Columbo House 18.8.86
Dear All,
Had a good flight back to Sri Lanka from the Maldives yesterday. The British Council driver met me at the airport and brought me to the now familiar Colombo House Guest House. Comfortably installed in my room, I decided to go out for a stroll.
If you think I’ve developed a frantic head shake side to side with a quick circular flick of the head mid shake, don’t panic, it’s the most normal gesture here in Sri Lanka, though I did think that one gem dealer was going to have apoplexy this evening.
I’d decided to break my lengthy walk home by dropping in at one of the large Singapore- style hotels’ gem shops. I'd vaguely pondered the prospect of treating myself to a little stone which John would find worthy of inspection, well two actually, I fancied a pair of sapphire earrings. So, as you can see, I did have a positive reason to survey the market whilst relaxing my weary feet.
Business is very low at the moment, so dealers were all slumped in their seats or nattering to their neighbours. Got them shooting out of their seats with their heads all noddling when I sat down, busily requesting to see their trays of little sapphires and any other little gem earring I fancied trying on.
Well, spent a very glamorous hour trying on teeny tiny stones, dangling stones and wondering how on earth such pimple-sized pieces could cost nothing less and mostly more than £60 (are you still with me Father?), when right out of the blue, one of my own earrings fell apart. The strain of being ripped in and out of place must have been too great, or perhaps the ear itself could no longer hang anything other than pure luxury.
Anyway, it fell onto the table amidst the jewels to the concerned query of the vendor who asked, “What it is your stone?” He remained tight – lipped but I knew from his head movements that he knew he’d got a fraud in his shop when I replied, “It’s white plastic.” And he was convinced of his feelings a few minutes later when a dangling sapphire on a fine silver chain was found to be missing from its parent earring! I set my body into a head – shaking frenzy when, thank God for uncomplicated undergarments, it fell out of my dress!
A man buying star sapphires opposite was able to retain his mirth thanks to the seriousness of three exquisite rings on one of his fingers he was trying to choose between. Surprised he had the strength to lift it with the weight of dollars he was carrying.
I took the vendor’s card with the dignity of one designing herself for better things, murmured, “I never bring my gems with me when I travel, I have just returned from the Maldives”, and headed for home quite convinced that a pair of new winter boots will suit me better than wearing blue pimpled ears in winter.
……a giant spider is strolling across the floor of my room.
We’re equally unafraid of each other.
I really like Colombo. Reminds me so much of the older parts of Singapore I knew. Those parts have no doubt been demolished in Singapore but here they’ve been left to rot. Seems that few things have been done to preserve these old buildings. Must have been a beautiful city about thirty years ago but now everything is steadily disintegrating whilst new high rise hotel blocks and office buildings begin to fill the skyline.
Of course, it’s not like Singapore because there aren’t any Chinese people around, the vast majority of those around me look like Indians, with a sprinkling of foreign tourists. There are plenty of soldiers in evidence particularly outside Ministerial and Military buildings, also the homes of important people.
Investigated the British Council this morning, two beautiful old houses joined together rather like an adventurous wedding cake. These buildings are in good condition. There’s a well-used library and a full programme of cultural events, much more ‘little traditional England’ than life back at home in north London, in multiracial, multilingual Haringey.
Rereading this, it sounds slightly incoherent, result of five weeks pidgin communication in Male. Here most people do speak English, but the intonation is different so we’re still often mutually unintelligible, and I must remember to stop shaking my head when I mean ‘No’ because they think I’m saying ‘Yes’.
Galle 19.8.86
Dear All,
Well, talk about life of the lady. Sitting writing this beside the clear turquoise water of a swimming pool about twice the size of Pam’s, surrounded by frangipani trees, bougainvillea and other tropical shrubs in the grounds of The New Oriental Hotel, a beautiful old Dutch hotel, same ‘feel’ about it as Raffles in Singapore but built like a Dutch barn as opposed to an English barn. Haven’t really explored it yet, just wanted to relax after travelling all day. Came here on George’s recommendation to find the employees still talking about him. He’s obviously a popular figure here.
Left Colombo in ‘My’ white estate car with driver, an old chap, Ranjit by name, at the start of THE holiday. Decided to stop and start at places along the coastal journey south, travelling about seventy miles. Not far but travelling slooooowly at my request, in the hope that if we do have an accident, it will be gentle, besides, I want a good view of the scenery.
