It was Sunday and a national religious holiday. While national museums and government offices were closed, souvenir shops largely remained open for business, which afforded me the opportunity to pick up some traditional Sri Lankan goods before I left the country on Tuesday. My first stop was The Cricket Shop, a one-stop sporting goods store for all things cricket. Having failed in my previous attempt to secure both white and red cricket balls, this was truly my last chance for redemption. Determined to right the ship for the sake of my friend Robert, who had requested the purchase, I zoomed down Galle Road and made a left turn at St. Anthony's Mawartha. Half expecting the place to be closed for the holiday, The Cricket Shop was brimming with excitement as a team of young cricketers from the UK tried on pads and swung cricket bats of varying sizes and weights. A teenaged blonde girl, likely the girlfriend of one of the enthused patrons, sat on a bench in the middle of the store looking dejected, unamused. I searched for the section where I could find cricket balls and, wouldn't you know it, there was a beautiful display shelf where both white and red cricket balls all sat ensconced in perfect concave dimples like sporty Fabergé eggs. I purchased the elusive white ball (the cost was 1050 LKR but they only charged me 1000 LKR, probably because I was so well behaved in comparison to the rambunctious team running amok in the tiny space) and left the scene, which was gradually devolving into a madhouse as older cricket players began to pour in. I was clearly out of my element.

En route to my next destination, I stopped off at The Commons, another facially unassuming coffee shop identified by Western signage. It was right across the street from the Ladies' College, where men stared like wild dogs into the gate opening up to the campus, anxiously awaiting the exit of their daughters, sisters, and girlfriends. I ordered an iced coffee, as if that would have any lasting effect on my internal temperature, and checked over the impressively eclectic menu. With 20 different types of specialty burgers alone, I knew I would be back.

I continued down Sir Marcus Fernando Mawatha, also known as Alfred Crescent, a road that bowed underneath the expanse of government property that housed the National Museum, University of the Visual and Performing Arts, and Nelum Pokuna Mahinda Rajapaksa Theatre. Upon reaching the penultimate perpendicular intersection of the smiling road, I turned right onto Independence Avenue. After bearing right on Philip Gunewardena Mawatha, about 1/4 mile later I arrived at a place that was rated by Lonely Planet as the #1 shopping attraction and #1 thing to do in Sri Lanka- Lakpahana. If you are looking for local artwork and handicrafts, your trip to Sri Lanka would not be complete without a visit to Lakpahana. Located in two main buildings, this small campus of local artistry offers seemingly everything under the blazing sun. Here you can purchase or simply admire carefully detailed and vibrantly colored works such as masks, batik clothing and wall hangings, wood carved elephants, jewelry, drums, clay pottery, and woven goods of all sizes. Because of the holiday, I practically had the place to myself. Needless to say, I try to support local art when possible, so I did not walk away empty handed.

I started back up Philip Gunewardena Mawatha, and then north on Independence Avenue. My stomach was calling for my attention, and I promised to heed its constant nagging by returning to The Commons for some midday sustenance. The restaurant was considerably busier than before, likely because school had let out and students filed in for lunch. When I came up to the cash register I ordered the Sesame Chicken Burger and a mango juice. The cashier urged me to reconsider, as apparently the stock of mango juice was "kind of rotten." I appreciated his candor, and opted for the chocolate milkshake instead (I can't explain my recent inclination to order milkshakes other than to say that it's so hot all the time I simply want a cold beverage whatever time of day or night it may be, and fruit juices are not always available for the reason stated above). I waited about 40 minutes to receive my meal. Diabetics must have it rough in Sri Lanka if my experiences with customer service are any indication. Had I been drowning, I would have died three times over while I waited for someone to pay attention to my frantic flailing. Fortunately, this was less of a life-or-death situation and more of a hunger game. Politely I inquired about the status of my meal. My chocolate shake, which had been delivered to me only a few minutes after placing my order, stood empty at the edge of my table, an ancient relic of a time when I was in lactose love and the burger of my dreams seemed only moments away from resting in my swollen, trembling hands. Fairly soon after my inquiry the waiter arrived at my small square of solitude with the burger king and its sad regiment of scattered fries. The taste of the burger was remarkable. The description on the placard accurately told of the burger's inner secrets- ginger, soy, and onions were all present and accounted for in generous capacity. The Asian slaw resting orderly atop the patty added a fresh and crispy countervailing force to the surprisingly savory sensation conveyed by the chicken burger. Overall the symphony sounded superb even if the musicians had arrived late to the orchestra. No longer a prisoner to my hunger, I opened the door to the outside world, which spared no time in reminding me it had not similarly cooled off, and returned to my hotel.

