother with two grown children, a son and a daughter, who are young, but look worn and dark from laboring in the sun. Their neighbors and village members are all very curious, and though they have been taught to look away, their eyes peek at us anyway. The daughters name is பைரவி (Biravy), who I have frequently written to, and her brother’s name is ஆச்சர்யா (Aacharya). They smile and gesture for me to follow them inside. I walk into the entrance of their “line room”. It is a long hallway with small rooms, one per family. It’s dark, and the walls are bare, the ceilings are low, and the floor is packed mud. It smells moldy, due to the bad ventilation, and all the rain, and one wall has been washed away from the weather covered with fertilizer bags. I had talked with Biravy prior to my arrival, and had learned a little bit about where she lived, but it was in much worse shape than I had imagined. Most of the rooms were built by the British who left in 1948, and the line rooms had barely been renovated since. I think of my own room at home, light streaming in the window, with proper beds and furniture. There are windows here, but more accurately holes in the wall with cloth hanging over them. “Your bed is over here”, said Biravy, pointing at a cot in the corner of the room. I smile at her and say, “Thank you.” There is a colorful sheet on the bed and I know that they had brought it out specially for me. Biravy is also colorful, wrapped in a short sleeved sari with a long green skirt, and an orange and pink short sleeved top. I feel out of place in my American khaki dress. I sit down with Biravy at the kitchen table to catch up, since finally we are face to face. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Thank you so much for opening up your home,” I say in Tamil. A big smile spreads across her face and I get up from the chair to give her an authentic and loving embrace. “I have so much to tell you,” she says, and it feels good to know I am welcome. The next day, I go with her to pick tea. We travel on foot farm on a winding road with her friends. We all wear scarves over our heads that support a big woven basket. The weight pulls me back, and I say, “Wow, how do you balance this?” They laugh and demonstrate how you have to lean a little forward and adjust the scarf. We arrive for work at eight am, my legs and feet already tired. We are separated into groups supervised by a “Kanganey,” or group headman who makes sure that we pick enough tea. Eighteen kilograms each seems almost impossible, especially during the rainy season. Biravy stands next to me, close enough to whisper in my ear without drawing attention. “See the man across the way? It is arranged for me to marry him! I don’t even know him, Jen. Its a business arrangement.” I hear the desperation in her voice and I wish I could help, but her family would shun her if she didn’t follow their plan. “Vijo is the man I love, and I cant live with someone I've barely set eyes on, knowing that I have found true love already. It’s barbaric- my mother and father choosing who I spend my life with” Biravy has been in love with Vijo for about a year now, and it is mutual, but unlike in New York (where I am from) love is forbidden. The country has the highest suicide rates in Asia largely because many young lovers are put in this situation. I can’t let her go the way some have, by swallowing DDT. “He is Sinhalese, so he has more job opportunities, and I think we could make it outside of the plantation.” she breathes. “He wants me to come with him, he wants us to leave and make a new life together.” I am scared for her. I'm not sure what is right, because I know that I would never want to be put in her situation and forced to marry. But I also know that sometimes in arranged marriages husband and wife develop love for each other, and marriages last longer. I understand where she is coming from, and I know I can’t let her throw away love and risk her killing herself. “But Jen, we don’t have a way to leave. No car. I am trapped.” she sighs. A plantation worker only makes 290 rupees a day or 2.5 US dollars while a kilo of quality Ceylonese tea sells for $53 to $135 on the European market. It’s barely enough to buy food at the local market, let alone a car. We are picking “Black Gold”, or Ceylonese black tea, one of Sri Lanka's most profitable and largest industries. Sri Lanka is also one of the few places that still picks tea by hand, which improves flavor and aroma. Biravy’s skilled and nimble hands quickly and swiftly pluck two leaves and a bud from the stalks, moving fast to meet today’s target. Next to me a twelve-year-old girl is picking tea, the youngest age for picking in the fields. My hands feel clumsy and lumbering, sloppily cracking the stems, and fumbling along, my wrists and fingers moving much slower than the local women. “You guys have it right in America,” determines Biravy, “love is free and you can be with who you want.” “But sometimes marriage fails, love fails Biravy. Divorce is common in America.” I tell her, thinking of my hometown and all the divorced parents. “At least you have free will, a choice,” she voices. I decide then that I need to help her. Biravy is smart and I know Vijo is too and I think that maybe they could make it. The day I arrived, I rode in on a jeep that was scheduled to pick me up, and the company said that they would come day or night. “ I think I can help you,” I say, turning to look into her resigned face. “You two can come with me on the car I am scheduled to leave in.” She gasps and a glimmer of hope and excitement for the future sparks in her eyes. “I would forever owe you,” she cries “thank you so very much!” For the rest of the day a smile dances on her lips, and she emits an aura of excitement and anticipation for the future. The following night I go to bed in the cot. It’s hot, and humid, and flies rest on my face, arms, and legs. Biravy’s mother and her brother are deep sleepers, so when my wristwatch hits midnight and Vijo's clock strikes twelve in a room across the yard; we all wake. Biravy and I take the small bag she has packed with the little money saved, and we tread quietly and lightly out through the hall and outside. A half-mile down the road, we hide behind an expansive tree trunk, waiting for Vijo to meet us. “Squish, squish” I hear, and peek out to see Vijo, his feet making suction cups in the mud. He smiles wide in the moonlight and I see Biravy return the smile, nervous but happy. We walk cautiously down the road about a mile more until we find the place where I had arrived. The green jeep is idling in the pullout, waiting for us to scamper swiftly into the back. We climb in the rumbling jeep and the escape car turns and pulls out, on the road heading for freedom. Vijo turns to Biravy, lightly brushes his lips on hers and whispers, “I love you.” She opens her eyes and tilts up her head, murmuring “I love you too,” her arms wrapping around him. We drive away, slipping into the night, through the dark green, the hills, and hills of it, and into a new life. =Photos=