Stopped just outside Colombo at Mount Lavinia Hotel, another grand old hotel in the colonial manner perched on a low cliff looking over a sweeping bay with low waves rolling in.
These bays became a familiar picture as the day wore on, the coastline is laced with them, orangey sand swirling in the beach waves, greeny blue sea beyond, more or less high coconut palms of the spindly variety leaning out at an angle of forty-five degrees to the ground, the leaves windswept neatly back in the opposite direction.
The road ran slightly inland through coconut groves, occasionally returning to the seaside. Then, fishing boats pulled up on the beach with spider-like out-rigger legs.
All along the roadside were signs of coconut culture, little wooden cages in rivers where the husks of the coconuts were soaked and then beaten into pulp. Women weaving rope at the roadside, wooden barrels being drawn along by oxen to the place where the juice, extracted from the coconut flowers, ‘toddy’, is fermented and made into the popular alcoholic drink arak.
Also, a lot of craftworks on view, lot of statue-carving and painting of characters from Buddhist literature, and the inevitable carved elephants. Furniture made of teak and mahogany. Just passed a man carrying a bed on his shoulder, he’d removed a few slats from the base, stood in the base, attached one end of a rope to the foot of the bed, the other to the head and balanced it on his shoulder.
Lot of dogs roaming the roadside, also cows, strange after the lack of animals in the Maldives. Surprisingly, no sign of any corpses.
Stopped to view a Buddhist dagoba, a bell-shaped structure in which a relic of the Buddha is kept, where a festival was being held. Climbed up inside the giant white dome to find another sealed dome inside, around which were flower-filled tables, beautiful jasmine, frangipani, lotus (never actually seen one before), pale mauve water lilies, buttercup yellow bell-shaped flowers, hibiscus, an absolute picture but, of course, couldn’t take a photograph in such a holy place. Also, high up, painted around the rim of the dome, were seventy-five pictures depicting Buddhist teaching beneath which people sat and prayed or meditated for hours. Outside, more people were praying as they lit tiny oil lamps which they then balanced on ornate metal structures, similar to Roman candles.
Stopped further down the coast for lunch at a Government Rest house, similar to those in Malaysia, simple one level building with a lovely garden looking down onto a natural swimming pool in the rocks. Enjoyed an hour’s fresh air watching the people in the pool. Still marveling at the wonder of being able to cope on my own again, I do have Ranjit for company, though he seems to disappear discreetly once I’ve been settled somewhere.
Very easy to get chatting to people too since a great many speak English, tho’ I’m sick of being asked why I’m not married, and how old am I, and why don’t I want to buy a white circular tablecloth with butterflies on it, a white embroidered dress, coral and why couldn’t I go to the local gem dealer just to ‘ave a look’?
Love
P.
New Oriental Hotel, Galle 19.8.86
Dear All,
Wonder whether you’ve received Section One of this epistle from Galle?
At dinner I thought the waiter was offering me ‘garden key’ for dessert. Tucked into curd and treacle. Definitely an acquired taste.
Well, have discovered that this place was constructed in 1684 as an army barracks by the Dutch. The English took it over many years later and converted it into an hotel but many old Dutch artefacts remain. Discovered that one of the two old ladies eating at dinner (along with six couples in their 30-40s, and me), with the give-away spotted dog, was the owner of the place. She was born here eighty years ago, member of one of the old Dutch Burger families. I read an article about her that was stuck on the reception desk.
Rooms are the height of two containers minus the lorry. A six-foot guardsman, plus busby, could walk through the mahogany door with a couple of feet to spare. And two of them could easily pass through the doorway side by side. Windows seem smaller than they really are since all have shutters and only some of these are open. Entry hallways have uninspiring tiles but elsewhere it’s bare wooden boards which the waiters at dinner thunder around between tables as though square dancing.
The main stairway is unexpectedly painted vivid orange. The middle section is covered with coconut matting, so are the landings. These really are very attractive, with a line of huge, polished doors and shuttered windows, with views opposite onto orange-tiled roofs and gardens, the sea beyond. Between the polished doors is a line of marble-topped tables with wrought iron legs, each topped with a bottle bearing a large leaf shoot, whilst below these, on the floor, stands a line of fat brown pots each bearing a leaf cutting at an advanced stage of growth, a very useful alternative greenhouse. Above, from the ceiling, hang long, brightly woven tapestries. Don’t know how typical these are of the area.
