Dear All, Gatwick, 25.7. 86
Sorry to have missed you Ma, trust Father will have conveyed news that all’s O.K. I’ve now got an hour to kill while waiting for the plane, so possibly, this is the only letter you’ll get from me in the next month.
Started the day promptly at 5.00am. Hope my jet lag programme works effectively. Parting gift from neighbour, a neat lens cleaner, ‘to get a good view’ of what’s going on.
I ordered the cab two days ago, reconfirmed it at 7.30 this morning, hence I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t here promptly at 8.30. Phoned the company and discovered the driver had gone somewhere else! Fortunately, a substitute arrived fifteen minutes later and, fortunately, I’d allowed myself plenty of time as we sat in traffic jams for the next hour arriving at Gatwick with enough time to look around the airport.
Porter (beginning of ‘Executive Treatment’, not having to bother about my bags), took me immediately to Check In. The woman was so busy explaining my transfer arrangements in Paris that she somehow overlooked the fact that my bags were 20kg. overweight, so I didn’t need to use the £200 voucher I’d spent days arguing for. Maybe the French will catch up with me.
Gatwick Departure Lounge is packed with the usual bank, post office, plus a huge range of little restaurants from hamburger to pub to ice-cream parlour. The man next to me in the pub was disgusted to find he could have a continental breakfast but not a cup of tea! Also, a tempting range of little shops for those last minute purchases you didn’t realise you needed to make.
I discovered that Gatwick is a ‘silent’ airport. “Why?” I asked a baggage handler. “Someone came along one day and said, ‘This will be a silent airport’. We even try not to speak to each other if we can.” So, I have to keep my eyes open and stick close to the Departure Board to know when the moment has come for me to pick up my bag and head silently for the plane.
There are a arge number of people travelling. Destinations range from many in the States, to Vienna, Frankfurt, Jeddah, Colombo, the direct flight they couldn’t put me on, Antwerp. Holiday makers of all ages, shapes and sizes are clasping yellow plastic bags of duty free goods. No alcohol for me, none allowed into The Maldives.
British Caledonian Flight to Paris is illuminated on the Board. Odd, there seemed to be an Air Lanka Flight to Columbo via Paris leaving at about the same time as my flight. Could it be my connection?
In the final departure lounge the chap next to me was yawning whilst awaiting boarding. Suspected from his pointed toes, stitched, high-heeled boots and broad drawl that he was freshly air-flown from Dallas. This he confirmed and announced that on his return transit through England, he was planning a swift visit to Winchester to see the Domesday Book.
British Caledonian staff look like a mini rerun of last night’s Empire Games Opening Ceremony in Scotland, each dressed in a different tartan yet multiracial and multilingual.
The girl next to me on the plane was yawning too. Also weary from the Dallas flight, she’d come to spend five weeks in Paris in the depths of the National Library researching the life of a sixteenth century printer.
Strange to fly in over the familiar fenceless, flat patchwork of French fields without the intention of staying to see friends.
The new Charles de Gaulle airport consists of a large circular area with ‘satellite’ arrival points around the rim. Alas, had to drag my overweight hand luggage from satellite One to Two, a strange experience. A system of slow-moving conveyor belts running down about forty yards underground, along about eighty yards and up again through a beige-coloured tunnel, ideal for creating a tunnel of horrors. Just time to enjoy listening to French again.
Just as well I do speak French. Had my second little hitch of the day, my name wasn’t on the passenger list of the Colombo Flight. Several phone calls later, plus my insistence that I had a connection to make in Colombo for the Maldives where work, not a holiday, was awaiting me, a place was found, alas amidst the smokers. At least I’ll be able to close my eyes and think of you Father.
This lounge isn’t a patch on Gatwick, a huge glass-windowed circle with curving sweeps of plastic orange seats, a toilet and a mini snack bar where a glass of Coke costs just over a pound.
The Air Lanka plane, with its handsome red and white peacock tail, has now arrived. No ‘Silence’ policy in this airport but, since the announcer’s English is contorted around a French accent, it’s difficult to understand and there’s no battery of boards flashing departure details at you.
At last, all set to board when taken aside and informed that my luggage hadn’t arrived! Everyone disappeared on board apart from an American, also in transit, and I. The agony of suspense was avoided as discovered that he used to live in Colombo and actually knew a chap I’d met in Male last year! Small world.
