Of all the trips I’ve done on my travels, whale watching in Sri Lanka shares equal place on the joy list with being mugged in a Colombian ghetto and being made to climb my way out of Peru’s Colca Canyon at 4am with no coffee inside me (I gave up and hired a mule).
For almost four hours this morning we were tossed about humongous waves while several French women vomited as delicately and quietly as they could into tiny plastic shopping bags.
We saw a whale, I think, although as the “guide” enthused that “whales are everywhere!” I was concentrating on staying in the boat and not ending up as their breakfast.
Gripping my seat in the face of the now torrential rain and trying not to slip into any puking Europeans I realized that perhaps it was off-season and that perhaps the man with the butter wouldn’t melt smile had oversold this wondrous journey into the blue abyss to share the waves with the world’s most majestic creatures.
I was the only one who took the proffered sea sickness tablets when they were handed out because unlike the French it seems, I read TripAdvisor.
I live by TripAdvisor.
And I also know by now that if someone’s giving you anything at all for FREE in Sri Lanka it probably means shit’s about to get serious.