Rushing Elephants

There comes a time when even Ghostface Buddha needs a reprieve from crawling about an endless succession of ancient ruins. There are but two choices: to find an activity that ignores ruins altogether, or to find some portion of civilization to destroy and so supply new ruins for posterity. I haven't yet found any part of Sri Lanka I really want to destroy, so I was forced to brainstorm alternative activities. "Now," I said to myself "I'm not in the mood for dealing with bizarre manifestations of South Asian cultures today, but I do feel like provoking something large and dangerous against my better judgment." Then I had the perfect idea: elephant spotting.

I hired a jeep and a driver named Ajay for an afternoon and we promptly rumbled off to Kaudulla National Park, Sri Lanka's newest wildlife sanctuary. Rumor had reached me via some noisome East London slags on vacation that in Kaudulla you could see "like, a hundred elephants."  We approached Kaudulla via a filthy, red backcountry lane, which is actually a good sign when you're going to national parks, and before we even entered we started running across some of Sri Lanka's weird fauna. First we saw the usual peacocks, macaques, and miscellaneous little birds that you can never escape, as well as several of the enormous, vile-looking monitor lizards that are left to dart about the country probably only because Buddhism discourages wanton killing of animals. Nearing the park entrance we almost ran over what I believe was a civet. "Civets", as far as I am concerned, may be an entirely fictional category of animals created by scientists to satisfy all the raving, wild-eyed people who run into zoologists' offices at strange hours to announce they've seen some kind of hideous offspring of a cat and a giant weasel.

After much bouncing about over the potholes we arrived at the park gates. We were joined by a "volunteer guide", whose name I promptly forgot, but whose purpose was clearly to ensure that I didn't do anything too idiotic. Not every vehicle received such a guide. I suppose they profile visitors by the wicked gleams in the eyes of the ones most likely to make themselves a nuisance to a herd of elephants. He accompanied me wisely. The jeep rolled along a trail through low, shrubby forest for a while, and not long after we began we stumbled across Sri Lanka's rare national bird, the Sri Lankan Jungle Fowl. The Jungle Fowl, as the name suggests, is a glorified, technicolor chicken that scurries around in the bushes and allegedly emerges from the forests in the dark of night to make daring raids into the edges of nearby villages to rape the local poultry. It's like Sierra Leone, but with birds.

We popped out of the forests into a wide open expanse of grass around a lake, the Kaudulla tank. North-central Sri Lanka is a land of lakes, despite being the driest part of the country. Most of these lakes are actually artificial reservoirs built over a thousand years ago by the ancient Sinhalese to support their agriculture, and became one of the defining features of Sri Lankan civilization. The presence of such lakes all over the place is also much appreciated by the wildlife. During the dry season when many natural streams and ponds dry up, numerous herds of elephants converge on a handful of their favorite reservoirs, where the retreating waters leave large, level areas of grass to munch on as well. We drove over this seasonal grassland for about three minutes, and hey, presto, there was a herd of some thirty elephants. I was almost disappointed. Finding them was just so damn easy it took half the fun out of it. I was soon to abandon this gripe when two of the adolescent males in the herd promptly began sparring in that useless but highly photogenic way common to male mammals of every type. Humans are no exception. Ladies, you may think that teenage boys did really stupid macho shit to impress you 'round the high school stairwells, but believe me, you have no idea just how idiotic it would get when you weren't looking. We knew we were being damn fools and we didn't want you to see us, but there was just no way to resist the urge to hang from ceilings and kick-fight each other until our pants fell off. This, in essence, is what these two elephants were doing, though it took on a form more like a multi-ton, trunk-twisting version of "thumb wars." Elephants, of course, don't wear pants. Ever. You can put a costume on an elephant, basically draping him in carpets and strapping furniture to his back and all sorts of other indignities, but I defy you to walk up to a tusker and try to manipulate him into a pair of XXXXXXXXL slacks.

After that, we detoured to the side of the lake and enjoyed the great diversity of birds available for the spotting. Actually, our "volunteer guide" enjoyed pointing out birds and talking about them greatly, while I nodded my head and made vaguely interested comments because I'll be damned if I can tell the difference between an open-billed ibis and a white-back stork at 200 yards. I've never understood the hobby of birdwatching. I don't mean to hate on those who enjoy such things, but I personally have no desire to go trotting about the entire freaking globe to visit all of the planet's marshy wastelands and smile at the thought of having beheld two species of egret and a mating pair of obscure chickadees. Now, the greater adjutant stork, well ho, ho ho! My goodness! So glad am I to have traveled to the antipodes and see some fat winged fucker sitting on a log.

