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There are shots of waterfalls and the stilt fishermen. Things you cannot see anywhere else.” “Tell me, why does this city still feel so ... ” “The war has been more than my whole life,” he says.

The sky is bruised and bloody as I sit on a curb eating street curry and scrolling through my images.

And to think the stilt fishermen who hover before me almost disappeared forever.

The Boxing Day tsunami of 2004 swallowed more than 30,000 people here in one disastrous moment. Nobody felt much like hovering over the sea anymore.

Colombo is the wrong ending for Sri Lanka’s golden return of tourism.

Soldiers lower a flag, and I shoot a final image in the dying light.

I can’t help thinking to myself, if stilt fishing’s purpose is to avoid disturbing the fish, then what could possibly be worse than busloads of tourists tramping out to collect their souvenir photos, whenever that starts happening?

It’s a punctuation mark: “after the tsunami.” Even logging on to the Internet, “after the tsunami, download speed not so good. “I couldn’t afford to leave if I wanted to,” he says. Staring down on the crowd, any distinction is invisible.

I promise I won’t think of tsunamis, or even say the word. “I’m surprised to find such perfect pavement way out here.” “The Americans just built this road,” he explains. “After the tsunami, no road at all.” Since my arrival, Salaheem has served as my driver, tour guide, translator, historian, dinner date and personal shopper. “You must have lost many roads that day,” I say, expressing my worldly compassion. This electrical plant was from the English after the tsunami. We sat on this very deck serving gin and tonics thinking it was the end of the world.” “I’m surprised you’re still here,” I say. Fred says this is one of the few areas where Muslims, Tamils and Buddhists mingle.

An elephant trudges along the sidewalk, shackled in Christmas lights and prodded by two handlers with a tip jar. But the mood is still humble in Fort Galle, where police women and fig trees are the most welcoming figures. They’d pet the wild elephants and people would say, “What tsunami? Ian Lloyd But real stories don’t tell themselves backward. A young man sits on the curb beside me, eating his dinner of curry, same as mine.“You are a photographer? “So very beautiful.” His comment reminds me of how much of the country I’ve left untoured.

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