Nuwara Elia to Kandy 22.8.86
Dear All,
Left Nuwara Elia early in the morning and began to drive down from the high hills.
Passed Jeff Engineering on the way out of town and yet more little English-style residences. I wonder whether they all have hot water. Regarded Ranjit’s farewell prayer and loving stroke of the steering wheel with greater devotion today though, luckily, the road in this direction is less pot- holed.
Driving down from Nuwara Elia at about 8,000 feet to Kandy at 1,600 feet we began to see fewer men wearing cotton sarongs with old jackets and a variety of head gear.
Stopped for lunch and a cool rest in a little Rest House on the hillside overlooking the now ubiquitous tea plantations. Didn’t stay quite as long as intended as the place was suddenly invaded by a group of English tourists which included several teachers. They were busy talking about discipline programmes in their various schools whilst their Sri Lankan guide reveled in reading an English newspaper story about Mrs. Thatcher’s underwear!
Definitely ready to move on but couldn’t find Ranjit. Discovered him having his lunch. Food prices decreased as we descended in altitude, and he’d been starving himself at the costly Hill Club. Bet he’s cursing me.
Began to see lots of manure littering the roadside from where it’s carried to fertilise the fields. In spite of the guaranteed presence of cows every few yards along the roadside, their droppings aren’t sufficient, and fertiliser has to be imported.
Also passed many vegetable stalls standing on remote ledges selling beautiful freshly washed carrots, beetroots, leeks, cabbages, white radishes and turnips, with small boys waving multi-coloured bunches of flowers, running alongside the car around hairpin bends.
Many bends later, suddenly realized that it was the same small boy, dripping with sweat, who kept appearing. As we’d zigzagged down the mountainside, he’d been leaping straight down the steep slope using paths known only to him. So, there he was, waving the same bunch of flowers, now both boy and flowers looking decidedly tired. Couldn’t help but reward his weariness. The car now perfumed with flowers as we drove on down.
Acres and acres of tea plantations continued, each with a huge white three storey factory building, its number on the roof in giant letters, not unlike a new comprehensive school. Ranjit wouldn’t stop just anywhere, had to go to Glenloch, a number of good repute. Had a tester cup of tea first, sugar allowed but no milk, before I set off to tour the factory.
The tea leaves, only the freshest green leaves are picked, are brought in huge loads to the first section where they are placed on long trays, each with a hot air fan which softens the leaves. They’re turned over during this time, the time spent in each section escapes me but it’s a matter of hours rather than days. Apparently, there are three grades of tea, each grown at different mountain levels and that grown at the highest level is the best quality.
The dampened leaves appeared to be flung onto the floor, in fact they were being fed into a shute which took them down to the next layer. Here they were ground and reground and reground in a very hot room redolent with tea odour.
On to another section reminiscent of the floor of a mosque, a shining tiled platform about a foot above the ground was piled with tea in neat sections rather like a well - groomed flower bed.
From here, a section at a time, the tea passed through a hatch where, presumably, the grade was noted.
Into another large machine where, I think, it was cleaned. I was too busy trying to negotiate photos of the workers when my film ran out. Picture after picture of machinery can get boring.
Finally, into a little machine which somehow churned out seven different end products ready for boxing.
And finally, samples of each variety from the finest orange peko, through about eight others, (photos will provide the exact number), graded down to the powder used in tea bags, the cheapest, whilst a really fully twigged section looked remarkably like P.G.Tips.
I reckon we pay cheaply for our tea, all those processes I’ve just described plus those poor women, baskets balanced on ropes around their heads, moving around the hillsides like mountain goats.
I bought some of the finest orange peko tea. Hope it’s fully appreciated by the recipients.
Tour over we drove on downhill, anoraks and hats gradually disappearing from view, men’s sarongs turned up to the knee or loosened and waving in the breeze.
Lakes came into view down below, apparently part of some huge new irrigation and hydroelectric power project.
Timber factories began to appear, a return too to paddy fields, tractors and buffalo carts, and the railway which seemed to be used as a footpath as much as by the train. Have only seen the train once. The engine is a huge metal box construction with a V-shaped metal panel attached to its square front, ready to lift anything unexpected off the line.
A lot of people, men in particular, appear to have had polio judging from the number with one thin leg and a club foot.
