Kandy and the East Coast

Day 128 - 3rd September 14

I leave early for Galle, meeting Hannah where we travel together to Colombo. She has miraculously persuaded the embassy to extend my visa claiming that I could not extend in person as I am suffering from an illness. Even Janaka is not quite able to believe that this was possible.

The ticket system at the railway station is confusing - a number of different rooms house ticket counters each selling tickets to only one destination. An posh-accented English man with a red, pompous face is bossing around a Sri Lankan in the queue in front of me. It's unclear whether the Sri Lankan is his personal assistant or just someone trying to help. The English man, worried he will miss the train, is patronisingly demanding he buy him a ticket immediately. The Sri Lankan man looks perplexed as they can't jump the ticket queue. He starts trying to show him a book while

they wait, but the English man snaps at him: 'Get me my ticket, then we can talk!' In actual fact the Englishman had misunderstood the time the train was leaving and once this has been explained to him by the Sri Lankan, he now looks a little stupid and he attempts to mask his flustered demeanour and embarrassment beneath an unconvincing calm composure. When he reaches the counter in front of us, he orders his ticket. On being told the price, he complains brusquely that he wants the most expensive ticket in the best class. Once purchased he swaggers off with the Sri Lankan, following behind him both nervously and eagerly.

We share a burger in a new area of town, nearby to the train station, before starting our journey. This railway line is famous for its incredible scenery along the track. Our allocated seats are on the lefthand side of the train, which is disappointingly the wrong side to enjoy the breathtaking landscape, but we doze for the vast majority of the journey. When I awake, the train is cutting through tunnels carved into the hard grey rock. The steep sides of the mountain ascends upwards to our left and on the other side of the track the ground cascades beneath the jungle into the luscious green valley beyond. The train's old wooden carriages and the loud chugging of its engine adds to the charm of this scene. As we near Kandy, a flock of birds fly high above, frantically flapping their wings seemingly to keep up with the speed of the train, but eventually we leave

them behind. The station still houses the varnished wooden board with the train timetable. Two monks dressed in their bright orange robes stroll past. Outside the station, we buy a snack, placed into a paper bag fashioned from 2 pieces of paper (a child's piece of finished homework), stapled together.

The hotel we are staying in is more expensive than expected, but we settle on a reasonable price and take the only room left which happens to be a delux. The furnishings are very outdated, the plastic door into the bathroom, yellowing with age and decorated with faux stained glass windows with a colourful flower pattern.

We eat in their rooftop restaurant. Cliona and Elizabeth have spent a day sightseeing and are ready to leave Kandy the following morning. Hannah has previously visited the temple here, so I plan to rise early for a quick visit before we leave.

Day 129 - 4th September 14

I set out at 8 after breakfast. It's a half hour walk from the guesthouse down the hill and around one side of the lake. The sky is blue and it's a lovely cool temperature for a stroll. I pass by a few joggers on their route around the lake. Monkeys run across the road in front of me - I watch them warily, but they are disinterested.

Majestic trees are planted along the lake, their leafy branches overhanging into the water. In the distance a pure white statue of Buddha sits serenely on top of the far hill, surveying the city and the lake from heavenly heights.

At the entrance into the temple complex, there is a security check point, the metal detector doorway no longer in use. The grassy grounds are buzzing with pilgrims making their way to the morning ceremony. A statue along the way bears the Union Jack - a throwback to British colonialism. At the entrance I'm bombarded by desperate tour guides. I leave my shoes in the little plastic cabin outside. Although I hadn't wanted to pay for a tour, an old man just inside the temple wins me over - he is dressed smartly in a clean pressed white shift and trousers, sporting a neat, white moustache. His English is excellent as he was a young man at the time of the British Raj. He has worked at the temple for many years and claims to have guided many

famous figures including Prince Charles. His guiding techniques are efficient and he hurries me into the spot with the best viewing vantage to watch the monks as they carry the sacred Buddhas tooth, stopping to have their feet washed before continuing. The tooth is kept in a casket to protect it from the elements. According to the myth, the tooth was stolen out of Sri Lanka to India but a princess retrieved it and carried it back within the locks of her hair.

Kandy drummers dressed in white and red are strumming passionately and the air is filled with incense. The tooth is ceremoniously carried upstairs to be placed inside the silver casket. Pilgrims carrying flowers are queuing up patiently to view this sacred shrine. We visit chambers opened thrice daily: one with beautiful elaborate yellow frescoes of the Buddha; another houses a statue of Buddha carved out of diamond. A large hall contains a variety of Buddha statues donated from other countries. The tour is finished and my guide rushes off to find a new group. To the left of the temple is a small building with the stuffed skin of a full sized elephant inside - this majestic animal was once the most famous elephant in Kandy.

