Galle and the Dried Milk Scam
We did venture out of the hotel. We ventured out that afternoon. We hit our first tout of the afternoon as we walked to the ramparts near the lighthouse. He was chatting about how seven of his family had been lost when Galle was inundated by the tsunami. The fort withstood it, but the town suffered badly.
While Al was chatting to a group of local kids the tout took me aside. "Can you do me a favour?"
"Tell me what it is?" I do sometimes have my wits about me.
"My daughter, she needs milk powder. Please will you come to the shop and buy me some for her?"
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The old milk powder scam! It has to be a non perishable small item that’s very family appropriate.
"So, let me see. I go with you to buy milk powder. I give it to you and feel I’ve done a good thing. As soon as my back’s turned, you go and give it back to the shopkeeper, who sells it 27 or so more times. Is that how it works?"
Departure of tout, never to be seen again. I’ve never seen anyone vanish so fast.
The little kids all had pretty much perfect English. Wow!
We had a potter round the town outside the fort. Al wanted fruit, Mel was hoping for a Salwar and maybe another sari. I just wanted to look around.
The main town is just another crowded town. Not special, but fun to walk round. It has a fruit market, a veg market, and small shops in abundance, always grouped into enclaves.
We did come across some unusual parking, though. And Mel found a Salwar. All complete, except the sleeves were separate. Based on the Kandy price of her Sari we negotiated the Salwar price down. And then went round the corner to a tailor who, for 50 rupees, configured the sleeves and sewed them on.
His was a fine mixture of a modern overlocking and trimming machine to finish the edges, and an old Pfafftreadle machine to do the actual sewing. She looks gorgeous in it.
There’s this odd dilemma about wearing clothes of other nations. We wonder if they’ll approve. I wonder if we base this on Scotsmen who tend to disapprove ofSassenachs who try the Kilt on. Instead it’s really like eating with your fingers inSri Lanka. If you fit in without being an idiot then you will be smiled at and appreciated.
So wear ’their’ clothes with relaxed pride and you’ll get appreciative smiles, even compliments. Al and I went pretty much everywhere in sarongs. Mel’s clothes are ’for best’. But a little more of that later.
It was late by then and we were pretty tired. We strolled back to the hotel, past the fish market, through the gate to the fort and found it a haven once inside. The town melts away as you pass the beggar woman who sits on the road in the gateway, presumably trying to get run over, and the fort’s peculiar tranquility descends.
And that pool was calling us loudly. And so was a long, cold beer.