On my way back to the Cinnamon Grand I decided to keep an eye out for members of Sri Lanka's Environmental Protection Unit, a division of the police charged with the enforcement of environmental laws (although one interviewee referred to the EPU as a glorified neighborhood watch for illegal dumping activities). I had seen one such green vested officer earlier in the day, and I hoped that my luck might continue. At one point on my walk, I turned into an alley where I could see the ocean and its twinkling white caps seemingly a stone's throw away. No sooner had I hypnotically migrated toward the sea than I was confronted, to my delight, by two officers clad in moss green EPU vests. Excited and in full social science researcher mode, I asked if I could take a photo of the two gentlemen. I handed them my UC Irvine business card and attempted to explain the nature of my research without appearing like an awestruck tourist. If anything, I seemed to have confused them more. Eventually, and with some pleading, I convinced the men to let me take one photo. Pleased that serendipity or perhaps karma had dealt me a good hand, I continued up Galle Road in a state of geeky elation.

That night, César had extended an invitation for me to join him for Easter dinner at the home of Dr. Jayadeva Uyangoda, a constitutional scholar and Professor of Political Science at the University of Colombo. I happily agreed. I left my hotel by cab and arrived at Dr. Uyangoda's house around 7:30pm. There I reunited with César, and met Dr. Uyangoda, his wife, two young professional couples, and a little boy. One of the guests, Mrs. Dinesha Samararatne, had been a lawyer and Fulbright Scholar at Harvard Law, where she earned her LL.M. She is currently a lecturer in the Faculty of Law at the University of Colombo and a doctoral student working on her dissertation. Together our party chatted about primary schooling in Sri Lanka, eating habits in Spain, weather in Florida, and social contract theory. One couple told an interesting story illustrative of the inadequacy of the Sri Lankan legal system. Basically, their neighbors became embroiled in a legal battle over a parcel of land. The issue remained unresolved in the court system for 15 years. Then, one day a judgment was rendered that was favorable to their neighbors. Dissatisfied with outcome, the opposing side murdered the entire family of victors the very next day. Justice here in Sri Lanka has a flavor unlike any other place I have visited thus far.

Thousands of miles away from my place of birth, I found myself strangely at home in the company of otherwise complete strangers and their mild mannered dogs. The food itself was also wonderful, a spread of regional dishes fit for an Easter Sunday meal ("My mom will be happy to know I had at least one home cooked meal while I was out here," I quipped.). Upon having the various items explained to me, I assured the hostess that the pork chops would be no problem for this non-observant Jew, as I believe that the kosher laws essentially functioned as the first food safety laws, now rendered obsolete by the advent of curing and refrigeration. Outside the house on a post just beyond the doorway hung a tile that read "Shalom" in both English and Hebrew. Surely the Angel of Death would have seen fit to pass over this house back in Biblical times. For dessert we raced to finish bowls of green mint ice cream before the glacial chunks turned to emerald soup. Dinesha, her husband, and her adorable son bade us all good evening, and soon César and I decided it was our turn to depart. Our hostess's first couple attempts to call a taxi failed to produce, so I suggested Kangaroo Cabs, which I had used when leaving Dr. Dhanapala's home in the thunder and rain several days ago. Sure enough, we were able to reserve a taxi. After a week in Sri Lanka I was now suggesting which cabs to take. The taxi, a Toyota Prius which César and I shared, dropped my new friend off at his apartment and then continued on into the agonizing abyss of the spring Sri Lankan night.

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.

Today was supposed to be uneventful. I would grab breakfast, check out the immediate surroundings, and return to my hotel to read up on Sri Lankan environmental law. All that changed when I left the comforts of the Cinnamon Grand Colombo and began to wander along Galle Road.

