Now I know Ant thinks I’m mad with the handwash, Listerine and other hygiene equipment I manage to carry around, but I find now that I am a real novice in this area. Deryn is actually worse…. or depending on your point of view, better, than me! As well as the obvious, she also carries her own mug, Fairy Liquid and a tea towel just in case she is forced to use one of the cups or glasses in the room, as well as Milton sterilising liquid. Said Milton has a myriad of uses from wiping down the bathroom to sterilising the toothbrush to sterilising small water bottles. It is also useful for washing grapes that have been bought locally. Please see attached vid so you know what you need to carry next time you travel…..
Thursday 29 January 2009
Girls on Tour (24 - 27 January 2009)
After a few days here on my own, it was great that Deryn arrived for some R 'n R. It was lovely to see her and it was like Xmas as she came loaded with goodies including the all important Liquorice Allsorts that Ant and I had been searching for all through India and Sri Lanka and more sweeties and chocolate from Mum as well as further supplies of handwash – thanks Mum.
After a morning walk (needed after all the Liquorice Allsorts and chocolate we had consumed), we would settle down on the beach in front of Buddha’s Bar and while away the afternoon catching up on all the gossip from the mags that Deryn brought in. The sari clad beach lady who seems to direct the placement of beach beds as well as taking food and drink orders, selling clothes and doing manicures and massages, sat with us for a while and flicked through OK Magazine. Now I haven’t always heard of everyone in there these days, but it was odd to find, when she was asking about some pictures of Lisa Marie Presley that she had never even heard of Elvis…. obviously he left the building some time ago in Goa!
Our nightlife was predictably quiet – not that we’re ones for a late nightclub, but they weren’t on offer anyway. After a couple of nights eating in the hotel we changed venue and took ourselves off to Buddha’s Bar for something to eat as the sun went down, very civilised especially as wine was on 3 for 2 during Happy Hour… But the early evenings gave Deryn time to brush up on her scouse criminal skills – safebreaking! The in room safes were a little unpredictable and on a couple of occasions we both had to get someone up from reception to sort it out. But Deryn is obviously the more observant (or criminal…) of the two of us. She managed to see the combination they used to open it up and used that herself every time it went wrong.
We took a trip one morning out to Old Goa to the big Basilica of Bom Jesus that houses the body of St Francis Xavier. All very odd and miracles everywhere – long story but after he died away from Goa, he was buried on a beach for a while during his journey back – the reason isn’t too clear and they only managed to find him again after a single flower grew in the sand to show where he was. He was then dug up again and there were no signs of decomposition. All this happened a few hundred years ago and still he is in apparently pristine condition in a glass case about three metres up in the air over the altar in the Basilica. It’s hard to confirm how pristine he actually is as it’s hard to see, but he is brought down once every ten years and paraded around, so I guess it must be true. He is the patron Saint of Goa and much revered here, and our taxi driver is sure that he is responsible for the fact that all the religions in Goa live peaceably together and that they are kept safe and have had no terrorism. I hope he manages to keep up on this last bit – after Mumbai, Goa is on major terrorist alert as it’s a place where large groups of Westerners congregate and is easily accessed from the sea (the route the Mumbai bombers used). But they are not just relying on St Francis Xavier, the authorities are doing their bit too, for example they have stopped the Saturday night market at Anjuna because of the risk, and the helicopter surveillance along the coast was quite evident on some nights. But it was a trip that we both enjoyed, en route seeing some of the beautiful countryside and the wide Mandovi River where huge rusty barges ply up and down with their loads of manganese mined further upstream. It seems Goa has more “goang” for it (sorry….) than just its beaches!
We also had to make the obligatory stops at the local handicraft shops. As those of you who know me understand (and Deryn is known to be a collector of some points too), I do love a loyalty scheme and my various points collecting efforts have rewarded me with free flights, hotels and other goodies over time. When the driver explained that every time he took us into one of these shops he got points to collect for a gift at the end of the season, it was hard to refuse. It was a bit of a scam really – he advised us not to buy anything in any of them as they were too expensive, but he got the points just for our visit. It is nice to be doing something for the local economy and frankly cheaper than a tip!
It’s interesting that the Goan’s see themselves as Goan’s and not Indians. Several times the taxi driver made reference to the “Indians” meaning everywhere else in the country apart from Goa. And in its way it is a little different. Predominantly Catholic, with a high level of education and literacy, it is mostly cleaner than other parts of the country – although it still does have its moments in that department. The site around the Basilica (a World Heritage Site) was pristine. The religion, whilst obviously Catholic, also has a little mix of Hindu – for example the marigold flower garlands that were being sold as offerings to the Saint. Some of the Western tourists were also a little confused by this religious mix and were wearing the garlands as rather pretty flower necklaces…..
