A Sri Lankan Head Nod to Galle and Colombo

Before I go any further I have to attempt to describe how a Sri Lankan nods yes. Rather than the up and down movement that we Westerners do, when a Sri Lankan wants to signify “okay” or “yes” they bobble their head from side to side in a wagging figure-eight movement that immediately seems to mean “maybe” or just gives the impression that they are crazy. It is a gesture that is almost impossible for me to do without getting dizzy and even after half a month here still disconcerts me as a response to a question even though I know it means “yes” it always seems to indicate “comme si, comme sa.” It is one of the quirkiest things about this island – I think they also do this in India.

After our relaxing interlude in Mirissa, we headed to Galle, staying in the Galle Fort section which is picturesque, safe and pretty touristy. Because of its great harbor, Galle passed from Portuguese to Dutch to British hands over the centuries. The fort area is very European in its ambience with its brick-paved roads and tunneled entrances, although it seems to be predominantly Muslim (which always means it is very hard to get a drink!).

Galle was also the scene of the worst tsunami damage in the country. 45,000 people died in Sri Lanka, the majority in the Galle area. About 1000 of them died when the wave washed over a train and twisted it unbelievably off the track.

After my first adverse reaction, the safety and peace of the quiet streets, cafes and shops of the fort area grew on me and I wished we had a little more time (which probably translates to half a day in Intrepid tour terms) before moving on with a 6 am breakfast call and 7 am train to catch to Colombo.

This time we traveled second class – which meant we had to haul our own luggage onto the train and scramble for seats. This train was much more modern than our previous ones, with tray tables and multiple fans to cool the entire length of the car. It was also much more crowded, on a major route into the capital city. Over much of the route the tsunami damage was still really evident and it was chilling to travel beside the Indian Ocean and think of the water surging over the train cars.

We were all pretty burnt out from the early start, bad breakfast and two weeks of travel and as usual Indika did not tell us what the plan was until we arrived. Probably because he knew we wouldn’t want to do it. It was a lot of driving on congested roads in a sweltering unairconditioned van and seeing some landmarks and one extraordinary stop to walk through “the busiest place in Colombo” which was exactly my claustrophobic nightmare of Asian cities and why I had avoided them.

Okay, it was fabulously interesting and colorful despite being smelly, dangerous and unbelievably crowded. There were all kinds of old-fashioned vendors of vegetables, fish parts, fabric and everything else that could be sold. But from there the rest of the tour was about shopping in malls and modern stores – yes, Colombo wants to be really contemporary but mostly all it seemed to us was homogenized and it was not the kind of shopping that we wanted to do at the end of our tour. In fact, we even had to eat lunch at the food court of the biggest mall, so yes I guess we have seen it all now, from the timeless tea-pickers to the fast foodies.

After checking into our hotel, I took a tuk-tuk to the House of Fashion, which is the discount clothing store like Filenes or Loehmans and bumped elbows with the Lankans in the four-story tower of cheaper priced merchandise. Again, shockingly up-to-date with scanners at the checkout counters ( have seen that nowhere else in Southeast Asia). Of course there were 20 lines with probably 300 people waiting to check out but it moved surprisingly quickly. The tuk-tuk driver back could not find the hotel, which was a little scary but he asked and it worked out okay.

We had our final dinner at the Cricket Club Café, a restaurant that kind of recreates the colonial atmosphere but mostly focuses on celebrating famous cricket players. As with all once British countries, cricket is a big time sport in Sri Lanka and Indika is a big fan. I didn’t much care about the cricket but I had a great piece of grilled fish which I did care about a lot. We said our goodbyes in a drawn out ceremony standing outside with Indika presenting each of us a little book about Buddhism with something written in the front of it

he is such a proselytizer!) and walked home to our hotel through the dark noisy streets of Colombo.

Indika

After a last Sri Lankan breakfast of egg roti and chapatti, I headed up to the Golden Star Beach Hotel in Negombo again, the place where we started (and where I had left my winter luggage). It was a smelly, hot and smoggy drive and I was happy to get to a place where I could at least cool off in the breezes under the palm trees on the edge of the beach. Even after more than two weeks, I was still not at all used to the sweltering heat. Even walking out onto the road after 5 pm, when the sun was low enough in the sky so that the street was in shade, I was still dripping with sweat, barely able to peel my drenched clothes off my body afterwards. It was a good choice to go to Negombo for the day and evening, even though I had to leave at midnight to go to the airport.

