Riding the Lunatic Express

We left the southern coast to head toward the hill country via Sri Lanka's extensive and convenient railway system. The boxcars are old and wooden with heavy steal railings, painted a maroon red with large yellow numbers indicating the class. It gives an old English feel as if I'm riding the express to Hogwarts, and the view can often be just as magical. It can also be extremely terrifying. The trains can take anywhere from 2 1/2 hours to go 20 miles, to 3 hours to cross the entire country. Getting a seat can be a tricky and dangerous animal survival game. Natural selections plays a large role. In order to even have the hope of getting a seat one needs the agility of a cougar and the force of a bulldozer. Tall nimble men throw their suitcases through the window and jump on the train while it is still moving, leaving little chance for the dehydrated American girls with 50 lbs. backpacks. The women and children push so hard I can see reverse evolution in process. The Sri Lankan hospitality has yet to fail me however, and there's usually some small girl or leering older man who squeezes over and offers me a seat for one of my butt cheeks.

On our trip from Galle, I am sharing a bench with a family of six. Jen and Megan somehow were shuffled (or violently shoved) into the next car. The train begins to move, and within a few minutes it's lurching and swaying at an unhealthy speed and in such a way as to give me that same sinking feeling in my stomach that I get when I'm riding in a 16-year-old's jalopy. Watching the boxcar ahead through the doorway swinging like a clock pendulum doesn't make me feel anymore sure about arriving in my destination in one piece. And one point I swear we catch air.
Every thirty seconds, like clockwork, I shuffle my feet out of the aisle to allow one of the million fruit and fried nastiness vendors to pass by. The dad of the family on my bench orders an apple. I watch horrified as the vendor pulls out a machete the size of my arm and quarters the apple an inch from my very soft and mold-able face. One lurch of the train and there goes my nose.

The bus rides certainly don't improve the odds of death by public transportation. One ride along the coast resulted in our bus driver receiving a speeding ticket. This was somewhat of a relief and concern at the same time. On the one hour ride through the hill cities to see a local waterfall, the bus was so full we were forced to stand in the open doorway. The bus flew at an angelic speed, hugging the cliff side of the mountain, while a thousand foot drop on the other side of the road was guarded by a railing of caution tape attached to sticks driven into the mud. My knuckles were white as I clung to the railing, and at every road sign with a large black "Z" on it I would feel increasingly more nauseous. More twists and turns ahead. The bus leans over so far I could lick the dirt pavement. The bus, like every bus on the island, is complete with an early 90's one-hit-wonder CD that always includes Fur Elise and a peppy version "Happy Birthday." Don't ask me why, except Happy Birthday does happen to have a catchy beat. No bus is complete without their golden, brightly colored paintings of Buddha tacked to the ceiling near the review mirror. Flip a switch and the disco lights begin to flash around the frame. The pictures are adorned with flower leis and incense. I'm not sure if that is an act of worship, or there to conveniently turn the bus into a mass coffin if we roll over the side of the cliff. The bus toots it's horn at a constant rhythm around each corner to warn any oncoming motorists, cars, pedestrians, and natural wildlife within a ten mile radius that we are coming at a speed that cannot be easily altered.



Often times, inside the bus is just as chaotic as outside. The possibility of encountering drunk men, vomiting children, or Buddhist monks is probable, as we've encountered all such circumstances. Women have also fallen asleep on my chest while the shawl of their Saree flaps in my face and their children backpacks are piled in my lap.

Therefore, as a general rule, we avoid the buses whenever possible, once almost opting for a four hour wait instead of a one hour bus ride. But at times we have not other choice. If it's not too crowded we snag a seat at the back.
The bus turns on.
Ricky Martin begins playing.
The driver flips on the switch and the Buddhas begin flashing.
Megan: "Oh...now we're on."
Jen: "I'm about to bust a move"
Me: "Only if they play 'Happy Birthday'."