At dinner tonight my table was a mini kitchen table which could have seated eight to ten people. Similar tables were dotted all around, but the main feature was a vast black wooden sideboard bearing three silver tureen lids, each capable of covering a Baked Alaska for twelve plus its flames. Grilled fish was as good as in the Maldives but garnished differently in the style of string hoppers, mentioned earlier. Could have practiced my knot-tying with it if I hadn’t felt hungry enough to eat it.
Service was slow with one white saronged, jacketed waiter kept in constant motion on his bare feet, a bit like those characters on weather clocks going in and out of doors all the time, in perpetual motion for little or no reward.
Forgot to mention, in the dim light above the buffet, the Queen, radiantly youthful in her Coronation robes, (difficult to decide whether it was our Queen or the Dutch Queen), smiling onto a picture of the now defunct St Christopher, whilst a Spanish peasant girl nestled shyly behind her. Pictures here don’t have much impact, historical maps do.
The lounge is lined with sturdy wood and cane armchairs including some very comfy long, low-backed chairs and beautiful couches with cushions on the cane reminiscent of the Far East. There are also some huge wooden trunks like those I saw in the Dutch Museum in Colombo.
I’m writing this in the outer entry hall filled with more marble-topped tables, lots of wood and cane chairs, many potted plants that make mine at home look like mere seedlings. The outer wall on either side of the entry is arched and half-covered with chick blinds, beyond these in the darkness I can hear waves breaking on the beach. It’s the full moon, very, very relaxing. Wonder what’s happened to Ranjit, not seen since we arrived.
Talked for a while to two young men, the only people around speaking English, so joined them for a while. Both late twentyish, obviously men of the world. One, English, had just bought himself a yacht which he’s having fitted out. The other, Australian, had recently come into harbour on a yacht on which he is a crew member. They’ve become partners for the moment and are reveling in their new purchase, an old American army jeep in excellent condition. Some come looking for gemstones, others come looking for gems of cars. It appears that Sri Lanka is really a collector's paradise for 1940s vehicles.
10.00pm, everyone seems to have disappeared so, having tried a few more chairs, find the styles quite fascinating, have adjourned to my room. Reckon you could fit all of our house, plus the kitchen, and a lot of next door's into it. I’m draping a mosquito net tightly around my bed tonight in case I get a fit of agoraphobia.
Have discovered that the sunray wooden design above the door is in fact open so sounds, besides those of thudding feet, will percolate the air.
As one enters through the most impressive front door I’ve ever had, one meets a screen which discreetly hides the sectioned off bathroom which houses a round-bottomed bath with dainty feet. On the left of the door stands a three –railed wooden frame, as tall as me and three time as wide, on which to hang towels to dry.
Inside the room there’s a large heavy wardrobe with a matching, daintily decorated, dressing table; three single beds, rather like children’s cots minus the sides, a bedside table and a lamp, with a little fan high above in the ceiling. No need for any air conditioning here.
This ‘sleeping section’ opens into the ‘lounge’ with four types of chairs including my favourite elongated back relaxer, with view onto the Fort…..Oh that I had people to share it with!
Discovered that allocated reading is the Bible or antiquated news from Bulgaria. Makes a change from the Quran.
Next morning…. Time to pay the bill. I thought I’d made a mistake with some decimal places in my Rupee conversion. My wonderful room cost just 200 Rupees for the night ie just under £5! Meals were charged at the same sort of rate. George said it was very cheap, but I hadn’t expected this much.
Now time to head for the hills.
Love
P.
Galle to Neuwarelia 20 August 86
Dear All,
En route to the hills today. We started off along the coast road which we travelled yesterday, still peopled with crowds of men, women, dogs and cows. Seeing young calves around it suddenly occurred to me that some of the ‘cows’ I’m seeing are probably not cows but little bulls, wonder how ‘he’ and ‘she’ manage to find each other?