Our bags finally arrived and were duly identified, labelled and we hastily boarded the Tristar (postcard of which I’ve just written to you). Delight when discovered I’d been allocated my favourite seat near the back of the plane, with a good view of the scenery, and nobody sitting next to me.
Discovered that the plane had in fact come from Gatwick, but I couldn’t understand why it took nearly twice as long to reach Paris as the British Caledonian flight since it’s bigger and, presumably, faster. However, have just been given the menu and I understand the delay. Time was needed to serve the cold meat platter, the orange almond gateau and the freshly brewed tea and coffee.
Also, note that during the next six and a half hours, I have the choice of poached salmon with salad galati, roast leg of lamb catalane or curried beef with almonds, followed by cherry cheese cake, cheese and crackers, and more freshly brewed tea and coffee. How the hostesses can brew sufficient tea and coffee for the dozens of people stretching beyond my gaze, defeats me since they only have a minute galley.
Air Lanka hostesses are very different from those of British Caledonian. They wear beautiful deep green saris with a peacock eye print in turquoise and red. The stewards wear black trousers with tan jackets and black bow ties, very smart.
Suddenly realised, I wasn’t looking onto clouds but the snow-capped peaks of the Alps. Thence followed about an hour of absolutely breath-taking scenery as we flew over the mountain ranges of Italy, Austria (I think), Yugoslavia, bare brown jagged ranges, with unexpected tiny lakes of turquoise blue, like tears dropped from the sky, tiny villages hidden high in places known only to God and passing aeroplanes, another aeroplane jetting below in the opposite direction. All just like watching a giant cinema screen, but this is for real. Hills then, with green summits, thick forests and rivers twisting along, a real geographer’s paradise. More and more lakes, wished I had a detailed map with me to plot our whereabouts. The strips of fields below are quite different from those in France or at home. So much space, such tiny collections of habitations, hard to believe the people below are so divided by language and so many other issues.
By the time the meal was over (very good), the view had changed to that often seen on a winter sports holiday, only this time it was a cloudscape. Still another ten hours to go, hope I fall asleep at some point.
The cabin is now a hive of activity as passengers decide it’s time to stretch their legs. One small girl, with fashionable ‘titian’ hair, has already lost her mother and is screaming very loudly. Think her mother is deliberately leaving her to the hostess’ care for a while.
The screen has been flipped into position for the film, I’ll need superior long sight if I’m to see it. Think I’ll stick to the window view, all blue at the moment, don’t know whether it’s the sea or twilight arriving rapidly as we jet into another time zone.
The duty-free goods trolley is now clattering around. If I hadn’t been sticking to my jet lag diet, (no alcohol), I could have had free wine with the meal and a swig of cognac after it.
Three hours later. Well, life is full of surprises. Whilst in the loo queue, I bumped into the transiting American again and asked him to give me some hints on where to visit in Sri Lanka since he knew the island well having lived there for three years.
Seat next to mine was conveniently free so he came, clutching a map, plus many ideas of places to visit, plus olde worlde hotels and guest houses in which to stay.
In the course of conversation, it emerged that he was in ‘international education’. Snap, I was too! Having established that he worked in American Schools overseas, I immediately asked him whether, by any chance, he knew my old Singapore buddies Mary and Becky, and he did! They’d all worked together in Iran. Then, established that I’d met a whole crowd of his colleagues during my stay in Iran. ”Are you sure I didn’t meet you somewhere?” says he. Half an hour later we established that we had, in fact, attended the same house-warming party!
Nattered on and on as we flew over the Middle East. Amazing to meet a complete stranger and find we have so much in common. Seems that he, George, had bought a house in Sri Lanka for his retirement but a problem has emerged over the lease. Seems that if the money for the lease isn’t paid regularly to the owner, then both the lease and the property revert to him. Seems that the people renting the house at the moment haven’t paid the lease as expected so it’s now a possibility that George could lose his house! Several weeks of negotiations lie ahead.
Just flying down into Dubai, looks like a flattened Xmas decoration floating in a calm sea. It’s midnight local time and 95 degrees F. One hour to wait here and no possibility of getting off the plane. Time to get some sleep.
No luck. The cabin’s just been invaded by a swarm of dark-skinned, black moustached Arabs in white overalls, with smart Arabic script embroidered on their left chests, the housework group. Hot, humid air has wafted in with them, and a fresh cabin crew, almost identical to the first, has bustled into place.
