Altered Image: A Partial View

S. M. Owens posted a photo:

Altered Image Abstract A Partial View: Chatham Street, The Nanking Hotel, and the Old Lighthouse

The following is the introduction to a piece which is continued on the picture next door:

It was lunchtime on Monday the 7th September, 2009. I had an appointment for breakfast, at nine in the morning, two days later, on the Wednesday, in a town with a sweet sounding name, a three hour bus ride away: so I was in good time. However, before I could fulfil that rendezvous, I had to keep another appointment; this one was for lunch, at the most famous and dilapidated restaurant in the capital city.
I was walking somewhat slowly through the shambling city – it was hot and busy. I couldn’t fail to notice it was, more or less, in the same state as it had been the last time I was there – four years earlier. There was still the bomb damaged, barricaded streets with the stop-and-search, military checkpoints at their entrances; and there was still the sandbagged gun positions on the major roads around town, although the young soldiers inside them looked much less fearful than they had done on my previous visit. The town still had its historically indicative names – Slave Island, Lake Beira, York Street, Chatham Street; and its collection of familiar, gaunt, colonial architecture – the impressive banks, company offices, and other, grand facades. I wanted to see the old, General Post Office; I’d once, on my first visit to the country used the poste restante counter, and posted some postcards, but, unfortunately, it’s still off limits – security.
I had to be security checked before I could get to my restaurant. I told them where I was going. They were quite apologetic about it this time. Then, I walked passed the travel agent’s and the money changer’s, and like stepping back in time, walked into the Pagoda.
It is still painted that Co-operative light blue, and it still has its massive, double swing doors, one of which is usually propped open until they close at about three in the afternoon. I ordered some confectionery from the counter on the right as I went in. I was asked if I wanted to take the food away with me, I said no, I wanted to eat there; and then I went to take a seat in the cavernous, lofty dining room. I went to sit at one of the partially concealed and separated tables. There was a couple of business meetings taking place at others, and in the main area, two tables were occupied by well dressed people eating rice and curry, with their bare hands.
A waiter, dressed all in white, sarong to the floor, who I thought I recognized, brought my pastries and a piece of cake, and asked me what I wanted to drink – tea, a small pot, the best tea in the world. Then, after he’d brought it, I was left alone in virtual silence – distant, muffled conversations and flying ceiling fans; nothing from outside. I savoured the nostalgic atmosphere: the furniture was the same as it had been twenty-five years earlier, the pictures on the walls likewise; and I thought it would probably be totally impenetrable to a first-time visitor – a little like the country itself. This then, in security checked isolation, is the unique charm of the Pagoda Tea Room, on Chatham Street, in the heart of Colombo, not so far from the lighthouse; a microcosm of Sri Lanka, and all its complexities.
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Photo & Text:
S. Owens
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