In Search of the Past: Sri Lanka/Ceylon: Arrival

On arrival, like many of the characters in my WW2 spy novel--including Lord Mountbatten himself--I check-in at the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo, capital of Sri Lanka, then known as Ceylon. Having written a first draft and read multitudes of books, I've come to discover their world. Despite modernization, much of the land remains as it was. 

The 13th C Chinese Emperor, Kublai Khan, sent Marco Polo here to seize the tooth of Buddha, one of Buddhism's most sacred relics. Although unsuccessful, Marco was smitten by "Seilan." Over the centuries, many other explorers and invaders would covet this island paradise, located in the middle of trade routes between China and the Middle East.

The Maritime Museum shows the evolutions of the harbor over time, along with old ships, maps, paintings, and unique artifacts...

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Across the road is one of the Buddhist shrines and temples that dot the landscape, including along the railway lines, sometimes the only lights in the darkness.

Buddhism and Hinduism are interwoven in the cultures of Asia. At Colombo's Gangaramaya temple, Ganesha holds a place of honor just outside the soaring inner shrine to Buddha (above).

In the courtyard, visitors circumnavigate the holy bodhi tree, watering it and praying.

Our next destination is Galle on the island's southern tip. For sightseeing and escaping the tourist bubble, nothing beats train travel, cheap here, with extensive routes. However, obtaining reservations and tickets is not easy, entailing last-minute queues at the railway station. I hope this guy made it!

Once boarded, we settle in to enjoy the magnificent coastal views.

Galle is a former Portuguese port, and its walls have survived time, conquest, and the 2004 tsunami, which took over 30,000 lives on this island with 6000 missing.

People arise early in the tropics and we boarded more than one train before dawn--including New Year's Day!

Later that day, we reach Kandy, the holy city of Sri Lanka. Across from our hotel, Queen's (a major setting in my novel), is the Temple of the Tooth, custodian of the sacred relic that Marco Polo sought for the "Great Kaan." 

Little did we know that the Sinhalese throng to this temple for New Year's purification rites. Swept along with the crowds, we are ready for 2017.

Next stop is the Queen's Hotel bar, renamed for war leader Mountbatten who was based in Kandy, along with members of the British and US intelligence agencies--including my characters. I toast them, spirits to spirits.

Next: In Search of the Past: Kandy and the Mystery of History http://dianarchambers.blogspot.com/2017/02/in-search-of-past-part-2-kandy-and.html

It’s All in a Name

At our last book club, a friend mentioned the feral kitty she’d trapped, a little orange fellow about three months old. Two days later, he had moved in to our house. Thus ensued the Great Name Debate. We liked Mango for the color and associations with India and our favorite fruit.

Then the Daughter decided the name was too cutesy. Following more lengthy debate, we settled on Marco Polo, which also worked as I knew him from past life on the Silk Road. Or maybe I was him. 

Like his namesake, Marco is a gutsy character. He does not take no for an answer. Doing what he wants, when he wants. For those with feline experience, this should come as no surprise. However I’ve never had a cat and find him endlessly entertaining with his stalking-sharp eyes, determined pounces, and strong will. His energy! 

His curiosity! 

He lives upstairs in the college Daughter’s bathroom, jumping over the gate after three days. 

This led him into our bedroom, Daughter’s bedroom, and my office.

There have been incidents with our twelve-year old mutt, Daisy Mae, an only “puppy” until now. It has been traumatic for her, especially when Marco leaps on the bed which has been denied her all these years. I think Daisy doesn’t know what hit her, so we are giving our girl lots of extra love.

Marco is inquisitive about her too, but Daisy has remained aloof, refusing to meet his eye. It appears, though, that she is resigned to things never being the same. 

My “trapper” friend tells me that cats born of a feral mother are taught to be wary, stealthy, and sly. Marco is definitely a survivor, always hiding and poking his head out to make sure the coast is clear before darting onward.

After about two weeks, Marco ventured downstairs...

...and began his explorations in the larger world.

It has been a month now and he is gazing out the window with great expectations. 

The other day I told my daughter she was right about the name, that Marco is far too determined and tough to be a Mango. 

“I told you!”

PS. My Turn. 
Just checked: She’s writing about me. Again. Has she nothing else to think about it? And all this posing gets tedious. Still, I’ve made a lot of new friends through her. And an extended family on Twitter: My Godmother @LilyMarsWrites, Uncle @michaelmagras, and Auntie @ChristinaHolz, but I like to call her Chachacha. Yesterday I found long-lost cousin @nandelabra, Nandini to you. Eternally grateful to my foster mom @YogaWithCheryl ❤️❤️

So, in gratitude, I’ll give her some notes.

And in the hope of peace in our times, I’ll reach out to Daisy.

Europe By Train #9: Venice: Through Her Back Door

We all have our public and private faces. So does that very grande dame Venice. Venezia.

Everyone knows her canals, bridges, and palazzi. San Marco...

And the gondolieri with their blue-and-white striped T-shirts...

Her grand churches...

But we have been lucky enough to spend time in her "backwaters" of Castello, a former ship-building center nearer the open sea. Now the famed Art Biennale comes to this area every other year, but even then Campo Ruga remains a quiet square with soccer-playing children...

And clothing strung on lines between green-shuttered terra-cotta, salmon, and yellow houses. (Here's my old shirt from India and new Paris scarf.)

Its center is the old well and trattoria, La Nuova Speranza, serving food, coffee, and gossip from morning till night. 

Our arty flat has a little roof garden overlooking a panorama of red-tiled roofs, the distant Dolomites in the southern Alps (which we crossed in a glorious train ride from Vienna), and a glimpse of blue. 

Church towers surround us and their bells, ringing out the hours, days, lifetimes. The nearest bells come from San Pietro, on a tiny island linked by two bridges.

Our closest market is across another bridge, on another canal. The grapes are delicious and the sweet green plums. 

One of my very oldest friends negotiates the purchase and that too is sweet. The editor of Historic Motor Racing News, she and her husband have come to visit us from Zurich. Once she and I roamed all over Paris, and now we set off to explore Venice...discovering that some roads dead-end in canals. (Story ideas abound!) 

More than once we get lost: that's part of the adventure. One thing I've always loved about my friend is her intrepid nature, so today I am content to follow. We pause to admire many a shoe display, but she had already left when I found these of Murano glass.

Although the fabulous Fortuny museum is closed, we've enjoyed the back roads leading us there. By evening, we have enjoyed some aperitifs - have you ever tried an Apero? - but still haven't found a place for dinner. Suffice it to say, it is a late night. On the vaporetto back to our apartment, we marvel at the Grand Canal magic, the moon over the water, the old churches and palazzi. My husband says, "No wonder they want to save this place!" 

The next day, I explore the Arsenale district, where the Architecture Biennale is now taking place in various nooks and crannies of the ancient sea fortress. I imagine Marco Polo sailing through its gates with his uncle, a young man off to taste the world.

I've always identified with Marco, his adventurous spirit. Now that I've met Venice, I can imagine his joy in returning home.

As for us, we're shipping out too. By train...to Firenze.

http://dianarchambers.blogspot.com/2014/08/europe-by-train-10-florence-city-of.html