About 5 minutes into my walk, I was approached by a young Sri Lankan man who asked me, "My friend, where are you from?" I explained that I was from the US, and I had come to Sri Lanka to conduct research on environmental laws and the constitution (throughout our time together I attempted to paint myself as a lonely poor student, but this approach failed to garner sympathy thanks to the fact that I was staying in a nice hotel). The man said he worked for the Cinnamon Grand and wanted to thank me for my patronage and for the important work I was undertaking which would surely help the Sri Lankan people. As a courtesy, he would show me around Colombo, especially the religious sites, which were buzzing with excitement given that today is a major holiday celebrating the new moon. I already assumed that this was some kind of gimmick, but I figured it might be a good opportunity to see some areas of the city I might not get to see otherwise, and I would be glad to pay the man a reasonable fee for his services. This notion was at least partially misguided, as I would later find out.

The man flagged a random trishaw (a tiny motorized vehicle that looked like a tuk tuk mixed with a rickshaw) and we sped down broad dusty roads until arriving at a large Buddhist temple. Together we exited the red golf cart and removed our shoes at the entrance. In the center of the entryway stood a large ceramic pot of sorts with signs soliciting funds for "the children." My "guide" instructed me to leave donations for both of us. In the pit of my stomach I could feel my anxiety building as I was sure this was a test to gauge how much money I was carrying. Nevertheless, we walked into the temple and I was given a whirlwind tour of the place, which included clearly rehearsed commentary. The man led me swiftly through the temple on a tortuous path, stopping occasionally for less than 30 seconds to point out a relic, gem, or statue, implore me to take a photo (taking photos under duress is infinitely less enjoyable than snapping photos at one's leisure), and urge me on my less-than-merry way. With the speed at which we navigated the holy site, I was quite certain that my pal did not make regular visits here simply to pay his respects. At least he was kind enough to indulge my characteristically touristy inclinations by allowing me to return to the elephant we saw early on during my tour and photographing me several times in front of it. I should have interpreted the elephant's nervous swaying, as if entranced by some indigenous narcotic, as a bad omen. We retrieved our soles and returned to the little crimson tin can on wheels.

My involuntary friend informed the driver that we needed to go to the Lanka Gem Bureau, where surely exceptional deals on precious and semi-precious stones awaited us. This part of our tour seemed eerily reminiscent of the time I let my cab driver in Nepal take me to his friend's mandala workshop to "learn" about the ancient craft (as one might expect, I was offered "excellent" prices on unreasonably large paintings, with a portion of the sale likely going to my "friend" as a sort of finder's fee). Once we alighted at the gem shop it was all business. My guide informed me he had to go outside to have a smoke, and I was left to interact with a gem salesman who went to painstaking efforts to provide me with all kinds of discounts (did you know that students get discounts on gems in Sri Lanka? Now you do!) and assure me that I was getting one-time, wholesale-and-holiday-only prices. At first he tried to sell me small planets that would have set me back over a hundred dollars (US). Then, as I began to explain my financial situation, he relented a bit, offering me deeply discounted semi-precious gems which surely I could not live without. I carried on under the premise that the gift would be for my mother, but perhaps this was foolhardy because (1) it imbued the purchase with heightened significance since, when buying a gift for your mother, "you spend $1,000, but it's worth $100,000" in motherly love returns (as the man told me), and (2) the gem I was looking at was yellow, and, as anyone who knows my mother well will tell you, anything yellow is a non-starter. So there I sat, being cajoled into buying a small yellow gem stone for a mother who hates yellow with unwavering passion. I signed half the day's financial life away, and my guide suggested that we go to the beach. This sounded like a good idea because it was a public place and the opportunity for trouble seemed minimal.

Again we plopped into the little ruddy buggy and buzzed down Galle Road toward the beach. Without warning, my buddy told the driver to stop immediately, and he began to exit the car(t). He then requested that I pay the driver. I dug into my wallet and offered 1400 LKR, but the driver, a sullen man who held unspoken cab fare expectations, demanded at least 3000 LKR. This proved problematic because I had only 1400 LKR and a 5000 LKR bill (~$43 USD), which I desperately tried to conceal. I thumbed through the differentially-sized bills in my wallet and attempted to explain that I didn't have any more money. This did not sit will with either my guide or the driver. My new pal, being as keen as he was ruthless, spotted the 5000 LKR bill that was not well hidden in the back of my billfold. Proudly he assured the driver that, indeed, I had more money than I had let on (on a personal note, while I have never felt truly uncomfortable with the level of personal information of mine made available to either private companies [i.e. Facebook] or the federal government [thanks, Patriot Act!], this visual intrusion felt like the most unnerving violation of privacy I had ever endured in my adult life. If eyes are windows into the soul, my wallet was not too far removed, however metaphysically speaking). Caught between a rock and a harder rock, I struggled to determine the best course of action. Of course, my selfless friend made my decision for me. He told the driver that he would take the 1000 LKR so he could get a beer, and the driver would confiscate my 5000 LKR and drive us both to a bank where it could be broken into the smaller bills needed to settle the score. As mysteriously as my guide had entered my life he was now gone, 1000 LKR richer and cloaked in the warm fuzzy feeling one gets from swindling a foreigner out of his money. The driver, not one to delay the inevitable receipt of his payment, turned a hard right and we careened down the street into new and uncertain territory. It was at this point I decided to cut my losses and end this slide into a downward spiral by jumping the puny red ship. As we slowed down while turning around a bend I leapt out of the vehicle and sternly told the driver that he could have the whole sum.