After a morning walk (needed after all the Liquorice Allsorts and chocolate we had consumed), we would settle down on the beach in front of Buddha’s Bar and while away the afternoon catching up on all the gossip from the mags that Deryn brought in. The sari clad beach lady who seems to direct the placement of beach beds as well as taking food and drink orders, selling clothes and doing manicures and massages, sat with us for a while and flicked through OK Magazine. Now I haven’t always heard of everyone in there these days, but it was odd to find, when she was asking about some pictures of Lisa Marie Presley that she had never even heard of Elvis…. obviously he left the building some time ago in Goa!
Our nightlife was predictably quiet – not that we’re ones for a late nightclub, but they weren’t on offer anyway. After a couple of nights eating in the hotel we changed venue and took ourselves off to Buddha’s Bar for something to eat as the sun went down, very civilised especially as wine was on 3 for 2 during Happy Hour… But the early evenings gave Deryn time to brush up on her scouse criminal skills – safebreaking! The in room safes were a little unpredictable and on a couple of occasions we both had to get someone up from reception to sort it out. But Deryn is obviously the more observant (or criminal…) of the two of us. She managed to see the combination they used to open it up and used that herself every time it went wrong.
We took a trip one morning out to Old Goa to the big Basilica of Bom Jesus that houses the body of St Francis Xavier. All very odd and miracles everywhere – long story but after he died away from Goa, he was buried on a beach for a while during his journey back – the reason isn’t too clear and they only managed to find him again after a single flower grew in the sand to show where he was. He was then dug up again and there were no signs of decomposition. All this happened a few hundred years ago and still he is in apparently pristine condition in a glass case about three metres up in the air over the altar in the Basilica. It’s hard to confirm how pristine he actually is as it’s hard to see, but he is brought down once every ten years and paraded around, so I guess it must be true. He is the patron Saint of Goa and much revered here, and our taxi driver is sure that he is responsible for the fact that all the religions in Goa live peaceably together and that they are kept safe and have had no terrorism. I hope he manages to keep up on this last bit – after Mumbai, Goa is on major terrorist alert as it’s a place where large groups of Westerners congregate and is easily accessed from the sea (the route the Mumbai bombers used). But they are not just relying on St Francis Xavier, the authorities are doing their bit too, for example they have stopped the Saturday night market at Anjuna because of the risk, and the helicopter surveillance along the coast was quite evident on some nights. But it was a trip that we both enjoyed, en route seeing some of the beautiful countryside and the wide Mandovi River where huge rusty barges ply up and down with their loads of manganese mined further upstream. It seems Goa has more “goang” for it (sorry….) than just its beaches!
We also had to make the obligatory stops at the local handicraft shops. As those of you who know me understand (and Deryn is known to be a collector of some points too), I do love a loyalty scheme and my various points collecting efforts have rewarded me with free flights, hotels and other goodies over time. When the driver explained that every time he took us into one of these shops he got points to collect for a gift at the end of the season, it was hard to refuse. It was a bit of a scam really – he advised us not to buy anything in any of them as they were too expensive, but he got the points just for our visit. It is nice to be doing something for the local economy and frankly cheaper than a tip!
It’s interesting that the Goan’s see themselves as Goan’s and not Indians. Several times the taxi driver made reference to the “Indians” meaning everywhere else in the country apart from Goa. And in its way it is a little different. Predominantly Catholic, with a high level of education and literacy, it is mostly cleaner than other parts of the country – although it still does have its moments in that department. The site around the Basilica (a World Heritage Site) was pristine. The religion, whilst obviously Catholic, also has a little mix of Hindu – for example the marigold flower garlands that were being sold as offerings to the Saint. Some of the Western tourists were also a little confused by this religious mix and were wearing the garlands as rather pretty flower necklaces…..
