OK, I was just waiting at Colombo airport with time to kill and thought how good it would be to have some Internet access to kill half an hour. I look to my left and and happen to notice an orange clad monk using a FREE internet terminal not 3 paces away. Come on Sri Lankaaaa! So here I am bloggging from my gate. I was zooming here in my tuk tuk earlier and had what I thought was a great idea. Having amassed a silly amount of rupee notes in a market trader's-size roll I decided to tie tie them up and "deliver" them as a love bomb to a deserving passerby. If you want to feel like a mafia don or king maybe leave them untied. Eye up likely candidates and launch the bomb at their unsuspecting feet for a surprise mini gift from your speeding tuk. This works best in open sided transport, but windows down is just fine too. I weigh up a few candidates and no-one looked right until I saw two female street sweepers. Perfect. Launch bomb. Look up. Notice we are 100 yards from airport security check involving men with big guns. Hmmmmm. If they saw that it looked strangely similar to an illicit drugs drop. Nice one Mel. Pull up. Smile like an idiot and blush. Perfect. Good cover. Feel glad the women got the tip. Seem to get away without question. Get into terminal and suddenly realise that what I lobbed was a beautiful amalgamation of Nepalese and Sri Lankan notes due to their similarity. Now the women may think its all a total joke. Oh well. The best laid plans eh?...Final check on my luggage to ensure no metal objects to woo Indian customs with. Check clear. Chick pea snacks I am carrying my endear me to them even more. Wriggle toes to check sand from the beach is still there. Scrinch nose to check slight sun toasted sensation. Nice. Now where's that flight to Heathrow.......
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Sunday, 29 May 2011
On the verge
I'm on the verge, I'm skimming the edge, I'm skirting the boundary, I am the cusp. This is my last full day in Kathmandu. It was sunny and then the heavens opened and the road disappeared. The monsoon is clearly on its way and I'm running ahead of it before I get struck by fork lightning.
I've grown to like this city despite the incessant tiger balm sellers, handicraft peddlers and Serengi players. I have eaten and walked my way around half of it, delighting in my new found locals cafe Ringmos which serves apple buckwheat pancakes to die for. Last night I even found hot spicy cyder just round the corner which in Nepal means, sour apple, brandy, sugar, lemon, hot water, cloves. Not a bad second in a land of mainly beer and cocktails. And now I'm off to eat yet again and while away my last afternoon. I may go to two temples for one last injection of culture with my Dutch friends and one last hurrah in Thamel tonight. Probably equally as random as last night sitting with some Siberians and a shisha pipe as everyone waited to watch Manu U and Barcelona kick off (at about midnight here - I bailed before it began). So off I splash and try to avoid being soaked by errant taxis and crazy rickshaws......
I've grown to like this city despite the incessant tiger balm sellers, handicraft peddlers and Serengi players. I have eaten and walked my way around half of it, delighting in my new found locals cafe Ringmos which serves apple buckwheat pancakes to die for. Last night I even found hot spicy cyder just round the corner which in Nepal means, sour apple, brandy, sugar, lemon, hot water, cloves. Not a bad second in a land of mainly beer and cocktails. And now I'm off to eat yet again and while away my last afternoon. I may go to two temples for one last injection of culture with my Dutch friends and one last hurrah in Thamel tonight. Probably equally as random as last night sitting with some Siberians and a shisha pipe as everyone waited to watch Manu U and Barcelona kick off (at about midnight here - I bailed before it began). So off I splash and try to avoid being soaked by errant taxis and crazy rickshaws......
Friday, 27 May 2011
Chuck eat Chuck Cafe
So after some discussion I decide its a good idea to exit Pokhara's laid back lake side delights earlier than planned. The alternative is to get stranded here as a few days of strikes are rumoured. Depending on the influence of those calling the strikes they can be vigorously or loosely enforced. Meaning no buses, no shops open, no-one passes Go! or collects 200 pounds. The upshot is I leap into a taxi at 6.30am with Doctor Canada (real name Tanner) and leave behind the hiking, yoga, good food and group dinners which have made up my last days in the hills.
In theory the 200km to Kathmandu is 6 hours away. On the road we listen to our tunes and watch the scenery unfold, baulking at the odd crumpled bus at the bottom of the valley which has lost the road. After not very long we are stuck in a traffic queue of buses backed right up. We wait, admiring the wild ganga field outside the bus. Eventually curiosity overcomes us and we get out to investigate. The river is in flood. The rain was heavy last night and again today, with copious lightning last night. The monsoon is coming early. As luck would have it there's an army barracks nearby so maybe they've sorted us a passage through. The queue edges forward. It appears we all just go for it, one vehicle from each direction. Vehicles cross one at a time. And then its our turn. Our bus heads out into the water and spectacularly breaks down exactly mid river blocking traffic crossing both ways. Upstream is a steady flow of water. Down stream is a huge twirl of razor wire spanning the whole river to prevent any unauthorised access to the military barracks. Ace.
The Nepalese, unlike the Sri Lankans, don't thrive on high drama. The bus guys roll up their jeans and get out and assess the situation. We lean out the windows and take photos and giggle. Some rock throwing under tyres and fruitless pushing later confirms we are wedged and going nowhere fast. Already there was a huge crowd all around the river. Guys on motorbikes dive headlong into the torrent staggering through with helpers as the water rises over their tanks. We scratch our heads. We all need to get out to reduce the weight or we sleep here. I'm told "ladies to the river bank!" but elect to join the guys and push instead. I wade around back wishing fervently that my legs were longer as the river pushes on my thighs. Get two hands on the coach and together we heave. Many more people watch than help, maybe they value their flip flops or maybe its just our bus, our business. However in a strange reversal of fortune for once its the Nepalese photgraphing the tourists as we push and holler. Its starting to rain again. We need to get out.
All around us people watch from the banks, some stand knee deep in the water. Motorbikes continue to hurl themselves across. Two local buses rev their engines hard and roar around us, lilting at a crazy angle. People shout and point and film the whole thing.
At full stretch in a bunch of guys at the back we holler and yell and shove the old banger. Eventually we start to win. The useless bus is shoved out of the river. I get stranded on the wrong side and have to ask a kind old Nepali guy to hold my hand to cross over the torrent. We pick our way across, England and Nepal joined like we are walking up the isle at a surreal wedding. The bus pushers walk up to a tea shack and we all celebrate our stranding with a beer. They get no tourists stopping here at all. As we sit in a line on the benches they take more photos of us. Chickens peck around us and, disconcertingly, eat bits of old chicken curry off plates left under the fire. By another reversal of fortune an appropriately named "Adventure Holidays" replacement bus turns up to retrieve us and we tumble onto it. A full twelve hours later we roll in to the big city with muddy feet and wait to see what the next few days will bring....
In theory the 200km to Kathmandu is 6 hours away. On the road we listen to our tunes and watch the scenery unfold, baulking at the odd crumpled bus at the bottom of the valley which has lost the road. After not very long we are stuck in a traffic queue of buses backed right up. We wait, admiring the wild ganga field outside the bus. Eventually curiosity overcomes us and we get out to investigate. The river is in flood. The rain was heavy last night and again today, with copious lightning last night. The monsoon is coming early. As luck would have it there's an army barracks nearby so maybe they've sorted us a passage through. The queue edges forward. It appears we all just go for it, one vehicle from each direction. Vehicles cross one at a time. And then its our turn. Our bus heads out into the water and spectacularly breaks down exactly mid river blocking traffic crossing both ways. Upstream is a steady flow of water. Down stream is a huge twirl of razor wire spanning the whole river to prevent any unauthorised access to the military barracks. Ace.
The Nepalese, unlike the Sri Lankans, don't thrive on high drama. The bus guys roll up their jeans and get out and assess the situation. We lean out the windows and take photos and giggle. Some rock throwing under tyres and fruitless pushing later confirms we are wedged and going nowhere fast. Already there was a huge crowd all around the river. Guys on motorbikes dive headlong into the torrent staggering through with helpers as the water rises over their tanks. We scratch our heads. We all need to get out to reduce the weight or we sleep here. I'm told "ladies to the river bank!" but elect to join the guys and push instead. I wade around back wishing fervently that my legs were longer as the river pushes on my thighs. Get two hands on the coach and together we heave. Many more people watch than help, maybe they value their flip flops or maybe its just our bus, our business. However in a strange reversal of fortune for once its the Nepalese photgraphing the tourists as we push and holler. Its starting to rain again. We need to get out.
All around us people watch from the banks, some stand knee deep in the water. Motorbikes continue to hurl themselves across. Two local buses rev their engines hard and roar around us, lilting at a crazy angle. People shout and point and film the whole thing.
At full stretch in a bunch of guys at the back we holler and yell and shove the old banger. Eventually we start to win. The useless bus is shoved out of the river. I get stranded on the wrong side and have to ask a kind old Nepali guy to hold my hand to cross over the torrent. We pick our way across, England and Nepal joined like we are walking up the isle at a surreal wedding. The bus pushers walk up to a tea shack and we all celebrate our stranding with a beer. They get no tourists stopping here at all. As we sit in a line on the benches they take more photos of us. Chickens peck around us and, disconcertingly, eat bits of old chicken curry off plates left under the fire. By another reversal of fortune an appropriately named "Adventure Holidays" replacement bus turns up to retrieve us and we tumble onto it. A full twelve hours later we roll in to the big city with muddy feet and wait to see what the next few days will bring....
Leaving Lakeside
After returning from the mountains and relishing a Pad Thai and other tasty treats I decided to be lazy for the final days of the trip. So some short hikes, shopping and drinking and eating good food have prevailed. I have spent time with the Dutchies and been out for group dinners with a bunch of us from Oz, Canada, US, Holland and Israel. A particular highlight was being talked into a party supported by an Isreaeli guy we met trekking. We arrived at 10.15pm totally out of sync, as most bars wind up at midnight as the absolute maximum. We experienced what could only be described as the village disco in a trance format. Someone's bed sheet was the back drop for the visuals (single I think) and light levels were sketchy. Some travellers were moving like they had been secretly diverted into some spiritualist church activities and others oscillated like they were trying to simulate the actions of an invertebrate that should be moving along the floor. Babs had not even had one beer and was wholly underwhelmed. Maurice and I had had one beer and it wasn't much better. We were "forced" t leave when it all finished at 11pm. On the way back we were enthusiastically asked to join Mr Israel and friends for a shake. I thought they meant an after party. No, they meant a milkshake. I suddenly felt very old......