Piles of grey coral (?) chippings along some of the roadsides. They’re crushed into little bits and used to make the lime paint which covers many of the houses. Some houses have beautiful elaborate lace-like trim around the border of the eaves, very dainty.
Eventually, Ranjit turned the car to the right and we headed for some very different scenery. In the distance thickly wooded hills began to rise on the horizon, whilst in the flat valley bottoms rice paddy fields appeared with handfuls of people cutting the long grass-like rice, then passing it through some kind of wheel, presumably to cut off the outer skin. Alongside the road large brown ’bedspreads’ appeared, the husks of the rice drying.
Stopped in a small town to change money, took twenty-five minutes. I was taken into the section behind the bank counter where a girl proceeded to fill in the same form three times, had me sign one of them three times before she copied the information into two ledgers of voluminous proportions, then stamped them with a variety of stamps from a large collection strewn across her desk. Definitely pre- machine age.
Driving along, suddenly met a filthy old elephant with beautiful ivory tusks, apparently not often seen these days, plodding along with his driver and a friend walking alongside, who announced I’d have to pay if I wanted to take a photograph.
Drove on when Ranjit suddenly stopped the car, apparently in the middle of nowhere. He pointed out through the trees to a thatched roof structure and some mud-covered bodies, a working gem mine! Luckily, the man in charge spoke English and explained what was happening.
A corner of the paddy field had been cleared of rice and chunks of clay soil had been dug up and placed in little baskets which were then passed along a chain of four men ending by being thrown into a mud and water section, the baskets were then passed back. The clay was left to soften. In two other sections it had softened, and two men were working in each of these, bare chested, filthy sarongs twisted high as they stood thigh deep in water. Each had a shovel-shaped basket with which he dug into the sediment, swished it around to get rid of the water before bringing the contents to the edge for minute examination. It just looked like a basket full of tiny whitish, yellowish stones to me, and that’s all they were, just stones. He started again.
Apparently, they’d been working in the field for a month and a half with only a few semi-precious finds, yet all had a glint of hope in their eyes. They formed a consortium to rent the field, the owner of the field receiving one fifth of anything found, the rest being shared. It seems that everything is tightly controlled but Ranjit reckoned that some theft by the diggers does go on.
A sudden change of scenery followed from paddy fields to rubber plantations, just like Malaysia though possibly less healthy-looking trees and much smaller plantations.
Hills getting higher, thick growth all around as the road started to wind upwards. Got quite precarious in parts and, to my horror, realised that Ranjit was enjoying the aerial scenery as much as I was! Thought back to that morning when, sitting in the car just before departure, I turned around having finished tying up a shoelace and thought he was begging me to hurry up when, in fact, he was praying for a safe journey. Can tell you who was doing the praying from then on!
Stopped at a restaurant beside a little waterfall for some tea, absolutely delicious. Had quite forgotten that Sri Lanka/Ceylon was one of THE tea producing areas of the world. Was enjoying relaxing in a rattan armchair, admiring the mountain scenery opposite when realised in amazement, that Ranjit was squatting by the side of the car which was unhappily balanced on three wheels! We’d had a puncture. Not really surprising, the tyres are as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and we’d spent the last hour bumping over unkempt roads! Kept calm and continued to say my prayers.
Drove on past more piles of rocks at the roadside, being hacked out of the cliff face then bashed to bits by squatting workers before being used to fill holes in the road which were then tarmacked over.
Tea country took my mind off tyres, beautiful bright green little bushes, rather like enlarged privet, growing to about locals' height, in thousands of clumps running neatly from the highest hilltops down into the valleys below. Goodness knows how the pickers can balance to pick on an 85-degree slope. Wonder how many bushes Father has drunk in his lifetime? Miles and miles of plantations must need thousands of pickers. Seems they only pick the freshest leaves. Would love to have asked Ranjit more questions but under such perilous circumstances it seemed unwise.
The road became even more pot-holed, rocky and winding as the car climbed, and it was a great relief to reach Nuwara Elia as darkness fell, and an even greater surprise to see my next friend-recommended hotel. The Hill Club, straight out of Surrey or the Lake District. Interior like some country club or large country house, mock Tudor with endless corridors, wide staircases and flowers everywhere.