Ceylonese black tea is one of Sri Lanka's most profitable industries. They are the fourth largest tea exporter in the world. Many of the tea plants are still harvested by hand instead of machine which makes the tea more flavorful, but the workers suffer bad housing and pay.

Sri Lanka has been fighting a civil war since 1983 when the Liberation tigers of Tamil Eelam, known as the "Tamil Tigers", began fighting for an independent state. The LTTE are a seperatist military organization, who wanted a seperate Tamil State since the Tamil people are segregated by the Simalese majority. This war waged for 25 years, until the Sri Lankan military defeated the Tamil Tigers in May of 2009. Many innocent bystanders where killed, injured, or homes destroyed by the war. The government claims not to have any involvement in military killings, disappearances, or the populations general fear. But international human rights groups have found that Sri Lanka has infringed on peoples civil rights and denied people fair public trails.

Pidurutalagala is the tallest mountain is Sri Lanka peaking at 8,281 ft. and one of the country's most famous natural landmark. Pidurutalagala is located near the city of Nuwara Eliya, and can be seen from the Central province. The mountain peak is called an "Ultra-high security zone" by the government and serves as an important point in the country's radar system and off-limits from the public.

This is Columbo, Sri Lanka's capital and most populated city ison the west coast of the island. Since the Portuguese control from 1505-1656 to the Dutch reign from 1656-1795, to the British control in 1796-1948, and to independent Sri Lanka in 1948, Colombo has remained the islands capital. The countrys architecture reflects its past of being rulled by many european countries, and its name has also changed from Ceylon to the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka.



Dunhinda Falls is about 3 miles from the town Badulla in Sri Lanka. The waterfall is around 193 ft. and was created from the Badulu Oya river. It gets it's name from all of the mist the waterfall creates. "Dun" means "mist" or "cloud" in Swahili.

In 2004 a huge tsunami devestated the western coast of Sri Lanka. Waves reached 98 feet high, killing 30,196 people and ruining crops, homes, and the coasts infrastructure. Sri Lanka is in a vulnerable position as an island and has suffered many tidal waves and flooding causing many people who live in low lying areas to lose all their belongings.

The rock fortress Sigiriya means “Lion Rock” and is a major Sri Lanka attraction. This fortress was built by King Kasyapa, son of King Dhatusena. Kasyapa overthrew his father and crowned himself king of Sri Lanka. His brother Mogallana, true heir to the throne, ran to India seeking revenge. Kasyapa built this rock fortress for protection from his brother. When the battle arrived, Kasyapa rode out on his and seeing he was out-numbered took his own life. Sigiriya became a monk temple.

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