Outside the temple is a large Christian church and a Hindu temple - a composite of multifarious religions. A charming line of old weathered shops stands on the opposite side of the street, with disintegrating wooden shutters and a few dusty signs with the names of solicitors. I

grab a coffee in a nearby cafe and walk through the city, passing hordes of young ladies all in pristine white saris. Through the little market alleyways I eventually locate the bus station, waiting here for the girls' arrival. At the bus stop in Dambulla, we are surrounded by tuk tuk drivers all desperate for our custom. We manoeuvre ourselves and our bags through this crowd and over the road, to a large popular place for lunch.

At the site a couple of monkeys block our path and circle aggressively around us. Hannah is carrying a can of coke and they can smell its sugar. She sacrifices her drink, leaving it on a flower pot. It creates a perfect Coca Cola advert as the monkey first attempts to drink from the can before giving up and pouring it out on the floor, lapping up the brown pool of fizz. The views from the top of the hill are spectacular. On one side a slanting plateau of smooth grey rock curves upwards to the cliff. The other looks out onto the plain and jutting hillocks beyond. A landscape of purple mist with a bright patch of luminous green shining like an emerald. It's not possible to buy tickets into the cave from here, but I don't fancy walking down and up the hill again and no-one else is bothered. I later regret not visiting after seeing photos of the gigantic statues of Buddha and the beautiful ageing frescoes inside.

The bus takes longer than expected to reach Sigiriya and there is little time before the gates will close. 2 of us take our bags to Lal's homestay where we

will be staying - Lal is not in but we leave the bags with his wife. The tuk tuk driver requests more money to drive the 200 metres to the ticket booths, so we get out and walk, but on the way Lal rides past on his scooter to give us a lift. He has kindly come to find us and to check all is ok. He's rotund and very smiley. We're slightly confused at first as we hadn't expected to see him here. He asks what we want for dinner before scootering off back home.

The red rock of Sigiriya shaped like a cuboid with rounded edges, strokes of dark brown and grey painted vertically down its sides, towers ahead of us. Halfway up the steps upon the rock face, we enter a small cave reached via a metal spiral staircase, with beautiful old frescoes of women, naked on their top half. Apparently one of them has two nipples upon one breast, but I'm unable to spot this. Past the mirror wall, around the side is the main entrance to the stronghold, where 2 giant lions feet stand as guards. At the top are incredible panoramic views. Flat plains stretch out ahead with boulders peering up through the trees, the rock grey and smooth like an elephants skin. A small fire burns in the distant trees. In one direction, purple mountains soar upwards, a lake of water in front fading as the sun begins to set. We ask someone to take photos of us, but as we are posing, a Chinese lady leaps into our photos, jumping up with her leg behind her like a ballerina, her floating skirt flitting around her. She's smiling at us oblivious to her

social inappropriateness. We walk around the red brick ruins of the foundations, but with no guide we have no knowledge of the original use of the buildings.

The light is failing and only two other tourists remain. We hurry down the steps as dark descends. We have no light, but a worker appears at the bottom and thankfully leads us through the maze of rocks and arches to the car park. It would have been impossible to find our own way without torches.

Lal is clearly a feeder - he has cooked up a feast: egg fried rice with vegetables; aubergine cooked in a dark, mustard sauce; chicken marinated in honey; an unidentifiable tempura vegetable (long, the cross-section shaped like a cross, the texture and flavour a little like lettuce); a deliciously creamy daal; and a salad with small chunks of

cucumber, tomatoes and onion with a little chilli. Everything is delicious and as soon as one dish has been finished, it is miraculously refilled.

Day 130 - 5th September 14

For breakfast, an obscene amount of food has been laid out on the table: small coconut chapatis with jam; rolled yellow moist pancakes layered inside with a sweet spicy date filling; toasties filled with egg; and a lot of fruit. They pack up the remaining food we have been unable to finish to take away. We flag down a bus on the side of the road outside their house while they stand in front of their gates waving us a cheery goodbye. As we wait at a road intersection to catch a second bus, we ask a small shop to use their toilet. It's in a little hut amongst the rubble and weeds in their yard. As the toilet is fetid, Hannah leaves the door ajar slightly, not realising quite how visible she is to the lady who comes out the back to check we are ok. She shouts to warn her that the door is open and that she is in plain view and then starts to giggle. We all burst into laughter.

