diary of gus

Perched atop a stone arch that marks the entrance into Goa Velha (Old Goa), an unremarkable statue is hard to make out at first. I walked under it multiple times without taking a good look, and assumed it was some sort of Catholic religious imagery. Portugal’s empire in the East formerly claimed Goa Velha as its capital, and the city’s residents numbered upwards of 150,000 at its peak. Travelers compared its grandeur to that of London and Rome.

The ferry attendant turned a rusted brown wheel to lift the ramp back above the waterline. Just as the boat’s motor fired up, a white moped sped up the ramp and onto the edge of the platform. It seemed to be in the nick of time, but the ease of the maneuver indicated it was far from the first time for both the driver and the boat’s passengers.

“Did you see it? You could see a glimpse of the green there,” our kayak guide told me.“Wow,” I responded. “I saw it.”It might have been the tenth flock of pigeons that flew overhead as we paddled down the Moira River. To me, the other birds and other animals we continued to glimpse were far more interesting — huge bats with fuzzy heads, a crocodile thrashing in the mangroves nearby. It was odd that I could not catch even a hint of green in the air, but I found little motivation to continue trying. In reality, I had seen no green. At least, not on a pigeon.

The sun rises early in Sri Lanka, so when we left our hotel for the train station this morning it was already light out. It was a hectic but controlled scene on the platform, where we grabbed a light breakfast before settling into our seats. Our railcar was relatively empty, with a few fellow backpackers and some families joining us on the journey inland.After passing through suburban Colombo, the landscape quickly changed to lush jungle with beautiful sun-bleached family homes and rice paddies. I stared out the window in awe, without even taking a photo. I had heard of Sri Lanka’s famous train journeys, of course, but I figured the landscape an hour outside its capital city wouldn’t be too dramatically different. After another hour or so on the train, we arrived in Kandy, the country’s second city.Signs welcomed us to the hill kingdom, a reference to Kandy’s rolling landscape and fabled history as the last kingdom to fall to European colonial rule in the nineteenth century. Museums across Colombo eagerly recount the Kandyans’ skillful defeat of the Portuguese in several battles that proved humbling for Lisbon’s hopes of absorbing all of Sri Lanka into its empire.Our first site of the day was the Sri Dalada Maligawa, better known as the Temple of the Tooth, home to a renowned Buddhist relic. In hopes of escaping the Sri Lankan heat, I wore a pair of khaki shorts and sneakers — an outfit that had served me well in Colombo. However, as we passed through the temple entrance, a guard stopped me with a wag of his finger.

Glancing between Google Maps and the guard in brown uniform standing before me, I tried in vain to communicate what, exactly, I was looking for.“It’s called the Portuguese Landing Monument,” I said, pointing at the purple dot on my phone. “It should be right through here.”The customs authority guard called over a few of his colleagues, each of whom took a look at the map, equally befuddled. It was clear nobody knew what I was talking about.“Can I go?” I eventually asked, politely.The group of men, several of whom wielded automatic weapons, seemed to take a second in collective thought.“Sir,” one began. “This is high security.”

On a set of wooden panels outside St. Peter’s Church in Colombo’s historic district, a timeline lists each of the parish’s vicars since its founding in 1815. At the beginning, the list of names is distinctly British: Twisleton, Glenie, Kelley, Boyd. In the 1950s, however, Portuguese names like de Sousa and de Saram begin to appear. Naturally, if the plaque were to be taken as a historical source, it would seem plausible to conclude that the British arrived in Sri Lanka before the Portuguese.

Saturday must be market day in Santa Ana, because our taxi stopped resolutely at a busy street corner. The implication was that we should get out, even though our destination was about a quarter mile up the road.

The roads of Juayua, even during its acclaimed food festival that attracts Salvadorans and tourists alike each Saturday, are much easier to navigate than those of Santa Ana. We climbed out of our taxi almost at the town center, and walked through a maze of food stalls to survey our options. A selection of fried yuca, skewered meat, and desserts piqued our interest, and we almost sampled one of everything.

After the bus pulled into Concepción de Ataco, we opened Google Maps to begin the tour Luis had planned for us. The first stop was a mirador, or lookpoint, that supposedly featured a giant cross. We made our way up a winding stone path, at times doubting we were headed in the right direction, and reached a clearing with no clear marking and several different options about which way to head.