My fifth day was intended to be simple enough- visit a research institute in the morning and conduct an interview in the afternoon. However, thanks to a rather serendipitous arrangement, my day would be far more productive than I had anticipated.

I began by heading downstairs to the Coffee Spot where I picked up my delightfully strange bagel with lox and cream cheese imbued with a certain European flare for having been toasted in a panini press (it looked like a circular crinkle cut fry). Then I set out for the American Institute for Sri Lankan Studies (AISLS), a research organization with whom I had been in contact prior to arriving in Colombo. There I finally met face-to-face with Mrs. Ira Unamboowe, Executive Director of AISLS and warm and dedicated guide, who helped me navigate the unfamiliar territory that is Sri Lanka by providing me with contacts and setting up meetings. We talked and strategized for about an hour, during which time she made phone calls which enabled me to secure additional interviews. Given my time constraints and the fact that there are not one but two national holidays this week, I would not have been able to schedule as many interviews as I have without the assistance of virtual strangers and I am fortunate that so many people, such as Mrs. Unamboowe, have been willing to help me, a graduate student from a university somewhere in California not called Los Angeles or Berkeley. Mutually we agreed that my best course of action for the day would be to visit Environmental Foundation Limited (EFL), an environmentally-focused public interest law organization, gather what literature and contacts I could from there, and make my way to my interview later. Luckily for yours truly, EFL was located within walking distance from AISLS, which pleased, to no small extent, both my feet and my desire to remain dry, or at least drier than I had been during my epic walk from Colombo 08 back to my hotel the previous day.

The tinkering I had done with Google maps while at AISLS indicated that EFL was only a few short blocks away. Early on in my walk I crossed paths with a notable coffee shop, and, given that the heat was already at full tilt, I opted to pick up a cool beverage before formally attacking the uneven pavement to find EFL. After managing to cross the street unscathed, I entered a coffee shop that stood as a symbol of the level of development and cosmopolitanism Colombo aspires to achieve. Though named Java Lounge, this establishment proudly served Starbucks coffee and was decorated more like Central Perk of Friends fame than anything remotely cognizable as Sri Lankan. I ordered an iced coffee. To my chagrin, somehow during the ordering process our communication was severed, leaving me with not a soothing, icy glass of joe, but a piping hot cup of coffee in a ceramic mug. Not wanting to press the matter further, I simply imbibed my hot drink on a hot day, which was easier than it sounds as JL was air-conditioned to abusive Western standards. Fully caffeinated, I ventured back out into the unforgivably hot tropical world and followed the simple directions I had written down in my notepad.

After following my directions precisely, I stood at the corner of Thimbirigasyaya and Spathodea Avenue, perplexed. Where was Havelock Road? I asked a couple guards for help, and they pointed me in the opposite direction from where Google maps had commanded me to go. Street numbers were curiously absent from most building facades, but one building which did feature a number led me to a kind of dirt road where, presumably, I would find the EFL office. Again I inquired with a guard who lackadaisically controlled the traffic going in and out of the residential side street. He informed me that the location I sought was indeed directly down the road he manned. I walked about 50 feet until I saw the sign, in English and Sinhala, for "Environmental Foundation Ltd." I passed through the threshold into a dim and open sauna of an office, staffed almost exclusively by women. Immediately I was faced with the awkward situation of having to deliver an entirely unrehearsed solicitation for assistance. What, do graduate students not just randomly pop in off the street into NGOs in the developed world? In this line of work, one needs to be humble and realize that when asking for help you are totally at the mercy of what is likely to be a complete stranger, so manners function as an important form of currency. In my case, a young lawyer, Ms. Lakmini Amarasinghe, offered to speak with me about my research. Although we experienced a bit of difficulty communicating, the essence of my project and request for contacts and/or resources was conveyed clearly. In fact, I landed a major document- "Your Environmental Rights and Responsibilities: A Handbook for Sri Lanka." At first Ms. Amarasinghe agreed to let me photocopy page 11, "Sri Lankans constitutional right to a healthy environment," (Note: To properly analogize the importance of this section to my research, this single page is nearly equivalent to having someone you asked out on a date but who rejected your advance explain to you that he/she was currently seeing someone at the time you asked, satisfying your thirst for an explanation and weakening any residual stinging sensation) but upon further consultation with another staff member she agreed to let me keep the whole coffee table-sized bilingual reference tool. I expressed my extreme gratitude for her organization's charitable contribution to my dissertation (unfortunately not tax-deductible due to incommensurable tax codes) and left to find lunch.