Following some discussion two nights later at 10pm I am persuaded to leave Pokhara and its Lakeside delights at the crack of dawn due to two days of strike action, or bhandas. These have been frequent, at least 8 in the month I've been here. There has been a three year span where the lawmakers try to thrash out a constitution. The Maoists won a landslide victory three years ago. The Maoist leader spent 9 months trying to implement policies, apparently with resistance mainly from the US and India. He withdrew to consider his options for a bit and different political groups leapt in to try to hash it out together to include their political interests. So aside from different factions within the Maoists themselves, there are numerous other political groups involved with trying to write this common document in law. Its a task and a half. The army are supposedly very loyal to the deposed monarchy and are not keen to merge with Maoists or their supporters. So people strike and everything stops, shops close and transport grinds to a halt. Motorbike rallies happen and yesterday here in Kathmandu there was a huge fire lit rally......
Following some discussion two nights later at 10pm I am persuaded to leave Pokhara and its Lakeside delights at the crack of dawn due to two days of strike action, or bhandas. These have been frequent, at least 8 in the month I've been here. There has been a three year span where the lawmakers try to thrash out a constitution. The Maoists won a landslide victory three years ago. The Maoist leader spent 9 months trying to implement policies, apparently with resistance mainly from the US and India. He withdrew to consider his options for a bit and different political groups leapt in to try to hash it out together to include their political interests. So aside from different factions within the Maoists themselves, there are numerous other political groups involved with trying to write this common document in law. Its a task and a half. The army are supposedly very loyal to the deposed monarchy and are not keen to merge with Maoists or their supporters. So people strike and everything stops, shops close and transport grinds to a halt. Motorbike rallies happen and yesterday here in Kathmandu there was a huge fire lit rally......
Monday, 23 May 2011
Annapurna Sanctuary
I return to Pokhara feeling triumphant and start to prepare for the Big One; ten days trekking in the Annapurna Sanctuary. After getting some truly distressing pictures taken, I spend a king's ransom on an ACAP permit - YOU MAY TREK OUR MOUNTAINS - and a TIMS permit - WE WILL TRACK YOU ON THE WAY (thanks very much). I have already got iodine tablets, a waterfproof and North Face Knock Off breathable base layer and trekking trews. I have not invested in poles, crampons, 800 types of medicine, anti leech treatment, gaiters or any of the other one hundred items you could be lured in by. Shona in Thamel was straight up and honest, throwing trousers and tops at me "Yes good fit!" and kitting me out in under 5 minutes flat. I decide on the face of it to take a guide-cum-porter after much consideration. There are two camps - porters are cheating and porters are a huge help. I'm in camp two. Annapurna Base Camp trek has many steps and I don't want to roll down them in one. So I book the porter and it turns out Dil is coming with me. I have been warned in the guide books that guides crack on to single females but since this has already happened and "I know where he lives" I figure he's a safe bet. Plus I like him and his English is good. And I can recognise his tactics now before he gets started.
So, bag packed and body ready we set off in a taxi with a freind of his and a huge tray of eggs. The firend isn't doing the walk with us. However he will yake advantage of the free ride. He's nice. I don't mind.
And so this part of my story stumps me. I won't give you a thesis length essay on my nine days trekking to Annapurna Base Camp or you'll expire with boredom so I'll just try to tell you a little.
Surprising facts about the trail .....
- The guest houses are not all cold showers and hard beds as I'd been led to believe. I slept amazingly well and had some top hot bucket and hot tap washes.
-The leeches didn't go near me.
-The menus are fixed and all identical, due to an ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) committee decision. My favourite flavoursome dish they have created is veg, egg, tuna, cheese spring roll. Yummm-eee. The food was good quality.
- The trail was 50% Korean people, wearing face guards, floppy hats, sunglasses and gloves to protect from the sun. And always with poles and rain ponchos. Often in groups. Very often carrying packet noodles (to the annoyance of the restaurant owners).
- Two lads I met had walked to Macchapuchare Base Camp (1.5 hours walk from the Main Event at A nnapurna Base Camp) and then turned back as they were "short of time...?!!"
- You will see people carrying up to 100kg on their heads and backs. They will be 5ft tall. They will walk further than you in a day.
- Taking a guide is a great option if you get a good one, they find good places and good meals and rooms with double moutain views out of your front and back bedroom windows.
- Your first question to people is strangely like getting in the lift at work "Are you going up or down?"
Unsurprsing things about the trail.....
- It's super friendly and multinational
- The scenery is beautiful
- You may get altitude sickness
- If you are G free you'll eat the same meal of omlette for breakfast and dahl bhat otherwise for around 9 days....
- You get the odd weirdo
- But a lot more nice people
Other trail info.........
- I met a lovely Dutch couple who became my partners-in-trek
-You may well get blisters but a lovely Frenchman called Lauren may save your heels at the hot springs by giving you all his "Second Skin" packets. He was going down, and I was going up.
- A guy I nicknamed Doctor Canada gave me anti sickness meds, rehydration tablets and sympathy as I reeled with sickness at ABC. "You look terrible!" he exclaimed. "I'm here to make you lot look beautiful" I quipped as I fell out the door to the bathroom again
- If you are feeling sick perhaps avoid your guide's advice to take "Altitude Soup" which is solely made of garlic. Its meant to help. It doesn't help at all if you sprint to the squat toilet and projectile vomit within 5 minutes of finishing it due to aforementioned altitude sickness.
- Having your guide hold your head as this process is occuring is an ice breaker you can live without.
- The views from the top at ABC are incredible
- Mountains move. You can hear rock falls and avalanches. We are very small.
- I love mountain trekking and tucking myself up in a little lodge with a waterfall to soothe me to sleep and greenery wrapping me up all around.
For once I have no words to sum up the experience. I loved getting up every day and setting out after eggs and coffee, hopping down the trails, making jokes with Dil and gawping at the scenery. I loved the little lodges and the endless games of shithead. I even loved the constant dahl bhat. The altitude sickness at the top just reminded me how powerful these giants really are; and not everyone has the opportunity to walk down the snowy mountain at night by the light of a headtorch, while their guide holds two bags and their hand as they hallucinate periodically and sway like a drunk as the altitude decreases. Luckily the guest houses don't bat an eyelid as you reel in wildly from the darkness like its New Year's Eve.....
So, bag packed and body ready we set off in a taxi with a freind of his and a huge tray of eggs. The firend isn't doing the walk with us. However he will yake advantage of the free ride. He's nice. I don't mind.
And so this part of my story stumps me. I won't give you a thesis length essay on my nine days trekking to Annapurna Base Camp or you'll expire with boredom so I'll just try to tell you a little.
Surprising facts about the trail .....
- The guest houses are not all cold showers and hard beds as I'd been led to believe. I slept amazingly well and had some top hot bucket and hot tap washes.
-The leeches didn't go near me.
-The menus are fixed and all identical, due to an ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) committee decision. My favourite flavoursome dish they have created is veg, egg, tuna, cheese spring roll. Yummm-eee. The food was good quality.
- The trail was 50% Korean people, wearing face guards, floppy hats, sunglasses and gloves to protect from the sun. And always with poles and rain ponchos. Often in groups. Very often carrying packet noodles (to the annoyance of the restaurant owners).
- Two lads I met had walked to Macchapuchare Base Camp (1.5 hours walk from the Main Event at A nnapurna Base Camp) and then turned back as they were "short of time...?!!"
- You will see people carrying up to 100kg on their heads and backs. They will be 5ft tall. They will walk further than you in a day.
- Taking a guide is a great option if you get a good one, they find good places and good meals and rooms with double moutain views out of your front and back bedroom windows.
- Your first question to people is strangely like getting in the lift at work "Are you going up or down?"
Unsurprsing things about the trail.....
- It's super friendly and multinational
- The scenery is beautiful
- You may get altitude sickness
- If you are G free you'll eat the same meal of omlette for breakfast and dahl bhat otherwise for around 9 days....
- You get the odd weirdo
- But a lot more nice people
Other trail info.........
- I met a lovely Dutch couple who became my partners-in-trek
-You may well get blisters but a lovely Frenchman called Lauren may save your heels at the hot springs by giving you all his "Second Skin" packets. He was going down, and I was going up.
- A guy I nicknamed Doctor Canada gave me anti sickness meds, rehydration tablets and sympathy as I reeled with sickness at ABC. "You look terrible!" he exclaimed. "I'm here to make you lot look beautiful" I quipped as I fell out the door to the bathroom again
- If you are feeling sick perhaps avoid your guide's advice to take "Altitude Soup" which is solely made of garlic. Its meant to help. It doesn't help at all if you sprint to the squat toilet and projectile vomit within 5 minutes of finishing it due to aforementioned altitude sickness.
- Having your guide hold your head as this process is occuring is an ice breaker you can live without.
- The views from the top at ABC are incredible
- Mountains move. You can hear rock falls and avalanches. We are very small.
- I love mountain trekking and tucking myself up in a little lodge with a waterfall to soothe me to sleep and greenery wrapping me up all around.
For once I have no words to sum up the experience. I loved getting up every day and setting out after eggs and coffee, hopping down the trails, making jokes with Dil and gawping at the scenery. I loved the little lodges and the endless games of shithead. I even loved the constant dahl bhat. The altitude sickness at the top just reminded me how powerful these giants really are; and not everyone has the opportunity to walk down the snowy mountain at night by the light of a headtorch, while their guide holds two bags and their hand as they hallucinate periodically and sway like a drunk as the altitude decreases. Luckily the guest houses don't bat an eyelid as you reel in wildly from the darkness like its New Year's Eve.....
And further into the hills
You already know about load shedding of electricty so again, just to safely preserve these words of infinite wisdom, I have split my tale. I safely made it through the night at Ram's and after breakfast was presented with a Hindi-bhindi and a rose by the youngest daughter. I was very touched and also aware I would become a red zebra in the not too distant future as said bhindi migrated down my face in the heat of the walk. A few snaps later and we're off. Me and Dil are getting on well, which is great as I'm spending three days with him which is more than I've probably spent with most of you in the last year. He does however move on to asking if I like him as potential boyfriend material and the directness of the question throws me. I say something to avert the discussion, flap my hands around and smear the red bhindi undoubetdly more than it was making headway with on its own. I am truly useless with these kind of conversations as I am inexplicably overcome with a sudden enormous responsibility to not hurt someone's feelings. After a short silence we move the conversation on and sll seems OK. Our next stop is less cultural as we stay with Harke's family (other guesthouse manager) in their newly built pink palace. I do a double take. Its square and concrete and it is a point of some pride. I am the first guest to stay in it. The marshmallow is a surprising twist and I try to express my gratitude at being guest number one. Harke chose the colour himself which I manage to absorb without my facial expression changing. The family and food are lovely and equally friendly but it is odd to be sat on a mock leather sofa drinking tea in the blinding light of an LED torch (load shedding) whilst on my cultural tour. But this is development and this is real so I sup away and spritz myself thoughtfully with Deet, a regular passtime of mine.
