I’m currently on the cool breezy balcony of our room overlooking the breaking surf of the Indian Ocean. Our time has been so full since we arrived that this is the first opportunity I have found to record our activities since leaving Colombo yesterday morning. I feel more comfortable than I have felt since arriving in Sri Lanka. This guest house is run by a Muslim lady. Her delightful husband used to teach English but he suffered a stroke shortly after retiring. He potters about and talks to us but he is difficult to understand as his speech and his memory are both affected. Several times a day he disappears and we hear the murmur of his prayers. There are many Muslims in this area and the mosque is nearby. Outside we can watch the men washing before entering for prayers.
Yesterday morning we hired a van for 600 rupees to drive the six of us with our luggage from Ratmalana to the railway station in central Colombo. Kate, Rob and Marc then took the train for the 3 hour ride up to Kandy, a journey that cost them less than £2 for the three of them! Neil went off to explore the markets for a couple of hours before returning to meet Jeev at the Mount Lavinia Hotel to welcome the European contingent, due to arrive from Colombo airport around lunch time. Ian and I took the train, second class, to Galle, three hours south of Colombo. Third class was packed, being only half the price, but we had both seats and a fan.
The train was an old diesel belching out black smoke all the way along the west coast. The carriages were old, battered and filthy. My legs were flea-bitten long before we arrived. The windows were wide open for the tepid breeze that wafted in along with the smoke. We were soon filthy with diesel fumes, dust and grimy sweat from the dirty plastic seats that caused our clothes to stick horribly in the heat.
Throughout the journey we were pestered by blind beggars, food vendors and self-appointed tourist guides. The last proved to be a very unpleasant experience. A seemingly delightful man opened conversation with us, talking about a friend in Cardiff who regularly visited Sri Lanka with his family. He said he was going to stay with him in Cardiff for three months in December to study tourism, because he worked for the Ceylon tourist board. We sympathised about Welsh weather in the winter, advising him to pack warm clothes. He told us that his wife and two-year old son were also going. He then chatted about Galle, telling us of places to visit and warning us about tuc-tuc drivers likely to exploit us. As he worked for the tourist office and was on his way to work anyway, he would show us where it was safe to pick up a tuc-tuc. He wrote down a list of places that we ought to try to visit and gave us his phone number so that we could ring him in the evening to tell him whether we’d enjoyed the sites he’d proposed.
We were polite but determined that first we wanted to find somewhere to stay and to explore the old town. However, we would require a tuc-tuc to take us to our chosen guest house and were grateful to have pointed out to us the certificate in Sinhala displayed on government licensed tuc-tucs for hire. He left us with a driver that he found for us, assuring us that he wanted nothing for his help and was just happy to assist us as it was a part of his job. We discovered later, to our cost, that all vehicles carry the certificate as it is actually the tax disk and the “safe” driver proved to be a fellow conspirator.
We made it very clear to the driver that we only wished to go to Fort and to find our guest house. Once in the vehicle however, we were driven off in what seemed to us to be completely the wrong direction. When we asked why we seemed to be leaving the town and heading out into the countryside the driver informed us that Fort was closed for a military conference until 2 pm. As it was now only mid-day he was taking us to see a wonderful rock temple. We were furious but it was ages before we could get him to stop and turn around. If Fort was closed, we said we’d wait at the gates until it opened, but it couldn’t be closed because it formed part of the town with people living there. Eventually we shouted at him to turn back immediately and Ian, wonderful as ever with his maps, directed him through the maze of little streets until we arrived at the guest house we were seeking. The journey cost us 580 rupees when it should have been no more than 50. I think we should have refused to pay but we were too angry to think straight. How can people be so horrid to guests visiting a country? We came with an open mind but everyone we’ve met has been out to cheat us. In any case, the guesthouse owner, Mrs. Khalid, had come out to welcome us. She saw what we were charged and later told us how badly we’d been cheated but that she’d not dared to say anything. If she spoke, the tourist “Mafia” would ensure that future guests never arrived at her house and would spread untrue stories about the standards of hygiene there. Ordinary townspeople are afraid and avoid getting involved. She seems to be a really lovely lady but the terrible thing is that we are now unsure just who can be trusted. Our room is 1,100 rupees, reduced from 1,300 as it’s out of season. She also provides breakfast, supper, and iced sodas and lime whenever we want! The house is spacious and airy, tastefully furnished and very Arab in style. Lizards run across the walls. The flooring and balconies are made of big old timber planks. We have a huge, simple bedroom, sparsely furnished, with a basic shower and loo of our own. The sea breeze blows through the glassless windows and permanently open doors. It feels cool, calm and comfortable.
