My hand outstretched, barely gripping the metal bar in front of me, as I tried to steady my feet, but the push and pull of the ever increasing crowd was swallowing us whole. As we slowly pulled up to each platform, two would get off, and ten would get on. Our bodies blending together, as each and every crevice was filled, with no room to move, to breath, to speak. I closed my eyes and attempted to collect myself, as my heart raced, and anxiety soared. Sri Lanka was giving India a run for their money.
I am no stranger to cramped spaces and questionable journeys, for I know that most, if not all, great travel involves a modicum of discomfort. But as time passes, my threshold dwindles, and it wasn’t just me – I had my sister to think of, too. After thirty minutes, with no hope in site, the additional two hours were no longer an option. It was time to make our way to the exit – a challenge in itself.
Once off, we connected with a couple from London, who shared in our experience. With four, hiring a driver seemed like a sensible alternative, and within minutes we were shaking hands and exchanging rupees. When one door closes, another opens.
Hugging the shore, Galle Fort is a maze of cobbled streets, crumbling churches and colonial charm, dating back to the 17th century. It has a feel all its own, having been occupied by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British. The mix of European and Sri Lankan flare seem to blend flawlessly here, and its easy to see the draw. Make it a comma, if not a full stop. We’re certainly happy we did.
