It was nearly noon by the time we got back on the road and the Bandaranaike International Airport was still 72 miles away. The turtle hatchery was off the list. Shopping in Colombo was also off the list. Once we hit the outskirts of Colombo traffic became a factor. Manog had to dart and weave his way through the Colombo suburbs. The hard breaking, the heat and another long car ride had everyone's nerves on edge. The stress increased when it was announced to Hoài Anh and Thắng that per Manog's original deal his driving concluded with my drop off at the airport even though that was five days driving not six. This discussion continued through our late lunch as I watched the clock tick closer toward my departure time.

In the end Benjamin Arumugam was called and we picked him up in Colombo to further complicate the discussion on who said what and when regarding the $360 worth of driving. At nearly four pm, Manog agreed to drive one more day and rerouted the Maruti to the Colombo YMCA to drop off Benjamin, Hoài Anh and Thắng for the evening. I said my quickest goodbyes and Manog and I continued toward the airport. I was warned of the Colombo traffic on journey into Colombo. Benjamin pressed upon us that we needed to leave the city by 4 pm. This was the point when the rush hour traffic slowed to a stop and it would take hours to drive the remaining 20 miles to the airport.

Manog darted the Maruti between tuk tuks, moved inches from the rear of motorbikes and pushed the little car to the limits. His foot pressed hard on the gas, then to the brake and then back to the gas as if playing an organ. The car would lurch forward then squeak back to avoid oncoming traffic. By four o'clock traffic began to envelope us until finally we could only move with the permission of the car in front. Fortunately, we were near the edge of town and I stopped looking at the clock. I hoped that like the trains and buses in Sri Lanka that the planes departed too on their own sweet time. Manog also forgot the clock, stopping for gas and then suggesting we shop for Sarongs remembering that I wanted to take one home as a souvenir. At this point I released myself to the travel gods and we pulled the Maruti over and headed toward the air conditioned mall on the other side of the street. Sarongs were on the third floor and within minutes two shop clerks were pulling colorful fabric double fisted off the shelves in hopes that one would suit my tastes. There were so many to choose from that I quickly grabbed the four closest to me in hopes that one would suit my fancy and get me to the airport on time.

We arrived to the airport 45 minutes before my departure. I said my second quickest good byes to Manog and thanked him profusely for all that he had done for us on our journeys. He was a quiet rock star if there were such a thing. My trip through airport security was laughable; the guards took odd delight in frisking me, making a little noise rising up one thigh and down the other. The female guards giggled with their hands to their mouths like Japanese school girls. It was odd but brief; I had to focus on getting to the gate. I smiled, made a little face; the guard said "rock-n-roll" and sent me on my way.

The plane lifted off on time and in a rainstorm. The skies opened up with rain as soon as I got the airport. Soon the plane lifted above the clouds and into twilight toward Dubai, our modern city of lights.