I went north from Vavuniya to visit Mannar Island. For reasons you will shortly see, Mannar is like a cross between the Wild West, the Gaza Strip, and Chincoteague Island, and I wanted to see it.
When you get to Sri Lanka's northern region, everything changes. It's like you've suddenly been transported to east Africa--the jungles and hills and trees vanish, and instead, you're driving across scruffy plains with squat little trees. There aren't many towns or villages. The sun is strong. There is a strong military and police presence due to the recent war. You're not in Kansas anymore.
I wanted to visit Mannar (and I don't know how to say this one. It looks straightforward, but no matter how I pronounced it--muh-NAR, MAN-are, man-ner, whatever--it elicited blank looks from the folks in Vavuniya). Mannar is a sleepy little town on an island with nothing interesting to do. But you can take a ferry to see a sandbar that connects Sri Lanka to India, so I thought I'd take a day and do that.
Getting off the bus from Vavuniya was a weird experience. As I stepped off, there were lots of low-lying sea clouds, oddly colored in the setting sun. The evening rush hour was minor enough that I could basically stand in the middle of the main road to get my bearings without being in any danger whatsoever.
That, and as you move into the residential areas, you'll see that fences are made of palm-branches and corrugated metal, some houses are demolished, and the streets are festively lined with streamers.
But the really cool thing about the town of Mannar are the street donkeys. Yes, you heard me correctly. I've dealt with lots of feral cats, feral dogs, feral rats, and even temple monkeys, but this is the first time I've seen a town overridden with feral equines.
But they're really there, munching on cardboard on the ground, huddling on the islands in the middle of roundabouts, nosing through the trash, and sleeping next to family homes. No one owns them or cares for them, they're just there.
And that's one of the more interesting sights I've seen.
When you get to Sri Lanka's northern region, everything changes. It's like you've suddenly been transported to east Africa--the jungles and hills and trees vanish, and instead, you're driving across scruffy plains with squat little trees. There aren't many towns or villages. The sun is strong. There is a strong military and police presence due to the recent war. You're not in Kansas anymore.
I wanted to visit Mannar (and I don't know how to say this one. It looks straightforward, but no matter how I pronounced it--muh-NAR, MAN-are, man-ner, whatever--it elicited blank looks from the folks in Vavuniya). Mannar is a sleepy little town on an island with nothing interesting to do. But you can take a ferry to see a sandbar that connects Sri Lanka to India, so I thought I'd take a day and do that.
Getting off the bus from Vavuniya was a weird experience. As I stepped off, there were lots of low-lying sea clouds, oddly colored in the setting sun. The evening rush hour was minor enough that I could basically stand in the middle of the main road to get my bearings without being in any danger whatsoever.
That, and as you move into the residential areas, you'll see that fences are made of palm-branches and corrugated metal, some houses are demolished, and the streets are festively lined with streamers.
But the really cool thing about the town of Mannar are the street donkeys. Yes, you heard me correctly. I've dealt with lots of feral cats, feral dogs, feral rats, and even temple monkeys, but this is the first time I've seen a town overridden with feral equines.
But they're really there, munching on cardboard on the ground, huddling on the islands in the middle of roundabouts, nosing through the trash, and sleeping next to family homes. No one owns them or cares for them, they're just there.
And that's one of the more interesting sights I've seen.
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