Day 3: Jaffna to Anuradhapura

Day 3: Jaffna to Anuradhapura

I spoke too soon yesterday about the well drained roads. But I guess there’s a limit to how much water the land is capable of handling. The road to Anuradhapura between Kilinochi and Vavuniya was flooded – they said there could be a metre of water – stranding us for nearly 5 hours. I didn’t imagine a whole chapter would have to be devoted to the journey. Rescued from the floods, as we were speeding towards Anuradhapura, I remember the events that transpired in the five hours we struggled to get across.

Some 30 km south of Killinochi, a long line of vehicles parked to the side of the road didn’t augur well for us. We quickly realised our day was going to be long and the short distance remaining to our final destination suddenly seemed much longer. Tractors with attached trailers were doing brisk business ferrying vehicles across. The decision for us was simple: we agreed to pay what it took to be taken across. We were captive customers.

So, we found a tractor and trailer and with several people shouting directions at the hapless driver, he drove the car precariously up two narrow ramps on to the trailer. But the car’s rear wheels did not clear the ramp. Maybe reverse on to the trailer, someone suggested. Lots of shouting and hoo haa later, scraped car bottom and defeated shakes of heads, we realised our car was indeed too long. We tried two more trailers but with the same result. (I must carry a tape measure the next time.) A long trailer was the only feasible option. There was none around at the time.

Our driver took instructions from his employer and decided to try a route that circumvented the flooded section on the main road. The thought did occur to me that had the new route been clear, there would surely have been a scramble in that direction. However, not wanting to dampen hopes, I kept my thought to myself. Logic and elementary physics didn’t play much of a role in the desperate scramble to get away.

We drove along a muddy track into deep jungle and I quickly connected the dots. This was exactly the area where the Tamil Tigers had hidden during the civil war. We were deep in the forests extending from Killinochi to Vavuniya. I was told by someone in the ‘know’ that the forests didn’t exist anymore. But how wrong he was! He obviously had only travelled along the main roads and never had to navigate around a flooded patch.

Serendipity, what else! I rejoiced internally that I got to experience a bit of the jungle where some decades ago the tigers had indulged in guerrilla warfare. Externally, I maintained a worried expression. Frankly, I didn’t care when I reached my destination. Our current adventure was sufficiently stimulating.

We soon discovered a stranded truck ahead of us. The flooding was worse in the direction we were heading. Turning around, we headed for the main road. And then the car made a loud scraping noise. A protective shield under the car had partially detached itself. Over the next half hour the driver tried to fix it. Finally he laid on the ground and deftly manoeuvred the cover back in place with a stick. Meanwhile, I scanned the jungle for wild elephants and the ghosts of Tigers. We were soon back on the main road, hungry and exhausted. The line of desperate vehicles grew longer, rain came down heavier and water levels rose further.

We were impressed by the calm and disciplined behaviour of the stranded drivers and their passengers despite their travails. They walked around discussing the matter at hand in a mixture of Sinhala and Tamil. No raised voices, no queue jumping, no fighting, just stoic acceptance of the situation and a lot of hopeful upward glances for any signs of the rain letting up. Man lives by hope, as they say.

Children and some compassionate adults rescued stranded fish from the road and deposited them back in the water. Most people smiled!

Then out of nowhere came a tractor with a long trailer and offered to take us across for 5000 Lankan rupees – some £14! As we crossed, the thought occurred to me that whatever we understand about global warming and the disasters waiting for us around the corner, whatever we may say about the drowning planet that our grandchildren would inherit, however much we empathise with the loss of homes and livelihood of those at the cold front, the true impact of global warming genuinely comes home only when it actually happens to us. Like the gradual creeping in of the symptoms of a chronic desease, it comes ever so slowly, but come it surely does.