Arrived at the outskirts of Kandy, the last capital of the Sri Lankan Kings, and drove around the university campus, pink buildings scattered over a huge tree – filled area including a mosque, a temple and a church.
On to the Botanical Gardens filled with family groups and clusters of young students. The orchid house, supposedly one of the best in Asia, was a scraggy disappointment but still a wonderful location for the taking of professional photos of families.
The palm trees really were spectacular, some planted in high avenues, a huge number of different varieties, more than I remember in Singapore. Shrubs were now mostly quite familiar, but the flowers were disappointing, many familiar English bedding plants also some chrysanthemums. Hidden between them, and much more colourful, were young couples, a rare sight probably students, men in trousers, women in short dresses.
A short, slow drive from the Gardens into Kandy. Thought that Ranjit was concerned about my welfare, but it seemed not, he was actually driving slowly so that he could find a shop selling spare car parts, something to do with a filter. I said no more but think we both heaved a sigh of relief when the car made it up a series of very steep hairpin bends to reach my third hotel, recommended by fellow travellers, appropriately named, The Hilltop.
Discovered a pleasant blend of international style comfort couched in a more traditional design. Seemed to walk miles to my room down a series of layers cut into the hillside, past a beautiful boomerang – shaped pool with space to swim as opposed to just splash about, an open restaurant, a basket - chaired lounge area and attractive shops. Continued on down to the rooms, each with its own balcony looking onto a lovely view of a wide valley fringed with wooded hills and the town of Kandy, brown roofed, yellow walled old buildings, white walled new ones. Way down below the hotel is a large railway station, a long-distance bus depot, a minibus depot and lots of traffic. Kandy is the second most important town in Sri Lanka.
Now as I write, it’s 6.30 ish, can hear a buzzing – like chant coming from the Sacred Temple of the Tooth, extremely important in Buddhism and the focus of a spectacular festival, the Perrahera just a short while ago.
I could have come to see the last day but just couldn’t face the crowds and the crush. Hope I’ll have a chance to read up about it and return with a little more energy another year.
Gradually feeling more relaxed now. It seems the hotel has been fully booked for days because of the Festival but now most people have left. Swam peacefully in the pool and sunbathed as the sun went down. It’s definitely getting warm again.
Casually glanced at a notice on the bedroom table – BEWARE OF MONKEYS. PLEASE KEEP WINDOWS CLOSED! – in English, French and German. And there’s a Bible in German, French and English. The only thing offered in Singhalese seems to be breakfast – ‘String Hoppers/Roti (see Colombo House), Kiribabh (undiscovered) with Fish or Beef curry, Pol Sambol (little dish of savoury bits) or Kata Sambol, Kiri Hodi (unknown) with tea or coffee, in bed if you wish’. Think I’ll stick to fresh pineapple or passion fruit juice.
The chant, strangely reminiscent of the Call to Prayer in Male, has now been deafened by lively jazz dance music being pumped freely into the rooms! Relief, just found a switch to erase it.
Taken off by Ranjit in search of cultural dances. Really you should see these performed as part of a festival to get the true atmosphere but, fortunately for me, this particular troupe of about twenty-eight performers, perform on a regular basis for tourists.
Doubted Ranjit’s judgement when he led me into a casino at some Country Club. Fortunately, he continued through the casino and into a little theatre beyond where several rows of tourists were sipping fizzy drinks and reading programme notes. All of the dances are very symbolic, so it helps to know something about the stories behind them.
Was VERY impressed by the dancers and the Kandyan dance tradition. The dancers were dressed in tight leg coverings, on top of these a sari - like skirt depending on the dance, topped by a variety of frilled skirts often with dangling belts and ankle bells. Women wore the typical tight – fitting sari bodices with very ornate head pieces and jewellery. Men wore lots of metal bracelets and bead – like chest coverings plus all manner of hats including several with long pompoms or floor length ribbons which were tossed about at intervals. The colours of the costumes were vibrant, spectacular, a real artist’s palette of vivid colours.
The dancing was equally vivid, arms and legs moving energetically in varied directions, as legs and feet too moved almost unceasingly. Lots of knee lifting and open knee bending, not unlike some Indian dancing I’ve seen but totally unlike other Asian dances. They smiled and laughed and were obviously thoroughly enjoying themselves whilst in no way could their professionalism be doubted.