Dil and I climb the hill out back at 4.30am. I have never walked so much at weird times of night since I used to go clubbing. We see a good sunrise and then begin the return trek to Pokhara. It's been eye opening, interesting, fun and I've loved the walking. And I'm not sick. Hallelujah......
Dil and I climb the hill out back at 4.30am. I have never walked so much at weird times of night since I used to go clubbing. We see a good sunrise and then begin the return trek to Pokhara. It's been eye opening, interesting, fun and I've loved the walking. And I'm not sick. Hallelujah......
Into the hills
Okay, so I've managed to steer myself away from the varied delights of the Lakeside restaurants in Pokhara and struck out into the wilderness. Well the surrounding coutryside at least. After spending all my Nepalese waking hours in a city shrouded in motorbikes and a town shrouded in pashmina shops I took decisive action. Which as any of you who know me at all will realise is big news under any circumstances. I booked myself onto a mini "cultural" trek of three daysrucksack and set off with my guide Dil who also helps out at my guesthouse. We trundled over the Seti (White) River and the water really is white. Or maybe sort of like the bath once you let it drain, but anyway...across some vegetable growing fields and then began climbing into the sort-of mountains. As a girl from the Mendip area these are mountains, to the locals they are mole hills. However the views are substantial and the green terraces started dropping away to the Tibetan refugee settlements in the valley below with some conviction. I breathe in. Finally. I've escaped.
Our first stop was with Ram's family (Dil's uncle who manages the guesthouse). We wound our way thorugh a bewildering pathway between the ox sheds, chicken runs, millet drying, haystacks and rice paddies which I later realised I was paying no attention to as I tried to take a short stroll and couldn't get more than 50 metres from my lodgings without ending up in a neighbour's goat shed. On arrival Dil set to work on a lunchtime dhal bhat in an oven on the floor fed with firewood and I smiled and facially gestured to grandma who didn't speak a word of English. Ram wasn't there till the evening and Ram's wife spoke no English either. The daughters spoke a little but generally the conversation was limited to smiles and they got on with the day-to-day around me. (Where are those "moments" bonding over a game of volleyball, laughing at eachother's hair styles or helping with some household chores that you see when celebs visit a developing nation?! Faked the lot of it!) Due to being the honoured, naturally, paying guest I cannot help with anything. It is also customary for Le Guest to eat first and alone. How embarassing. Then the family eat. So if the kids are hungry you are acutely aware that they have to wait with their eyes following you from behind the kitchen wall ("Hurry up English girl!") until you're done. But this is Nepalese hospitality and no arguing so I chow down and even take seconds, what the hell, I"m hungry and they are throwing extra food at me. All those famished days on boiled vegetables are catching up with me.
The view is spectacular and I spend alot of time on the porch drinking tea, exchanging the odd comment with grandmama about the dog or applauding her as she successfully swats a fly with her swisher. Occasionally she gets up to adjust or move something on the terrace then creakily lowers to her floor mat or lies to sleep on the rammed earth floor. A little different to the luxuries of home. My berth for the night is to be a loft above the animals where the two daughters Borsa (14) and Mala (13) normally sleep. I climb a corner ladder wedged right infront of the ox's head. I decide its best to greet him each time I pass like I'm welcoming a visiting dignitary. He's quite big and the room for manoeuvering past him up the ladder is quite small. I wallow through the hay and narrowly miss the chicken shit as I swing my gear into the loft. I have a tiny wooden balcony. And the Himalayas loom outside.
After a peaceful day and more dahl bhat Ram, my guesthouse owner and man of the house, escorts me up to my loft. "Bed is comfy here, Borsa sleep here...." He demonstrates with enthusiasm. (Borsa has helped with household chores, cooking, bufflao meat chopping and drying and is now attempting to finish her homework at gone 9.30pm by lamplight). "And Mel, if you need to go in the night.....You must go Borsa! Toilet!" (He demonstrates me shaking her shoulders vigourously). "No Ram I've lived with an outside bathroom, I'll be fine, " I try to reassure him. "NO MEL!" says Ram, his eyes wide and face very serious. "Leopard!!" From his position at the top of the loft ladder he stares at me intently. Tipping my chin and rolling my eyes slightly into my eyebrows I look into his eyes. "Raaaaaaam! You are joking with me," I laugh. "No Mel! Ate my neighbour's goats. Dangerous. Not outside on your own at night!" The idea of a grown woman of 34 waking a girl of 14 who's gone to school all day and worked all evening to provide an escort to the facilities is more than faintly ridiculous. I narrow my eyes and study his face. Ram is not prone to lies and from what I have experienced so far I don't think sarcasm or practical jokes feature high on the Nepalese radar. I think he's serious. "Okay Ram. No going outside alone", I concede. Clearly tonight I will not drink water, this girl has done enough without me Borsa-ing! her at 3 in the morning. Ram closes the loft hatch (I had wondered what the point of it was) and retreats. The chickens are put in their cages and the small goat herd of seven is herded up and locked in to a shed beneath our beds. One layer of floorboards separates us from the assortment of beasts. I tuck up feeling a bit guilty as Borsa works on. Throughout the night I hear the ox chomping rhythmically on his hay stack which is strangely comforting. (Insomniacs take note - installation of one calm ox below your bed could help you get up to seven hours extra sleep a night). I count myself lucky as apparently on the down side he's known to be a snorer of epic proportions. But not tonight. Periodically I hear the goat herd tottering and skittering in an unsettled way aound their wooden locked shed. I wonder if the leopard is specking out the rich tasty pickings below. As it would lay heavy on Rams' conscience not to mention being an insult to his skills as a host to find a mauled English woman lying on the front steps in the morning I stay where I am.
Our first stop was with Ram's family (Dil's uncle who manages the guesthouse). We wound our way thorugh a bewildering pathway between the ox sheds, chicken runs, millet drying, haystacks and rice paddies which I later realised I was paying no attention to as I tried to take a short stroll and couldn't get more than 50 metres from my lodgings without ending up in a neighbour's goat shed. On arrival Dil set to work on a lunchtime dhal bhat in an oven on the floor fed with firewood and I smiled and facially gestured to grandma who didn't speak a word of English. Ram wasn't there till the evening and Ram's wife spoke no English either. The daughters spoke a little but generally the conversation was limited to smiles and they got on with the day-to-day around me. (Where are those "moments" bonding over a game of volleyball, laughing at eachother's hair styles or helping with some household chores that you see when celebs visit a developing nation?! Faked the lot of it!) Due to being the honoured, naturally, paying guest I cannot help with anything. It is also customary for Le Guest to eat first and alone. How embarassing. Then the family eat. So if the kids are hungry you are acutely aware that they have to wait with their eyes following you from behind the kitchen wall ("Hurry up English girl!") until you're done. But this is Nepalese hospitality and no arguing so I chow down and even take seconds, what the hell, I"m hungry and they are throwing extra food at me. All those famished days on boiled vegetables are catching up with me.
The view is spectacular and I spend alot of time on the porch drinking tea, exchanging the odd comment with grandmama about the dog or applauding her as she successfully swats a fly with her swisher. Occasionally she gets up to adjust or move something on the terrace then creakily lowers to her floor mat or lies to sleep on the rammed earth floor. A little different to the luxuries of home. My berth for the night is to be a loft above the animals where the two daughters Borsa (14) and Mala (13) normally sleep. I climb a corner ladder wedged right infront of the ox's head. I decide its best to greet him each time I pass like I'm welcoming a visiting dignitary. He's quite big and the room for manoeuvering past him up the ladder is quite small. I wallow through the hay and narrowly miss the chicken shit as I swing my gear into the loft. I have a tiny wooden balcony. And the Himalayas loom outside.
After a peaceful day and more dahl bhat Ram, my guesthouse owner and man of the house, escorts me up to my loft. "Bed is comfy here, Borsa sleep here...." He demonstrates with enthusiasm. (Borsa has helped with household chores, cooking, bufflao meat chopping and drying and is now attempting to finish her homework at gone 9.30pm by lamplight). "And Mel, if you need to go in the night.....You must go Borsa! Toilet!" (He demonstrates me shaking her shoulders vigourously). "No Ram I've lived with an outside bathroom, I'll be fine, " I try to reassure him. "NO MEL!" says Ram, his eyes wide and face very serious. "Leopard!!" From his position at the top of the loft ladder he stares at me intently. Tipping my chin and rolling my eyes slightly into my eyebrows I look into his eyes. "Raaaaaaam! You are joking with me," I laugh. "No Mel! Ate my neighbour's goats. Dangerous. Not outside on your own at night!" The idea of a grown woman of 34 waking a girl of 14 who's gone to school all day and worked all evening to provide an escort to the facilities is more than faintly ridiculous. I narrow my eyes and study his face. Ram is not prone to lies and from what I have experienced so far I don't think sarcasm or practical jokes feature high on the Nepalese radar. I think he's serious. "Okay Ram. No going outside alone", I concede. Clearly tonight I will not drink water, this girl has done enough without me Borsa-ing! her at 3 in the morning. Ram closes the loft hatch (I had wondered what the point of it was) and retreats. The chickens are put in their cages and the small goat herd of seven is herded up and locked in to a shed beneath our beds. One layer of floorboards separates us from the assortment of beasts. I tuck up feeling a bit guilty as Borsa works on. Throughout the night I hear the ox chomping rhythmically on his hay stack which is strangely comforting. (Insomniacs take note - installation of one calm ox below your bed could help you get up to seven hours extra sleep a night). I count myself lucky as apparently on the down side he's known to be a snorer of epic proportions. But not tonight. Periodically I hear the goat herd tottering and skittering in an unsettled way aound their wooden locked shed. I wonder if the leopard is specking out the rich tasty pickings below. As it would lay heavy on Rams' conscience not to mention being an insult to his skills as a host to find a mauled English woman lying on the front steps in the morning I stay where I am.
