Alone in a Dark Alley

“Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” -Helen Keller

After 5 days of hard travel, Vay and I decided to spend our last few Sri Lankan hours relaxing. After some quick debating, we chose to head to the little beach town of Negombo. Negombo does not have a lot going for it. There are prettier beaches to the South, better waves to the East and more adventures in the North, but what it does have is a short walk to the ocean, lots of good bars and a 20-minute ride to airport, and since our flight was leaving insanely early the next morning – it was perfect.

And it was perfect. We spent our day lounging by the pool and sipping Caiprihnas. I read two girly books and tried to ignore the idea that we would be leaving the following day. But, much too soon, the evening snuck up on us and it was necessary to pack. Despite the fact that Vay had brought 3 times what I had, she was packed in minutes and ready to hit the town. I, however, needed time and space to pack, so I begged off walking to the bar with her, and instead promised to meet her in an hour or so – when my bag was ready and my book completed.

She took off and I stretched out – luxuriating in the quiet of the hotel room. 2 hours later, I was packed. I slipped on a tank top and headed out the door. As I shut the hotel gate, I was surprised by the absolute darkness. It was nearly 10 o’clock and I knew it would be dark – but I hadn’t really realized that our hotel’s alley had no street lamps. A shiver of fear ran down my spine – there was a creepiness to the darkness and emptiness of the street, but the main thoroughfare was not far ahead and completely bathed in light, so I had little to fear.

After just a few steps, I heard a squeak pierce the night. It came from behind me, so I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. An old man on a rickety bike cruised off to my right. This was no surprise. Every time we had walked the alley, men on bikes had cruised past. It was the locals’ main form of transportation. Still I clutched my satchel’s strap with my spare hand and kept my look determinedly ahead to discourage interaction.

He rode past me and mumbled something. I didn’t want to be rude, so I nodded my head and glanced in his direction. He continued on for about 50 meters, then suddenly hopped off his bike and fumbled with his pants. He was facing the fence and I assumed he was urinating, so I looked the other way. However, as I walked past, I realized he was enjoying himself immensely (this is a euphemism)  and staring directly at me. He shouted something and I sped up – the main street was so close.

With amazing speed, he zipped his pants and leapt back on his bike. For such an old man, he was surprisingly agile. He approached on my right again and for the first time I was really afraid. I realized that I was alone in a dark alley in a foreign country (sorry, Dad). I clutched my purse and began to calculate how difficult it would be to replace everything within. He rode closer and I moved as far left as I could. I was now literally walking between a high wooden fence and an old man on a bike. He pedaled in a steady rhythm, keeping me trapped.

Suddenly, he lunged. I was ready for him and I swung my purse around to my other side. But he wasn’t reaching for the purse and he had perfect aim. I gasped as I felt him grab my left boob and squeeze. I came to a sudden stop and reacted without thinking. My left arm came up and slammed him hard in the chest. I shouted, “No. I said. NO.” I hit him, again – harder. It knocked him off his bike and he stumbled back. Then I added, “Good. NO. Thank you.” None of this was said in a pleading manner, rather it sounded very factual or like a parent speaking to a toddler. Although, why I felt the need to be polite while someone was grabbing my boob, I’ll never know.

He was still standing and he reached for his bike. I took this as my sign to get out of there and half-ran/half-walked to the main street. I was determined to not look as scared as I felt. As I rushed onto the street, a tuk-tuk driver glanced up at me. Before I could speak he rushed past and screamed at the old man. The old man simply shrugged it off though and rode in the opposite direction.  This was much more anti-climatic than I had hopped. My adrenaline was ebbing and now that I felt safe, I was very, very angry at the old man and his grab-hands.

Before, I could do something stupid though, the driver motioned me into the tuk-tuk and drove me the few blocks to the bar. I thanked him profusely. Seeing Vay sitting on a bar stool, sipping a beer, was the most welcoming sight I could imagine and I practically rushed into her arms just to be off the street and with friends. We spent the rest of the night having way too much fun (which was the plan), but when it was time to leave you can bet I had a large group of people walk us home.

“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion, and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.” -James A. Michener

Blood Sucking Fiends

They rose from the ground like zombies, or vampires – even better - since their goal was to suck our blood. Their scrawny worm-like bodies hovered in the air, waving back and forth, waiting for us to step closer. They would latch onto our sneakers and begin their ascent toward our ankle inching quickly along, until they reached flesh. Then they would attach themselves and suck and suck, fattening their gaunt bodies on our delicious blood.

I knew there was going to be leeches on the trek. I had been warned. It was even mentioned in the online description, “ two day trek… more than 30 kilometers… camping… must be in good shape… leeches are rampant on trail…” The first part of the hike, though, was easy and beautiful and we spent more time spent admiring flowers, than worrying about climbing a mountain or watching for leeches. But, just when we had been lulled into a sense of safety, we entered the jungle and everything changed.

The air was suddenly humid and the ground was moist. Puddles appeared on the trail and spiky vines crisscrossed our way. The guides sprayed our ankles with a mixture of oil and water and left us smelling like the horses during fly season. But I still mistakenly thought the leeches would be rare, one or two, if any at all. Not hundreds, visible as I walked, waving at me like the souls Ursula collected in the Little Mermaid. It was disconcerting and honestly, it frightened me, much more than I wanted to admit.

At first, I looked down often. Staring at the tiny creatures that appeared to be reaching up to me. I focused on our destinations, the 7 different waterfalls, counting the steps that would lead me to safety, streams and leech-free rocks. Each time we reached a one, I would shout for joy - ecstatic that not a single leech had reached me. Positive with every passing minute, that I was exaggerating their abilities and needs.

Then we reached the steepest part of the trek. The climb was close to 90 degrees, and we had to basically claw our way up the dirt. Vay went first, grabbing roots and branches, to pull herself up, twice she slipped and twice we cheered her on. Then it happened. Standing at her feet, I watched a teeny, tiny blood-sucking leech inch his way across her shoe. Before I could speak he ducked over the edge and was inside. I yelled gibberish, trying to decide if it was better to tell her now, or wait till we were back on solid ground, since there was nothing she could do right then.

I told her. It was the wrong thing to do. She started shaking her foot, hoping to dislodge the creature, but it was a lost effort, he was safely ensconced inside. She began to slide back down and the guides made angry faces at me. They grabbed her, steadied her and she made her ascent. The whole time I stood below, hopping from one foot to the other, trying not to give the leeches time to find my feet and crawl inside.

From that moment on, I would check my ankles every three steps. I made it a rhythm as I walked. The second I saw one, I would let out an involuntarily yelp, lift my foot and gesture wildly. It was embarrassing. The guides simply wore flip flops and when a leech attached to them, they would casually flick it off and continue walking, while I, a supposedly tough, outdoorsy woman, would turn into a little, helpless girl, practically crying at the sight.

I wanted to be tough. B had asked me if I would be a "I-can-take-it-I'm-a-country-girl" or a "gross-get-it-off-me-girl” and I was clearly the latter, but I wanted to be the former. I would tell myself ‘be strong’, ‘its just a worm’ (with blood sucking fangs), ‘it won’t hurt’, but then just when I was sure I could handle it, another would latch on and I would cry out and hop uncontrollable until the guide rescued me once again. Embarrassing.

We did eventually make it to the summit of the first knuckle (the mountains are know as Knuckles Range, due to looking like a closed fist). Pictured above is our joy at achieving our goal and not succumbing to the leeches. (Not pictured above is all the blood pooling at the base of Vay's right ankle because she got sucked so many times.) Yay us!