My hands are for some reason, not very comfortable to type. I am sitting by the side of the big rocks that adorn the extreme end of the beach. My hands are having minute layers of sand on them, which for some reason are not going off. I wash off the sand with water, and then use my towel, which, I later figure is dirtier than my hand. I turn to my shorts, and its setting the barometer for sand higher than the towel. My hands are still muddy. I give up the phone, and take a look at the scenery that surrounds me.
My tent stares at me from a distance, as I have been away from it. Its pretty warm out here, and for some reason, I haven’t been getting any wind my side. I decided to go a little further between the rocks, as it gave me some shade.
There’s a helper who is ferrying food and beer to travellers laying out at the beach beds at the other end of the beach. There are travellers running on top of the hill and jumping off it, only to paraglide over the beach.
I decide to try the second option, and walk over to Mohinder, who’s been at it for most part of the day, flying guests over the Arambol landscape. He says 1200, and after some bargaining, helping him find more people, we settle at 1000 per trip. I am escorted up a hill, and I am asked to wear the flying equipment, tying the ropes to my body. I will have Mohinder behind me, who will do the manouevering for directions, while I play passenger. Ok, run to the count of 3, he says. I don’t believe the parachute will take off. I actually don’t. I run half heartily on the cliff and Mohinder asks me to jump, with a little bit of the runway still preserved. My legs are in the air, slightly above the rocks and in 2 seconds, I was over the cliff and flying in the air. That moment was surreal. I was flying and gaining some ascent, and saw the world from above.
The ocean was endless and it just showed how visually powerful is a body with no ends. The Arabian sea on one side, the green hills on the other, A beautiful beach below, and it felt so relaxing staring at this scenery. The scenery was accompanied by pin drop silence. I was paragliding into the sunset and moon rise, and I spent those 15-20 minutes up in the air when the sun and moon exchange duties and take over.
It also made me briefly feel immortal. Its not a bad thing to feel, when in Goa.
Until, I was brought down to earth. The warmth I had on me, from the evening sun, was a very different and comfortable feeling that was handed down. I had one of the most memorable and tranquil experiences, experiencing silence on the top.
My pilot (Mohinder) ensured that I got off with a minimal thud, when we land. I was exuding with warmth when I got down to soak in another view in fading light.
I saw a young couple kissing passionetly on the beach. I wasn’t sure whether I could go and ask them, since that would ruin the moment. The moment was sublime, since the couple did not quite worry about who were around. They were basically creating their own world, with a scenic beach and just them in the scene. So much of passion as the twilight took over from the sun. Maybe finding love and warmth on a beach, should now be a life goal. Maybe!
This little series explores Sri Lanka through its beaches. A day out at the beach along the Dehivala-Galle line shows up some beautiful sights. Join in me in my experiences in Sri Lanka
The day so far in Colombo, had been very relaxed on Poya day by the beach. I wandered by the railway tracks to find some place to eat. I realised I was in the lovers zone, and was invading the privacy of hormones on display, every step I took. If you landed here directly, do check out Part-1 and Part 2 of this series, and then read on.
Love is in the air!
The beach had lovers, The area by the boats had lovers, the trees near the railway tracks had lovers, and the railway tracks also had couples. Talk about dinning it in on a solo trip, that you don’t have a partner around! I waded through all the romance, and found a place to have some fried rice, and went back to the beach at Mount Lavinia, lying on the beach, and letting the waters wash me of my ego, pride and prejudice, and enjoyed the sunset before returning home, a wiser man, after a day of silence and spending time observing myself.
The next Sanath? Sanga? Tharanga? Ranatunga?
I always remember Sri Lanka, as the land of left handers. From the times of Arjuna Ranatunga, Sanath Jayasuriya (or his clone Kusal Perera), Sanga or Tharanga, Sri Lanka has always managed to produce a line of south paws who make cricket very interesting with their batting.
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