Last hours in Colombo

Some places are said to not draw much attention nor make any impression. Yet such places can leave traces through a set of unexpected circumstances, events, and emotions. Colombo turned out to be that sort of place for me. 

Early morning, walking through endless construction sites.

I search for a place to cool down and end up inside a new shopping mall — empty, both of people and products.

Tuktuk to another side of town.

I pick up some fabrics and pastries for lunch at Pettah market, which is a thousand times more vibrant than the mall.

I follow with a coffee break at the Galle Face hotel, reading a book and occasionally listening to the conversation of American people sitting behind me.

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High contrasts define this city without making clear definitions either. It’s the narrative of a place trying to find its identity in the world.

I make a second visit to the National Museum to see what I have missed the first time around. Walking through the space triggers something in my mind, more so than the display of objects. 

The day is particularly hot with strong winds blowing into the galleries. 

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Chicken biryani for an early dinner at the hotel. The waiter starts a conversation as we both look at the street scene outside. Evening commuters catching the bus. This ordinary sight is beautiful for no reason.

Night falls. 

My taxi driver arrives and later tells me he wants to move to Japan and work there.

His mind filled with hopes and dreams of ‘elsewhere’.

The road to the airport is quiet, neutral to the point that it could have been anywhere. The city already feels far behind us, but I can’t help but picture it in my mind.