Most of the buses in Sri Lanka have a small Buddhist shrine with kitsch statues sitting in clear plastic arched encasements at the front of the bus surrounded by flashing disco lights, Sri Lankan energetic music pumping out of the speakers. But this bus we next embark on is a

Christian bus. There's a large image of Jesus at the front and a a depiction of the Last Supper stuck on the ceiling of the bus at the back.

It's been a long day of travelling to reach Trincomalee, so we stop at the first accommodation we come to on the beach, which is very basic, but super cheap. A concrete structure of terraced huts, with little porches onto the white sand, blocked off from the beach by a metal fence. The sea is clearer here than in Unawatuna, but the water, although calm, is still murky in comparison to the beaches in Indonesia and Malaysia. A pleasant breeze sweeps in from the sea and the beach stretches far along the coast.

In the evening a security guard comes by to report the tourists currently staying. He asks how many people there are in the room. When I tell him there are 4, he corrects me and says there are 3. 'No, there are 4 of us' I repeat. 'No, there are just 3 of you' he says - so I leave out Cliona's details from the form.

We eat dinner in a restaurant further along the beach. I order a tomato salad and a potato salad, and disappointingly I literally receive a plate with sliced up tomatoes and a bowl with chunks of potato. A young child is celebrating his birthday and fireworks are being set off just a few metres away from us, but there's no concern for health and safety and they have been set up haphazardly in the

ground, some shooting directly into the sand. A lady seated closer to the hazard, hides behind her boyfriend.

Day 131 - 6th September 14

Today we take a boat to Pigeon Island to snorkel. It's an expensive trip (for Sri Lankan standards) due to the government charge to enter the national park. The visibility is poor in the first snorkeling spot, but once the tide has risen we walk to the other side of the island. As we flap over the corals searching for fishes, I see a shark only metres away. My initial reaction is to panic but I relax - apparently black-tipped reef sharps are harmless and friendly. We see many as they glide above the reef of blue spiky coral which undulates like a cornfield. They are timid and skittish, swimming swiftly out of sight, yet sighting them still sends nervous thrills down my spine, as they emerge suddenly so close by out of the dark waters.

At lunchtime, we eat snacks in the shack just off the road: triangle rotis, Chinese egg rolls and fish cutlet balls. They are friendly here, so we decide to return for dinner as the food is much cheaper than at the restaurants on the seafront. A guy called Roma chats to us. He is originally from Unawatuna, but he moved here recently to start up a turtle farm with a friend - he is struggling to make friends as everyone speaks Tamil not Sinhala here. He communicates with the

young girl in the restaurant in English. His English is excellent and it transpires he married very young to an English girl who since moved back to Cornwall and is now requesting a divorce. He proudly shows us the concrete rectangular pools which have been constructed in preparation for the turtle farm. Apparently, it is forbidden by the government to charge tourists entry until the farm has been running for at least two years, so it will be a long project before any foreseeable profit.

When we return in the evening he is still there hanging out. The confident daughter of the owner is only ten, but she's already a madam. She's wearing make up and holding lots of Sri Lankan notes in her hand, shaped like a fan. Roma has bought a bottle of whiskey and he persuades us to join him for a drink on the beach. The more we talk to him the more we are convinced he is an alcoholic. He claims to drink a bottle of spirit a day. From what we have gathered, his parents are very rich and we assume it is with their money that he fuels his addiction. He is an odd character. I lay on the sand staring at the moon leaving it to the others to converse.

It's a Saturday night and the bar nearby is lit up with candles, playing music. A traveller is dancing with her spinning hoop - she's mesmerising to watch. Two girls have linked up their iPhones to the speaker, which is pumping out their playlist - we join them, dancing

energetically on the sand. A guy from India dances professionally, so when someone plays a couple of Sri Lankan tunes, we attempt to copy his moves to learn. There's a guy from Texas who keeps us amused with his brilliant array of accents, including an Austin Powers and Sean Connery. Eventually the bar staff refuse to play music any longer, and people begin to drift home. A group on the table outside try to persuade us to stay. Due to an earlier joke, everyone now mistakenly believes it is Elizabeth's birthday, singing to her and telling her she can't go to bed yet!

Day 221 - 6th September 14

In the morning, we catch the bus along the coast to Arugam Bay. Out of the window stretched along the coastline, there are thousands of fishes large and small laid out on the ground on plastic sheets to dry, like silver jewellery at the market - a treasure trove of small metallic objects. Fishermen are hauling in a large net wrapped in a semi circle from the shore. The sand is sparkling white. Thin waves glisten in the sunlight in strips of light. The ground on the other side of the bus stretches out red terracotta. The land is flat and dry - scrubland with small trees, shrubs and bushes dotted sparsely. We pass swampy areas where mangroves grow.

