My husband and I strike without plans. When we arrived at Sri Lanka's Bandaranaike International Airport in Katunayake last April, we had no idea that the country was celebrating Sinhala New Year. We only found out when a cab driver told us that there were no public buses in service for it was a holiday. It was a lie, of course.
We were able to take the free shuttle to Katunayake's main terminal, where we boarded a bus to Kandy. We thankfully reached our Couchsurfing host's home effortlessly via hired tuktuk (which our host booked himself). And after a two-hour nap, with no intention of idling, we winged the bustling Temple of The Tooth.
At dusk, we headed back to the house, and found a group of locals playing bongo/djembe-like percussions and singing just across the road. It was beautiful, but we decided to just watch from afar. Well, more like listened than watched. Because we couldn't see a thing that starless eve.
I chased fireflies and danced to the beat of world music. And sprinted away from kids chucking fireworks at random bystanders. I'm not really into welcoming the new year with a bang, especially if that bang could possibly incapacitate me.
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