After settling in and relaxing with a cold drink we were horrified to discover our evil tuc-tuc driver was waiting for us outside! We told him to go away. He said he’d wait for us even if it was for two or three hours and then drive us to the temple. I really got angry and told him we’d NEVER go in his tuc-tuc again. Eventually he got the message.
Later we walked around the ramparts of the old fort. People immediately materialised shouting “hello, hello,” attempting to open up a conversation which invariably lead to them trying to sell us some embroidered linen or some old coins or any number of bits of tat. Eventually we stopped saying “no thank you” and just asked people to go away and leave us alone. They would then look hurt and say they were only trying to help us. They would then continue to follow us around whilst we ignored them. Such an atmosphere does not make for a nice holiday, particularly in the muggy heat with nowhere in particular to go. The funniest attempt to gain our attention was from a man sitting in the gutter at the public toilets in the centre of the dirty market who tried to persuade us to use the filthy facilities and pay him for the privilege!
Down from Fort in the main part of the town we explored the fish market and tried to browse amongst the fruit and vegetable stalls. Unfortunately we attracted unwanted attention. No, we didn’t want an entire tuna fish or a crate of squid. We didn’t even want a papaya, a custard apple or a mangostine.
We found ourselves in a back street running parallel to the sea with no road between them. So we cut through a side alley. We passed between maybe a dozen squalid shack dwellings crowded with people, past a communal toilet, along a plank over an open sewer and finally clambered over a low wall into the street, where a vagrant cow blocked our way and peed at us!
Along beside the sea the drains were flooded – there had been a blessed, welcome downpour during the afternoon when we became soaked in seconds and dried off again almost as quickly. We continued to be constantly pestered by touts. They were like mosquitoes buzzing around after our blood.
As we made our way back to the guest house at dusk, a lot of local gentlemen came out to walk the little streets of Fort or to sit outside their homes and talk with friends. They are all Islamic as we are in the heart of the Moorish quarter. They were all delightful in their sarongs, baggy shirts and white, woven, flat hats. Some wore white baggy suits with long tunic tops.
We ate a wonderful vegetable curry in the company of a delightful Japanese girl who is travelling alone. Mrs. Khalid’s son told us we should stay an extra night, as there was much that is nice around Galle to be discovered. The pleasant breeze and the lack of mosquitoes in our room convinced us he was right. All night the breeze blew in through the glassless windows and the open door to our balcony giving us a cool and comfortable night’s rest.
After breakfast this morning we walked down into the town through some pleasant wooded gardens where we saw a three-foot long lizard lumber slowly across our path and disappear into the bushes. We ignored the constant buzz of the human mosquitoes and made our way to the tourist office where we met a couple of very pleasant and helpful official guides from the Ceylon Tourist Board. They gave us lots of free leaflets and asked us to complete an official form of complaint about the tout we met on the train yesterday. They then arranged for us to take a three-hour trip with an honest tuc-tuc driver and we had a wonderful day with him for around £14. He took us to the Buddhist Temple of the Rocks, through open countryside across rice plantations – we saw them casting rice from a sack and the green shoots coming through like grass. He showed us tea plantations, told us about the use of coconuts, showed us a factory that produced coconut oil and another that used the sisal of the coconut to produce matting, brooms and mattress filling. We saw a huge painted Buddha that can be seen for miles around, high on a rock above the coconut groves. We saw bright blue kingfishers, flowering frangipani trees around the temple, trees with papayas, bananas and jack fruit.
At the steps to the temple we left our shoes and walked across the hot sand to the entrance where a monk in his orange robe took us in and showed us the painted Buddha lying in the horizontal position with huge feet and hands. The floor was tiled and on the walls frescos depicted scenes from the life of the Buddha. The roof was hewn rock and had been brightly painted. Outside was a simple, seated, granite Buddha in the lotus position. This was particularly pleasing to our taste.