We turned back inland a short distance, and lo and behold, more elephants! Granted, on open ground near a water source, elephants are really quite impossible to miss, but since there were only two of them, Ajay and my supervisory attache apparently decided to pretend not to have spotted them until I said "Look, more elephants!". They were two wandering males, which is slightly unusual because males are loners and there isn't really any reason for them to team up. We paused for photos, and as the second one passed we became, shall we say, acutely aware of its masculinity. This elephant had what was clearly a rather rosy daydream going on in its thick elephant noggin, and this was evident by some budding excitement down yonder. "Well, now I've seen that" I said, but no; no, I had not seen that. There was so much more. As I stared in what I admit was rapt fixation, the elephant's member extended itself to truly elephantine dimensions. The thing was like a giant purple snake dangling all the way to the ground. What followed next I shall not soon forget, for the elephant began swinging and curling his unit with the apparently mighty muscles within, and quite suddenly slapped himself in the belly with it three times in succession, each collision issuing a resounding *SMACK*..... *SMACK*...... *SMACK*.  It was no wonder, I thought, that the other male seemed to be studiously keeping its distance. I was still quite impressed. "That thing's bigger than my arm!" I exclaimed. And it was.... at least when I'm not flexing. Truth.

At length, we ran into yet another herd of elephants, bringing our total elephant-spotting total for the afternoon to over sixty. It was just too easy for it to even really count. This time we got quite close and the elephants responded by rapidly forming a massive defensive circle around the babies. I clambered to the back of the jeep to stand and take a bunch of pictures and apparently spent a little too much time staring one elephant, who we shall call Angry Momma, right in the eye. The elephants were clearly a bit on edge and after a while Angry Momma, the enormous, ill-tempered matriarch of the herd began advancing towards us. Guide boy took notice and gently suggested we start the engine, which promptly made a pathetic stuttering sound followed by two echoing petroleum belches, which was all it took for Angry Momma to decide we had declared war. A moment before we were able to get our rattly shitwagon into first gear, Angry Momma was rushing headlong at the back the jeep. In the nick of time we lurched ahead over the uneven lake bed, with Angry Momma no more than five feet away from completely and utterly fucking our puny little wagon. Guide boy squealed something that must have been Sinhala for "Ohhh SH...." as the jeep tripped and stumbled forwards at a pace distinctively less than the maximum speed of a pissed-off mother elephant. Angry Momma got closer again and took a swipe at the back of the vehicle with her trunk, missing by about a foot. By this time I had settled into the truck bed in such a way that our desperate flight  at least didn't catapult me out of the vehicle, and began trying to get some pictures of our pursuit. Alas, when all was said and done I had some very clear shots of the sky, the jeep's rollover bars, and about half of Angry Momma's face at the moment she decided we had fled far enough and were not going to get any closer again for damn sure. So within twenty-four hours I had been chased by a furious pachyderm, and butted in the groin by an AK-47. That second item was an innocent mistake, as far as incidents involving assault rifles go, and the soldier apologized profusely, but it did happen and it was a most unusual day.

Unsurprisingly, after having seen some sixty elephants and having been the targets of attempted trampling by one, we decided to call it a day and headed back to Park HQ. On the way we saw a crocodile basking in the sun, but we didn't hop out for a closer view. I have shared my opinions on crocodiles here before. They are quite overdue for extinction, whereas I, on the other hand, am not, and therefore I don't go near large crocodiles.

Signor Volunteer Guide escorted me into the park museum and quite proudly displayed its exhibits, which were as follows: a huge collection of elephant skulls, snakes and turtles in formaldeyhde, skulls of miscellaneous livestock, macaque skeletons, and the obviously fabricated remains of a so-called "civet". The centerpiece of the tiny collection, however, was by far the most depraved: an aborted, pale-skinned baby elephant pickled in a tank. I looked at it with obvious distaste, rather put off by the fact that it looked exactly like an actual elephant but was only about two feet long, and very dead, and very much in a big-ass jar. "Baby elephant", Guide Boy helpfully added. "Mother brain damage. Abortion." Personally, I think if you're going to keep dead babies in jars you should at least not put it smack-bang center in a room with four glass walls. Ideally, there should be some sort of  creepy curtain and a deformed attendant who lures visiting children with whispers of "Hey, kid, you want to see something reallllyyyy gross?", then takes them into the inner sanctum, from which they emerge permanently changed, but at least the smart ones have the chance to raise an eyebrow and say "No thanks mister, I don't actually want to see something disgusting." But maybe I'm just an idealist.

Since the evidence seems to indicate that Sri Lanka's untamed animals want me dead, I shall have nothing to do with them for a short time. Mmmmmhmmmmm, it's time for some more collapsed-civilization skullduggery, methinks. Put on your nerd goggles on go to the pharmacy for a fresh inhaler, because we are going on an adventure to not one but two abandoned Sri Lankan capitals. I'll share my knowledge and we can make an evening of it. You bring the guacamole and I'll bring the riveting tales of adventure, with cross-referenced indices and footnotes. Don't worry about the red wine. I have plenty in the fridge. Like, a lot. Nobody ever comes to my parties.