Time to write a card to Mary from George and I, and one to kids back at school in London, one of whom comes from Sri Lanka. Then along came another crew, apparently squirting something, in fact, clicking a little machine to ensure the correct number of passengers was on board. Instructions were given to passengers in two unrecognisable languages, then off to the runway again.
I must have dozed because nearly jumped out of my skin on opening my eyes to find a hostess gently offering me a hot flannel with which to greet the new oriental day. The pilot announced that we were flying over the Indian Ocean, outside temperature minus 31 degrees F, the time in Columbo 6.00am. The time by my watch, unchanged since I didn’t have the necessary pin, remaining at London time, 1. 30am.The hostess looked equally startled when I refused breakfast and even a cup of her tea, freshly brewed of course.
Must say the Air Lanka hostesses are very good as plane wives. Not only do they ‘brew’ well but they’re also popping in and out of the toilets at intervals to check that all is hygienically perfect. Really, the only glamorous thing about their job is the peacock printed sari, and some of their passengers. Well, I did feel glamorous as said goodbye to my neighbour but now, at 6.00am Colombo time, reeking of Tiger Balm, that long-forgotten Chinese ointment for headaches, also discovered by George many Oriental moons ago and carried by him as the alternative to my Boots the Chemist Medical Kit. I am glamorous no more Reawakened by captain’s announcement that we’re 75 nautical miles from Colombo where it’s sunny and the temperature is 29 degrees C, over 80 degrees F. Looked out to see the flat fields of India below, when George reappeared for a chat, as the Ocean came into view. Little ships below and the
white wave- fringed coast of Sri Lanka. Flew down to the now familiar palm groves, paddy fields, winding brown rivers and red-roofed houses surrounding the airport.
My familiar British Council driver was waiting at the airport, he wanted to know why I’d failed to turn up to meet him last summer. He said it was all right for George to join us for the ride into Colombo.
Took about an hour to drive into town along a road rimmed with palm trees, people and yet more people, ox-drawn cartloads of giant quantities of hay, and all varieties of public transport. Government buses like giant sardine tins, people packed tightly inside with a few left hanging out of doors and windows, large minibuses, the speedsters of the road, taxis, trishaws, rather like a scooter with two back wheels and a little bodywork to protect the group of people squashed inside, and lots and lots of heavily laden bicycles. The prevailing colours were green, brown and cream.
The road was narrower than usual. We discovered why when a cavalcade of red-coated motorbike outriders passed, behind them a huge plum-coloured Rolls Royce bearing the President of Bangladesh to the airport. It’s obviously been an important visit.
On arrival, when his usual hotel had no vacancies, George decided to check into my guest house for the night. Tomorrow, he collects the keys to a friend’s flat.
No regrets about the guest house recommended by Jaynee, British Council colleague in Male. Colombo House is an old colonial house, very reminiscent of those in Singapore, cream walled, red tiled roof, pillared open verandas, spacious lounge areas with an odd selection of chair groups, ornately carved wood, black rattan, and wooden seats with foam cushions. Fans twirl overhead whilst shutters open onto a garden of red-packed earth filled with frangipani trees, palm trees plus masses of other shrubs and bushes.
An ornate wrought iron staircase wound up the stairs to another open landing leading onto a balcony fringed with purple, pink and orange bougainvillea, and the most delightful ‘double’ chair, an oval base with one chair back on the left, the other on the right. Perfect for a ‘tete a tete’.
My room is about three times the size of your cottage lounge, with two beds, an assortment of chairs, a spacious if not luxurious bathroom and an extensive view onto the garden. Bade farewell to George, he wide awake, me flagging and ready to crash out for a few hours.
Awoke later feeling revived, so wandered down the road to the main area of Colombo in search of a guide book in one of the Singapore-style modern hotels. Hooting traffic all the way, many offers of taxi rides, and requests for cash from beggars huddled on the pavements but, apart from these, no-one remotely interested in a wandering foreigner.
Thought at one point the sky was filled with flying fish but, as I approached more closely, realised that the ‘fish’ were in fact kites, a glorious collection of rainbow colours, origami shapes both large and small with tails and frills and bobbing topknots, all being flown on a huge open stretch of grass about the length of a football field running alongside waves crashing onto a sea wall.
