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Along the way we passed a massive housing project, the first built by an NGO after the tsunami. The place is a true testament to poor planning. Millions of dollars wasted on buildings that now have broken windows, debris from squatters, overgrown weeds, and creaking doors flapping in the wind.

While the project managers succeeded in being the first ones to complete a post-tsunami housing development, they failed to factor in the fact that there is no electricity, running water, or that the site sits in heavily trampled elephant habitat.

A lot of thought has been put in trying to figure out the subtleties of the Sri Lankan head wobble. As a foreigner, it seems more based on context than the direction of the wobble. The difference is so slight, “yes” can easily be mistaken for “no.” More easy to read is the side to side gesture of the “okay, I’m listening.”

The mosquitos here are out to get us. The battle rages on, and the moment we let down our guard and failed to secure the netting properly, they attacked. The onslaught left both Jon and I itchy and irritable. So far nothing is working to sooth the reaction, not even the secret ointment from a local medicine man.

Whatever it was burned like hell going on, and seemed to be working, but by now its back to itching, sun, and salt water. One battle won for the insects, and an increase in militance on our end.

No matter what country you’re in, beach towns are usually predictable. Arugam Bay is for the most part no different, with more mosquitos, militarY, and the lingering devastation from the 2004 tsunami. At night Israeli party kids rage in dimly lit tikki bars, drunk monks stagger down the road, and fishermen sleep in blankets in the sand. By the time we got out of bed, the fishermen had regrouped on the beach to sort out their catches, the Israelis were fast asleep, and the monks had disappeared to their temples. Between the sea chatter and the calls of thousands of scavenging crows, the first few hours are deafening.

We spent two days visiting SLWCS project sites in the surrounding area (agro-forestry developments, home gardens, electric fences, and assessment sites) where we spoke to local farmers and village headmen. Life is hard under the blazing hot mid-day sun, and the threat from elephants doesn’t make it any easier. In one night, months of hard labor is wasted by one hungry elephant.

As we drove away from the cricket field, we came upon a dying cow in the road. The next few hours descended into chaos. The moment after Samantha and a local man dragged the animal to the side of the road was miraculous. The cow stood up dazed, coughed up a mouthful of blood, staggered in place for a minute.

As we stood there hoping hoping it would run off, a motorcycle drove full speed into the side of the cow. The motorcycle was destroyed, and the cow toppled over probably in a similar fashion it did the first time. Except this time, it got up immediately and ran off with blood dripping from its mouth. Everyone was in a bit of shock. Very quickly we were being accused of causing the accident. The man was understandably pissed off about his bike, and wanted to be paid for the damage. We spent the next few hours arguing about who is to blame, speaking to the military to hopefully clear things up.

The incident is slightly more complex than it seems on the surface. The accident took place in a Tamil stronghold, and the bike owner was Tamil. The tension is still very high in these parts, and our Singhalese guides are worried about their reputation. Good relationships in these areas are crucial, and you don’t want to go around putting things out of balance. Operating along the eastern Tamil areas without local cooperation will become quite difficult with bad blood. In the end, the biggest impression left was of that immortal cow.

After a morning at the ruins of Pollonuruwa, we began of decent down the Eastern coast. The long road east was fretted with bunkers, checkpoints, and military compounds.

We were officially crossing over into predominantly Tamil territory. Just when we began to fantasize about American breakfast foods, we stopped off the side of the road and had the most delicious lunch. There are a large number of Tamil speaking Muslims from Morocco, and they know how to cook.

After getting laughed at for attempting to speak Singhalese, we landed in Pasikuda Beach, where our local guide Samantha was shocked at what he saw. He was expecting a deserted bay, but instead the coastline was mobbed with Sri Lankans from all over the island. Not long ago, the military was fighting Tigers who controlled the entire Eastern areas. It was wonderful to see his face as he witnessed this grand transformation in post-war Pasikuda. Our destination was Arugam Bay, so we packedd back in the van and drove south, making one last pit stop at a weathered Catholic church where a group of kids were playing cricket.

They were amazed by our cameras and flooded our field of view with their massive white smiles.