As I proceeded down the block, however, I came across a sign, partially obstructed by a much larger sign for a bank, that read, "Institute of Human Rights." Although no one I had been in contact with mentioned this particular organization, I thought I might as well check it out and see if they, too, can offer any assistance. I cut off a car that was slowly turning into a car port, and started up the stairs to the second floor, where IHR was located (I seem to recall it actually being on the third floor, but I digress). I advanced down a kind of breezeway and approached the office. Fear flowed into my brain like a a cloud of poison. Just outside the office, hundreds of documents and binders were strewn about haphazardly. From what I could see of the office itself there was no office furniture, just several people in plain clothes milling about. I was hoping to learn that the place had been robbed, and that all of their expensive office equipment had disappeared along with their Herman Miller chairs (there was a Herman Miller store not too far away from the place). At least that might explain the condition of this official-sounding organization. Again I entered the room unannounced and explained who I was and what the hell I was doing standing in an otherwise vacant room with a bag slung over my shoulder and the reddish, sun-impacted skin pigmentation of a non-native. The director of the office had a staff member pull over a plastic lawn chair next to hers. It was devastating to see a human rights organization in such a state of utter disarray. It seemed like to operate under such conditions would certainly qualify as a violation of a second generation human right. The woman heading the institute apologized for the appearance of the office. They were currently in the process of moving to another location, and everyone came in that day to help transport things. A wave of relief crashed over me. We chatted for a few minutes, and the woman provided me with the names of a few people she thought I should contact given my interests. Realizing I was in the middle of an ongoing process, I thanked everyone for their time and descended the stairs leading back out to the street-level carport.

Success and caffeine powering my step, I decided to have lunch at an eatery frequented by locals, so I turned into Sen Sal, a popular café. The entryway was quite cramped; multiple queues formed in front of three different counters (hot food, bakery, and salads/coffee). I shifted about constantly as I stared into the glass case at the bakery counter. Ultimately I settled upon two curried chicken pastries and a 7-Up, which set this traveler back all of about $2. With just enough food to keep me placated until dinner, I returned to the roads.

The time at which my next interview was scheduled to commence drew near, so I hailed a trishaw to take me to Citizens' Trust in Rajagiriya, where I would meet with Ms. Ruana Rajepakse, a well-known environmental lawyer. Due to a clerical error on my part, my cab driver went up and down Nawala Road in search of a mysterious address. We must have stopped to ask for directions from random off duty cab drivers and roadside vendor attendants 5 or 6 times. Meanwhile, my fare kept going up, the final grains of sand emptied from the top of the hourglass, and yet we were still lost. Finally we arrived at what appeared to be a house with a number very close to the one I needed to find. My cabbie asked another driver outside the place where we might find the address I had listed in my notebook. Eventually the second driver called out to someone standing on the porch on the second floor of the house. Then I heard the sound of gentle footsteps respectfully meeting ceramic tiles until the white metal door at the front of the house opened carefully and a woman emerged. It was Ms. Rajepakse. She apologized and informed me that she was currently busy. But, if I was willing to wait, she could see me when she was done. Having nowhere else to go at that point, I agreed. I went upstairs to sit outside her office while she conducted a consultation with a client. In the meantime, she handed me a copy of her book, "A Guide to Current Constitutional Issues in Sri Lanka." It would be an early Sri Lankan Hanukkah for me. Patiently I sat out on the porch where I became acquainted with the history of constitutional law in Sri Lanka and Ms. Rajepakse's dog. About 45 minutes later, everyone had cleared out, including Ms. Amarasinghe, whom I had met earlier that day at EFL. I waved hello and she smiled in return. Finally Ms. Rajepakse invited me in, and offered me a glass of grape juice. Given the temperature and having been outdoors for a while at that point, I gladly accepted. Slender and soft- but very well-spoken, Ms. Rajepakse discussed the constitution and the issue of environmental rights in Sri Lanka with me while her docile dog hugged the cool ground to the right of my chair. The interview ended and I walked down the stairs and followed the snaking path of the residential street to a trishaw stand where I quickly secured a ride back to my hotel.

