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.

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