I was led to my room in the North Wing, modern white walls, tan carpet, orange chinz, oak furniture with a bathroom straight out of a deluxe hotel, turquoise toilet mat and seat cover, with water inside the bowl as crystal clear as any Maldivian lagoon. Discovered to my joy that the blue hot tap was not a mere placebo as everywhere else but did in fact run hot water, really piping hot water from 6.30 – 8.00am and 6.00 - 8.00pm. I fell into the water neck high at 7.00 pm. Was awakened from my slumber by a persistent tapping at the door. A ‘Boy’ come to spray my room against mosquitoes and, to put a hot water bottle in my bed! The necessities of high life in the tropics.
Noticed on the Notice Reminder Board reminders of certain House Rules eg. from 7pm onwards gentlemen shall wear jacket and tie and ladies shall wear suitable equivalent attire for DINNER. I’ll have to pay corkage for my bottle of champagne should I have brought it, either sealed or open. And I’ve got to pay for all this in Sri Lankan currency, none of your common Travellers Cheques here.
Dressed for DINNER in my totally unsuitable Maldivian frock plus several layers of underwear, the temperature having dropped considerably. Eventually found the dining room shimmering in candlelight revealing lots of little family groups, cosy couples, two single men, all dressed in their ties and neat dresses, speaking French, German, English, American plus a few Singhalese, and me.
Full silver service cutlery laid out The ‘Boy’, whoops, sorry, just heard someone call ‘Steward’, dressed in the now familiar white sarong, jacket with green decorations (red for the room Boys) and white gloves. Well, of course, what else do you expect in a Hill Club with a leopard (or is it a jaguar?) motif. No quick curry here. No a la carte menu either.
The menu was printed on beautiful leopard-printed Club Cards: egg mayonnaise, tomato soup with croutons, steak and kidney pie with parsleyed potatoes and mixed vegetables, followed by Baveroise Neapolitan, an Italianised copy of a once delicious mousse-like French dessert. Well, all I really wanted was mulligatawny soup. I bet Father is thinking of those beggars down the hill. It was all delicious.
Moved into the lounge for a cup of tea, sipped by the side of a roaring fire, enjoyed from the depths of a deep armchair of which the room was full, looked down on by a portrait of our Queen and Duke looking faded and youthful.
Joined by two English couples, all touring too but in the opposite direction from myself so able to exchange some useful travel hints on good hotels and what to see. One man had discovered a tennis court in the Club grounds and had not only been given a racket, plus an opponent, but had also been allowed to win.
Went for a quick look around the house before bed. Discovered another huge fire burning in the Reading Room, also a Men’s Bar, a room for TV, board games, cards (all provided), a two boarded darts room and a huge room with two snooker (billiard?) tables with acres of space around them.
The Colonial British were certainly games loving. In the grounds, the four tennis courts all have spacious surroundings, one is used for playing cricket. There’s also a mini golf course, supposedly one of the best in Asia. Not much danger of having nothing to do, assuming you’re fit enough to do it and if not then it’s a beautiful place in which to rest.
I got lost…..and sometime later, rediscovered the North Wing, my room and my hot water bottle.
Love
P.
Nuwara Elia, in the Hills 21.8.86
Dear All
Have written ‘in the hills’ because that’s what it seems like though, in fact, this must be a huge basin at the top of some pretty high mountains. But looking out of the window this morning, a thickly wooded green hill is what I saw.
Arose too late for the hot water which ceased at 8.00, possibly a ploy to get everyone down to breakfast early. Got lost and found between the grand staircase of the North and South suites before rediscovering the dining room with huge silver bowls of waxy red flowers dotted everywhere.
Daylight revealed a huge Tudor style dining room with stags’ heads and blackened oil paintings decorating the walls. Recognised, with difficulty in their casual clothes, some of last night’s companions. Had a brief chat before enjoying fresh pineapple juice and my habitual toast and coffee, served in an attractive white china cup with a deep turquoise crested rim.
Decided to have a leisurely day so set off ambling down to the town in the morning. It proved to be more in character with Sri Lanka than the beautiful Lake District style architecture on the surrounding hills. The Post Office did stand out though, a Gothic-shaped building with clock tower painted salmon pink with white paint between the bricks. Very toy townish.