I spent very little money in Sri Lanka (beyond what I spent on the Intrepid tour originally which was more than enough) – so I did not feel bad on loading up on souvenirs before I left, since I don’t think there will really be anything to buy in Cyprus or Greece. It just means I have to haul them around for the next 3 weeks…

The last supper - Cricket Club Cafe

Getting in the hotel van at midnight was the only time I felt a little bit iffy about my safety in Sri Lanka. The taxi driver immediately told me it was his 50^th birthday and so of course I congratulated him at which point he pulled the van over and extended his hand so I could shake it – then he took my hand and kissed and held it up to his nose and inhaled deeply. I don’t know if this was customary or not but I kind of don’t think so, especially when he then began asking me if I was married and whether I was “full enough” on this trip and when he began saying something that I finally interpreted to be about Sinhalese body massage, I started to get a bit freaked out and just said, “airport, airport.” I am sure he didn’t want to jeopardize his job but it was rather unnerving driving around in the late night closed-up city with a driver who was suddenly very distracted.

At the airport I needed to get Euros to bring to Cyprus and I ended up having to change my money into rupees and then into Euros – apparently it was the only way. There was never an exchange fee at any ATMS in Sri Lanka; perhaps they wanted to encourage people to spend their money, which is a smart thing.

So after nearly 6 weeks in Southeast Asia it was time to move on. My feet felt claustrophobic in shoes and socks. What will I miss – the lushness of the landscapes, the kindness and caring service of the people, the mystique of the cultures. What won’t I miss – the garbage smells, the traffic, the places that were just too damn hot. I will miss having the whole trip ahead of me – it feels like a fast tumble down a long slope from here on out.

Beyond the Tsunami – To the Beach at Mirissa

A morning’s drive through the spectacular mountain views of Ella Gap brought us to a midday stop at the “Elephant Transit Home.” Contrary to what it might sound like, this does not mean it is a place where people transit on elephants, but rather a halfway house for baby elephants who have lost their mothers and need to learn to live in on their own in the jungle again. Young elephants from 6 months to 5 years can roam freely within the grounds which include a large lake where they spend a lot of time cooling themselves down but they always appear at lunchtime for a feeding of milk from a long tube at a feeding station and for some nice green onions as a snack. We could not get close to them, of course, but they were cute and entertaining and it is a good place with a good cause.

Several hours more of traveling in our “private” bus (which was more uncomfortable than a public bus, without air-conditioning, windows that were hard to open and some that were shattered) we finally arrived on the southern coast of Sri Lanka at Mirissa, a perfect curve of soft white sand against the quintessential turquoise water with enough surf for board-riders. Surprising that the Indian Ocean here could be such a pure and gorgeous color while on the west side it is somewhat dark and murky.

We were led into what appeared to be a somewhat upscale beach resort until we got to our little bungalow rooms. Sweet and homey with porches and comfy chairs that looked out on the sea, inside they were stifling hot, small and dank with no air-conditioning, just a fan and a skinny window with no screen. But other than the heat at night and the lack of space to unpack, it was actually okay, decent beds, lights etc. and the most perfect location ever, just steps from the beach and with an amazing view at all times.

During this trip I have had to share rooms with Stella or Aiofe (that’s Eva in Gaelic) – two nights with each and the two nights alone and then we rotate again. They are both young (26 and 33), slim and pretty and can drink most people I know under the table quite quickly, always in a multi-mix of cocktails, beer, wine and and straight hard liquor. The first night in Mirissa, Stella stayed out with a glass of local red rum to walk the full moonlit beach (there is a very low-key late night scene) and literally came into the room after midnight, dropped her pants, fell on the bed and passed out. Then got up at 5:45am and went on a whale watch. And then slept off both the rest of the day. Oh, the stamina of youth. Both Stella and Aiofe were excellent roommates, polite and respectful and it was really never a problem sharing, and despite our age differences, we have become quite close in an offbeat way, Stella reminding me quite a bit of Genevieve.

We actually had a day off to relax at the beach, no speeches from Indika, no forced marches to see sights, and I did mountains of laundry and took the big pieces to the laundry service to be done.

Like all the south coast of Sri Lanka, Mirissa was devastated by the tsunami 9 years – everything in the entire village had to be rebuilt and many people died. Apparently right before it hit, the tide suddenly went out about a mile and people started running out excitedly looking at the fish and crabs and sea life that were all suddenly exposed and then the wall of water suddenly appeared and they could not run away fast enough to save themselves. It is shocking and sobering to think about as you sit enjoying the peace and beauty of the beach.