Hands and arms were very important movements but in many dances, sticks were introduced also tambourines, spinning tops and baskets. The men flung themselves around unceasingly, even better than Russian dancers I’ve see. They even had fire dancers.
All this dancing was backed by drums of different shapes and sizes, strange, curved horns, flutes and a conch shell, all very loud and rhythmic. Haven’t enjoyed anything so much in ages.
Afterwards we were all moved to a little amphitheatre out of doors where the men, again to the accompaniment of drums, hopped over hot coals and blew balloons of fire into the sky without any apparent sign of pain or physical injury.
All in all, it was a very successful evening. Ranjit had enjoyed himself too. Reeking of beer he announced that he hadn’t watched the dancing, he’d seen it all before so went into the casino to try his luck and, he was lucky! He’d placed an initial bet of 10 rupees (grand sum of 25p, no great risk taker here, could tell that from his concern over the car filter) and, by a stroke of good fortune, had multiplied it to 370 rupees at which point he decided that the Gods had seen fit to bless him enough and he’d better stop.
He also announced, “We must be pals you know, the only thing is, I can’t remember your name!” As we crept home at five mile per hour, I agreed (though I had assumed we’d been pals from the outset of our trip.) But maybe, he was just anticipating my wrath at his next announcement as we rounded the bend of the last steep hill home with a louder noise than usual, “That’s another puncture you know, that’s two, and the filter to repair.” As pals what could I say but, “Yes.”
Love Pen
Kandy cont. 23.8.86
Dear All
Slept well, certainly more easily than in the tropical heat. Ranjit, having repaired the punctures, was waiting to take me to the Temple. He always sleeps in the drivers’ quarters provided by the hotel at a reasonable price. Apparently, the food is less reasonably priced, so he doesn’t eat!
Talking of dinner, forgot to mention last night’s dinner eaten in The Queen’s Hotel, THE old colonial hotel right in the centre of town. The rooms had certainly seen better days, rather like an old railway hotel but inside the dining room, the menu looked good – avocado vinaigrette, mulligatawny soup, beef curry, potato curry, cucumber curry, dahl, spicy coconut sauce, string hoppers and egg hoppers, crème caramel and tea – for just under £3.00! Only me in the restaurant whereas last week, because of the Festival, tourists were queuing for over half an hour, sometimes over an hour.
Anyway, in spite of the Festival being over there were still queues of people waiting to go into the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic situated in the original Royal Palace grounds. The Temple is famous because it contains one of Lord Buddha’s teeth mounted on a golden lotus flower and protected by seven caskets, very, very, very rare to get a glimpse of The Tooth, even during the holy Perrahera Festival a replica is paraded around the town.
Prince Danta and Princess Hemamala who brought the tooth relic to Sri Lanka in 362 AD.
As I queued barefoot on the stairway, suddenly realised there were a lot of tiny babies around. Seems that a first trip out for many is to the Temple. People were also carrying handfuls of flower petals and coconut shells filled with jasmine flowers as offerings.
The first courtyard housed the entrance to the base of the shrine, all richly decorated with carved wood painted in yellow, red, black and white with lots of birds, flowers and king motifs. Two huge elephant tusks guarded the entry whilst it was unexpected to see TV cameras hanging watchfully from the ceiling.
All of this was on a central platform in the courtyard. Around its edge were the pink walled, brown wooden windows home of monks who live here permanently.
Young monk with begging bowl.
Actually, very few monks currently around.
Four drummers arrived in white sarongs with wide red belts and white scarves wrapped tightly around their heads. They began pounding their drums whilst another played a high wailing flute, vaguely reminiscent of a one-horned bagpipe. Temple workers opened the door of the shrine with a giant silver key and began to carry in offerings to the chamber above.
Joined the queue of those mounting the outer stairway and then, squashed into the mele of those wanting a close view, squeezed around an alcove with a door opening into the shrine. Others just moved quickly past in the outer lane having placed their flowers on a table already laden with colour and perfumes.
Well, seeing The Tooth was as rapid and lacking in impact as seeing our Crown Jewels, just a quick view of a golden dome before being pushed on. However, I’m sure that for the devout Buddhist pilgrims all around it must have been a unique, very moving experience.