This all looked upon by the most favoured old hotel in town, The Galle Face, rather like a much larger version of Raffles in Singapore. Huge spacious arcades and verandas on which I’m currently sitting in a basket chair, sipping fresh lime juice whilst watching the waves, being served by barefoot waiters in spotless white sarongs and jackets. The service is fantastic, everyone is absolutely charming and a world away from London.
Returned to my new home to find myself in the dining room alone. The place has a different feel at night since all the wrought iron work projects beautiful patterns onto the walls, as do the pottery lampshades with their elaborate cut-out patterns. Feasted on a mild curry with lots of side dishes, washed down with lime tea, very refreshing.
Back in my room have just lit the long-forgotten, dark green, anti-mosquito coil, a snake-like marvel that burns slowly throughout the night keeping the nasty creatures away. Some inventions just don’t seem replaceable.
It’s 9.30 pm (UK 5.00pm) and I’m feeling ready for my bed. I’ll finish this now and will ask the driver to post it tomorrow. If these last two days are anything to go by the next five weeks should be fantastic!
Lots of love,
Pen
PS Hope I’ll still have time to write when I start work.
Dear All Columbo to Male 27.7,86
High flying again over the deep blue Indian Ocean scattered with fluffy white cloudlets, not an island in sight below, while I’m feeling slightly hazy.
Was joined by George for a chat and a drink last night, and again for breakfast this morning. It certainly has added to the fun of being here to have someone to share all the surprises, especially someone with a familiar travelling background. As he headed off to begin negotiating with his lawyer, my chauffeur driven car arrived and whisked me back to the airport.
What a lengthy Check In. They seem to have at least three times as many people doing each job as at home. For example, to change a travellers cheque, one person took the cheque and passport, gave it to another who wrote out the conversion, gave it to a third who brought forth the cash, gave the cash to the second to give to me. Followed by endless security checks. I’ve been shelling out dollars like peas to porters rather than attempt to shift my total 40kg of luggage myself in the heat.
Now quite familiar with the transit lounge where hard- seated chairs sit in rows looking out onto the tarmac awaiting the plane’s arrival, as though watching rather a boring film.
Finally took off on a good flight to Male. The anticipated wave of excitement swept over me as the plane flew down towards the familiar chain of tiny islands, grey, green inkblots surrounded by yellow, turquoise reefs floating in the deep blue Indian Ocean linking the islands in Male atoll. Still the tense knot tightened in my stomach as the plane flew down closer and closer to the blue waves, great wave of relief to feel the final thud of land beneath the plane’s wheels and the angry pull of the brakes keeping us grounded on the tiny airport island of Hulule.
Met by old friend Haleem, who was so helpful in the Workshop last year. He moved me through Customs rapidly without the usual intensive search for drugs and alcohol. Speed boat was waiting to whisk us across the water to gold-domed Male, then taxi to my hotel. Alas, not my usual Guest House, already fully booked with guests for the Independence Celebrations yesterday, but the newest hotel on the Island. Much more modern and more spacious with a bar in a central courtyard which makes it a noisy venue. However, for one night I’m not complaining.
The last parade of the Independence Celebrations was supposedly taking place so went out in search of it. So strange to be wandering about in familiar surroundings, seems I’ve never been away. Feeling rather like Gulliver in the Kingdom of Lilliput, I’d forgotten how small and daintily boned the Maldivians are.
Lots and lots of people were milling around the streets, some also in search of the Parade, plus men going home from market clutching the familiar fat, silver tuna fish by the tail. There were hordes of tiny children, the little girls in the prettiest of dresses in glorious pastel shades awash with frills. No mistaking family groups, sisters all wearing identical dresses, little boys wearing matching shirts.
Wandering through the high, white-walled side streets, I suddenly found two familiar faces smiling at me from a doorway, two waiters from Sosunge, beaming a surprised welcome back. My feet had subconsciously led me back to Sosunge, my guest house home for six weeks last summer. Around the corner at the front gate, watching the procession of school bands and marching children, their eyes fixed firmly ahead, arms high and swinging, stood my favourite Sosunge receptionist, Havsa, who couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw me! Would you believe it? The same thing happened as last year. The Government had booked the whole guest house for the anticipated arrival of Independence Day guests yet hardly any had had come. The President of Bangladesh did come but didn’t stay here, so there are plenty of spare rooms! I immediately reserved one for the following day..