That night I made plans to eat dinner with César Hernández, a friend of a colleague's at UC Irvine, and currently a lecturer in the School of International Relations at the University of Colombo. We agreed to meet at Sri Manika Vinayagar Kovil, a Hindu temple. Having had fun riding in the trishaws earlier that day, I decided to take another one to our meeting spot. I hopped in one of the little red tricycle golf carts right around the corner from my hotel and instructed the driver where I wanted to go. I don't know what it is about me and getting ripped off on the way to religious sites, but it seems to be a recurring theme during my time in Sri Lanka. I realized almost instantly that the meter for the cab fare was not on. Yet, I rationalized that it probably wasn't necessary because it was at night and they must charge a flat fee or something like that (I can't believe I basically came to a rationalization of why I would be taken for a ride, literally and figuratively, instead of being more suspicious, but I guess that's my Western optimism (read: naïveté) shining through). When we came to the temple, my driver wanted somewhere between 100 LKR and 1000 LKR, but he didn't specify. I told him I would have to break my 2000 LKR bill, so we drove away from the temple and to a convenience store down the road, where he told me to get the bill changed. I asked the cashier to change my bill and, after discussing it with what I presumed to be his superior, he told me he could only break it down into two 1000 LKR bills. I came back to the trishaw with two smaller bills this time and was met by the displeasure of my cab driver who proceeded to drive me to another store where I could get my bills broken down even further. But, bless his heart, my driver finally relented, and he offered to let me pay with one of the 1000 LKR bills in exchange for the 3 miles traveled (to put this in perspective, I paid 880 LKR once during this trip from Colombo 08 in the far eastern reaches of the city all the way back to my hotel in Colombo 03). Personally disappointed and 1000 LKR poorer, I walked to the Hindu temple to meet César. Standing outside, César greeted me right away. We talked about what had just happened as I removed my shoes and we washed our feet to enter the temple. It became apparent to me through our discussion that staying in a nice hotel actually introduced new problems into my field research experience that I had not anticipated at all. Who knew that my staying at a higher end hotel I would be trading safety from contracting dengue fever for being ripped off habitually by trishaw vultures? As we talked, we game planned for how I could avoid getting had in the future. Mainly, I learned that I should never take a trishaw from anywhere in the immediate vicinity around my hotel. When someone sees you walking out of a fancy hotel, you are instantly an easy mark. It's a kind of unfortunate stigma that follows you, as if you are hemorrhaging money into the ocean waters where trishaw sharks lay and wait to tear into your wallet. In addition, this means getting dropped off at places outside the hotel and just walking to the hotel once you have paid your fare and left the vehicle. This whole experience is really depressing because it is indicative of what's going on in the country (and even the region) as a whole. Corruption, not democracy, is the true form of governance in places like this. Political leaders drunk with power are enabled by a populace that is unaware of the level of abuse present or unable to force a change in the ruling faction in place or both. With little oversight and substantial pensions, government workers simply bide their time until the grand payday is upon them. At the lower levels of society, people like my cab driver care not about national pride or trying to improve their country. Instead, they would rather rip off a foreigner who is providing the country with money through tourism. I truly want to believe that people will do good if left to their own devices, but my experiences and conversations so far dictate otherwise. At any rate, my confidant and I sat and talked until we were ushered out of the temple, at which point we went across the street to dine at Amirthaa, a vegetarian restaurant. At the street level of the restaurant a large menu lay plastered against the wall. César explained the menu to me and we went up the stairs to the dining room. Once there, both of us washed our hands in a kind of communal sink basin and they were left to dry in the muggy upstairs jungle night air. We ordered an assortment of dishes, all to be set upon wax paper wrapped around a metal plate and eaten by hand with the aid of a kind of pancake called dosai, which came in an assortment of flavors. The dosai had an appearance and texture that inspired mental comparisons to a Dutch pancake and Ethiopian injera, although less spongy than the latter. The dishes ranged in terms of their spiciness, some so spicy that I feared I would consume my entire skinny bottle of Coke Classic before finishing a portion of my meal. César and I exchanged war stories from the front lines of academia and had our worries overpowered by the raw heat of curries and chillies. We settled the bill and said our goodbyes downstairs. I felt happy to have had dinner with someone, as so far on my trip I have been alone at every meal.