Beyond our “resort” the beach was lined by other small restaurants and hotels, several of which were reggae bars. This was the first place in Sri Lanka where the smell of ganja smoke was a regular occurrence. In every country I have visited, Indonesia, Thailand (especially) and now Sri Lanka, Bob Marley is the celebrated and adopted as a hero. I don’t think we totally understand the far-reaching effect his revolution had. And the other welcome card I have gotten everywhere is – “USA? Obama! Yes!” with a big thumbs up. Everyone thinks it is so wonderful that America has Obama now – it is always a shared joyful moment.

Trekking Through Tea Country

Blogging on the train from Kandy to Bandarawela:

The sensory sensations of the train are so amazing I need to get them down while we are going so I don’t lose them. The roar, the rattle, the slow steady sway, windows open but no breeze at all, just the loud thwack thwack thwack of the wheels – we are like blood pumping through the veins of the country. A group of boys playing music with guitar and drum, beating like a steady heart thrum, singing an accompaniment to thebackground cacophony of our journey. Ancient woven tapestry seats, threadbare but comfortable – could be the most comfortable of any journey yet in Sri Lanka in this old wooden “observation car.”

I had been anticipating something with big windows all around but apparently the observation car is just the last car on the train with big windows on the end and all the seats face backwards. There was nothing luxurious about it – fan-cooled by old rotating electric fans on the ceiling, windows that were either opened or closed and nothing in between, and a very smelly bathroom at the back of the car (certainly not the worst I have ever experienced, but the kind where women emerge with pained and horrified expressions on their faces – at least it was not a squatter). Mid-day an elderly man came through selling hot peanuts roasted in oil with spices and curry leaves and served in little paper sacks handmade from recycled graph paper with someone’s careful mathematical calculations still clearly visible. An incredibly delicious snack.

As the day went on we went higher and higher into landscape that became more stunning and dramatic every minute. Soon it began to rain and grow cooler and we were soon wearing every piece of clothing we had in our daypacks since our big luggage had been passed through a window and stowed high on the overhead luggage racks. People in the stations we passed were bundled in fleece jackets and many wore hats. Most train stations had beautiful gardens and many had topiary with the name of their town spelled out in shrubbery.  

The train moved quite slowly, maybe 25 to 35 miles per hour, and we did not reach our destination of Bandarawela until nearly 4 o’clock. Rough Guide describes Bandarawela as a “scruffy” place and that is probably the best description. Not a place that caters to  tourists in any way, surprisingly most of the shops were open and doing a brisk business on Sunday night (as opposed to Kandy on a Saturday night, a thriving city that was strangely closed up tight and quiet by 9 pm.) Another half hour on a windy mountain road brought us to our barebones hotel, which was apparently better than the last few places Intrepid tours had stayed and which was not very nice at all. Our room hung out over the highway and had nothing in it except for a couple of beds (comfortable mattresses is the best I can say) with very thin blankets. I have never seen a more threadbare towel. It got so cold by bedtime that I slept in jeans, socks and my fleece jacket – who knew I would bring a fleece jacket to Sri Lanka for sleepwear!

We spent the evening at a local home learning how to make rice and curry, the traditional food of Sri Lanka, cutting and cooking vegetables, mixing spices, learning everything from how to grate coconut on a spike stuck out of a bench to how to prepare “kankun” the local spinach greens. Then we all sat down to eat the delicious meal we had prepared, sans alcohol. Drinking is very important to this group, and out of desperation I have drunk things I would never have chosen to drink from straight whiskey and vodka to arrack, the local spirits distilled from coconut. Mostly there is Lion beer in 16 oz bottles, which I tried to avoid unless nothing else is available.

In the morning we returned to the station and took the train back to Idalgashinna to start our trek through the tea plantations to Udevaria.

We had to repack just what we needed for the two day trip into our daypacks and then our big bags were sent on to Haputale for storage. Needless to say, I was more than a little nervous about doing the trek, not sure if my back would hold up or whether my bad shoulder could handle carrying a pack of any weight at all, not sure how my knees would manage any steep downhill paths. When I booked the Sri Lanka tour, I had originally planned not go on this part of the journey since I didn’t think my body would hold up, but I have discovered on this trip that I am a perfectly good long distance walker and since I knew this was really touted as the highlight of the Sri Lanka tour I decided I would go and push my personal limits.