By now I was falling asleep on my nose with jet lag so decided to head back to the hotel. On the way bumped into a familiar Australian family returning from a day out on an island. Received a big welcome from the parents but surprised looks from the much grown five and six year olds who couldn’t remember me.
Had forgotten how pot-holed the roads were. I tried not to notice the odd rat decomposing in the heat. Aware of fish large and small, shining in the sunlight being carried home to the curry pot.
Collapsed onto a bar stool beneath the palm trees to drink another expensive soda water. Prices now ignored; I’ve been given enough travellers cheques to pay for them. Heard a squawk at my toe and discovered a seagull-like bird, white body, grey wings, black head, red beak, skinny orange legs and flat feet waiting hopefully for food. He’s been living in the hotel garden for about five years but no one had given him a name. I immediately named him Augustus since he carried himself with such pride.
Listening to two men opposite talking was rather like opening the pages of a Frederick Forsyth novel. Tales of wedding celebrations in the Philippines, riding the roof tops of trains to Rangoon and now, being trapped in Male having overstayed a visa, all Government offices being closed for the holiday and money running short. Vague wondering whether he in distress will ever be able to return to Australia, or whether he’ll be banished instead to a distant prison island.
I was eating alone in the restaurant when shot out of my skin at a sudden squawk, that wretched bird singing for its supper. The waiter chased it out but minutes later it came creeping back via a different route!
Later that evening it was lovely to see Manik again, one of my closest colleagues last year, now Director of the Workshop.
Tuesday pm.
Can see I’ll be reduced to postcards again. In brief:
Monday am spent a couple of hours with Manik drawing up my programme of visits. The remainder of the day was for rest. Joined the usual Monday dhoni group to Villingilli, the island closest to Male. I was not even open-mouthed at the beauty around me, all so familiar. Too tired even to swim, just sat in the restaurant with two VSO people catching up on the news of last year, really like reading a novel of high intrigue!
On Vilingili, and all other resort islands, the bars and restaurants are staffed by Sri Lankan men. Maldivians, strict Moslems, do other work.
Dinner at Sosunge, I moved back in the morning, was just like being at home in the same room. The only other guest was an older English gentleman, “My home is my suitcase,” his work is involved with shipping. He was not very communicative. Dinner was a mistake. The cooking hasn’t improved since last year.
This morning a full programme of visits to the two schools involved in the Workshop was scheduled. Spoke to Heads and Supervisors, besides a quick visit to the Ministry to meet officials there. Very warm welcome all around plus encouraging news that a lot of my ideas were followed up not only by those who attended the Workshop but also by their colleagues.
Junior School Textbook for Environmental Studies.
Spent a lazy afternoon in the garden doing some preparation. The Guest House entrance adjoining the garden leads onto a main road so anyone passing can see me. Hence, a surprise visit from familiar Aussie lady and her two girls for a chat and promise of dinner some time.
Returned to eat at the Nasandura Palace Hotel, a few minutes' walk from Sosunge and the harbour front. As I entered, the one chap eating in the restaurant leaped to his feet and asked me to join him (treated me to dinner!), an Austrian expat living in Australia. He’d published some tourist maps of
The Maldives and had come to collect the several thousand dollars owed to him. Very entertaining evening.
Wednesday
Spent the morning at the Education Development Centre, most conveniently located five minutes' walk down the road from home. This is where Jaynee, my British Council colleague of last year, used to work. Most odd not seeing her around the place, she’s been transferred to a British Council post in Bhutan. Also odd, to rediscover Katma, the Maldivian student I went to visit in York for my first briefing last year. No longer the slim student, now the rounded well-travelled lady, still very attached to her English boyfriend who has just spent three months out here. Found her very helpful workwise, but then, so is everyone else. Later met up with four more familiar faces all of whom will be working closely with me.
Home to bring my scattered notes together and have lunch in the shade of palm trees alongside the waist high, ten feet in diameter aquarium, fish of all colours lazily mouthing words of hunger through the glass beside me.
In the garden met up with another guest, a Sri Lankan come to give advice on Fire and Safety precautions. We chatted for an hour before I joined the expat boat group heading off to a nearby island. Indulged in a gooey cake with coffee, in the shade of the palms. Definite improvement in the cake situation since last year, real tourist stuff.