Decided to abandon culture temporarily to move to a George – recommended Guest House high on another hill with a fantastic view down onto the lake, The Temple to the right, the town stretching out to the left at the foot of five layers of mountains rising behind.
This Guest House, Castle Hill, is a lovely solid spacious bungalow sitting on a plateau with beautiful, well – kept gardens on the terrace below it. My room has our kitchen-type mat floor covering, thirty squares long and fourteen squares wide. Go compare it with yours for size! The lounge-diner is on a similar grandiose scale, you could hold Come Dancing Championships here and still have room for spectators. There’s a wonderful giant, highly ornate glass lampshade hanging over the dining table and birds fly through freely from the gardens not even aware that they have left the wild.
Had an unexpected phone call from Colombo Guest House, Air Lanka wanted to know whether I actually wanted the return flight. British Council have given my confirmation twice already yet still I had to send another confirmation by telegram. Very cheap, hope I’ve paid enough for it to arrive.
Returned to culture in the afternoon looking around the old King’s Palace, the Museum, the Art and Craft Centre. Needed a lot of imagination to build up disintegrating wooden beams and worn-down stones, apparently the British took over from the last Kandyan King about 1815. Very embarrassing being told all of these details of colonialism in one place after another.
The palm leaf books were beautiful, strips of palm about a foot long and an inch wide, each with two holes near the centre, a number of strips held together by string running through the holes with a protective wooden cover decorated with carving or lacquer work. For writing I can’t remember what ink was used, maybe from a gall, or soot, and the pen, maybe a finely sharpened stick? A lot of them were medical books. There was also a big display of betel pouches worn by the servants of rich people, and betel nut cutters, rather like heavy duty nut crackers.
In the Art and Craft Centre saw brass work, masks and very attractive patchwork in red, black and white cotton. Which reminds me, earlier in the morning we went in search of a certain valley famed for its craft work. There certainly were some attractive well-produced goods but when people are selling just a handful of goods from their homes it's difficult to say no. Batik was familiar as in Malaysia and Indonesia but the brass, copper and silver inlay trays were new to me.
Had a brief wander by the lake attractively surrounded by a wall, topped with little triangular sections of stone each with a hole in. It seems that they are filled with oil lamps at Festival time. Wandered into the garden of the Queen’s Hotel for tea and found it peopled with cats. A chap came over for a chat. Apparently, the cats were imported to eat the rats but the two have become friends, now both cats and rats have multiplied. It seems also that a big hotel chain wants to convert the hotel into a five-star destination but with all the present political problems the government isn’t prepared to agree to it.
Back at Castle Hill, dinner was chicken rice in a tasty sauce plus carrots, beans and potatoes followed by a delicious nutmeg and cinnamon pudding, before heading for the Dance Evening again. Ranjit thinks I’m crazy about dance. He had the sense not to trust his luck again and didn’t play the tables.
In case I haven’t mentioned it, he’s about the height of Father when unravelled and is equally thin, wearing tight-waisted trousers with bell-bottomed legs. He’s lost his bottom teeth so when he opens his mouth, he looks like a hippo smiling.
Love
P.
Dambulla 24.8.86
Dear All,
Bade farewell to Kandy and headed downhill, back to the valley to paddy fields, rubber plantations, tea plantations. Lots of stone cutting at the roadside and women doing their washing in the rivers.
On car number plates there’s a tiny squiggle in Singhalese after the first two numbers, apparently a Buddhist symbol of Good Luck, much respected though you’d never think so the way they drive.
Stopped at the Spice Gardens of Ranjit’s friend. Very interesting stroll through a wide variety of trees and creepers. When leaves are taken off, they have no perfume until crumpled then all manner of familiar perfumes become apparent. I must keep my notes and match them with my slides if they’re successful. I was talked into buying all the ingredients to make a Sri Lankan curry. “You’ll try anything,” dourly commented Ranjit. Anyway, I’ll practice and give you a feast one day Ma!
Seems that Ranjit didn’t have any breakfast this morning, he was only offered bread and he wanted string hoppers and curry, so we stopped at the next Rest House to feed him up. He died laughing when I said that I needed to feed myself up too in preparation for the climb up to the Dambulla Rock Temples in the heat.