You get what you pay for in life.... (20 - 24 January 2009)
…. and in Goa. No, this isn’t me bleating about another substandard hotel – it’s more about the smell of feet that has been following me around. Wasn’t sure why, here we are on the coast – everyone in open shoes and clean feet all round as people walk along the beach. It concerned me for a couple of days until the terrible realisation dawned….. No it’s not my feet, just my clothes. Being a backpacker, I decided to send my laundry to the local stall rather than pay the hotel rates (I suppose I could have washed it myself, but frankly that hadn’t occurred to me…). But I now realise the error of my ways and by saving a rupee or two my laundry appears to be impregnated with the smell of someone else’s socks – main duty tomorrow, down to the local shop for a packet of Tide!My hotel, the Terra Paraiso is in Calangute in North Goa. It’s a nice little hotel with a series of four room villas around the pool and just a short walk down the lane to the beach. There are very few Westerners staying here – it seems mainly young couples down from Delhi and Mumbai, with quite a few honeymooners – it’s the wedding season in India now. The lane is lined with small guest houses and the usual stalls selling pashminas, clothes, boxes and wooden elephants – it seems that nothing has moved on in the design stakes here – everything for sale is exactly the same as it was when I was first here which must be nearly twenty years ago. The other times I have been here, I have stayed in South Goa and the beaches here in the North seem a lot busier. But the beach is fun – similar to Hikkaduwa with loads of beds – you just park yourself on one and order your food and drink during the day. It’s also a nice walk along the road, through the town and back along the beach. The town beach is very busy with local Indians and especially at the moment as it’s a holiday around Republic Day. As you move further down it becomes totally Westernised as the beach shacks and beach beds take over. Often the only Indians you see here are the men taking a look at the rather bare Western women – including those who decide to go topless and almost bottomless in their revealing thongs – never a good look but also culturally inappropriate in this reserved society.
Saturday 24 January 2009
Miserable in Mumbai (19 - 20 January 2009)
Mumbai and I don’t seem to gel – last time I was here I arrived back in the UK with a bad bout of dysentery, this time I arrive with the remnants of the bug that laid me low yesterday. And this time, to make me even more miserable, I am also “Antless” as he flew back early this morning from Chennai. I arrive in Mumbai in the economy section of Jet Airways, Ant had lorded it back to the UK in the First Class cabin of British Airways. On balance however, even though Mumbai and I don’t really get on, it is still probably preferable to the cold of the UK and I’m sure Ant would agree.
As the plane descended into the city, we flew over the shanty towns spread around the airport, they seemed to go on for miles. And given this is India’s glittering, high society city, the home of Bollywood etc, they seemed a bad introduction. I negotiate a cab at the airport – and take the long drive into the city. Still no signs of fabulous Mumbai – only the most disgusting stink every time we passed over the numerous river bridges… However, they do seem to be making an effort to clean the place up and there are large signs telling you the fines for peeing (and other things….) in the street. 200 rupee fine for a public wee, but only 100 rupee fine for “defecating” – not sure why this is cheaper – perhaps something to do with the filth and you are less likely to be able to control the latter with all the germs and bugs about – all I could hope was that my bug didn’t return with a vengeance otherwise I would be bankrupt paying the fines…. The signs also tell you to “Belt up, it’s the law” – strange really as it’s a city of ancient cabs with not a seatbelt between them. All in all, I was in great danger of breaking every law in the book! But the exhortations on the posters (all in English, so how the local population are expected to understand and act upon these instructions is beyond me) to clean up etc feels a little like “too little, too late”. At night the city streets becomes a huge dormitory with sleeping bodies everywhere, and for life of me I couldn’t see where all these people could legally go to the loo even if they wanted to….
I am sure that my hotel, just off Marine Drive must be in a better part of town. How wrong can you be. OK, the location was good but that is about all. I wasn’t sure it was actually a hotel at all when I arrived – the whole ground floor was missing and covered in tarpaulin with a sign that said “Hotel Reception, 5th Floor”. I reluctantly let the taxi go and ventured in. Not an auspicious start as I get in the ancient lift (the kind with a grille pushed across by the attendant) – the floor of the lift and the floor of the building never quite in sync. The Reception was no better – it looks like a lower class Indian business hotel, full of Indian men with not a woman – Indian or otherwise in sight. Still not feeling my best I decided to go with the flow and was shown to my room – strangely enough the same room number as I had had in the previous swisher affair in Chennai – but what a difference a city makes! This room was more akin to a public lavatory (see pics just in case you think I am being extra fussy) – all white tiles (many badly cracked – a bit of a worry as the ground floor was being held up with bamboo scaffolding….) and all this for about £50 a night – who said India was cheap?. Two of the smallest single beds I have ever seen, no outside window to speak of and a bathroom that I would have felt dirtier having washed in than not. It was all too much so I decided sod Mumbai, I was outta here at the earliest opportunity. The one saving grace of the hotel was Wifi (frankly they would have been better off cleaning the place up rather than spending their money on fancy Wifi) and a phone so I spent the next couple of hours rearranging hotels and flights to leave the next morning. I hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours so decided a bit of food was called for, but not here. I had spied the Intercontinental just down the road so repaired there for sustenance. One of the reasons I had booked into my hotel and not one of the Western chains (apart from the ridiculous amounts of money they were charging) was that I thought I would feel safer after the recent bombings. I realise now though eating my sandwich and coffee at the Interconty, that my fear of international terrorists is obviously less than my fear of another stomach bug…. I had a wander down Marine Drive and then back to my “lav” – the bed at least looked clean – well the bottom sheet did – there wasn’t a top one, just the bedspread – thank goodness I had my trusty silk sleeping bag with me as I sank into sleep – for a while that is. As well as a hotel, I think the building was also used as a dish version of a “Dhobi wallah” – all night in a procession past my room, I could hear dishes being carried by and loud voices chatting as the pots and pans were rattled and washed down the corridor. I’ve no idea where all the dishes were from, as the hotel didn’t even have a restaurant. One of these days I will make it third time lucky in Mumbai and actually see what Mumbai is all about, but this time I was pleased to be leaving for what I hope are the more pleasant pastures of Goa.