A coincidence which I forgot to mention. A young Japanese couple were on the boat with the sweetest little boy I’ve seen since Milan (remember the International School?) with the loudest voice I’ve ever heard from a three-year-old. It turned out that they both have degrees in Comparative Education and their Professor in Japan was a devotee of my former Professor in London! The husband is working for UNICEF in Male, and the wife is hoping to prepare her PhD comparing education in the Maldives with education in Singapore, whilst Yo, their little boy, goes to Nursery School. He’s already picking up Divehi and English from little friends he’s playing with.
Thursday
I’ve been walking along a hot dusty road in search of a confirmed ticket to Colombo. The agency is very flexible and non-committal so far. It’s very hot and sticky, clothes are clinging to me, flabby legs are squeaking together, no time to observe much of what is happening around me as anxious to rediscover the cool of the garden.
Actually, walking the streets of Male is not unlike swimming in the deep water of the Indian Ocean. The main streets are wider than I remembered, maybe six cars wide but without any pavements. Cars drive along bumping slowly through the potholes, bikes ride around them, whilst people weave between the cars and bikes, no-one really taking precedence over anyone else.
My neighbour is leaving for Sri Lanka so will send this with him.
Love Pen
__________________________________________________________________________________ Male 2.8.86
Dear All
Just heard a knock at my room door. Havsa, the young, female receptionist is returning some children’s storybooks which I’d lent her. “Have you got any sexy books, better than these?” I apologised, said I hadn’t, though I thought they weren’t allowed here!
Just seen myself on TV again, the Opening Ceremony of the Workshop was held this morning. This year I wasn’t thwarted by a bevy of TV crew, Teacher Education crew, plus a photographer wandering around the table of Speakers, including the Guest of Honour, a charming woman, ex-wife of
the ex-President of Maldives currently in exile in Singapore. She, however, is allowed back into the country and has recently been appointed Director of Maternal and Child Care. Made my little speech with reference to your seeds, Father, and my ideas, like seeds to flower across the walls of the classrooms in displays. Really nice photos were taken of everybody and the book display. Wonder whether any of last year’s teachers will drop in?
Feel very sorry for teachers who work different shifts from their children. They could be teaching from 7.00am to midday, with their children at school from 2.00-600pm. They only meet briefly in the evenings over homework and at the Thursday/Friday weekend. The Thursday is sometimes a working day if everybody is too far behind with the syllabus.
6.8.86 12.00
Would you believe it, I’m so busy that no time to write cards let alone letters but some UNESCO fellow guests are leaving tomorrow and may post this for me in Paris.
All is going well, an odd hiccup here and there but soon sorted out.
I spend mornings preparing work or visiting various educational institutions, leave here at 1.30 and return about 6.30. Eat 7.00-7.30 in a nearby hotel, sometimes alone, sometimes with fellow guests or passersby. Seem to spend more time with passersby this time than I do with locals. Working in the afternoons means that I don’t go on the island trip, so don’t have contact with the expatriot crowd. Usually happy to relax and chat here or just stroll around in the evenings. I may have to forgo the intended island holiday here and spend more time in Sri Lanka since Air Lanka is being very vague about confirming flights. I’ll probably leave on or soon after the 16th rather than the 21st. I’ll keep the British Council Columbo informed.
In haste to eat. I’m enjoying myself despite the hard work
Love Pen
Male 10.8.86
I thought you’d like a copy of the Official Inauguration Ceremony Programme.
Note ‘Speech’ made by yours truly!
I’m a little catfish
Grey and slim
See me suck
The refuse in
With my little stiff whiskers… It just won’t rhyme. Need your inspiration, Father.
Note the water marks on the paper, it’s just started to rain and ‘Medem’ has been shunted along under the canopied shelter away from the garden where I’d been watching the fish in the large glass-fronted aquarium whilst eating a leisurely lunch. Papaya, cheese sandwich, tomato sandwich, and a glass of lime juice form the daily menu.
The rain is now bucketing down, it means that the roads, which had begun to dry out, will soon be flooded again. The rain tipped down all day Friday (the one day off work during the week) so most people were housebound. I did go out for a walk when the rain finally eased late afternoon as I was curious to see what had happened. Every street was flooded to some extent, some completely. What a game to try and find the driest way home without too much paddling through brown muddy water with potential drowned rats underfoot, plus the possible risk of slipping beneath the water and joining them.