The neighbouring bank was infinitely more efficient that yesterday, carbon paper avoided writing everything in triplicate, but three signatures were still necessary. All such transactions were carried out behind the main counter area. This looked very quaint from the rear, a foot high platform on which were perched extra-long legged wooden chairs, behind a two-foot-high brass counter grill which ran around two sides of the bank. Most people on the public side just reached it at about shoulder height. A visit to the bank would appear to be a family outing.
Along the main street were little shops selling quite a range of products eg. a variety of chemical and pharmaceutical products, plus groceries, plus furniture, plus funerals and undertakers; and on the pavements lots of little stalls including many sellers of warm sweaters, anoraks and hats; and more surrounded by old shoes, obviously not too old for some, carrying out sole repairs with bits of knotted string. Found the inevitable betel nut sellers, plus meat sellers, plus lottery ticket sellers, plus all manner of household goods and cheap plastic products. Only white dolls for children to play with.
En route to the park, where I’m now writing to you, crossed over a zebra crossing and, to my AMAZEMENT, the traffic stopped! The colonials left more than houses in this corner of the hills.
The park isn’t very impressive. It’s attractively laid out with some lovely trees, but the flowers are very end of season or nonexistent. But it’s wonderfully hot, not humid and the sky is a deep blue. Apparently at this time of year it’s more likely to be cold, grey and misty. My luck is in.
Strolled back up to The Club and got all excited at the sight of a pushchair on the lawn, the first I’ve seen since leaving home. Babies and small children, both here and in the Maldives, are carried until they can walk, sometimes by siblings not much larger than themselves.
Now ensconced in a basketwork chair on the lawn awaiting my ‘picnic’ lunch. ‘Medem’ is going to find it so strange having to look after ‘Medem’ herself once back home.
After lunch, Ranjit came to pick me up to drive to the Botanical Garden. Found him in good spirits, he’d seen an old friend in the morning and had a drink. Fortunately, he was driving very slowly.
Noticed on the way out of The Club that the rose beds were surrounded by a border of curly cabbages! Apparently, lots of cabbages and other vegetables are grown in this cool area. The hillsides are sculpted in beds (Father, do you remember those next door?) and terraced along the hillsides. There certainly are some lovely plants around.
The Botanical Garden is sculpted on a very large ledge of the mountainside overlooking lower ridges of mountain, with the plain we travelled across yesterday, in the distance. More beautiful trees including two baby oak trees, looking more like bushes, sent from U.K. five years ago. The Garden was founded about the beginning of this century by an Englishman and the rose garden was full of familiar species plus one stranger, a green rose! Close by was a rock garden filled with Busy Lizzies, Petunias, Pansies and all our other familiar summer border plants.
I’ve just eaten some kind of lavender leaf, a begonia leaf and a nasturtium leaf. Why don’t we too eat these plants in salads? A little man belonging to the Garden is taking me around, keeps bringing me all manner of leaves and crumpling them up to reveal their perfume, lots are used in herbal medicine. What a very interesting afternoon.
Had tea back at home on the lawn before wandering the lanes around The Club grounds. Regretting that I’ve only got plastic shoes so I can’t walk very far, the air is so invigorating.
Back to the candle-lit evening meal with a very healthy appetite. Delight, my favourite mulligatawny soup followed by the most delicious ‘pizza’ ever. A crunchy pastry base topped with a thick portion of chopped up fish with spicy seasoning, covered with grilled cheese and garnished with lettuce and tomato. At this point I was full up, but the meal continued. A pork chop in salami sauce, what a whopper, about four times the average size, covered with the now very familiar ‘strings’ of carrot and leek. Some kind of dumpling was served with it also cabbage baked in egg and roast new potatoes. Dessert followed; a chocolate mousse covered with a creamy nut-filled sauce.
Adjourned to the fire for coffee before retiring early. Then tapping on the door, a worried-looking waiter, “Sorry Medem for the disturb.” I’d forgotten to sign my bill.
Love
P.
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Photos - Couldn't locate my slides so only postcards.
Next Week - Sri Lanka - Part 2
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For Lovers of Reading - Sri Lankan, Shehan Karunatilaka, has just won the Booker prize with his novel 'The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida', living through the Sri Lankan civil war in the late 1980's.
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For Art Lovers -https://www.naomielfredross.com/post/the-anxious-artist-pandemic-self-portraits.