“Go on, you climb it. I’ve seen it all before.” Ranjit was obviously not going to act as my guide, more rational to sleep. The car stopped at the base of a large flat-topped greyish rock, totally bare and uninteresting to the eye, giving no indication of anything out of the ordinary inside it.
Started the slow fifteen-minute (seemed endless) toil upwards in the heat accompanied by a young man of ‘poor family’. He’d failed his exams and needed to support his family. Since my money was not forthcoming, he turned back down to the car park in search of more generous company. I then met two small boys, one of whom astounded me with his poetic prose by reciting in one sentence, “Hello, how are you, what is your name, where do you come from?” in English, German, French, Spanish, Italian and Japanese, said, ”Thank you,” and passed on.
Puffed and blowed on up interminable steps cut out of the rock and came to three old men demanding money, one of them announcing that he was ninety years old. Reckon since he can climb that slope he ought to be selling the secret of his success.
Finally reached the top and a view down onto dried out countryside (it should be the rainy season now but it isn’t), with small trees and little mountains dotted all around, vaguely reminiscent of Greece.
But the rock was a surprise. Various entrances with white stone doorways had been cut into it. Entering the first I was stunned to find the recumbent figure of a 47 foot reclining Buddha actually carved from stone at the back of the cavern. Hard to see except with the torch of a guide lighting up its sinuous body with smaller statues at its head and feet. The whole of the exposed rock area was covered with paintings in the Buddhist tradition. Quite amazing.
The next cavernous temple was even more spectacular, fifty- six large seated Buddhas, and more Buddhist figures painted on the ceiling, five hundred of them apparently. Never seen anything quite like it before. In the next temple found a similar number of standing Buddhas, and many significant figures were pointed out on the walls which, in my ignorance of Sri Lankan history and Buddhist tradition, meant little to me.
And finally, another reclining Buddha constructed far more recently out of bricks and paint, though don’t know how. Altogether a hugely unexpected collection of statues, never before seen so many collected together in such a small area.
Outside wild monkeys gambolled around, a great attraction for some photographers. Did I tell you I saw a tiny monkey in Kandy dressed as a cowboy. He leapt onto his minibike and cycled after his master.
Walking downhill from the temples was much easier, but decided to postpone till tomorrow the next climb, longer and more difficult at Sigirya Rock just down the road.
Came instead to a hotel chosen from the guide book. Attraction points, an Olympic size pool plus kids pool set in acres of grounds, with rooms snaking around the pool, restaurant and lounge open to the air.
Splashed around in the pool, the only person in this huge residence until a minibus disgorged its contents into the pool. Thought at first they were speaking a Northern dialect but no, maybe Scandinavian.
Late afternoon decided to take a walk but was advised not to be back late, wild elephants sometimes come after dark!! Got as far as the gate and saw a troupe of about twenty wild monkeys trouping through the trees opposite, so headed for home. You definitely didn’t produce a Jane of the Jungle.
The ‘Scandinavians’ drank a great deal and were very noisy in the bar, whilst I had an early dinner in solitude. Surprising, onion soup and fillet steak, delicious, Sri Lankan food is only served at lunchtime. Spent the evening trying to complete the Maldives Report. All those experiences seem so far away now.
Love
P.
Sigirya 25.8.86
Dear All,
Another athletic morning in store as set off to visit Sigirya Rock Fortress, a huge mass of grey rock rather like a Yorkshire pudding prior to collapse. Drove to the base where Ranjit, draped in a yellow and brown sarong and yellow shirt, obviously had no intention of doing any climbing but suggested I steer clear of guides today.
The path winding up to the first stage wasn’t difficult and at 7.30am was very peaceful as the vendors weren’t yet installed, neither were the beggars. But then the steps began to get steeper and steeper with more of them before a welcome flat breathing step.
Breaks came in these flat sections of rock where platforms had been carved out for various purposes. Actually, a guide would have been very useful ,for apart from knowing it was a fifth century fortress, you needed to use your imagination a great deal to create buildings from such scanty ruins.