At a stop along the way, a mother carries her child onto the bus. He

seems to be suffering from cerebral palsy, but he must be very heavy and it is obvious she is struggling. The bus conductor finds her a space, ordering people to move into other seats so she can use 3 seats together. Realising the woman is unable to move to the larger space with the boy in her arms, he instinctively picks up her child and passes him back once she has settled. It's nice to watch this little act of thoughtful kindness.

It's a long journey and night has fallen by the time we arrive at our guesthouse. We walk along the beach to find somewhere to eat and settle for a restaurant that serves Western food. I choose a tuna salad which really is delicious. At dinner, the subject turns to horror movies and we manage to scare each other so we decide to walk along the road back rather than the beach. On the way, we had passed numerous large fishing boats whaled on the shore, and little tent-like huts hidden in the shadows of the boats where the fishermen sleep. Male voices calling 'Party, party?' questioningly had emanated out of these small huts, and it is this that we now wish to avoid.

The guesthouse we are staying in is fully booked, but the owner has kindly lent us her office to stay for the first night, which has a double bed. There's no door, only a curtain which constantly sways open and from the corner of my eye I keep on imagining that someone is standing on the threshold. Waves crashing sounds on our doorstep. As we bed down I notice a a toad hopping under the bed. A small kitten creeps through in pursuit, which is shortly followed by some bizarre noises coming from beneath us. We strongly suspect the kitten to have been the victor in this brief exchange.

Day 132 - 7th September 14

The place we are staying is called Samantha's Folly and when we awake in the morning we fully appreciate its beauty. Cabanas and Folly's (bed's on stilts, their sides covered in colourful, decorative patterned curtains) sit on the sand. It is cut off from the sea by a little wooden garden fence, with a quaint gate that opens onto the crashing waves beyond. There's a communal wooden table with benches beneath a thatched roof, and books stacked on the bookshelf up the roof support. The food here is amazing and the portions generous. Han and I share Shakshuka and a large bowl of muesli with fresh fruit and curd. The shakshuka is cooked in little metal bowls, the tomatoes, oven baked taste almost sundried and the sprinkling of basil dressing (like pesto) above the poached eggs, is simply delicious, served with large chunky toast. After breakfast, we swim in the tall waves outside. It's quite a feat to enter the sea quickly enough without allowing a wave to crash over your head. The beach is empty. Arugam Bay is a popular location for surfers, but the beaches suitable for surfing are a short drive away. After the swim, I wash in the outside shower. It's in the centre of the garden surrounded by little plants and upon a circle of wooden decking lowered into the ground. The pipe is covered in a tube of white plaster decorated with pieces of broken mirror. Beneath the falling water, a rainbow circles my stomach like a halo and the spray creates a criss cross mesh of thin streaks of water like plastic fishing line. It's a lovely quiet haven to relax and we spend the day doing little else.

Day 133 - 8th September 14

I order the delicious shakshuka and coffee for breakfast again. The day is again spent lazily - swimming, reading, chatting, eating and drinking coffee. Whilst swimming in the morning, I inadvertently catch a wave which carries me high into the air before forcing me into its washing machine beneath.

In the evening, we eat at Danny's Place. A guy staying at Samantha's joins us. He's from the US but has been living in Australia and is about to travel Sri Lanka with his girlfriend. While he waits for her arrival he's staying here to surf and relax. Danny's wife prepares a Sri Lankan feast : okra, daal, chicken curry and a delicious chai tea with ginger. We plan to return the next day for a cookery class.

Day 134 - 9th September 14

We now understand how people get so easily stuck in this haven. Time passes by very quickly whilst doing so little. It rains today, but hidden beneath the porches of our cabanas, the pounding water is dramatic and mesmerising to watch. The follies have clear plastic sheets pulled down to keep the bed inside perfectly dry.

In the evening, we eat seafood at Why Not with 3 other travelers

staying at the guesthouse.

Day 135 - 10th September 14

In the morning, before catching a bus onwards, Elizabeth, Cliona and I head for a last morning swim. Elizabeth waivers on the brink of the shoreline, unsure of the power of the waves. After 10 minutes, she eventually takes the plunge, just as the German couple run out onto the beach. They had been watching her standing nervously at the water's edge and are shouting 'Elizabeth, Elizabeth, we came to help you!' It's incredibly sweet and they join us for a swim now.

We're sad to leave. Samantha's Folly has perhaps been the nicest place I have stayed on my travels so far. Sadly, the owners have been forced to sell the place. Samantha is from England and her husband from New Zealand. The guesthouse has been running for a longtime, but there are too many locals jealous of their success, who have accused them of taking the business in the area, despite the place accommodating up to 16 people only. Recently, there have been police raids, which has involved guests rooms being searched in the night, with the hope of finding drugs in order to close them down. Although nothing has been found, it has become too stressful to stay, so they are moving on and will find a new project in a new location.