Seeking to rectify what had thus far been quite a mixed day, I ventured to the beach where my guide had run off to chase girls with beer. I took several photos of the sparkling coastline and food huts which lined the cement boardwalk. I pondered the inconsistent messages that the developing world delivered me, being granted interviews and enthusiastic support from members of the scholarly community on the one hand, to being played for a fool during a national holiday at a Buddhist temple on the other. I paused to observe the beauty of the azure sea and its ironic gem stone clarity. It was a welcome contrast to the tall lanky man who kept glaring at me from several yards away. Perhaps I gave off the odor of a freshly wounded fish, and nearby sharks with killer instincts and an indefatigable olfactory sense hovered excitedly nearby, desperate to pounce at the first drop of blood. The serenity of the gentle salty waves began to lose ground to my burgeoning paranoia, so I turned my back to the wind and started up the wide lawn abutting the concrete walkway, hopping down the stone embankment onto a side street running perpendicular to Galle Road.

As I traveled purposively on the sidewalk, a middle-aged Sri Lankan man approached me. He asked, "My friend, where are you from?"

After a brief flight delay and 3.5 hours traversing the skies over Asia, I found myself at Bandaranaike International Airport in Sri Lanka at 1am local time. My next step was to make it through customs, although this would not happen effortlessly due to a financial hiccup that originated in Singapore. You see, I withdrew funds in Singapore, but neglected to inform my bank that I was traveling abroad (I had managed to inform virtually everyone else I know, including my credit card company). Therefore, when I attempted to withdraw additional funds prior to my arrival in Sri Lanka, I was denied, my bank account frozen until further action. So when I finally made it to my next destination, I was unable to take out money I needed for cab fare until I passed through customs unscathed. In addition, I wasn't allowed to change my Singapore dollars into Sri Lankan rupees until I had made it through the customs stage. Fortunately, I was permitted to pay the requisite entrance fee ($35) by credit card. One hurdle had been overcome.

Once my passport has been stamped and tattooed, I walked into a region of the airport that looked like a Brandsmart USA. Instead of the usual duty free shops consisting mainly of high end perfumes and alcohols, this area laid claim to aisles of durable goods like refrigerators and stoves. Business was booming. I collected my suitcase from baggage claim and headed through an automated doorway intended for foreign entrants to the country. My heart raced as I prayed that I would find a currency exchange booth and a cellphone vendor, both of which were absolutely essential to my ability to perform my research tasks and for the sake of my overall mental health. To my delight, as I crossed over into the land of accepted visitors I found multiple kiosks that could address my pressing needs. First I wheeled over to one of three currency exchange posts. I willingly submitted all of my Singapore dollars (save for the few coins I had remaining in my possession) and even tried to convert my lingering Nepalese rupees, but, as I have now come to understand, one cannot exchange Nepalese rupees anywhere in the world except for Nepal. At least now I had some working capital with which I could execute some important tasks. My next stop was one of three cellphone vendors. I opted for Mobitel, which featured signage boasting that it was Sri Lanka's official mobile carrier. I decided to purchase a SIM card stocked with 100 minutes of talk time and 1024 MB of data (600 LKR = $4.73 USD). Once the attendant got my phone up and running I walked over to the booth for my hotel, the Cinnamon Grand Colombo. On the way there I checked my Gmail and saw that my bank had contacted me regarding the potentially fraudulent activity on my account in Singapore. With the clicking of a button, I reassured my bank that I was indeed the culprit of said transaction and access to my money was restored. Tired though I may have been, what little excitement I could muster at that late hour was soaked up by the sheer jubilation I felt knowing I wasn't going to be living on $220 USD for the next 9 days. At the booth I was given a bottle of water (note: water quality is poor, so bottled water is literally a way of life), provided with free Internet access at the desk computer, and had a taxi ordered on my behalf. In only about 20 minutes, I would finally be on my way to my hotel, where the promise of sleep enticed me.

