accompanied

Ella – last stopover on the way down for the long missing in haze sunshine. My loyal company, Jose, and me traveled by train around six hours from Kandy southwards, sneaking through the beautiful and therefore famous and so not less popular highlands, for a luscious brumous green reason. Tea plantations as far as you can´t imagine. Hilly ground. Steeply sloping, smoothly roping into moldy villages and romantic lakeviews. With doors on the train wide open, surfing on the steps, rainswept, freezy tangent head wind, broken by dripping narrow tunnels and railside lingering copse, drumming wagon by wagon seeking a face to sciss´. With Adam´s Peak towering at the horizon, challenging my reasonable patience, not to climb – owing to the ligamental strain boring me. Bored of being patient with my condition. Shoulder. Ligamental. Capsule. Mental weakness. Suicidal backslide. Rice and curry. Turning my immune system upside fucked. On top the moskitos, you miss a spot on your body to cover with repellent, it will be marked by their sensational thirst. And it´s too cold basically. Causing a tremendously tiredness. Don´t know why, the hobbling around can´t be the reason. Maybe the fact, that I haven´t been to toilet since a week. Being a tentant in paradise – still appreciating the fact – not always the sun is shining out of your arse, sometimes it´s pretty cloudy… maybe traveling in company… even though it is really down-to-road, we laugh, we share, we enjoy, also the same distaste. However I am reported missing, not in a lost way, but in a neutral way, objectified, unreleased, unconversant. Or is it the gaze of Sri Lanka, “Nobody has it, maybe in one year more people will have, they copy you.” Wherever I go, it is about my tattoos. “Nice haircut! Where are you from?” Germany might be not as tolerating as you think, Sri Lanka.
But we haven´t arrived Ella yet. On the train, first class with us couples from all around the world, so I did what I had to, earphones, Wilhelm Stenhammer, enjoying the snaily ride, mostly hanging windside. Ella itself is a touristic hub, the final call for a trekk, up to at least little Adam´s Peak, offering a stunning view… there it lies, a tamed lion, with its enriching leafy coat, persecuted by steep peaks of a cragged crown, wild behind its misty bushwhacking eyes. Its paws crawling southwards… southwards… I can only think about sun, sun sun sun, where is you hearth, hiding behind an off-white eclipse. Crawling each morning since days in a textile moist zone, “Better not wash, just keep wearing, smells like mold spirit.” I made finally my peace with Sri Lanka up on the Lion´s shoulder. As smaller the towns are, either packed with tourism, people appear and fortunately are honest, humorously and welcoming. But still, I won´t return. But never say never.

I enjoy. I stay. I am here. I live here. This is my road. Taking rests aside. Everything is on my way and nothing is less close to a touch of freedom than having the choice. My choice. Calming down. Any place is my home and nowhere I feel like dying. Life is my first choice as long as I die. Contented to death.