Blog VII – Colombo, Sri Lanka

Blog VII – Colombo, Sri Lanka

Running the Green

Across the main road from “the Green,” the monolith ultra-modern Taj Samudra Hotel rises up facing the Indian Ocean.  I stayed there for a few days on a long business trip.

 
Taj Samudra Hotel

 

In the pre- and post-dawn, plump older men and young athletic men walked, ran and exercised on the promenade. They ran up and down the Green along the shore road while the ocean’ waves crashed ashore.  None ran as much as I.

 

 The parched Green of Colombo

 

The 26.2 mile marathon I was training for was only a few weeks away so I had to increase the intensity of my morning long distance runs over the course of my long trip: Ten, 15, 20 miles. I started my daily run before dawn so I could complete my multi-hour run in time to avoid the intense heat and humidity later in the morning.

It was Sunday and I planned to run 24 miles – 12 round trips from the Galle Face Hotel to the Lighthouse.

I started before dawn when it was cool. I ran strong. As the sun climbed higher and beat down on me, I struggled and slowed.

A heavy “fanny pack” of water was strapped to my waist and I’d stop and take a long sip  after every lap. I soon finished it. I still had a long way to run this Sunday morning.

 

A vendor was selling young green coconuts near the Galle Face Hotel and another was selling fresh pineapple wedges at the other end of the promenade. As I ran, the only thought in my mind was to get a drink. I plodded on. But I had no money with me.

A group of Sri Lankan children was walking along the promenade begging from two young men, obviously tourists. Should I stop and also ask the tourists for money buy a cool coconut drink?”

Certain I’d pass out if I didn’t drink something soon. I came to a shaky stop in front of the now seated tourists. I asked for money. “I’ve run out of water,” I panted, pointing to my empty water pouch. “Can I borrow some money to buy a coconut?” I’ll pay you back.  I’m staying in that hotel,” I panted, pointing behind them to the gigantic 5-star hotel  opposite the road.

“We’re leaving town today and besides we can’t give money to everyone who asks us,” the pudgy Australian answered.  He didn’t believe me.

“I promise I’ll pay you back,” I countered.

No reply.  He looked away.

I had nothing more to say. I resumed my run, which was now more like a slow jog.

I continued running and headed to the coconut vendor’s cart. I stopped, caught my breath and asked, “How much does a coconut cost?”

“Five rupees, sir.”  (That’s just two cents.)

”I don’t have any money on me but I need a drink. Bad.  I can pay you back after I get the money in my hotel.” I said gesturing towards my hotel.

I imagined the taste of the cool coconut water on my tongue, anticipating his agreement.

He didn’t understand me. Or didn’t want to. So I repeated myself – louder. One of the runners, an older Sri Lankan in expensive jogging clothes was watching us. He came over to translate. I repeated my story. The gentleman translated. The vendor shook his head in disapproval probably saying, “No credit for rich foreigners.”

The man told the vendor to give me a coconut; he paid the five rupees. I thanked my Sri Lankan savior for intervening and offered to repay him later. “Don;t bother,” he said.

I enjoyed watching the vendor use his machete to professionally chop and trim away the husk of the large green coconut. I anticipated how much I would enjoy the cool liquid inside the shell. He made his final deft slice off the top exposing a small circle of white coconut meat. He poked the sharp point of the machete into the soft white flesh, inserted a straw and passed the heavy coconut to me. I grasped it in my two hands, and in a few seconds, sipped and then noisily sucked up the last of the sweet, cool refreshing liquid.

I handed him back the coconut, now empty of liquid, so he could open it for me. With a single slash of his machete he chopped it in half, cut off a little piece of husk and gave it back to me. I used the husk to spoon out the cool, white, rubbery coconut meat and ate it all.

I resumed running the short distance to the turnaround point at the Galle Face Hotel and ran the return lap.

Another lap and I was parched again, hardly running, just barely jogging. I passed one of the Australian tourists, still sitting on a bench, and asked him for five rupees. “I really need to have some liquid,” I pleaded. He reached in his pocket, found a five rupee coin and handed it to me without comment.

Thanks,”  I said running off in the direction of the coconut vendor with the heavy copper coin clutched in my fist. It felt good to be a successful beggar.

“Shit, the coconut vendor is gone!” I said to myself disappointed and parched.

I called it quits after 22 miles and slowly walked to my hotel, just across the street from the Green.

The next afternoon, in the hotel lobby, I was surprised to see the Australian who gave me the five rupees. He was walking towards me with his pudgy friend, the one who lied to me the day before when he said he was leaving town. He only wanted to be rid of me.

I still had his five rupee coin and reached deep into my pocket to pull it out.  I stopped for a second as we came up to each other and handed him the coin.

“Thanks for the loan,” I said canceling out the proceeds of my only begging attempt.  And left him explaining to his pudgy friend what had happened the day before on the Green.