A Little Mishap in Colombo
(Sorry…no photos. It never occurred to me to
pull out my camera in the midst of all this hoopla.)
I had a little mishap last week while traveling from Colombo to Hikkaduwa. I had been staying for four days in a lovely guesthouse near the airport after I arrived in Sri Lanka. I planned this stay knowing that after 21 hours of traveling through 11½ time zones (with little sleep) I would need a long rest. That was wise planning because it took me quite a bit longer to recuperate than it had in the past. Finally, on Saturday, November 9, I began the last leg of my trip to Hikkaduwa.
The plan was to take an Uber from Negombo (near the airport) into Colombo, have a nice lunch near the railway station, and then board the afternoon express train to Hikkaduwa. I had plenty of time for a leisurely meal.
Everything started smoothly. I enjoyed a lunch of grilled chicken salad and refreshing ginger beer at a nice restaurant. Then I began the kilometer walk to the station. I had a small pack on my back and dragged my roly-bag.
Like taxi drivers everywhere, every tuk-tuk driver I passed urged me into their vehicles. (I call them the taxi paparazzi.) One was very insistent that it was more than two kilometers to walk. Brother! I did my research and it was barely one. It was a bit challenging to shake him off.
About two blocks on, I stumbled and fell face first onto the concrete. With the pack on my back, I could not keep my forehead from cracking down on the pavement. My first thought? “I’m going to miss my train!” I had reservations and I was anxious to get to Hikkaduwa.
Before I could even sit up, men were all around me “helping” and very concerned. “Madam, you go to hospital,” one said as he brushed my bangs back to reveal an emerging goose egg. I kept insisting that I would go to the train station. But they would have none of that. “There are more trains, more busses to Hikkaduwa, Madam. But you must see a doctor!”
I was shook up. It wasn’t a bad idea. What if I got on the train and passed out? Not wise when traveling solo. “We will get you a tuk-tuk.” I did feel taken care of. But of course, as always, suspicion niggled. Another disadvantage of being solo. If I had a friend with me, I could bounce ideas off them. As it was, there were at least five or six local men, all trying to be helpful.
One man took my suitcase and walked down the street beaconing me to follow. I did not have much choice without acting like a shrew. He loaded the luggage and me inside a friend’s tuk-tuk and started to join me.
This was too much. “No,” I said, “he can take me.”
“Take care, Madam—you are like my mother.” And he gave me a quick hug before we sped off. I was still tempted to ask the driver if he could just drop me at the railway station. But there was just enough worry in my mind to err on the side of caution.
I was whisked through the crazy Colombo traffic and soon we were near the hospital. The driver wanted to stop at a pharmacy to get a “plaster” (bandage). I said, “No, just go to the hospital.”
He asked me, “Doctor? Or Hospital?” Oh…a clinic would be much easier. I was already imagining myself in some busy hospital emergency room waiting for hours while train after bus after train departed Colombo. My tuk-tuk driving friend in Hikkaduwa, Sampath, was to meet me at the railway station and I would have to text him with disappointing news.
(I must pause now to make it clear: Sampath is NOT one of those “taxi paparazzi” types I mentioned earlier.)
The little clinic was about what you would expect in a developing country—dingy, but as clean as I expect they could keep it. The driver unloaded my luggage and tucked it in the corner of the waiting room. I was about to pay him so he could get on with his day. But, NO, he escorted me personally through the clinic and into the exam room. Then he stood in the hallway supervising.
Well, at least there was no waiting. The doctor was already in the room along with his nurse. While the doctor examined the bump, the nurse took my blood pressure. I was not surprised that it was 174/77 in this heat and turmoil. But the doctor was more concerned about that than what turned out to be a “mild contusion” on my forehead. I told him that my blood pressure was normally high but that I am on medication That seemed to assuage him. He prescribed antibiotics and the nurse disinfected and covered the wound.
The “plaster” fell off after about an hour of being soaked in my sweat. I thought the antibiotics to be over-kill. However, the meds were dispensed to me directly in the clinic as I left, so I did not argue. Instead, I downed 600 mg of ibuprofen once I got to the railway station. (Ibuprofen—my go-to anti-inflamatory!)
The total cost—for everything? 1500 rupees—about $5.00 US. I don’t think I will bother submitting the bill to my travel insurance.
Now my helpful driver loaded me into his tuk-tuk and whisked me back to the station. I looked at the time—I would make my train! On the way, I contemplated how much to pay him.
Let me put a few things into financial perspective:
- A couple typical tuk-tuk rides like he provided cost about 800 rupees for tourists ($2.80)
- I had taken an air-conditioned, 30-kilometer Uber ride that morning. That cost 3460 rupees (about $12) plus I added a lavish tip for the comfortable and safe ride—unusual in this country of crazy horn-fueled traffic.
- My two-hour train journey in first-class air-conditioned coach set me back a whopping 1150 rupees ($3.75)
I figured I would make the tuk-tuk driver’s day by giving him 5000 rupees. And I would add an additional 1000 to give to his friend who picked me up off the sidewalk.
When we got to the railway station, I asked, “How much?” I expected him to ask for two or three thousand (expensive for a tuk-tuk ride) and then I would surprise him.
“10,000,” he indicated.
I looked at him in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, but Madam, I help you. I stay with you at the doctor’s. Okay 8000.”
I spat out, “This is the reason I wanted to go directly to the railway station!” I gave him 5000 and another 1000. “Give 1000 to your friend.” (meaning the man who gave him this gift of a gullible old “rich” tourist)
“Oh, no, Madam. He did nothing,” he had the gall to say.
I ripped my luggage from the tuk-tuk. No help now from the driver for this “poor, injured old lady.”
Now in Sri Lanka, I am used to people being sincerely helpful, friendly, and hospitable. I find myself constantly saying “Thank you.” But this time, as I huffed myself and my luggage into the station, I was glowering and had no “thanks” to offer.
But, I had made the train I was scheduled for, with a half-hour to spare! Time to sit on a bench and calm down—despite waterfalls of sweat pouring from my head. I was looking forward to that reserved air-conditioned seat!
When I was living in Sri Lanka before, I always traveled in third-class coach as most locals do. But inevitably when leaving the Colombo Fort station, it is every man and woman for themselves as a massive human wave crams itself onto the train. No quarter is given. If you are not among the first—no matter your age or gender or ability—you will be standing in the aisle straddling your luggage and struggling to stay upright for the entire sweltering trip.
I decided before I returned here that I am now too old for that game and could afford the $3.75 to get a comfortable seat.
It all worked out in the end. I got to Hikkaduwa on time. Sampath was the tuk-tuk driver who I first met in this same station in 2018 as a monsoon rain roared from the skies. When I was here back then, he gave me glimpses of Sri Lankan life. I met his family and enjoyed his rides to local sites. We had kept in touch since 2019 and he often asked when I would return to Sri Lanka. I think it was his persistence that made me return. I am grateful.
As I disembarked, I looked all around and there he was grinning from ear to ear. I called “SAMPATH!” and I dropped my roly-bag. We hugged and hugged and laughed and laughed. I had come full circle.
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