As the plane descended into the city, we flew over the shanty towns spread around the airport, they seemed to go on for miles. And given this is India’s glittering, high society city, the home of Bollywood etc, they seemed a bad introduction. I negotiate a cab at the airport – and take the long drive into the city. Still no signs of fabulous Mumbai – only the most disgusting stink every time we passed over the numerous river bridges… However, they do seem to be making an effort to clean the place up and there are large signs telling you the fines for peeing (and other things….) in the street. 200 rupee fine for a public wee, but only 100 rupee fine for “defecating” – not sure why this is cheaper – perhaps something to do with the filth and you are less likely to be able to control the latter with all the germs and bugs about – all I could hope was that my bug didn’t return with a vengeance otherwise I would be bankrupt paying the fines…. The signs also tell you to “Belt up, it’s the law” – strange really as it’s a city of ancient cabs with not a seatbelt between them. All in all, I was in great danger of breaking every law in the book! But the exhortations on the posters (all in English, so how the local population are expected to understand and act upon these instructions is beyond me) to clean up etc feels a little like “too little, too late”. At night the city streets becomes a huge dormitory with sleeping bodies everywhere, and for life of me I couldn’t see where all these people could legally go to the loo even if they wanted to….
I am sure that my hotel, just off Marine Drive must be in a better part of town. How wrong can you be. OK, the location was good but that is about all. I wasn’t sure it was actually a hotel at all when I arrived – the whole ground floor was missing and covered in tarpaulin with a sign that said “Hotel Reception, 5th Floor”. I reluctantly let the taxi go and ventured in. Not an auspicious start as I get in the ancient lift (the kind with a grille pushed across by the attendant) – the floor of the lift and the floor of the building never quite in sync. The Reception was no better – it looks like a lower class Indian business hotel, full of Indian men with not a woman – Indian or otherwise in sight. Still not feeling my best I decided to go with the flow and was shown to my room – strangely enough the same room number as I had had in the previous swisher affair in Chennai – but what a difference a city makes! This room was more akin to a public lavatory (see pics just in case you think I am being extra fussy) – all white tiles (many badly cracked – a bit of a worry as the ground floor was being held up with bamboo scaffolding….) and all this for about £50 a night – who said India was cheap?. Two of the smallest single beds I have ever seen, no outside window to speak of and a bathroom that I would have felt dirtier having washed in than not. It was all too much so I decided sod Mumbai, I was outta here at the earliest opportunity. The one saving grace of the hotel was Wifi (frankly they would have been better off cleaning the place up rather than spending their money on fancy Wifi) and a phone so I spent the next couple of hours rearranging hotels and flights to leave the next morning. I hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours so decided a bit of food was called for, but not here. I had spied the Intercontinental just down the road so repaired there for sustenance. One of the reasons I had booked into my hotel and not one of the Western chains (apart from the ridiculous amounts of money they were charging) was that I thought I would feel safer after the recent bombings. I realise now though eating my sandwich and coffee at the Interconty, that my fear of international terrorists is obviously less than my fear of another stomach bug…. I had a wander down Marine Drive and then back to my “lav” – the bed at least looked clean – well the bottom sheet did – there wasn’t a top one, just the bedspread – thank goodness I had my trusty silk sleeping bag with me as I sank into sleep – for a while that is. As well as a hotel, I think the building was also used as a dish version of a “Dhobi wallah” – all night in a procession past my room, I could hear dishes being carried by and loud voices chatting as the pots and pans were rattled and washed down the corridor. I’ve no idea where all the dishes were from, as the hotel didn’t even have a restaurant. One of these days I will make it third time lucky in Mumbai and actually see what Mumbai is all about, but this time I was pleased to be leaving for what I hope are the more pleasant pastures of Goa.