We next visited a turtle hatchery on the beach. A young man explained the work of the organisation and showed us the eggs buried in the warm sand, due to hatch any day. Normally eggs are stolen from the beaches and from those that do manage to hatch there, most do not make it down to the ocean. In the hatchery they are kept for a week before release, or the more rare varieties for longer – some for eight weeks, others for up to three years. We saw several tanks containing different size turtles. I held one which flipped around in my hand. For 800 rupees we were invited to release one into the sea, the money going to buy more turtle eggs. A good idea for raising funds but not one we wished to join in with so, as at the temple, we made a donation.
We then visited the perches where fishermen would sit to catch sardines. The tide, such as it is, was wrong so nobody was actually fishing when we arrived, but they all came running up wanting to climb onto their sticks so that we could take a photograph – at a price! We said we had no wish for a photo and continued to a very beautiful beach, fringed by cool, shady palm trees along the wide sweep of a bay of azure-blue sea with white breakers tumbling onto pale gold sand. It was just like a picture book – except for the pizza and Coca Cola signs at little wooden kiosks along the back of the beach.
Beside the beach too, was a small burial ground with headstones bearing Sinhala script. Our driver explained that after a Buddhist cremation the ashes could be buried by the family wherever they wished, even in the garden of the home. We noticed a number of clusters of graves along beside the sea under the palm trees.
Then we went to a spice garden. This was really excellent. It was beside a lake with the trees and shrubs growing along the water’s edge. The garden was like walking through a small jungle. It was designed for demonstration purposes and a guide showed us around and explained the spices and their uses. Our driver came too and was lucky to have avoided being hit by a huge frond that suddenly broke from an overhead palm and crashed at his feet! We saw pepper plants – a parasite, chilli plants, cinnamon trees, cardamom, liquorice, ginger, cloves, coffee, citronella. We saw bananas wrapped in plastic bags to protect them from being stolen by monkeys. We saw pineapples growing – one fruit from one plant per year. The plant dies at the end of the year but grows again from the root. It’s the same with bananas.
We were then invited into a little wooden shop and offered some welcome spiced tea with cardamom pods whilst we were shown bottles of oils. We made a few purchases including citronella and sandalwood oil, saffron powder, aloe vera, a selection of Sri Lankan spices and some postcards. The prices were extremely reasonable. The people were very pleasant and it was an enjoyable experience.
We were then taken to a gem retailer. Again we were not really pressurised to buy although they were very eager to get out cases of gold rings for us to look at and took some convincing that it wasn’t necessary. I saw some silver ear rings set with large, dark amethysts. Perfect with my dress for the wedding. Probably not cheap at £20 but just what I’d been wanting.
Finally we went to Lady Hill, the highest point around with views across to the painted Buddha we’d seen earlier, across green acres of coconut palms, banana plantations and groves of fruit trees to a hazy skyline of hills rising up into the distance. On the other side we looked down onto the port, the town, and across to the Fort area where we are staying. Our driver took us into a pleasant hotel on the hilltop and up to an open sided bar on the roof for a spectacular panoramic view around. We were served with lime juice and cola for our driver whilst Ian took some photos.
We then paid the driver 2,000 rupees. 1700 for the trip, the rest for him. He was delightful and says he’ll give us a lift tomorrow to the bus station for our trip back to Ratmalana.