High on the underface of an overhanging rock I could see a large box clinging to the rock many metres above the ground, well above the tree line. This housed the famous frescoes seen on postcards in all tourist centres. Having climbed up to this box, I then had to navigate a tall metal spiral staircase, fortunately encased in wire netting as it was precariously attached to the rock. No looking down!
The frescoes were in a hollowed-out section of the rock, large beautifully painted ‘cloud’ maidens bearing flowers and fruit to some unseen person. They must have been fantastic when they were first created, fantastic even now when only a small section of the wall remains. Artists certainly didn’t work under easy conditions then or now.
Next stage up was another plateau. Thank God! On rounding an unexpected corner, a drink's stall appeared. I’d have paid twice the asking price for the effort involved in carting crates of bottles up so many steep steps. Here were two huge lion’s paws carved out of the rock on either side of the foot of a staircase leading up to the last stage of the rock.
Debated whether or not to climb up the metal staircase which scaled the very face of the rock high above. One would-be guide insisted that it was quite an easy climb so decided to press on.
The first stage wasn’t too bad, could keep taking breathers with views of the surrounding countryside but discovered, to my horror, the last section had tiny stepping places cut out of the rock itself with a patterned metal rail alongside, the only thing to stop one plummeting to the ground if one should slip in the wrong place! My guide was a huge support, took my plastic shoes, inclined to slip, and when it came to climbing down, infinitely more frightening than going up, he descended backwards in order to guide my bare feet! Well worth the necessary fee.
However, the summit of the rock made the climb worthwhile. Here were the ruins of a red brick building plus large water cisterns and a huge bathing pool carved out of the rock for the King’s use. Must have been spectacular in its day. Down below, a view of the remains of the ornate palace used in peacetime, now being restored thanks to a UNESCO donation. The fortress reminded me of King Herod’s fortress at Masada in Israel. Both must have lost thousands of slaves during the building process.
Now cooling off at the poolside and the ‘Scandinavians’ are fooling around in the water having also climbed the Rock. They’re not Scandinavians, they’re Dutch. The only thing to mar this pleasant breezy situation is the flies, dozens of little black dots which won’t go away.
Back to the car to drive on towards the coast. Stopped at a country bank, with shotgun at the door, the fastest service yet. Worn out after all my exercise, so great difficulty keeping my eyes open as Ranjit sped along towards home. Stopped at a lovely vegetable stall where he bought a huge bag of vegetables picked that day.
One young owner of the stall begged to have his photo taken, was very despondent to hear I had slides not prints. “You give me cigarette,” was despondent to discover I didn’t smoke. ”You give me toffee, bonbon,” couldn’t believe I had no sweets. Finally, in an effort to make some contact, he gave me his address so that I could write to him.
Positively screeched around corners when we reached Negombo coming to a halt outside Ranjit’s home, a nice bungalow with huge somewhat dusty rooms, a beautiful nineteen year old daughter and an attractive wife, obviously delighted to see him and the vegetables. Stayed long enough for a drink then back onto the road.
Frustrating to be so close to the sea but not be able to see it due to a bank of grass with coconut trees rising up from the beach. Negombo is a fishing resort, boats mostly quite old with catamaran sides, were docked in a lagoon away from the sea. Alas, Ranjit was in no mood to linger, still one hour drive to Colombo then a two hour drive back home.
Took a quiet road parallel to the coast, running alongside a canal where lots of people were having their wash of the day, all very public though not displaying any private parts. The canal was filled with larger red and blue fishing boats again having come through the lagoon from the coast.
Gradually the road got busier and we finally reached the main Colombo road, the bustle of a six lane highway and considerably more traffic.
Funny driving back to the now familiar car hire place. Much playing around with figures, calculating miles and kilometres, gallons and litres to arrive at the grand total, The car hire man, like me, counting it all on his fingers before checking the additions with a calculator. Big misunderstanding till realised that he was dealing in miles whist my figures were in kilometres!
Finally sorted it out and Ranjit drove me to my final destination, Colombo House. A brief thank you and farewell to him, before finding a worried welcome awaiting me, still no confirmation of my flight from Air Lanka, British Council had been phoning them all day.
Decided to relax and enjoy possibly my last Singhalese meal, tasty curry with fried rice and five side dishes.