Friday, 6 May 2011
Beaver Fever
And so the days roll by, as I stick to my rigourous diet and become slightly addicted to iced tea. This is on the permitted list. I scrambled up a hilldside yesterday, just to reach a small hotel where you can pay to swim and splashed about in their tiny pool for a while. Surrounded by dark pink flowers, small tattered prayer flags and the Himalayas in the background it was impossible to feel hard done by. I spotted a chameleon sunning himself atop a fence post with his quiff slightly red and a jaunty look in his eye. He looked like an animal gangster. I pointed him out like David Attenborough to some other tourists who took lots of photos. Eventually he got fed up and shot off. He quickly reappeared by my sun lounger with a bright orange head. Hmmm. Methinks I maybe angered the beast. He skulked off into the undergrowth.
Animals are certainly always at hand. Often its a water buffalo chewing the cud slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Sometimes its an ordinary cow blocking the whole road and forcing everyone to manoeuver around it. Last night I spotted "reggae bat" who kept repeatedly circling in and out of the reggae music shop with his mate. Something about the bass lines must have appealed to his batty-sensitive-sonar. The music in my restaurant certainly didn't. It comprised of a driving fast drumming accompanied by a frenzied staccatto flute that sounded like the flute was trying to escape and the musician was chasing it and blowing notes down it against its will. Cue some serious Tibetan style chanting, with men saying either "party on' "hurry on" or "pay my mum" but most likely something in their own language. Then cut the lot, lulling you into a false sense of security that the track has actually finished, for around 6 seconds, then bring in some high toned full on cymbal action, roll a vigourous scale on a casio keyboard, crash all instruments together and begin again. "Party on" "Pay my mum".......Fusion doesn't even come close. I should've asked for the band's name; they would go down a storm at WOMAD. And if my friend Neil were here he could've danced to them in a mysterious way, which he's known to be good at.
Oh and just because you need to know that little but more about my gorgeous friend giardia, it was named after a French bloke called Giard who discovered the evil monkeys, (merci monsieur), it hangs around for up to four weeks which, at least, is less than most squatters and it is also known as Beaver Fever.Apparently the furry ones were good at passing it about all over North America. (ref point. Mrs Hilary West).
Animals are certainly always at hand. Often its a water buffalo chewing the cud slap bang in the middle of the pavement. Sometimes its an ordinary cow blocking the whole road and forcing everyone to manoeuver around it. Last night I spotted "reggae bat" who kept repeatedly circling in and out of the reggae music shop with his mate. Something about the bass lines must have appealed to his batty-sensitive-sonar. The music in my restaurant certainly didn't. It comprised of a driving fast drumming accompanied by a frenzied staccatto flute that sounded like the flute was trying to escape and the musician was chasing it and blowing notes down it against its will. Cue some serious Tibetan style chanting, with men saying either "party on' "hurry on" or "pay my mum" but most likely something in their own language. Then cut the lot, lulling you into a false sense of security that the track has actually finished, for around 6 seconds, then bring in some high toned full on cymbal action, roll a vigourous scale on a casio keyboard, crash all instruments together and begin again. "Party on" "Pay my mum".......Fusion doesn't even come close. I should've asked for the band's name; they would go down a storm at WOMAD. And if my friend Neil were here he could've danced to them in a mysterious way, which he's known to be good at.
Oh and just because you need to know that little but more about my gorgeous friend giardia, it was named after a French bloke called Giard who discovered the evil monkeys, (merci monsieur), it hangs around for up to four weeks which, at least, is less than most squatters and it is also known as Beaver Fever.Apparently the furry ones were good at passing it about all over North America. (ref point. Mrs Hilary West).
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Matrix Reloaded
So I've made it to Pokhara on a warm bus with a load of exuberant Israelis, off to do some white water rafting. I had no idea adventure sports were such big business here. I'd like to say I have also thrown myself onto a white knuckle adventure ride in a violently bucking river raft. Instead I have thrown myself wildly again at the nearest bathroom and offered my prayers to the porcelain god. At least this time the bathroom is my own and due to a different sort of electricity load shedding I can generally take a shower without a candle and the water is mainly hot. I washed behind my ears the other day and clearly cold water is not sufficient to cope with the rigours of Kathmandu smog. And so my hope to arrive at a new guest house without discussing my pathetic health was shattered when yesterday I was escorted to the divine "Celestial Health Clinic" where Dr Gupta helpfully listened and informed me I have giardia and the previous course of medicine was as ineffectual as a chocolate fire guard. So I now take the orange pill (Neo) and the green pill (Neo) as well as the probiotic help-me-im-struggling-here-said-my-stomach white pill. Whilst leaning over a dish of rice in desperation last night I got chatting to a friendly chap from England who lives in a van and loves to work the festival circuit. A bit of reminiscing about the Lizard 1999 Eclipse festival and how much we want to see some Sottish or Welsh mountains (with the Himalayas sat right behind us) and I felt strong enough to bosh another tablet. "Giardia?!!" trilled a girl at the next table, like she'd won the bingo, "I had that!" and she kindly skipped off to get homeopathic pills to ease the stomach. I have accepted anonymous herbal tablets from 3 separate travellers so far but all have helped. There is no sense of stranger danger here. Any help is appreciated. It seems you haven't been to Asia if you haven't picked up a nasty. Only 12 % of people get giardia here so I should count myself as a chosen one. No bog standard diarrhoea for me. No sireee Bob; I want the one that often comes from animals shitting near water.......Its particularly nice when the lovely Nepali guys at my hostel ask how I am. "Even in the night madam, any problem please tell us!" They have really been concerned. It certainly removes inhibitions; "How many times toilet today madam?"........."aaaahh good...."
Pokhara is situated on a lake and is much more tranquil than the rigours of Kathmandu. It is quite bohemian, with lots of little shops and cafes and of course is a base for everyone to get up into them there hills. I'm looking forward to hiring a bike so I can pedal around a bit of the scenery as I haven't ridden one in weeks. There are also a couple of hotels where you can use their pool for a dip, so maybe tomorrow, if my stomach ceases to make loud proclamations of its predicament at random times I can go splashing around. The lake is unfortunately not clean enough to jump in. After the sitting and reading extended soujourn I could do about 70 lengths. Pokhara is a sociable joint which is just what I need and I've met two great south African girls, now somewhere high in the hills (I nearly joined them, lucky I didn't, Dr Gupta would not have approved) and a nice Aussie couple. All four encouraged me to white water raft so I'm going to do that when I get strong again. My guest house is super friendly and the Nepali guys all have a soft spot for the cat, one is teaching it to do tricks. So I'm going "up town" now to the north side of the lake to see waht goes on with my trusty umbrella. Its warm and sunny with crazy rain showers. Yesterday hailstones pelted down the size of Minstrels. Here's to plenty of white rice and apples. I know how to live like a king.......
Pokhara is situated on a lake and is much more tranquil than the rigours of Kathmandu. It is quite bohemian, with lots of little shops and cafes and of course is a base for everyone to get up into them there hills. I'm looking forward to hiring a bike so I can pedal around a bit of the scenery as I haven't ridden one in weeks. There are also a couple of hotels where you can use their pool for a dip, so maybe tomorrow, if my stomach ceases to make loud proclamations of its predicament at random times I can go splashing around. The lake is unfortunately not clean enough to jump in. After the sitting and reading extended soujourn I could do about 70 lengths. Pokhara is a sociable joint which is just what I need and I've met two great south African girls, now somewhere high in the hills (I nearly joined them, lucky I didn't, Dr Gupta would not have approved) and a nice Aussie couple. All four encouraged me to white water raft so I'm going to do that when I get strong again. My guest house is super friendly and the Nepali guys all have a soft spot for the cat, one is teaching it to do tricks. So I'm going "up town" now to the north side of the lake to see waht goes on with my trusty umbrella. Its warm and sunny with crazy rain showers. Yesterday hailstones pelted down the size of Minstrels. Here's to plenty of white rice and apples. I know how to live like a king.......
Friday, 29 April 2011
Meatobike
So I seem to be back in the land of the living, thanks to some large blue antibiotics (take the blue pill Neo) something to help me to digest food better (take the red pill Neo) and a third pill whose benefits I will not describe. I live to fight another day around the busy streets of Nepal. Motorbikes are king. They seem to move on the larger roads in small flotillas, filling the gaps like water and emerging from side streets or what you think are cobbled pedestrian streets with frightening turns of speed. You develop strange new jerky swerving motions like you are avoiding punches in a fight. My one night out in Thamel (tourist district, only place to drink essentially) after watching quite a good local band, I walked back in the dark round to my guesthouse and 3 bikes suddenly bore down on me through an alley and I was reminded of a scene in the Lost Boys as I plastered myself to a wall to let them tear through. No vampires around though so that's a plus. There are also many ways to load a motorbike with family members, girlfriends and luggage and tat. However the best I have seen on the whole trip was this morning; two men on a bike with three black sacks, each side, hanging off the front suspension, filled with large hocks of pork (just) swinging gaily around nearly coming out of the bags and being liberally splashed with road scuzz. Beautiful. And they didn't look so good either.
A few small excursions have happened around Kathmandu to temples and older parts of the city. Religious iconography has been studied, but not that hard. The guide books go into reams of detail and I glaze over. Have actually wandered into a temple / two historic areas and even a small museum without paying. 2011 is the Year of the Tourist here so I'm giving it my own slant. Sawa good black and white photo exhibition of Nepali people. Its strange being in all this concrete but I plan to escape in around a day's time to head to Pokhara, where all being well on the health front I go trekking in Annapurna. To be honest I need a giant kick up the arse from an elephant as the illness has seriously sucked all my va-va-voom. I feel about as adventurous right now as the average pensioner. I miss ole Blighty a little bit which is a shocker I never thought I would. Speaking of which I did just manage to catch a little of the royal wedding at a local guesthouse, well saw the dress and witnessed "the balcony kisses" (two, how risque). Did anyone out there go to a street party? The World Service said there were 5 000 happening?! Shots of random Brits in ridiculous outfits abounded alongside micophones pointed at small confused looking children. It sounded like it was all jolly fine. Well I must be off as tonight I may be able to order a meal as opposed to white rice in a bowl which has been a staple of the ill body. I may go mental and have a red thai curry. I know. On the edge and even there I'm taking up too much room......