Thunder rang sharply and the skies began to open up again. I walked back to my hotel 3 miles north in drizzling rain, throwing a wave to the colossal fortress that is the United States Embassy as I scuttled past. Once I got to my hotel I sauntered over to Coffee Spot where my day had begun. I ordered a vanilla milkshake. I felt I had earned it.

Today marked the beginning of the interview phase of my field work in Sri Lanka. First, I met with Mario Gomez, Executive Director of the International Centre for Ethnic Studies, at the ICES office in Colombo 08. Due to unforeseen circumstances, our interview was cut short. However, in the brief time in which we met, I felt that I obtained some very important insight about environmental rights in Sri Lanka, which is the focus of my research here. Mainly, I learned that Sri Lanka has already had extensive environmental regulations on the books since the early 20th century, especially where wildlife and land conservation are concerned. Although admittedly enforcement of said regulations is far from adequate, a substantial framework is in place to maintain and safeguard environmental quality, which is ultimately the modus operandi for adopting solidarity environmental rights (i.e. "Everyone has the right to a healthy environment," as stipulated in Nepal's 2006 Interim Constitution). In addition, Mr. Gomez extended me the courtesy of agreeing to meet again or follow up by phone should I need additional information. I left ICES and decided to walk back to my hotel (about 2 miles away) in 90F (felt like 98F, according to the Weather Channel) heat and 74% humidity. This decision, though perhaps idiotic from the standpoint of comfort, also yielded a wonderfully unusual (in Western standards) bonus.

I headed west toward the coast. Along the way, I came across Viharamahadevi Park, one of Sri Lanka's many municipal parks. It was a vast expanse of shady trees punctuated by a central lake bifurcated by a crumbling bridge. Given the unrelenting heat, I decided to seek temporary refuge among the park's promising verdant environs (at least this much I have learned as a result of studying the urban heat island portion of the LEED Green Associate exam). Unsurprisingly, I was approached by a man in a baseball cap alleging to be the park's gardener. "Have you seen the elephant?" the man inquired with feigned innocence. "Here, I can show you. I'm the gardener," I was assured. But before our interaction devolved into a redux of my first encounter with a Sri Lankan snake oil salesman I trotted away, firmly implying my resolve to avoid interaction. As casually as he had arrived, the man slowly retreated back into the urban forest. Perhaps he had spied a more unwitting prey. Yet, having only seen an elephant once so far on my trip, for a couple moments at a Buddhist temple, I was intrigued by the prospect of seeing a pachyderm again. Thus, I crept along the outer rung of the park following a semi-circular course until the constant gardener was far afield. Then, I turned about face and dove back into the park until I hit a concrete path which roughly traced the natural contours of the lake. After permitting the walkway to serve as my unofficial (and certainly more trustworthy) guide, I stepped out onto the cool grass in search of wildlife of the mega herbivore variety. Although I enjoyed the visual assistance of my prescription sunglasses, the interior of the park was rather dark, as the shade of long trees cast shadows that overlapped, obscuring the unfamiliar landscape. Yet, among the broad brown limbs scattered about the habitat I could perceive some kind of repetitive undulation occurring several feet above the ground about 200 feet away. To be sure, this was no national flag playing a patriotic song to the gentle park wind; the quietly rippling fabric was circular and gray. As I drew closer, I could make out that this steel-colored sail was affixed not to a metal pole, but a large mass which appeared to be moving, albeit with great deliberation. To my shock, I had found the elephant of which the gardener spoke. Given my childhood experiences visiting zoos, combined with the fact that I passed by a self-contained aquarium near the entrance to the park, I had imagined that any elephant I might see would be encased behind glass, or fenced off from onlookers at least. However, here stood a mighty elephant, poised as gracefully among trees as a humpback whale swims beneath rough seas, standing prominently, if slightly hidden, in the open space of a public park, with no discernible fence or glass barrier in place. Instead, this battleship gray behemoth was tethered by puny chains, objectionably reminiscent of slave bindings, to two nearby trees. My childlike curiosity and fondness for animals of overwhelming stature took hold, and I proceeded to get as close as I could to the elephant in order to take a photograph of uncommon proximity. No matter how close I came, the elephant stirred little. Sleepily the elephant chewed on what appeared to be palm fronds, its only remarkable movement the occasional lifting of its front right foot. Either this animal was no stranger to the presence of humans (even increasingly encroaching ones, such as myself), or else the fronds had a soporific effect on the elephant, lulling it into a state of relaxed serenity. After capturing the moment to the best of my ability while still being cautious enough not to rile the creature in case its more instinctual inclinations suddenly took hold, I exited the same way I came in, only this time I walked through the park with a cherished memory in tow. (As a brief side note, it was really charming to see the park populated by so many young, loving couples. Midday in Viharamahadevi Park seemed to be Sri Lanka's answer to the lookout point of American romantic lore. This contrasts greatly with Nepal, where public displays of affection are culturally shunned.)