Resort Island 15.8.86
Just found a fellow guest about ready to leave for UK and, since I now have time to write a quick word, I will.
Sitting again in tourist splendor on a ‘Paradise Island’, blue sky, pale turquoise sea, white sand and palm leaves gently waving overhead. Just had a delicious curry lunch so now digesting before going to investigate the fish which live in the coral reef.
It’s a BIG holiday today for Eid, the Moslem equivalent to our Xmas. Day long celebrations in Mecca, Saudi Arabia, being televised here. Saw thousands praying in Mecca this morning, the same mass viewing as for a Royal Wedding at home. Also, praying in all the mosques in Male. It’s a five-day holiday so many of the workers and school children, have gone back to their home islands. Special meals are prepared.
Had a wonderful Sri Lankan meal last night at the home of a Sri Lankan colleague. I particularly liked ‘string hoppers’, little lace table mat creations made out of noodles, very quaint. Everything was so spicily hot that it didn’t matter how cold it was when eaten.
The Workshop finished the day before yesterday. It went well. The teachers gave ME a certificate of attendance and good work besides a lovely, lacquered wood vase painted in traditional red, black and cream, and a delightful little dhoni, ornament made out of mother of pearl.
The numbers at the Closing Ceremony were lower than anticipated since many people had caught dhonis early in the morning to go to their island homes, often some days' travel from Male, but the TV film crew was still there. Saw the result of their filming on the News that night, nice picture of my hands clapping behind the Guest of Honour throughout the certificate presentation ceremony!
Yesterday I wanted to spend the first day of my holiday at the beach but none of the other expatriots appeared so spent the day putting my papers in order and being lazy. Had lunch with some Australian people I know. Definitely two beach days to come and then off to Sri Lanka for debriefing British Council meetings and sightseeing.
It’s all GO and I’m really enjoying myself.
Love Pen
PS Thanks for your two letters.
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Flying over the Indian Ocean 17.8.86
Dear All,
Have just taken off from Hulule, Male airport, where I nearly thought I was going to be delayed again like last year. The Ministry hadn’t cancelled my work permit! Luckily, my escort had contacts so all went smoothly but not in the bar. I had a surprise confrontation with a waiter who was asking everyone to sign for their drinks without giving them the necessary receipts. Suspect there’s an illegal dollar racket going on. Anyhow, I continued to ask for it and grudgingly he obliged.
Outside my window fluffy white clouds in a clear blue sky are leaving dark grey shadows on a silver sea of rippling calm. In the distance a last view of the Maldives, like a turquoise slash of paint across the deep blue ocean, the outer side rimmed with rippling white waves, with an occasional oddly shaped dark green island forming part of the outer rim of Male atoll. Wonder whether I’ll ever return again?
Before leaving I had ages to wait for the girl from the Ministry. Standing by harbour wall four men I knew cycled past and stopped to say farewell. I’ll certainly miss the quick friendships which have grown up here. Earlier, another family called in at the Guest House to say farewell. Havsa, the friendly receptionist, promised that she’ll write and let me know how the tomato seeds are growing.
I’ve really enjoyed myself. Hard work but I think the teachers got a lot out of it, I certainly did. Really good practice in organising something independently.
Enjoyed spending the last two days at the beach, a chance to be really lazy just eating, swimming and sunning myself. Too hot to bother much with a suntan. An old girl aged eighty-one turned up with her Indian friends. Canadian nationality, aged nine months she was taken to India and, apart from periods of study outside the country, she’s been there ever since, a real relic of colonial days. She looked like something out of ‘Jewel in the Crown’. I enjoyed their Indian sweetmeats.
I wonder what Sri Lanka has in store. Booked initially into the pleasant guesthouse I know in Colombo. Must see the British Council people at some time but otherwise I’m free to wander for about ten days.
Hope all’s well with you.
Love Pen
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PHOTOS : I took slide photos on both visits to The Maldives and sent a selection of these, plus a description of each context, to the Commonwealth Institute in London. It only possessed a limited number of visuals in The Maldives Section so I thought more might be welcomed. Seventeen slides were selected. Years later, as the Commonwealth Institute was preparing to close, the slides were returned with a letter of thanks and a cheque for £50. A nice surprise!
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Next Week - Sri Lanka Part 1
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For Art Lovers : https://www.naomielfredross.com/post/the-anxious-artist-the-inward-gaze-turns-outward