Apparently out of a desire to obtain a good rating for his hotel on my first morning in Sri Lanka, one of the staff pointed out the traditional dress in a wall painting, then brought a bed sheet to show me how to tie a sarong so that I could do it myself when I bought one. He seemed to think that I was very likely to do so, and I thought wearing the local costume to work would be a cheap, comfortable and respectful alternative to wearing stuffy trousers every day. Unfortunately, the size of the sheet caused problems, requiring more folding, tucking and adjusting than usual and he got a bit personal a few times much to our mutual embarrassment. A sarong is definitely an item of clothing to don without assistance.
With a few hours to kill before Charley came to collect me, I decided to go off in search of a sarong along the main street as directed by the kindly waiter (who told me not to pay more than 300 Rupee – about A$2.50), but found mostly electronic shops. The closest I came to any store selling sarongs were a couple of boutiques displaying sari-like dresses. Looking at the other pedestrians, I decided that I was probably better off without the sarong anyway. In over an hour of walking, I only saw one man wearing a sarong and he was probably the oldest person I saw. All the younger men wore western style trousers and collared shirts with either leather shoes or thongs.
When Charley picked me up, he explained that a sarong was perfect for New Year and generally relaxing at home, but not appropriate for wearing to work. We planned to stop to buy one on the way home, but that’s not what happened. Instead on a TV at our first stop, the bank, the local news reader explained that Sri Lanka was on tsunami watch after an earthquake off the coast of Indonesia. We raced home to switch on CNN and watched the coverage until well after the shops had closed, thankfully not having to move to rare high ground.
On New Years Day, my third in Sri Lanka, Charley and his wife Indrani appeared carrying a piece of cloth. “We’ve found a sarong for you.” Unlike Indonesian sarongs, though, it couldn’t simply be wrapped around and tied. A Sri Lankan sarong, as I found out, is sewn down the side to make a tube so as to avoid exposing a leg if it comes loose. As Indrani was so busy between her shop and the housework as well as the demands of New Year, I didn’t receive the sarong until the Volunteers’ outreach day, 2 weeks later, when she made it so I could wear it after getting out of the pool. Now, I am grateful for its cool covering every evening after returning from the IT Centre.