My appetite for elephant viewing sated, I walked onto the suffocating streets of steam and sun. By the time I had returned to the hotel, I must have been at least a couple pounds lighter. I felt that the best course of action would be to hydrate, eat, and cool off before my next interview at 4pm. Internally I surmised that while two interviews per day would be technically feasible, it would be incredibly exhausting to attempt any more and expect to be fully functional.

I left the hotel at 3pm to meet with Dr. Jayantha Dhanapala, a seasoned diplomat and former UN Under Secretary General who had been suggested by Prof. Lakshman Guruswamy at the University of Colorado-Boulder, at his residence in Nugegoda, which is just outside of Colombo. As my taxi came upon the entrance to the home, thunder sounded convincingly in the near distance. As a native son of Florida, lightning capital of the world, I spent my formative years in an area where thunder and lightning were as commonplace as sunburns and Spanish. Yet, living in California for the past five years, I have been robbed of these elemental features which I came to associate with rain (i.e. water droplets which fall from the sky, for those of you in Southern California who are unfamiliar with this form of weather). Slightly pleased that I might encounter thunder, lightning, and rain reunited in beautiful concert once again, I greeted Dr. Dhanapala and we settled into his den, a wall-to-wall celebration of an impressive career in diplomacy, to commence with the interview. I was graciously welcomed into the statesman's home and fixed a spot of tea, as is customary in this part of the world. While we covered the issue of environmental rights to the extent it was possible given my respondent's background in diplomacy and not environmental policy, I was interested to learn that Prof. Guruswamy had been Dr. Dhanapala's best man at his wedding years ago. After the interview was complete, Dr. Dhanapala introduced his daughter, Dr. Kiran Dhanapala, a trained economist who works on environmental issues, specifically energy, throughout South Asia. In the middle of our conversation the lights shut off unexpectedly thanks to the lightning and troubled electrical system, and we relocated our ad hoc seminar to the porch. Our discussion touched upon a panoply of topics, from green buildings to American politics to student debt, and as a result of the storm, which was beginning to produce precipitation with monsoon alacrity, we retreated indoors to the living room. Our roundtable concluded around 30 minutes later, and a cab was ordered for me so that I could venture back to my HQ.

My day ended with a hearty Italian meal at Echo, a restaurant adjoining the Cinnamon Grand Colombo, and I made my way back to my hotel room to catch up on emails and prepare for the next day.