Sri Lanka, Wadduwa. This long stretch of sandy beach boomerangs right towards some coconut trees at the end of the trail. Mostly the home to fishing families. Seafood in beach restaurants is relatively cheap here because they come off the fishing boats in the morning before they get priced up as they make it to the shops and hotels. I envy those who live by the sea who get up to the breaking waves, coffee in hand and the ocean as far as your eyes can carry you as the sound of the ocean blends in with the morning music at home. It is how these seafarers live. Their money comes from the sea, every morning and sometimes at night depending on the type of catch.

I had gone to the Blue Water Hotel for a coffee – a 5 Star hotel by the sea in Wadduwa. They usually bring you a plateful of biscuits with it and it comes with the price of the coffee at 500 Sri Lankan Rupees about the price at Starbucks but without the ocean view and the biscuits.

Can one living by the sea with the sound and view of the ocean ever get enough of it? Those who live by the sea in their homes cemented and bricked up living beside those in their shanty tinned roofs and mud walls, do they know what they have, where the ocean will never disappoint them and will feed them every day and will never allow them to go hungry. Or will they want to sell and live in the city instead as the price of their properties start to increase with the area designated a tourist area and new hotels appearing next to them? 

I walked past the large swimming pool of the hotel to go for a walk along the beach, passing tourists on the way out. Tourist: must be the season ‘cos like flocking birds they cross oceans to be close to the fishing villages in Sri Lanka and to have a little of something that the big cities cannot give them. They swim in the pool, take walks along the coastline, mostly staying away from the locals, instead more comfortable talking to the many stray dogs they meet. One of the strays looked up at me as if to say, “hey haven’t I seen you before”. I patted her. Soon there were other dogs in line each taking their turn for a pat on their head.

Too young too old. I noticed 3 ladies, probably European, walking close to the breaking waves, getting their feet wet. I noticed they did look my way earlier when I was playing with the dogs. I thought, “would one of them want a boyfriend”. I continued walking. I also did wonder how clean the beach was, considering the number of strays on the beach. There were cows resting on the sands and pigs roaming inland under the coconut trees. I soon came to a string of fishing boats lined up close to the ocean’s edge. Fishermen mending their nets. I left it too late for a long walk as the sun was setting. It got darker as the sun edged closer to the horizon.

I passed the “Saffron Hut” a small hotel, unlike the “Blue Water” which was monstrous and laid back from the beach such that you could not see the ocean. You had a good view of the swimming pool as it snaked around its grounds, but you had to walk past the lawn to see the ocean, unlike the hut: it nestled next to the ocean. It had “garden” like wooden tables with its benches dug into the sands next to the ocean. You could have your meal sitting on the beach with the smell and sound of the ocean for company. It felt like the Hut was part of the ocean.

It was then that I thought: I want to live here. Next to the ocean. Wake up in the mornings and walk up to the ocean with my morning coffee. Dig myself into the sands and have my breakfast. Can there be too much of a good thing? Is it just my mind making it an experience to treasure everyday. Do the people who have lived here for decades know what they have, according to my mind, which is clever at making a beautiful image. The perfect image sometimes does not translate well into reality. But I do like this place, by the ocean, a long stretch of sand, and waking up to it every day, by the Saffron Hut where I can have my meals.

Curious I keep walking and soon come to a village. A House made of brick walls and cement, single stored, with no border walls separating them. They look like an Anselm Kiefer installation of brick walls and rooftops. A teenager walks up towards the ocean and I call out to him. He is tall slender and dressed well in a collared T-shirt and dark denim. He gestured that he did not speak English but called out to a friend who does. The friend was talking to 2 others by the fishing vessels. He came over.

I asked him if there was any land for sale around here to build a house. Not in the interior but beachfront where I can see the ocean in the mornings. He pointed to some around me that was recently sold. They consisted of large lots which were not what I wanted. I wanted just enough land to build a house and wake up in the morning and see the ocean while sipping my morning coffee.

The teenager in the dark jeans said there was a plot up ahead that belonged to his sister that might be for sale. Let’s go, I said. The sun was getting close to disappearing into the ocean. The plot of land faced the sea. It had the foundation of a previous home being there, the walls all missing. I noticed the village homes all had freshly rendered cement on them but not painted. I asked the teenager what is it with the foundation of a building on this plot and he asked his interpreter to tell me that it was the big Tsunami that came recently and destroyed the village. It was the big 9.0 magnitude earthquake-tsunami of 2004. I gathered also that the 2004 tsunami was a repeat of something similar about 2000 years ago documented in Sri Lankan Chronicles? I did not ask him if people died. I asked him how far did the water go inland and he said up to the road next to the railway line. Pretty much right through the village.

I asked for details of the land and cost and he said his sister lived next door and he will ask her. I waited for him to get back. He came back with his sister. She did not speak English well but I think she understood what was being said. She wore a red tight figure-hugging T-shirt. Her complexion was a smooth oily brown. Her long hair was neatly pulled tight and coiled up behind her head. Her face was chiselled like a tourist. I whispered to myself. Her smile was like the ocean in the morning with my morning coffee…. Can there be too much of a good thing?

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