Today I will commit this diary entry to looking back on the highlights of this interesting day in Sri Lanka.I spent most days working in Hiththatiya which was exceedingly enjoyable apart from one tiny occurrence; after the children had left to go for lunch at noon we were expecting to eat our own meal. However, we were summoned to an entirely different occasion, namely the funeral of one of the village’s respected elders, the ninety-two year old grandmother of one of the pre-school children.

Let me tell you, we were not expecting to go to a funeral that day, and what occurred at the funeral had never even crossed our minds as we solemnly made our way across the village to the deceased lady’s home. Upon arrival we were led into the sitting room of the bungalow, and oh behold, there she was. She was lying peacefully on her bed right in front of the open door, her bed right in front of the open door, her bed decorated with an assortment of blinking multi-coloured fairy lights. Her family stood around her and paid their last respect, and despite the absurdity of the situation, we joined the solemn procession around her bed (although our expressions were indeed depictions of surprise and shock).

So far, Sri Lankan has proven to be a country full of surprise (particularly when counting random and unexpected funeral attendances). To add to this notion I will now recall my most traumatic moment of the trip. I will label it, ‘The Tragedy of the Birkenstocks’:

This very weekend we decided to visit the temple of ‘Wewurakannala Vihara’ (how’s that for a tongue twister?) This is an exceedingly fascinating temple featuring an eight story, fifty metre high Buddha, a comic book like illustration of Buddha’s life, a ‘hall of horrors’ which includes a depiction of hell in case of rules such as ‘no stealing’.

On that note, let us move on to the trauma of the afternoon. It is common practice to remove one’s shoes before entering a temple, it can hence also also be assumed that leaving one’s shoes in front of the temple like everyone else is a safe practice. How wrong I was. Upon leaving the temple, I noticed a massive gap in the neat row of shoes; my Birkenstocks were missing! Anyone who has worn these shoes knows the trauma of being deprived of their comfort…I was about to burst into floods of tears but could just contain myself. Instead, I resorted to manically running around the temple grounds (barefoot) looking for my shoes. This was, however a fruitless task. They had been stolen, and I have now to intently staring at anyone who could possibly have a set of size eight flippers for feet and checking whether they are wearing the Birkenstocks. The only consolation to me is that divine powers will have their revenge for me – after all, who is as silly as to steal Birkenstocks from in front of a temple that preaches eternal damnation for theft?