Back in the town centre we left our driver and were almost immediately surrounded again by touts. As soon as the tourist office closed they reappeared to pesterer. Even so we were deceived! We asked someone at the bus station the times of the coaches tomorrow. The person was very helpful and said he’d seen us earlier in the tourist office – the implication being that he worked there. The office was now closed so he was on his way home and was waiting for his bus that was due any minute. He fell to chatting about the recent floods and asked where we would be travelling and warned us of the dangers of dengue fever from the mosquitoes. He told us of an ayurvedic medicine we could buy and gave us directions to a shop selling it. We didn’t want the special oil but we did want to see an ayurvedic medicine shop and to purchase some powders to ease sore throats that Jeev had introduced us to last year. So we wandered off into the town to find the shop. After a while another man fell into step along beside us and told us he was a postman returning from work. Ian, always friendly, started to chat with him, as he seemed innocent enough. Eventually he too brought up the subject of the risks of catching dengue fever – I believe there really is a problem in the flood area and to the north of the country. Ian mentioned that we were looking for the ayurvedic medicine shop. Of course our postman knew exactly where it was, he passed it on his way home and would point it out to us. Somehow we found ourselves being led through all sorts of back doubles until we came upon a street we remembered from yesterday and realised it was not the short-cut we’d been told but was actually a detour to give the third accomplice time to reach the shop and accost us in the entrance before we could speak to the frightened lady who worked there. It’s obviously a big racket and it looks as if protection money changes hands. Before we had said anything our postman announced we needed oil against the dengue fever. A bottle of citronella magically appeared and was opened and dabbed all over us before we could protest. We were then told it would cost us 1700 rupees! (I’d just paid 100 rupees for a similar bottle at the spice gardens.) Having no intention of purchasing it I left Ian arguing and went to the back of the shop to ask the scared looking shop lady for the packets of throat powders I’d recognised behind the counter. (20 sachets for 80 rupees.) The man then wrapped up the oil and tried to charge for it. I said I didn’t want it and a real argument broke out. I’d made him open a bottle specially. It cost 1700 rupees and now it would be wasted. I said it cost 170 at the most. He laughed and said Madam was ignorant of the price and did I wish to catch the dengue fever? Then, to my horror, Ian, to end the nasty situation, offered 500 rupees for the oil and the powders! I said I still didn’t want it but by then the money had changed hands and there was no way we’d have got it back again. Ian was also rather concerned about possible repercussions on the shop lady who looked very scared and seemed to have no involvement in what was taking place in her shop. It’s horrible to think that there is a protection racket going on that has been set up by several people working as a team in order to fleece tourist and the locals are afraid to say or do anything. What a pity such a nice day ended so unpleasantly.
We walked back to Fort. This morning we’d talked with Mrs. Khalid about the flood victims. She is involved in a Muslim women’s group collecting clothing, food and utensils to take up to Ratnapura on Monday. She’s a delightful, sincere lady and we felt we’d like to help so asked her if we could donate some money. She wouldn’t take it on our behalf but promised to speak to the organisers. When we arrived home she asked an old man to take us to the house where the ladies were having a committee meeting and packing up piles of clothing, books, foodstuffs, pots and pans for the flood relief. We were welcomed into a big Moorish room and offered seats and fresh fruit juice from the garden. We were shown photographs and newspaper articles of other projects they had been involved with. Elderly men came and welcomed us in Arabic. It was a wonderful, warm and welcoming experience and we felt privileged to have seen all that they are doing. We donated £20 because they seemed to think they could make better use of the money in sterling than in rupees. We felt happy about that. It was a more agreeable use of our money than being ripped off by the evil Mafia.
At supper this evening we were joined by a young couple from Oxford University on a gap year after finishing their degrees. They’d been working as volunteers in Nepal and the Philippines. They were very nice young people whom I’m sure, like Kate, are more worldly wise than their elders – like us. They cannot be ripped-off because they have no money in the first place!
I forgot to mention that we went to change money this morning. The bank was exactly as it would have been during the days of British rule. Old wooden desks and chairs, large ledgers, overhead fans, dozens of staff, piles and piles of paperwork and one lady in a sari using a rattling old hand cranked typewriter. Behind a glass screen I did catch a glimpse of one old computer monitor with the old black and green screen. Queues formed whilst several clerks processed documents and passed them back and forth. We were asked for all sorts of unnecessary information and ended up with lots of sheets of paper and half a packet of staples. It took us about twenty minutes to cash a travellers cheque. However, we’ve told them we’d be back in again tomorrow if we got too hot as it’s the only air-conditioned place we’ve encountered in Galle.
We also visited the Anglican Church in Fort. That was weird. Are we in Sri Lanka, Mecca or Suffolk here? It’s such a mix of cultures and religions. Fort is really nice, Galle is wickedly evil.
