It’s 5:45am. We’re on the coast of Sir Lanka. And I might be mistaken, but I think we’re going the wrong way. Oh and did I mention we’re in a tuk- *swerve there was a bus* -tuk.
To my left the sky meets the Indian ocean with a slight value change. Every glimpse I get, I notice the earth is shaped like a crescent moon. This moon is met with a gentle kiss by each passing wave. The salt filled wind is flowing into our little car like a fresh surprise.
Pause.
We made it to the train station. It is now 6:01am. 1st class is already booked. To receive 2nd we had to arrive an hour before our train is scheduled to leave.
Pause.
It is now 6:18. My ears are flooded with many sounds. To my left, bagpipes play. Don’t ask me why. Although the oddness of a new country doesn’t really phase me. However I do let out a small giggle. To my right are the almost familiar sounds of cars passing and people talking. The one exception beginning they could be speaking Klingon and I wouldn’t know.
Pause. Pray.
We pray as a team. Not for anything major. Just the simple question, leave at 6:45 or 7:25am?
Listening.
Answer: 6:45 it is, with a joyful heart.
Pause.
6:39am.
A newly borrowed 60L pack is now what I fit all my belongings in. This pack, is half my size. If you forgot how short I am, just think of the shortest person you know, got it? Yeah I’m probably shorter. By now all eyes are on us, 7 brightly colored westerners walking into the train platform. Backs of pastel colored buildings form a nice wall between us and the outside world. Peaking out from behind these walls you can see the sun beginning to wake up. It’s morning breath, a sweet aroma.
Sitting. Standing. Waiting.
7:08am. The train is full of business men and women. Some on the phone, others asleep. Only a handful of whitely dressed school children step off.
Packing in like a can of sardines, we claim standing spots at the front and back of the train car.
A smile breaks my face, then a small giggle, until I can’t help but full on laugh. Our brightly colored packs, being bigger than most the natives, were asked to be put on the racks above the seats. The seats, already full of people.
The task is easier said than done.
As the first pack is hoisted up with some struggle, a freshly filled water bottle falls into an unexpected mans lap. The apology is made with great haste, but quickly followed by a failed attempt at suppressed laughter. With the next few packs, faces are gently graced with unwanted straps. Each person beneath holding their breath in fear, until the last pack is safely stowed.
I’m hungry. 7:14am.
I see my spot. The open entrance.
My feet dangle from the side of the train. My golden ticket has bought me a magical dream. The whistle is blown and the train begins to move. My face is met with a fresh breeze.
Green flashes by.
Little houses.
People going about their morning.
To some this might have been an uncomfortable moment, but to me it was a masterpiece.
