My disgustingly devious friends under the pretense of taking me to a bar at the beach within the city, kidnapped me to a place which is about 120km out of Colombo. I freaked out at first considering I had told my mum that I would be back early but then the trashy techno and copious amounts of tobacco did their magic on me and half-way there I felt myself relax.
So, this place, Hikkaduwa has come to be known as the party capital of Sri Lanka. Its supposed to be full of dodgy beach bars filled with your usual assortment of beach boys, Caucasians, gays (both beach boy and Caucasian) and murderers, thieves and scoundrels. Ok, the last part I only imagined. But the link that draws them all together are pot and burning libidinous desires. I imagine both pot and these desires are very closely related. Anyway, just past Christmas Eve, no activity of significant proportions was seen when we arrived, so, with the result of us driving even further out, we drove to Unawatune which is fast becoming the sister-capital of Hikka.
The place was called, Riddim – a name, I presume heavily influenced by the major Rastafarians known to the populace today – Bob Marley & Sean Paul. In true South-Asian fashion, one of said devious friends paid cover and went inside to source out the owner who is apparently very well acquainted with them. Eventually, the right strings were pulled and the ‘vintage’ purple ink was stamped onto our arms and so began the second phase of my unexpected adventure – the first being the emotional rollercoaster of a drive to the damn place (stages of emotion: panic, fear, panic, anger, an emotion centering on internal monologues such as: don’t be a loser, go with the flow, chalk it up to experience, and finally, acceptance and relaxation).
The people inside were crazy and obviously doped up with the various substances making the rounds inside the club. Part of the club was sheltered – the dance floor, the DJ podium with the sides of club facing out to the sea. And the bar was located outside on the beach with the prices of alcohol being so temptingly cheap but I did restrain myself considering I had a mother to return to (also attempting to save the motherly forgiveness quota for inevitable NYE drunken splash-out). A lot of illicit activity was going on – drug taking, and quite a lot of homo-activity. Considering the alpha male culture of Sri Lanka – this was quite a revelation to me. My theory to explain the overcompensated nonchalance towards this activity is built on three pillars:
--> A lot of people are potted up
So, this place, Hikkaduwa has come to be known as the party capital of Sri Lanka. Its supposed to be full of dodgy beach bars filled with your usual assortment of beach boys, Caucasians, gays (both beach boy and Caucasian) and murderers, thieves and scoundrels. Ok, the last part I only imagined. But the link that draws them all together are pot and burning libidinous desires. I imagine both pot and these desires are very closely related. Anyway, just past Christmas Eve, no activity of significant proportions was seen when we arrived, so, with the result of us driving even further out, we drove to Unawatune which is fast becoming the sister-capital of Hikka.
The place was called, Riddim – a name, I presume heavily influenced by the major Rastafarians known to the populace today – Bob Marley & Sean Paul. In true South-Asian fashion, one of said devious friends paid cover and went inside to source out the owner who is apparently very well acquainted with them. Eventually, the right strings were pulled and the ‘vintage’ purple ink was stamped onto our arms and so began the second phase of my unexpected adventure – the first being the emotional rollercoaster of a drive to the damn place (stages of emotion: panic, fear, panic, anger, an emotion centering on internal monologues such as: don’t be a loser, go with the flow, chalk it up to experience, and finally, acceptance and relaxation).
The people inside were crazy and obviously doped up with the various substances making the rounds inside the club. Part of the club was sheltered – the dance floor, the DJ podium with the sides of club facing out to the sea. And the bar was located outside on the beach with the prices of alcohol being so temptingly cheap but I did restrain myself considering I had a mother to return to (also attempting to save the motherly forgiveness quota for inevitable NYE drunken splash-out). A lot of illicit activity was going on – drug taking, and quite a lot of homo-activity. Considering the alpha male culture of Sri Lanka – this was quite a revelation to me. My theory to explain the overcompensated nonchalance towards this activity is built on three pillars:
--> A lot of people are potted up
--> People are well-versed in the Rastafarian concept of living in the moment and going with the flow and therefore know that man on man activity is a symptom of this and are therefore too scared to reveal themselves as non-Rastafarian by voicing out their splendidly bigoted views.
--> People share a common understanding that this location is an oasis out of Colombo where gossip comes to a halt (obviously they have never met me) and secret desires and needs are indulged in without fear of judgment. Perhaps this is a bond that can overcome any personal prejudices one might have.
Anyway, the substances made their way to us and although I continued to restrain myself, I let up a few notches so I could properly start enjoying myself. True enough, after a couple of drags over 2 hours, 3-4 arracks, a beer and some vodka, I felt really, truly great (and more than a little dehydrated).
We danced everywhere but the most enjoyable part was when we danced at a point on the beach where the waves were only strong enough to lap at your feet. There was this really doped up fire-dancer beach boy who took to playing with his fire toys very close to us and I think if someone took a picture of that scene, we would have looked like some Satan worshipping toy boys. I really hope I get to visit this place again before I leave the motherland.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