Love
Pen
Colombo 26.8.86
Dear All,
Did a double take at breakfast as recognised the young chap from the British Council who I’d met on the return flight home last year and who, I’d heard, was returning. He did a triple take when I addressed him by name as he didn’t recognise me at first. Proceeded to catch up on the last year. Quite a novelty having a native English speaker to converse with.
A phone call from the British Council rested my worry at the possibility of being stuck in Colombo for a few extra days. My flight had been confirmed for that evening as originally booked.
Wandered around to the Council later that day to collect my ticket and to see John Keleher, the person responsible for liaising with the Maldives. Talked over my Report and possible developments for the future, very helpful.
Lunch back at ‘home’ where coincided again with David so had another chat. Afterwards took off to see Colombo Museum, much larger than anticipated though not very well lit so difficult to see clearly some very ornately decorated ivory, brass and wood which I particularly liked. Also a modern exhibition of puppets from different countries.
About to drop from fatigue after an hour there, so walked on to drop at the Taj, possibly the largest and most beautiful modern hotel in town, modern in an ancient style. Now sitting beside its huge pool sipping a cool drink and making the most of this extravagantly luxurious lifestyle.
Moved on for a last stroll up and down Galle Face, the walk by the sea where kids fly their kites. Became engaged in conversation, via a written dialogue, with a personable young man who was deaf and, therefore, dumb but well able to carry on a written conversation. Most interesting.
Walked on to my favourite Galle Face Hotel for a final drink and bumped into John Keleher again just off for a swim. Began chatting to a man at a neighbouring table who was Eurasian, I think. He’d been working in the local family business for years. Spends three months a year in Europe selling their precious gems.
A last long stroll home along the bustling street for dinner with David. It certainly has been a chatty day. Then a quick change and off to the airport for a three hour wait, after which I still didn’t get a window seat, the flight is extremely full.
Quite surprised in the Departure lounge to notice several couples with tiny babies in large carrier baskets. Looked again more closely and realised that the babies were all brown and the couples were all white, late thirtyish and, I think, Dutch. Wouldn’t be surprised if, like Lynne and Charlie they couldn’t have children and so had gone East to adopt a baby.
Most odd seeing babies haven’t seen such tiny ones the whole time I’ve been away, they’re normally kept indoors for the first few weeks and when they do come out, they’re always carried in the arms of the mother or someone in the family. No doubt the basket is a symbol of the space they will learn to expect around them as they are European bred.
Aboard the Plane 27.8.86
Actually, managed to doze for a while in my middle aisle seat. Landed in Dubai for an hour but not allowed to leave the plane, not surprised after the huge security checks in getting us onto it.
Now just had breakfast and, although the plane should be going to Amsterdam, the pilot has just mentioned something about Frankfurt. As long as it eventually reaches London I don’t mind. Apparently with heavy winds to battle against we’re low on fuel, hence the diversion to Frankfurt to take on some more.
But later, maybe the wind eased, or we took a shorter route, the plane landed in Amsterdam, grey, wet, 55 degrees having left 85 degrees in Colombo. Off descended the Dutch laden with orchid plants and basketsful of babies. I wonder what they’ll make of their lives in Europe.
Man with a shotgun has just come on board to guard the cleaning crew. Not quite sure who ‘s supposed to be the greatest danger to whom? The man behind me will be a danger soon if he’s not allowed to get off the plane, he’s been on it for twenty hours.
Last hop across the Channel, with a newly acquired window seat, was a mere nothing compared to all those cloud miles stretching back to the tropics.
Miles to walk at Gatwick in search of luggage, then able to cope with a trolley until the last set of stairs to reach the railway platform where a porter was essential. “It’s all right Pet, I’ll do it for you,” announced a voice with a broad Scottish accent. Haven’t been called ‘Pet’ for years!
Home at last. Lots of dust but not too many bills. Fortunately, it doesn’t all yet seem like a dream.
Crumple the enclosed leaves in your fingers and see they smell of anything recognisable.
love
Pen
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GOOGLE: Best places to visit in Sri Lanka.
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Well, that's it, the end of the cache of old letters discovered during Lockdown.
Thanks to those of you who've shared your visits to some of the same locations at different times in different circumstances, all enjoyable reading.
For me, the delight was rediscovering what a fearless person I once was, so long ago. And now, here's to healthy and happy times for all of us.
love
Pen
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