We take a tuk tuk into town to catch the bus to Badulla. At the bus station, a small group of conspiring tuk tuk drivers insist we have already missed the bus. We refuse to believe them and wait stubbornly for the bus to arrive while they continue to attempt to persuade us to use their services instead. They use scaremongering tactics: 'Well, if you want to wait here until midnight for a bus that won't come...' When another bus driver verifies the time of the bus, he says: 'he is new here, he doesn't know.' whilst winking broadly in his direction, to which the bus driver now agrees that he doesn't know. Not surprisingly, the bus arrives at the expected time. Hannah runs off to fetch the girls who are buying snacks while I transport the bags onto the bus. One tuk tuk driver, fully aware of his defeat, is sitting on one of our bags and at first refuses to move. None of them help me. As the bus is pulling out of the station, we notice the ring leader with two female tourist victims, placing their rucksacks smugly onto his tuk tuk. Behind their backs, he crudely blows us kisses, smiling at his latest triumph. We can't help but laugh.

At Badulla, we take a tuk tuk to an Eco resort called Galapita Rocks, which has been recommended by the owners at Samantha's, for a hugely discounted price. On arrival, down a small dusty track, two plateaus of grey rock sweep downwards towards a small river, patterned with swirls, the rock cut into organic shapes where the water's flow has carved its features. The ecolodge sits upon the rock

on the other side of a small swinging wooden bridge. We are welcomed with lime juice. We are the only guests today and we walk around admiring the features and artwork in the dusky light. The dining table sits beneath a tall roof held up by tree trunks, looking out onto the sunset through the thin silhouettes of almost bare trees into the distance. A beautiful ornate wooden door, with fading Hindu paintings in its panels stands alone leading to nowhere, like the other side of the wardrobe's entrance to Narnia. Our room is open to the elements, with a roof to protect us from the rain, guarded by a large wooden goose roosting at the entrance. Beautiful quilts in mustard yellow with a tasteful floral pattern cover our beds and bright red mosquito nets surround them.

Before dinner, I meet the cook's young boy whilst wandering the grounds and play a game of hide and seek. At first he is smiley and friendly, but I soon learn he's incredibly temperamental, as his energy turns to aggression. The other girls have joined me and he now picks up a metal ended rake, swinging it irratically. It's twice as tall as his body and he brings it down onto the ground far too close to Elizabeth's feet. Once we have managed to remove the pole from his reach, he runs around trying to hit us. His movements are uncontrollable and he seems unable to distinguish between the blurred lines of what is acceptable. It feels like there is a streak of evil in this child and I can't help but liken him to the boy in 'I'm the king of the castle'. The initial beauty of this place suddenly fades with the darkness and this crazed boy in the remoteness of this spot and our vulnerability, with no lock and key into our room.

The food at dinner is tasty, but no vegetable dishes are served: string hoppers; potato curry; and a fish curry (which contains too many bones to enjoy properly). Buffalo curd is served in a clay pot with honey for desert. Its thick skin tastes almost like a cream cheese and it's delicious.

The toilet in our bathroom looks up to the sky, but is guarded by a wooden red painted puppet with beady red eyes and a rotting toothy grimace. It reminds me of the Indonesian puppet at home that I was so scared of as a child and I am irrationally afraid to go to the toilet alone.

Day 136 - 11th September 14

In the morning, we are served Sri Lankan coffee, coconut roti, mackerel and onion sambal, daal and jam. The sound of fire crackling in the wind accompanies our breakfast. Black smoke is billowing in clouds from the dry ground in the distant field. I stand and watch, catching glimpses of orange flame, wondering whether it is controlled. The shower in the stone walls of our bathroom is built

onto the rocks, the flow of water streams out of a rustic curved funnel of drift wood, like a waterfall beneath the blue sky - a truly enjoyable washing experience. I take a swim in the small river, beneath the rocks. There has not been much rainfall recently and the water barely flows. My skin is coloured brown beneath the dirty stagnant water, but the setting is too beautiful to resist. Cliona and I climb the ladder up to the tree house in the meadow of brown dry grass beyond the bridge. A wooden green painted parrot hangs on one side and the purple cushions on the rough slats of its floor are ripped and dirty. The ecolodge is no longer in the pristine condition that it must have been when first built and feels almost abandoned. We would be interested to meet the owner to discover the reasons for this. At midday, we catch a bus from here on the road to Ella.