This is a wet jungi, drying outside the Rawana Liquor Restaurant near Ella. As awesome as this is, I can only paint you the picture inside with words. It’s about 5h30 and the local bar is packed. Men, of course, in sarong and shirt, sarong or scarf wrapped around their heads. It’s cold. People round here drink. A lot.
We order two shots and the barkeep (behind bars mind you) is just confused. We get a small plastic carafe, pour some discreet shots. The dudes next to us get proper big glasses and fill them with arrack. I’m talking about a big water glass, filled with arrack, then they put like 50 ml of soda in. They literally split two bottles of arrack into three cups. It’s madness, and they’re doing this at every table.
I watch a mustachioed old man drink his heady quaff. It’s going down like water, but then he grimaces at the taste. I can drink gal, but not like that. After that sip I wouldn’t grimace, I’d sputter and spit. Crazy time.
I’d take a picture in Colombo perhaps, but things are slightly tense here. We look ridiculous, mainly thanks to fucking Imaad, but even me on my own is not inconspicious. He wearing a corduroy jacket and long hair. I’ve got a dress shirt, trainer jacket and a JVP beard. So I’m not taking pictures here. But I hope I’ve painted one.