The drive from the airport to coastal Colombo took about 30 minutes with virtually no traffic to speak of. While the streets seemed reminiscent of those of Kathmandu where I conducted field work last year, I could not help but marvel at the religious installations occasionally dotting the sides of the road. Every so often we would pass what looked like a small Buddhist temple, only instead of a solemn, tranquil homage to Buddha, carnivalesque light shows assaulted one's visual field. It was as if the architects of these worship stations drew influence from Hunter S. Thompson's hallucinogenic sojourn into the neon belly of Las Vegas. Eventually the religious icons bathed in garish halos of hypnotic luminescence gave way to the pure and steady blackness of the sea as we approached Colombo.

As the taxi pulled into the Cinnamon Grand Colombo, I was immediately struck by the opulence of the hotel. As I began to exit the vehicle, a gentleman donning white gloves proceeded to open my car door and another gentleman swiftly attended to my luggage before I even had a chance to get to the trunk. Upon entering this magnificent white palace I strode up to the concierge and informed the attendants that I had indeed arrived (as if my entrance was not already ceremonial and indicative of this fact). While checking in, a man in full butler regalia appeared at my side and offered me a choice of fresh juices- black currant or guava. Drawn to its creamy pink coloring, I chose the latter. It became readily apparent that this experience would be very different from my time in Nepal.

A different gentleman led me personally up to my room while another man brought my luggage up separately (talk about a division of labor!). After I was acquainted with my room I settled down for the evening (morning?) and fell asleep without any difficulty.

The next day I awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the welcome slit of sunshine that shone through the area in between my curtains that did not overlap. After checking email and showering (not at the same time, mind you) I headed downstairs to Coffee Stop for a late breakfast. Knowing full well that I would be consuming plenty of spicy fare over the next few days, I opted for ethnic comfort food- a bagel with lox and cream cheese. My bagel arrived toasted, just as I had asked, although instead of a traditional bread heating treatment my bagel had been thoroughly warmed in a panini press, causing it to look like an oversized, circular crinkle cut French fry. It was excellent. Why had I never seen this before in all my years of professional bagel eating? The rest of the day I focused on securing interviews and writing my first blog post. Unlike in Nepal, where most of my meetings were arranged via email, here in Sri Lanka most of my contacts urged me to call them upon arriving to schedule my interview (this is why having a local cellphone number was so crucial). After making several phone calls and sending a few emails, within an hour I went from having one scheduled interview to four. Satisfied by my progress, I spent the remainder of my day putting together my blog post, which involved having to rewrite the entire thing from scratch on the app I'm using (which is actually intended for an iPhone but I'm using it on an iPad), and needing to use the business center to fix two of the pictures that had failed to upload the first time around. I also decided to stay close to HQ for dinner, so I found myself at a popular Indian restaurant in my hotel called Chutneys. However, as I was unaware of the evening dress code, upon entering I was provided with a black and white striped sarong, which covered my utilitarian khaki shorts and instantly upgraded my outfit to meet cultural standards (sadly, I do not have a photograph of this. Please just imagine me wearing a navy polo shirt, glasses, and a black and white striped sarong). The food, not your traditional Americanized Indian food of tikka masala this and saag that, and the menu was arranged by both geographic region and dietary preference. I ordered a Lion Lager, steamed white rice, a mutton dish, and a chicken dish (I won't even bother committing the injustice of trying to recall the names of these entrees). In general, the food was quite spicy, and although Chutneys is a high end restaurant, the quality of the meat was akin to that which I ate daily for lunch in Nepal (smaller, bony morsels). For dessert I had a small, yet saccharine treat- two deep fried milk balls floating in cardamom syrup. Aside from a maple sugar cookie I once ate in elementary school, I'm not sure I've ever eaten anything sweeter. I settled the check and headed to my room where I watched one of my favorite movies (Closer) on HBO, although it had been severely edited for content. Full of regional cuisine, again I fell easily into a deep slumber.

Next up: A Brave New World