The Road to Galle 1

The shiny top of a white van slides into view. He is right on schedule. The early morning sky looks promising, a bit overcast, but more blue than grey. My 16-year-old selects a back seat, the better for reclining and lounging and connecting to her music. My husband sits behind the driver, and I plop down beside him. I have an excellent view of the road ahead and its sideshows.

The van snakes its way through the narrow, potholed mawathas, then powers down the main road. It is just 6:30 in the morning, on a Sunday, but Pannipitiya is definitely wide awake. I sense the van lurch right; a three-wheeler flies by. I muffle a shriek, as I watch two fully-packed red buses hurtle towards us. I brace myself for that tyre-screeching-neck-breaking-leg-cutting-ear-splitting impact, but I hear only the faint mooing of a solitary brown cow, taking a break from her scavenging. I remember God.

My eyes go wild, as zigzagging Bajajs squeeze past our vehicle. Our driver weaves calmly through all that chaos and I find myself looking out the window, starting to relax. I notice riceless paddy fields next to busy green grocers. I spy white birds perching and feasting on the back of a water buffalo in the wallow. The van veers right again, and we take leave of Pannipitiya, to join Talawatugoda.