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Nepalese temple balls
No I haven't had any, honest mum. It seems in my wibbly state all smells are too strong especially chemical ones. However I do miss that niff of burning rubbish piles all over Sri Lanka. They do love a good sweep. A lot of effort goes into, well sweeping. And then the offerings are cremated unceremoniously causing suspicious smells of burnt plastic. Yum. So yes I got to Nepal. No thanks to anyone including air stewards who were no help. By the transfer in India I'd already been sick once and had to wait in a huge queue to check through for connecting flight two, nearly missing connecting flight two. In the "Body Check" cabin, shut-me-in- and-frisk- me-down, yet again I've managed to come through Indian customs with an illicit metal object in my hand luggage. S**t. Last time it was an unidentifiable metal weird thing (Jammer you don't know this but your backpack is making its way around Asia with me. The "thing" was yours; its now in an Indian bin). The offending object is a jaw harp. This is small and sharp and made from a bullet casing. She zeroes in on it. I feel like I want to puke. Keep it together as I don't want to be quarantined in Delhi. "Its an instrument", I offer. She looks at me. "See?" Oh what the hell, this better be good. "Look!" ....."Zhiggy Boing Ding!!!!" I look up hopefully. "Diggy boing boing....." I seranade her. She looks at me with disgust and I am struck by the absurdity of the human condition. Or maybe just my own ragged condition. She waves me through.
Flight number two and I m really unwell now and puke again, the only saving grace is having no seat neighbours. An Aussie drama queen is taking all the attention. She already called for a doctor in the flight (Most dramatic - "IS there a doctor on board? Please make yourself known to cabin crew!") Stagger off plane unable to walk. No-one helps. Feel very sorry for myself. A woman named Marianne turns out to be my gurardian angel and gets me in and through customs and helped generally. I blub as its all too much. She is very kind. And she is in a wheelchair. Aussie drama merchant is in my taxi transfer bus and seems fine despite exiting the plane in a wheelchair. Silly bitch. She helpfully suggests I may have typhoid and proceeds to witter on all the way to the guesthouse. I want to kick her but have no energy so just ignore her. It seems my travellers good will box has reached an empty setting and needs a refuel. I need a helper, but on the road, despite helpful people, I am travelling solo, staggering around trying to make sense of the motorbikes, ancient carnival-esque bike taxis, Serengi players and Gore Tex clad hoards of keen trekkers-to-be in Kathmandu. Give me a cold coke and a darkened room......
Flight number two and I m really unwell now and puke again, the only saving grace is having no seat neighbours. An Aussie drama queen is taking all the attention. She already called for a doctor in the flight (Most dramatic - "IS there a doctor on board? Please make yourself known to cabin crew!") Stagger off plane unable to walk. No-one helps. Feel very sorry for myself. A woman named Marianne turns out to be my gurardian angel and gets me in and through customs and helped generally. I blub as its all too much. She is very kind. And she is in a wheelchair. Aussie drama merchant is in my taxi transfer bus and seems fine despite exiting the plane in a wheelchair. Silly bitch. She helpfully suggests I may have typhoid and proceeds to witter on all the way to the guesthouse. I want to kick her but have no energy so just ignore her. It seems my travellers good will box has reached an empty setting and needs a refuel. I need a helper, but on the road, despite helpful people, I am travelling solo, staggering around trying to make sense of the motorbikes, ancient carnival-esque bike taxis, Serengi players and Gore Tex clad hoards of keen trekkers-to-be in Kathmandu. Give me a cold coke and a darkened room......
Saturday, 23 April 2011
Kandy gets me good
I have hooked up with a French lass to peruse this lakeside town and we decide to take in a cultural show. Its aimed at tourists so we are aware it may be a bit duff. However Kandyian dancing is well famed so we pack in to try and watch. The show time we had been given was wrong and its already started and we have to stand. Some of it is quite impressive. One move in particular involves placing the head in the middle at chest height and spinning over a full rotation of the body, with legs flipping up and over like a human spinning top, in a circle repeatedly. This is impressive. The guy doing it looks like a ninja but overcooks it by starting so fast and nearly crashes into the drummers. The whole thing looks like everyone rehearses. Alone. And then comes together for the final thing. There is a fire walk which we can't see and some amateur fire spinning. Hmmm we should've known......But it was funny.....
We change pace the next day and spend it at a botanical gardens which is great. They have an orchid house which is beautiful. Bump into Mr Czech. He's a plant biologist so is well happy. After this I dash around the "National" museum. Which is a bit of a lie as there are 4 of them in different towns. There are interesting bits and pieces and a gold 17th Century crown protected by the most rudimentary alarm system known to man which looks more like a plunger (master criminals take note). There are clearly no curatorship training courses here and I need to use a head torch to see some exhibits as the lights have blown. One particularly weird artefact catches my eye as perhaps a tool of a medecine man or something. However after a second look I feel very bad ju ju off it so leave it be. Look at some old trinkets and photos then I'm out. Satggering back to the guest house for a rest, the humidity is a stern task master.
And sadly dear reader here I fall ill. I watch my ceiling fan do its thing and stagger to Pizza Hut for some extortionate price just for the air con and lack of curry. Its a tummy bug and I feel well weird. I blame the evil artefact. Seriously. I also have the added joy of a random man touching my bum as I stagger home. "Shame on you!" I bellow and point in his face (most rude in Sri Lanka). He flinches like I've shot him. Good. Arrrgh...
I manage to leave Kandy but as its holidays my 2 hour bus trip takes 6 (the bus breaks down) and I feel like I may die en route. Lie up again in Sigriya. Haven't managed a full meal for days. Tedium. Manage to drag myself up Sigriya rock which I really wanted to do. The food is the worst on the trip but I can't eat it so that's good. The rock has great views far around. It was once the encampment of the lesser son of a king, called Kassapa, built to rival his brother and keep him off the throne by its impregnable fortress location. However when the brother came to tell him where to get off he did literally that. The idiot came down and rode out into battle on the back of an elephant on the plains below. Sadly for him, his welephant bolted and his troops thought he was giving up and legged it. Left to a surefire defeat by his brother he topped himself. Yes this fool has left the legacy of a World Heritage site where thousands come to look and wonder not that he deserved it. And he was afraid of heights. The price is extortionate too.
So my slight jadedness peaks through. Travelling solo and ill is a challenge. I manage to get south in another epic, fiercely hot and crowded bus disco to Negombo, primed and ready for take off to my next destination. Nepal. Its good to paddle in the sea once more and ponder the first leg of the trip whilst watching beach cricket in the sunset. Food is my enemy still. However The Daphini Guesthouse are in my dreams for they served me a great huge plate of mashed potato I'd been idly fantasising about all day. I couldn't face anything else and had no idea it was on their menu. Hell I didn't even know they had a restaurant. Maybe on the very last day back through on my return I may be able to taste some of that amazing seafood. Until then I dream of mash...
We change pace the next day and spend it at a botanical gardens which is great. They have an orchid house which is beautiful. Bump into Mr Czech. He's a plant biologist so is well happy. After this I dash around the "National" museum. Which is a bit of a lie as there are 4 of them in different towns. There are interesting bits and pieces and a gold 17th Century crown protected by the most rudimentary alarm system known to man which looks more like a plunger (master criminals take note). There are clearly no curatorship training courses here and I need to use a head torch to see some exhibits as the lights have blown. One particularly weird artefact catches my eye as perhaps a tool of a medecine man or something. However after a second look I feel very bad ju ju off it so leave it be. Look at some old trinkets and photos then I'm out. Satggering back to the guest house for a rest, the humidity is a stern task master.
And sadly dear reader here I fall ill. I watch my ceiling fan do its thing and stagger to Pizza Hut for some extortionate price just for the air con and lack of curry. Its a tummy bug and I feel well weird. I blame the evil artefact. Seriously. I also have the added joy of a random man touching my bum as I stagger home. "Shame on you!" I bellow and point in his face (most rude in Sri Lanka). He flinches like I've shot him. Good. Arrrgh...
I manage to leave Kandy but as its holidays my 2 hour bus trip takes 6 (the bus breaks down) and I feel like I may die en route. Lie up again in Sigriya. Haven't managed a full meal for days. Tedium. Manage to drag myself up Sigriya rock which I really wanted to do. The food is the worst on the trip but I can't eat it so that's good. The rock has great views far around. It was once the encampment of the lesser son of a king, called Kassapa, built to rival his brother and keep him off the throne by its impregnable fortress location. However when the brother came to tell him where to get off he did literally that. The idiot came down and rode out into battle on the back of an elephant on the plains below. Sadly for him, his welephant bolted and his troops thought he was giving up and legged it. Left to a surefire defeat by his brother he topped himself. Yes this fool has left the legacy of a World Heritage site where thousands come to look and wonder not that he deserved it. And he was afraid of heights. The price is extortionate too.
So my slight jadedness peaks through. Travelling solo and ill is a challenge. I manage to get south in another epic, fiercely hot and crowded bus disco to Negombo, primed and ready for take off to my next destination. Nepal. Its good to paddle in the sea once more and ponder the first leg of the trip whilst watching beach cricket in the sunset. Food is my enemy still. However The Daphini Guesthouse are in my dreams for they served me a great huge plate of mashed potato I'd been idly fantasising about all day. I couldn't face anything else and had no idea it was on their menu. Hell I didn't even know they had a restaurant. Maybe on the very last day back through on my return I may be able to taste some of that amazing seafood. Until then I dream of mash...
New Year Shenanigans
I join for the random assortment of guests dining out together at The Green House. Most of us are post-peak but some are yet to climb. This manages to engender a little conversation but its hardly flowing like water. We have Czech, French, Italian, English, US, Japanese ("Yeah the earthquake place yeah!" he joked) and Medecine sans Frontieres workers amongst us. However they are communications and admin so I can't glean anything juicy out of them really. I brought a candle for ambience. It helps to fixate on something as the conversation dries up like a pond. So one mediocre curry and several fireworks down the valley late I'm in bed early with everyone else.
The next day I set out walking and come across a tiny Hindu temple. Their New Year's Day ceremony is in full swing. I am invited into proceedings and Bhindi'd and given the chance to take lots of photos. Then my paws are filled with temple sweet meats. The temple holy man busies himself with a whole lotta candles inside and at one point brings out a sacred flaming coconut for hands to be cleansed over. One man touches me like a lucky charm which is slightly embarassing as I am clearly mainly here to gawp not to convert. I leave feeling very lucky.
Later I run into a Czech couple who are waterfall hunting. I join them and he flags down a passing van to get a lift and we pile in with 12 Sri Lankans going on a picnic. We wind into the tea plantations for what seems like forever. And then, miles away, the waterfall! Leap out to look and then back in. "Fishing hut!" they are very excited as we follow the fish signs into the green wilderness. "Fishing hut!" Is it a joke? we have driven miles. Mr Czech shrugs dramatically "Sorry!" he apologises. "No problem", I offer. "I got in!" It seems we are off to the remotest location possible with a bunch of strangers. If we break down or roll the bus we won't be found for days.....The roads are narrow and ridiculous and hilarity ensues as one of the women thinks the Czech man's girlfriend is our daughter together. Oh god, how old do I look? She is clearly around 20. We get there and get out and the gate is locked. We spill out and they share their food with us on the road side. Straight away it rains and we try and cram back in, curry flies and umbrellas are everywhere. The old guy is offering me booze. Its chaos. We bundle back and the old guy breaks into song. They love a song and they love to chat, its a steady burble and clapping too. Then its the Czech Republic on the spot to sing. It's too sombre and they lose interest. Then England gets called in so I belt out an old folk song. Bizarrely they love it and whoop and clap and cheer raucously, rattling the van. Then we are at our junction and we spill out on the road again.....saying our goodbyes.....