The first hour was uphill through jungle and pine forests, not unlike hiking at home. We emerged into the highlands to awesome magical views of mountains and terraced fields of tea with unbelievable long-range vistas of distance lakes and mountains. The weather was cool and not too sunny – perfect trekking weather. We continued up through a few villages where the tea pickers live huddled together in small squalid little row houses, sometimes painted colorfully, an occasional TV antenna, and lots of laundry hanging everywhere drying (probably because nothing every really dries in the high mountains). The road leading up and leading away from each village was always littered with garbage and trash as though the people just throw their stuff out of the village limits to get rid of it and then probably it washes down a distance in the rain. But everyone was always delighted to see us and promptly posed for pictures and all the children asked for “steel pen” – I guess that what they want most is pens to write with for school, not sure why nobody told us to bring

pens, it would have been an easy thing to give away.  Materially they are so poor but no one in the world is richer when it comes to the natural beauty of their surroundings.

After a tea and fruit break at the side of the road (Dusha, one of our local trek guides actually boiled water on a fire and served us tea in plastic mugs), we began heading downwards which proved to be much harder on my legs, knees and feet than going up. The path was sometimes paved with big rock paving stones that you had to step carefully on from one to the next or it was rough and rocky and the going got tough at times. But we stopped to photograph and chat with some of the tea pickers, who work 8 hours a day, 24 days a month and earn about $7 a day, depending on how much tea they can pick in a day to fill the gunny sacks they carry on their heads and back. They pick rain or shine and apparently they don’t mind the intense afternoon downpours because it makes the tea weigh more and they can earn more money that way.

Clouds and mist began to roll in and the distant views began to be obscured. We did not take a lot of breaks and despite the fact that half our group is nearly 60 or over, we made it to our rest house in record time by 12:15, faster than any previous group. Lucky for us, because 15 minutes later torrential rain began and did not stop for the next 8 hours except for one brief afternoon interlude where I quickly ran out and took pictures in the “village” if you could call it that. A few houses with absolutely amazing vegetable and flower gardens (the hill people are very good gardeners), a “hospital” that upon closer inspection was just empty rooms but they told me a doctor showed up every day for a few hours. All of the land is owned by the tea plantations, the people with private houses just lease their land in some complicated way I didn’t understand. I was astounded to see nearly every kind of flower you might ever grow indoors and outdoors in New Hampshire, including alium, impatiens, marigolds, cosmos, zinnias, daisies, roses, delphinium, salvia, verbena, lilies, daylilies, alstromeria, trumpet flowers, datura, morning glories – just to name a few I kept track of. It is a flower growers dreamland.

The lodge where we stayed was a solid stone building with 3 bedrooms for the 10 of us (two didn’t come) and 1 for Indika and our guides, Shiva and Dusha, both of whom were Intrepid tour leaders in training and who had only been speaking English for a few years, having learned from speaking with tourists and who communicated beautifully. I am always very impressed with those who can learn a language without formal classes.

We were suddenly faced with hours together with nothing to do except recover from the morning’s exertions and rest up for the next day. By 6:15 we had eaten dinner and had a long evening in front of us, but Shiva brought a conga drum and he and Indika and Dusha sang beautiful songs for us in Sinhalese and Tamil, the two Sri Lankan languages and then we each sang songs from our countries. It was interesting to think about what music was American, there are really so many choices from blues to Lady Gaga…

Singing together was strange and a bit embarrassing, like sleepover camp, but we laughed a lot at the absurdity of it all and it was a good bonding experience – we even danced.

Another cold damp night, we all seemed to contract some reaction to the dampness from sore throats to allergies (that disappeared as soon as we left the mountains), again sleeping in full clothing with fleece jacket and this time even with a sweater tied on my head ( you lose most of your heat through your head don’tcha know…)

The next morning we were off again – hiking uphill for the first few hours to the Devil’s table and then down for a long long time and the down was hard and painful. By the end I was last and alone and limping my way to the lunch stop with a spectacular view of the highest waterfall in Sri Lanka.

By the time we arrived at our next mediocre guesthouse in Haputale, we were filthy and tired and all we could think about was hot showers (and they had great hot water in Haputale). A short afternoon interlude learning to drive a tuk-tuk in a cricket field. I opted out of the Hindu temple visit – didn’t feel like I could walk any extra steps.

Two days later my knee still hurts a lot but I don’t regret a minute of it.