Sri Lanka: Hoping for the winter

Terrorism, pandemic, state bankruptcy - Sri Lanka has been in crisis mode for years. Now people are hoping for tourists. Visit to a troubled island country.

Hoping for the winter

BY MARTIN H. PETRICH

October 5, 2022 Terrorism, pandemic, state bankruptcy – Sri Lanka has been in crisis mode for years.

Now people are hoping for tourists.

Visit to a troubled island nation.

Beethoven would be amazed.

Für Elise, his world-famous piano piece in A minor, is a hit in Sri Lanka.

Or rather an acoustic bakery greeting, because this melody announces the delivery service for fresh bread every day.

Be it on the south coast, in the tea-green mountains or in the far north, the three-wheeled tuk tuks rattle through the streets everywhere, while "Elise" blares from their raspy loudspeakers.

Early in the morning, the 'choon paan', as they're popularly known - which means 'sounding bread' - deliverers are out and about, sometimes giving the wake-up call.

But for a few months now, the Beethoven piece has also been a painful reminder of the extremely high food prices.

"Today I have to charge three times as much as before, because a kilogram of flour has become four times as expensive," complains Mayurathan Gunaratnam, who runs the popular Muthiah Bakery in Jaffna on the northern tip of Sri Lanka.

Last year a loaf of bread cost 65 rupees, at that time the equivalent of 30 cents.

Now there are around 200. That may still not be much money for Europeans, but on the tropical island, where teachers earn just 140 euros a month, it makes a big difference.

The war in Ukraine is partly to blame for the cost explosion, because almost half of the wheat is imported from Russia and the Eastern European country.

Mayurathan also senses this at the checkout.

Survival in times of crisis: Business is not good in Jaffna either, prices have gone through the roof, including at Muthiah Bakery.

In the meantime, at least the petrol supply is better organized.

Mayurathan doesn't want to give up, his family is used to crises.

When his father founded the bakery in 1985, the civil war was raging in the north of the island. At times, Jaffna was controlled by soldiers of the "Tamil Tigers", who were fighting for their own Tamil state.

Today, the city is a popular tourist destination for Sri Lankans, just six hours by train from Colombo.

Even in these difficult times, hotels are well booked on weekends.

Colorful Hindu temples, lonely islands, a Dutch fort the size of a starfish - Jaffna is still exotic for the locals.

"I'm impressed by how the people here are dealing with the economic crisis pragmatically," says Sisija Lalindra Bopege, who manages the rooftop bar at the Jetwing Jaffna Hotel.

The 32-year-old comes from Galle on the south coast and has been here for a good year.

“They are much more frugal than we are in the south, even doctors and teachers are now planting vegetables in every corner of the garden.

When the school buses stopped driving, the students simply took their bikes,” he says, impressed.

Fortunately, the queues in front of gas stations have disappeared in many places thanks to a quota system, and the new government is trying to get fresh loans.

But what Bopege lacks is long-term thinking.

"Too many are passive and wait until everything improves," he complains:

“Sri Lanka needs to invest in the future and away from coal and oil dependency.

We have so much space for wind turbines and solar cells,” says the wise bartender and points to the nearby lagoon, from where a fresh breeze is blowing.

Think long-term, this is actually a tradition in Sri Lanka – as a visit to the interior of the island shows.

The Hindu temple of Nagapooshani Amman on the island of Nainativu is an important destination especially for Tamils.

In the Jaffna market, the demand is manageable.

Sigiriya early morning.

Sri Lanka's most famous rock fortress rises lonely from the flat surroundings.

Where crowds of visitors usually push their way up the steep stairs to enjoy the fantastic view of the tropical green landscape from above, there is a yawning emptiness.

Things are livelier at nearby Rangirigama Wewa, a water reservoir just a few kilometers away.

Surrounded by giant trees and bamboo groves, black-faced ibis, egrets and storks fight for the best feeding grounds.

Fishermen glide with their boats over the water, the wind cools the already tropical temperatures, while the fiery red sun appears kitsch-suspicious on the horizon.

The Rangirigama Wewa is just one of thousands of lakes that the ancient kings - or rather their toiling subjects - have created over the course of more than 2000 years in the dry center of Sri Lanka.

Connected by canals and locks, they are part of a sophisticated irrigation system that amazed even the British colonial rulers – and offers wild elephants plenty of space to splash around and bathe: dozens of them cavort at some lakes, much to the delight of tourists.

At the Nahabedde Tea Estate, people are waiting for the tourists to return.

Fishermen pass the time in Jaffna playing cards, an elephant enjoys bathing in one of the man-made lakes.

Kasun and Dilanka also owe their existence to the Rangirigama reservoir.

The young farming couple irrigate their field with pumps and hoses, which gives them a good income in normal years.

"Twice a year we plant rice in our field and once a year we plant onions, beans and other vegetables," says 28-year-old Kasun.

Like other farmers, the father of three spends many nights on a self-made raised stand to drive away the foraging elephants with a deafening noise.

Unfortunately, they like to eat young rice stalks.

Yet elephants are currently the lesser problem for Sri Lankan farmers.

Much worse is the decree issued in April 2021 by the now ousted President Gotabaya Rajapaksa, which banned the use of artificial fertilizer overnight.

"Look at the onions," Kasun complains. "They're much smaller than usual and the last rains have caused many to grow mold." Some he'll probably have to throw away.

Although there are artificial fertilizers again, they have become almost unaffordable.

Thanks to the subsidy, 50 kilograms only cost 1,500 rupees, around seven euros, but today it is the equivalent of up to 65 euros.

The harvests are therefore poor across the country, and many smallholders fear for their livelihoods.

So is there not enough food in Sri Lanka and should tourists stay away?

The question astonishes Kasun: "No way, we need the tourists," he says firmly and, as if to prove it, hands him an "egg hopper" to try - a fine rice cake with egg.

"Because how else is Sri Lanka supposed to get out of the crisis?"

"They are much smaller than usual and the last rains have caused many to grow mold." Some he has to throw away.