The next day I set out walking and come across a tiny Hindu temple. Their New Year's Day ceremony is in full swing. I am invited into proceedings and Bhindi'd and given the chance to take lots of photos. Then my paws are filled with temple sweet meats. The temple holy man busies himself with a whole lotta candles inside and at one point brings out a sacred flaming coconut for hands to be cleansed over. One man touches me like a lucky charm which is slightly embarassing as I am clearly mainly here to gawp not to convert. I leave feeling very lucky.
Later I run into a Czech couple who are waterfall hunting. I join them and he flags down a passing van to get a lift and we pile in with 12 Sri Lankans going on a picnic. We wind into the tea plantations for what seems like forever. And then, miles away, the waterfall! Leap out to look and then back in. "Fishing hut!" they are very excited as we follow the fish signs into the green wilderness. "Fishing hut!" Is it a joke? we have driven miles. Mr Czech shrugs dramatically "Sorry!" he apologises. "No problem", I offer. "I got in!" It seems we are off to the remotest location possible with a bunch of strangers. If we break down or roll the bus we won't be found for days.....The roads are narrow and ridiculous and hilarity ensues as one of the women thinks the Czech man's girlfriend is our daughter together. Oh god, how old do I look? She is clearly around 20. We get there and get out and the gate is locked. We spill out and they share their food with us on the road side. Straight away it rains and we try and cram back in, curry flies and umbrellas are everywhere. The old guy is offering me booze. Its chaos. We bundle back and the old guy breaks into song. They love a song and they love to chat, its a steady burble and clapping too. Then its the Czech Republic on the spot to sing. It's too sombre and they lose interest. Then England gets called in so I belt out an old folk song. Bizarrely they love it and whoop and clap and cheer raucously, rattling the van. Then we are at our junction and we spill out on the road again.....saying our goodbyes.....
Right.....
My last post did not publish right due to ridiculous power and Internet speeds. My evocative descriptions of Adam's Peak are lost forever. So, as I ma getting behind in my travelouge I'll have to do a crap-re-cap of it. Okay so I climbed, alone, in the darkness. Prayer flags whispered in the wind. The mountain arose before me unknown and looming. A monk jumped me in the dark, and taxed me a fiver for "Good Luck"on the mountain. Or his lunch fund. At 3 in the morning it wasn't clear. I climbed on towards the peak and sunrise. Being a mountain there isn't really any respite. I stopped for fizzy refreshment in one of the many tea shops, some with crazy music blaring. One man is asleep along his counter top nestled between his water bottles. I climb on. I summit in around 2 and 3/4 hours which is respectable. I have surmounted five thousand and five hundred steps which is faintly ludicrous. Try not ot think about getting down. See a beautiful sunrise and traditional music blares as the red ball of the sun crests the clouds. I ring the bell for good fortune and look at the sacred footprint on the very top. Its actually part of the temple at the peak, which is helpfully organised through a tannoy system. However its all in Singhala so I can blot it out. Cross to the far side of the peak to see the "shadow" cast by the sun. Its famous for being mysterious, purplish blue and in a perfect triangle shape. Which does not reflect the true shape of Adam's Peak at all. It hangs in the air. Mystical sign apparently. Its certainly hard to explain. After wafting at the summit, I descend like a three legged goat that's been on the piss. My right knee is playing up so I have to adopt the descent mode of a crab, sideways all the way. But I make it despite being overtaken occasionally by local women in their 70's wearing flip flops. Return to guesthouse feeling like I've achieved a new status as a minor mountaineer......
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Adam's Peak and the random picnic
Its another two-parter in case of electric problems....So I arise in the dark and ready my bag. The Green House is conveniently right at the start of the climb up the peak. It is an important Buddhist pilgrimage site and quite a few tourists also climb up for sunrise. The tea shop lady had pointed it out to me on the bus yesterday evening - "Adam's Peak!" she exclaimed. "Are you sure its not the Matterhorn?" I thought dubiously.
Ask me again
The train successfully deposits me in Hatton, the bus station nearest to Dalhousie. In short I receive the most hassle from two tuk tuk drivers on leaving the train that I've had during the whole trip. I can see rupees in their eyes and they are not letting go. "Tuk tuk madam?" "No I'm gettting the bus, thanks". "No buses today madam, holidays". "Yes there are!" I exclaim, completely unsure if there are. Am deteremined do not be worn down...."Tuk tuk madam, no buses..." "No thank you I'm getting the bus" "Good price madam...." And so it goes on. When idiot has finished for 5 minutes, idiot's mate comes over and repeats the exercise. In alternation they bother me on and off for around two hours plus. Then 7 drunk lads come over and hassle me to, as well as a couple of Germans.I remember a South African friend asyaing that simply shutting your eyes can ward off hawkers. This works in the short term. Then I open them again. "Tired madam? Tuk tuk good price". A kind lady who runs one of the numerous Adam's Peak tea shops helps me out by saying there is a bus as she has to get to work at her shop. Want to kiss the driver when he arrives. "My friend" - she points. "Mine too!" I bellow.
So after bus debarcle I arrive at Adam's Peak village in the dark and rain. But, as usual locals point me in the right direction and The Green House has rooms. I enter the crazy rickety green gazebo'd Disney-esque garden (plastic reindeer greet me) and am surprised to find Ray Charles runs the show. Or a very good Sri Lankan equivalent. In classic blind person cliche he is an incredible listener and seems to be able to read your mind. My room has a view, in fact having a window appears to be a score, of the surrounding mountains. Of course I don't know this yet. It's dark. Off to bed for a few hours sleep, as the climb of the Peak needs to be started at 2.30am. Yes that's 2.30 in the morning.......
So after bus debarcle I arrive at Adam's Peak village in the dark and rain. But, as usual locals point me in the right direction and The Green House has rooms. I enter the crazy rickety green gazebo'd Disney-esque garden (plastic reindeer greet me) and am surprised to find Ray Charles runs the show. Or a very good Sri Lankan equivalent. In classic blind person cliche he is an incredible listener and seems to be able to read your mind. My room has a view, in fact having a window appears to be a score, of the surrounding mountains. Of course I don't know this yet. It's dark. Off to bed for a few hours sleep, as the climb of the Peak needs to be started at 2.30am. Yes that's 2.30 in the morning.......
Friday, 15 April 2011
Buddhism, Day Trips and Pap Fiction
So after the excitement of the music night I changed my hut to The Rock Inn, a great unintentional play on words. It has a great view of Ella rock from the balcony and from my window and sparrows flying in and out. Chipmunks spin up and down the electricity cables, tails whirring to keep themselves upright. I explore the surrounding countryside taking a walk up little Adam's Peak in preparation for the "big one". (Adam's Peak is supposedly where Adam fell when he got kicked out of heaven and there is a sacred footprint atop it. Its a sacred pilgrimage site for Buddhists who have installed a temple at the summit and indeed a tannoy system, but more about that later). I jump a bus and a tuk to Buduruwagala to look at tenth century Mahayana Buddhist stone carvings, with an unusual bit of tantric influence. The Ticket Officer is about 9 years old and runs to his post in astonishment to collect his 200 rupees. Methinks they don't get many visitors and out here; if you broke down or crashed it would take a week to be found. Note to self: take phone on next trip. EVERYONE has one. Feel very 1980's. Explore more and randomly see a huge lake, some locals painting their houses for New Year in pink, lady with a full laundry bin on back of motorbike, some hills and a Sri Lankan funeral not necessarily in that order. On arriving back manage to hook up with the errant San Diego boys for dinner after last nights missed rendezvous. Greg, Jim and Bruce are very nice and good company but quite weird on the humour front. Greg has an Italian girlfriend who told him "No Ayurvedic massages!" and has OCD, Bruce looks uncannily like Roger Moore. But the restaurant they pick has delicious home cooked curries, the best of the trip.
Decide to have a rest day as am feeling flaked and the plan to climb Adam's Peak makes me tired just thinking about it. Meet Kanthi who takes me to her home and describes the women's development project she is setting up doing sewing skills and allowing women to train and then become self employed. Her kids are very cute and they show me all the family photo albums....Take lots of photies and promise to try and help the project in the future. Back at The Rock Inn find the classic and widely under-read work of fiction "A World of Shadows" circa 1964 and settle down to enjoy it. Its the only English book there and is surprisingly readable. The cultural references give a good insight into the ideologies of the time. The central tenet is a governess with a secret that could threaten her happy work placement looking after a 5 year old boy in a country pile. When the fearful truth arises it turns out the governess's stepfather has "shady connections", is alcoholic and mixes with n'er do wells. The shame! The horror! (get him on my case load it'll all be fine). The lord of the manor comes to the rescue when aforementioned son is kidnapped, cue much hankerchief wringing and sleepless nights, and the adversity brings them together. The aforementioned stepfather is conveniently murdered en route to finding kidnapped son. Kidnapped son is found by governesss who is also taken hostage and then everyone is rescued by Scotland Yard. The End. There now you don't need to read it.
After the excitement of all that I decide to move on and head for Dalhousie, the home of Adam's Peak and march up the hill for my first Sri Lankan train experience. It costs about 40p to travel 4 hours by train. Imagine this at home.....We wind through the tea plantations and up into the hills, the kids sceaming and whistling at every tunnel which is funny until we hit a strecth with 9 tunnels. The men lean out the open doors and hawkers squeeze up and down selling snacks shouting over and over what they have. Everyone is getting excited. New Year is fast approaching.....
Decide to have a rest day as am feeling flaked and the plan to climb Adam's Peak makes me tired just thinking about it. Meet Kanthi who takes me to her home and describes the women's development project she is setting up doing sewing skills and allowing women to train and then become self employed. Her kids are very cute and they show me all the family photo albums....Take lots of photies and promise to try and help the project in the future. Back at The Rock Inn find the classic and widely under-read work of fiction "A World of Shadows" circa 1964 and settle down to enjoy it. Its the only English book there and is surprisingly readable. The cultural references give a good insight into the ideologies of the time. The central tenet is a governess with a secret that could threaten her happy work placement looking after a 5 year old boy in a country pile. When the fearful truth arises it turns out the governess's stepfather has "shady connections", is alcoholic and mixes with n'er do wells. The shame! The horror! (get him on my case load it'll all be fine). The lord of the manor comes to the rescue when aforementioned son is kidnapped, cue much hankerchief wringing and sleepless nights, and the adversity brings them together. The aforementioned stepfather is conveniently murdered en route to finding kidnapped son. Kidnapped son is found by governesss who is also taken hostage and then everyone is rescued by Scotland Yard. The End. There now you don't need to read it.
After the excitement of all that I decide to move on and head for Dalhousie, the home of Adam's Peak and march up the hill for my first Sri Lankan train experience. It costs about 40p to travel 4 hours by train. Imagine this at home.....We wind through the tea plantations and up into the hills, the kids sceaming and whistling at every tunnel which is funny until we hit a strecth with 9 tunnels. The men lean out the open doors and hawkers squeeze up and down selling snacks shouting over and over what they have. Everyone is getting excited. New Year is fast approaching.....
Monday, 11 April 2011
Power Cuts and Groovy Moves
So the blog is in two parts in case everything cuts out....So arriving in Ella I found a room with a local woman and went out to explore a bit. The bus journey floors me so I head for cold drinks. Its geared to tourists here so unusally there's things like frittata on the menu and pork schnitzel. There is a high German contingent out here, plus many Brits and French. Get chatting to some Americans who suggest dinner and the waiter, Dash, tells me there's music tonight. After chiling in my first room on the road, I try out the step machine which is randomly part of the deal. With my Ipod on, I stride along, getting some training in for my hill walking. I could be in England at the gym. Lizzie my host cooks me a lovely Sri Lankan rice and curry and I peer doubtfully out the window at the torrential ran scuppering my plans to go out. The route out is via some rammed earth tyres through the garden and down a steep hill. "There will be leeches after the rain", she warns me, but like a petulant teenager I commit to my excursion, headtorch and umbrella in hand. I have a 10 o'clock curfew as there's only one key! Head for the restaurant, no sign of the Americans. Decide to head to the live music alone. Its a local Sri Lankan band in a field, warming everyone up for New Year. Mainly its just the older men dancing. My favourites are the man in a traditional sarong standing with legs apart, feet turned out and knees bent, jigging up and down on the spot holding his arms in the air shouting "Sri Lankaaaa!" repeatedly; closely followed by a man whose varied routine includes hands on head-shoulders-hips-and leap-somewhat like a reindeer on a Christmas card. Number two dancer stretches his feet and uses his arms expansively. I've never seen anything like this when an Englishman hits the floor. They love music and it is playing at the markets, on the buses, in the bank and here it seems they show me how they do it. The local policeman wanders around. Suddenly, in full regalia, the local policeman is centre stage, doing a number! He has a great singing voice so he does another. It ain't like this back home. The music goes on and the younger men join. Some beer has been drunk. I am the only tourist and only woman. Try to blend in. Doesn't quite work due to being the only tourist and only woman. All are friendly and many offers to join in but feel like just me and a bunch of drunken men could be dubious. A couple of words are exchanged as it is so I slope off. Later the next day I chat to Dash from the coffee shop. He says he didn't make it till later and there was unfortunately a fight and the police were there. He was quite tactful but the cause of the fight may have been a girl. Er...that would be me then. Just by being there it turned a bit like the school disco with the men vying to talk to the only girl. Heck I wasn't expecting that (Aussie accent). Despite not drinking, smoking or showing off it still caused a problem. I brushed it off and blamed the Arrack (local spirit, strong and drunk everywhere). Arrack Attack. On getting back as well I had started to undress and found a leech on my leg. "Lizzie!" I shouted hopping across the dining room. She rallied with the salt and it reeled like a baddie on fire in a movie and fell off leaving a little pool of blood on her doorstep. Going out late and listening to music and bleeding on the front porch. I"m her best guest yet! Patched myself up and headed for bed...
Monks-on-mobiles and How-many-people-can-you-fit-on-a-bus
I have just sat down to type and am questioning the wisdom of my "great idea" to help all future Internet users at my guesthouse by replacing missing keyboard letters with silver nail polish. It ain't drying very well and quite frankly looks well silly. However the Sri Lankans are a laid back lot so hopefully they won't give a toss. I have wound my way via 6 hours bus travel to the hill country and I'm staying in picturesque Ella. Finally breaking away from the beach was hard but locals help you all the way from telling you which bus to catch to where the rest stop happens for cold drinks and a fragrant squat toilet. I wondered if I had built up good enough arm muscles from constant paddling as I arrived and the bus ticket man was hauling my bag out. "Help me madam!" he pleaded as it wouldn't come out of the underneath locker. I told myself it was my shoes sticking out rather than the ridiculous weight caused partly by a pair of fire poi, unecesary pair of jeans and an umbrella to beat the occasional pre monsoon downpour. I decided to use mind over matter. The bus was a social affair with people crammed up the aisle and out the door. Wedged between a school teacher and rampant mobile phone user with questionable hand placement I swerved along, sweating merrily on the vinyl seats and chugging water when it meant I wouldn't bash my teeth out from the seat in front due to the violent braking. I kept thinking it was dogs or pedestrians. Bizarrely it appeared to be......the designated stops. Everything is pretty slow here except the buses which run to a rigourous schedule which could shame Alan Sugar. When all are on, or partly on, the cry goes up "hari-hari!!" in a shrill crescendo (OK!) and we career off again. The ticket man then proudly writes his little slips and organises the money held in a big wad in his hand. At one point a monk alights and two people are kicked out of their seats to make way. And yes monks here do use mobile phones. We pass temples on the way and the men put their hands together and even the young lads scoop off their baseball caps. People standing lean very close to those seated, even dumping bags in their laps without much ado as this appears to be accepted practice. The local drunkard or slightly mad man rattles away at the back as heads turn and the men giggle......The teacher shares his mango with me and asks what he can do to improve his English. I suggest listening to the World Service and wonder if this is c**p advice........
Friday, 8 April 2011
Mammals Mammals Everywhere
Since my last post I have been attempting to form some gills, averaging at least two dips a day in the sea. Morning and evening surfing is in abundance due to cleaner waves and lower heat levels at the beginning and end of the day. I've made three trips out to the reef now and have finally been catching some waves. We all pile into a small motor boat, hurl ourselves over the side and paddle out for the waves. You can duck out of the waves and paddle around saving energy and time on a reef break. Surfing with coral beneath your feet is really amazing. I'm trying extremely hard not to touch the little creatures as they die if you do. Have seen little shoals of leaping fish and a sea turtle flopping around.
This week I hooked up with the lovely Holly and Toby from Bude to charter a jeep into Yala National Park. This is the home of creatures galore and we were hoping to catch some of it bimbling around. After securing our driver in a crazy old dark green open truck we bumped our way into the park. After frowning at some ancient taxidermy in the park's museum we headed off into the heat of the day; around 35 degrees. The driver/guide asking 4 times if we had water. They chatted into their mobiles and broke a running sweat so we knew it was warm. Straight away we saw grey langur monkeys and warthogs racing along. Soon after we saw a couple of beautiful bee-eater birds. We continued to see a huge variety of birds including eagles, kites, stork, pelican, spoonbills and egrets amongst many others. We the saw water buffalo and salt and freshwater crocodiles. A couple of mongoose weaved around along with some deer. But then came the moment we'd been waiting for. A male elephant was on our track walking straight for us. We all held our breath as it advanced on the truck. I hoped that our driver Asayla was not about to receive yet another text message. The elephant approached and what I remember most was the soft sound of its beautiful round feet padding along. We could have reached out and touched him, it was unbelievable to think he was wild. He sashayed past for a drink at the watering hole and we followed him for a bit. Later another elephant passed us and walked into a pond of lotus flowers and started to slowly clear the pond, wrapping its trunk carefully around individual flowers and chomping happpily. Their trunks are unbelievably dextrous, even rounding up balls of grass to chomp like a small sweetmeat.We bumped on through red dirt racks and down to the sea with a huge round rock outcrop and palm roofed fishing shacks almost in the sea. A tsunami memorial stood there where a safari bungalow was destroyed killing everyone. The park was amazing and so rich in wildlife like I'd never expected.
After the tsunami the death toll in Sri Lanka I'm told was 75 000 in all. Laura was actually here when it hit and ran to take refuge on the roof of a house. As the water levels rose she and those with her thought it was the end. Luckily for her and me it wasn't but it was this that spurred her on to stay and fundraise and help in the aftermath. What she has achieved here is really remarkable. I spoke to a local fisherman who'd lost 75 people just from his village and both his parents. They are still trying to recover. Ajit's parents had a house on the beach. After the tsunami hit the government forbid rebuilding, allowing only hotels to be constructed on these prime plots of real estate. This is why Laura and Aj bought the land from Aj's parents to construct the Green Rooms surf lodge. They give his parents a share of the income and have protected a little bit for the community. They do not gate the property as many of the hotels do. Effectively many people lost their homes and businesses and had to drop down the ladder to survive. Even the lowliest backpacker is seen as well off here.
However the friendliness of the locals towards us visitors is high despite all this and nearly every single wave is returned and a hello always brings a response and a smile. The children are especially interested. Today a whole class of 6 year olds sat outside shouted hello loudly to me and two Belgian guys. We shouted and waved but I noticed the teacher sternly telling them off for bothering us. The children shout hello and fall about with the giggles, the girls shyly putting hands to their faces.
This morning was a highlight of the trip so far, although in just two weeks there have been many. I arranged to go out whale bothering and was blown away to have a close encounter with a blue whale. After spy hopping a bit, he came in near to the boat and surfaced properly four times in a row each time showing his whaley face and puffing out air from his blow hole. He gave us a bit of tail as a finale. It was just incredibly moving and again, like the largest land mammal, he appeared so gentle. Whilst he could have moved further away he stayed quite near leaving strange, large, flat patches of water behind his bulky self.We crossed paths with many local fishing boats and saw a few flying fish skitting around as we happily chugged back to the harbour. We were apparently lucky it came so close.
So tomorrow I head north and the internet may be sporadic again. I'm heading for the hill country, tea plantations, huge rock outcrops, waterfalls and old style Sri Lankan train journeying. Until then.....
This week I hooked up with the lovely Holly and Toby from Bude to charter a jeep into Yala National Park. This is the home of creatures galore and we were hoping to catch some of it bimbling around. After securing our driver in a crazy old dark green open truck we bumped our way into the park. After frowning at some ancient taxidermy in the park's museum we headed off into the heat of the day; around 35 degrees. The driver/guide asking 4 times if we had water. They chatted into their mobiles and broke a running sweat so we knew it was warm. Straight away we saw grey langur monkeys and warthogs racing along. Soon after we saw a couple of beautiful bee-eater birds. We continued to see a huge variety of birds including eagles, kites, stork, pelican, spoonbills and egrets amongst many others. We the saw water buffalo and salt and freshwater crocodiles. A couple of mongoose weaved around along with some deer. But then came the moment we'd been waiting for. A male elephant was on our track walking straight for us. We all held our breath as it advanced on the truck. I hoped that our driver Asayla was not about to receive yet another text message. The elephant approached and what I remember most was the soft sound of its beautiful round feet padding along. We could have reached out and touched him, it was unbelievable to think he was wild. He sashayed past for a drink at the watering hole and we followed him for a bit. Later another elephant passed us and walked into a pond of lotus flowers and started to slowly clear the pond, wrapping its trunk carefully around individual flowers and chomping happpily. Their trunks are unbelievably dextrous, even rounding up balls of grass to chomp like a small sweetmeat.We bumped on through red dirt racks and down to the sea with a huge round rock outcrop and palm roofed fishing shacks almost in the sea. A tsunami memorial stood there where a safari bungalow was destroyed killing everyone. The park was amazing and so rich in wildlife like I'd never expected.
After the tsunami the death toll in Sri Lanka I'm told was 75 000 in all. Laura was actually here when it hit and ran to take refuge on the roof of a house. As the water levels rose she and those with her thought it was the end. Luckily for her and me it wasn't but it was this that spurred her on to stay and fundraise and help in the aftermath. What she has achieved here is really remarkable. I spoke to a local fisherman who'd lost 75 people just from his village and both his parents. They are still trying to recover. Ajit's parents had a house on the beach. After the tsunami hit the government forbid rebuilding, allowing only hotels to be constructed on these prime plots of real estate. This is why Laura and Aj bought the land from Aj's parents to construct the Green Rooms surf lodge. They give his parents a share of the income and have protected a little bit for the community. They do not gate the property as many of the hotels do. Effectively many people lost their homes and businesses and had to drop down the ladder to survive. Even the lowliest backpacker is seen as well off here.
However the friendliness of the locals towards us visitors is high despite all this and nearly every single wave is returned and a hello always brings a response and a smile. The children are especially interested. Today a whole class of 6 year olds sat outside shouted hello loudly to me and two Belgian guys. We shouted and waved but I noticed the teacher sternly telling them off for bothering us. The children shout hello and fall about with the giggles, the girls shyly putting hands to their faces.
This morning was a highlight of the trip so far, although in just two weeks there have been many. I arranged to go out whale bothering and was blown away to have a close encounter with a blue whale. After spy hopping a bit, he came in near to the boat and surfaced properly four times in a row each time showing his whaley face and puffing out air from his blow hole. He gave us a bit of tail as a finale. It was just incredibly moving and again, like the largest land mammal, he appeared so gentle. Whilst he could have moved further away he stayed quite near leaving strange, large, flat patches of water behind his bulky self.We crossed paths with many local fishing boats and saw a few flying fish skitting around as we happily chugged back to the harbour. We were apparently lucky it came so close.
So tomorrow I head north and the internet may be sporadic again. I'm heading for the hill country, tea plantations, huge rock outcrops, waterfalls and old style Sri Lankan train journeying. Until then.....
Sunday, 3 April 2011
And so the journey begins
After a slight delay of eleven days I've found an internet connection steady enough to check in. There are power surges and cuts here so I'm rolling around in the air con luxury of the Paradise Beach Hotel in Mirissa, just along from Weligama. The journey out east was smooth, Jet Airways are a high class budget airline and their red thai curry and asparagus dinner with real cutlery and many a free drink would have even the most hardened falling for their Eastern charms. My friendly seat neighbour on the final leg identified everything as wheat free and explained the cost of a local taxi. My first impressions of Sri Lankans are friendly and curious and helpful and whilst there are tourists about it certainly isn't peak season. Laura and Aj, my hosts, run a sustainably built surf lodge right on the beach, replete with palm trees, hammocks, a wonderful chef and many a barking beach pup. I've been in the sea every day and counted my blessings, mainly because I didn't think I'd survive the drive down here. This being my first experience of driving way out east, I was somewhat bemused as we hurtled in a mini van through the streets of Colombo, Sri Lanka's capital. Within five minutes I saw some legs sticking out of a crowd of people on the floor and minutes later a huge truck slammed into a row of shops. Our driver was a man possessed. He seemed to want to plough through the traffic literally, using the horn on average every 15 seconds.. After a couple of hours I awoke to a grinding, scraping noise to realise we were being ploughed into by a passsing truck. Cue much talking, drama, pointing, waiting, crowd gatheriung, speccing out the locals mad enough to wander in the road itself and waiting for the motorcycle insurance man who arrived in black padded jacket in the 30+ degree heat. Later still we overheated and had to leap for the pavement as steam billowed throughout the van......
The country itself is very green and beautiful with dry, dusty heat mixing with immense tropical storms. We've had lightning and thunder like the gates of hell openeing and some downpours of rain, but luckily it looks like just a precursor to the monsooon season. There is a plethora of wildlife everywhere from comedy leaping chipmunks to huge monitor lizards and beautiful butterflies. So far someone has been eaten alive by mossies, someone else prickeld by a jellyfish and another person accidentaly stomped on a ray but forunately only had severe pain for four hours. Aj was bitten by a millipede and his whole hand swelled up. The wildlife here is out in force. I also now know it takes 12 Sri Lankans, one moped and two bits of string and a palm stem to catch a four foot poisonious snake. And a goood dose of drama, that's essential. The snake looked well unimpressed as it was lead off like a travellers's dog-on-a-string......
So far I have taken my first ever break-neck ride in a tuk tuk in the rain, surfed my first ever reef break and given my first ever Sri Lankan fire show. There's another one booked for tonight as a couple at the Green Rooms (Laura's place) got engaged yesterday and there's a beach barbie celebration. I've sampled Arrack (atttack) which is the local brew rather like dark rum and Lion beer rather like a very weak lager from Asda. I've ventured out to sea with traditional Sri Lankan fishermen and got involved in a game of beach cricket with aforementioned fishermen on aforemementioned Arrack. The shouting and laughter was occasionally understandable but mainly I just did what I was told and pulled funny faces....With the World Cup Final yesterday everyone is mad for cricket. I kept it real for the Uk by scoring a 4 and even catching someone out. The language here is Singhalese, not easy to learn, although Laura has impressively mastered it. The use of head rolls and the speed of the chatter (the men talk often, the women are less easy to know as they spend much time indoors) is a challenge. Some speak good English but many only a few words, so the fun will begin when I get on the road proper and stop lounging around like a beach bum. However the laid back atmosphere is great and Laura and Aj are good hosts.
This is one big chunk of a post but the Internet is a tuk tuk ride away so I'm cramming it in. Apart from all that I've visited an Ayurvedic Garden, a Buddhist temple, seen cinnamon preparation, improved my surfing and marvelled at the colourful chaos of the local towns and streets. In amongst all that I think of you all back home and feel a little bit proud of our weird small island and all its about. Living in Cornwall has proved to be useful here for a) my invaluable surfing intro, b) dealing with the odd drunken fisherman and c) taking the pace sloooow. I am now off to try on a new frock I've bought and, more excitingly I am having little dress especially made for me for all of 3 quid by Lionel the local taylor. We're going to dress up tonite for Toby and Holly's engagement party. Big love people...speak soon xx
A Cornish "rake it up and burn it" mentality seems to abound. The Green Rooms surf place is right beside all the traditional Sri Lankan boats
The country itself is very green and beautiful with dry, dusty heat mixing with immense tropical storms. We've had lightning and thunder like the gates of hell openeing and some downpours of rain, but luckily it looks like just a precursor to the monsooon season. There is a plethora of wildlife everywhere from comedy leaping chipmunks to huge monitor lizards and beautiful butterflies. So far someone has been eaten alive by mossies, someone else prickeld by a jellyfish and another person accidentaly stomped on a ray but forunately only had severe pain for four hours. Aj was bitten by a millipede and his whole hand swelled up. The wildlife here is out in force. I also now know it takes 12 Sri Lankans, one moped and two bits of string and a palm stem to catch a four foot poisonious snake. And a goood dose of drama, that's essential. The snake looked well unimpressed as it was lead off like a travellers's dog-on-a-string......
So far I have taken my first ever break-neck ride in a tuk tuk in the rain, surfed my first ever reef break and given my first ever Sri Lankan fire show. There's another one booked for tonight as a couple at the Green Rooms (Laura's place) got engaged yesterday and there's a beach barbie celebration. I've sampled Arrack (atttack) which is the local brew rather like dark rum and Lion beer rather like a very weak lager from Asda. I've ventured out to sea with traditional Sri Lankan fishermen and got involved in a game of beach cricket with aforementioned fishermen on aforemementioned Arrack. The shouting and laughter was occasionally understandable but mainly I just did what I was told and pulled funny faces....With the World Cup Final yesterday everyone is mad for cricket. I kept it real for the Uk by scoring a 4 and even catching someone out. The language here is Singhalese, not easy to learn, although Laura has impressively mastered it. The use of head rolls and the speed of the chatter (the men talk often, the women are less easy to know as they spend much time indoors) is a challenge. Some speak good English but many only a few words, so the fun will begin when I get on the road proper and stop lounging around like a beach bum. However the laid back atmosphere is great and Laura and Aj are good hosts.
This is one big chunk of a post but the Internet is a tuk tuk ride away so I'm cramming it in. Apart from all that I've visited an Ayurvedic Garden, a Buddhist temple, seen cinnamon preparation, improved my surfing and marvelled at the colourful chaos of the local towns and streets. In amongst all that I think of you all back home and feel a little bit proud of our weird small island and all its about. Living in Cornwall has proved to be useful here for a) my invaluable surfing intro, b) dealing with the odd drunken fisherman and c) taking the pace sloooow. I am now off to try on a new frock I've bought and, more excitingly I am having little dress especially made for me for all of 3 quid by Lionel the local taylor. We're going to dress up tonite for Toby and Holly's engagement party. Big love people...speak soon xx
A Cornish "rake it up and burn it" mentality seems to abound. The Green Rooms surf place is right beside all the traditional Sri Lankan boats
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