A shopping frenzy in Chennai (18 - 19 January 2009)
With a sad farewell to Pondy, we take an Indigo car (we couldn’t face another Ambassador journey) for the drive north back to Chennai. Economy car means economy space and we huddle in the back with one bag in the small boot and the rest on the front seat. We go via the coast road and stop at the World Heritage Site of the Mamallapuram temples and Chennai’s famous beach resort. The coast road is interesting – between the road and the sea for miles is a wide flat plain – empty apart from a small amount of new building. This area was one of the worst hit by the Tsunami, and like everywhere else we have seen, regeneration money doesn’t seem to be having any noticeable effect.
I think we must have a bit of temple overload and regardless of the Mamallapuram World Heritage status, we see a few temples from the road, but decide to give these a miss and take in the beach resort instead. At the beach resort we expected to find coffee at Café Coffee Day, perhaps a pastry…. Not quite what we got! The resort is one of the most littered public beaches we have ever seen – it may be worse today as it would have been thronged by thousands last night due to Pongal and there hasn’t been time to clear it up, but still for a World Heritage Site it was a bit of a disgrace. The track leading down to it was a bazaar selling the usual assortment of plastic toys, but also was full of stalls selling carved statues of all sizes. Although Ant was tempted by a life size reclining Buddha for the garden, we decided to concentrate on looking for a nice small Ganesh each – but no luck. We decide to cut our losses and make for the real temples we craved – the malls of Madras.
Chennai, (aka Madras) is India’s fourth largest city and a sprawling metropolis of 75 sq kms with no real centre. But having checked into the Raintree Hotel (swish but soulless) we lose no time in hopping into our transport of choice the tuk tuk – “take us to the mall, and don’t spare the horses” we cry. At least Bluewater has no competition here – we were dropped at the “showpiece” Spencer Mall – no sure if any relation to M&S – but if there is, it sure wasn’t apparent! Full of small shops and that all pervading Indian smell of incense, damp and something I would prefer not to put a name to, we searched high and low but couldn’t find anything to buy. Nonetheless we carried on to the CIE in search of pashminas and local craft – still no joy. We give up and wander into Mocha coffee – an odd place where the waiters, in a bid to look middle eastern, look more like an army of erstwhile Tommy Cooper’s with little red fez’s on their heads. But as we leave there, Ganesh was obviously smiling and we find ourselves in the “Bond Street” of Chennai – still not huge amounts to buy but more hopeful. We spot Good Earth (which I thought was a Chinese Restaurant) which is a shop selling beautiful homewares – Ant leaves with a variety of things, including an incense diffuser for his evening puja when he returns home….
One of Ant’s goals for Madras was to have a real Madras curry so we repair to a place recommended by loads of people and the Lonely Planet, the Saravana something (see pics). Very local – tiled walls and very busy where we eat as the locals – great food, but the locals don’t drink with their meals……
I reckon it was this lack of alcohol to kill any excess germs that did it for me. Ant obviously has a stronger constitution – or it may not have been the food at all, but whatever, Day Two in Chennai saw me in bed in a daze for the day. Such a pity – the last day of our amazing trip together and all I could do was whinge in bed! Poor Ant had to spend the day on his own, and hiring his own tuk tuk for the morning he caught up on temples, the fort, the beach, St Thomas’ Tomb, and of course some last minute shopping. For his solo afternoon entertainment he was reduced to the pool for a couple of hours and a massage, before his horrendously timed flight back home, leaving Chennai at 4am. But perhaps it wasn’t food at all that made me ill – it was probably the thought of Ant going home that sent me into a decline. We have had such an amazing time, seen and done some amazing things, laughed loads, travelled in some odd ways and stayed in places as terrific as the Tea Trails and as awful as the Ashram. We played a game in the car driving to Chennai voting for our favourite bits. It was really hard and extremely challenging, we have had so many – we didn’t always agree, but here are some of the results:
Most memorable experience:
Ant – Prassad giving to Amma at the Ashram, Gill - the Ashram
Favourite place:
Both – the Norwood Bungalow, Tea Trails (also won “best accommodation”, “cleanest place” and “best bed”)
Worst bed:
Ant – the Achinka Holiday Inn (the hovel), Gill – the Mothertree Inn, Cochin
Least favourite place:
Both - Kandy
Worst accommodation
Ant – Achinka Holiday Inn, Dalhousie (that hovel again), Gill – Queen’s Hotel, Kandy (the cockroaches)
Favourite hotel person:
Both – Rajesh at Glyngarth Villa (he of the bow tie and beanie hat)
Dirtiest place:
Ant – the coal in the bottom of the canoe on the backwater lake, Gill – the “ladies’” at Hatton train station
Best meal:
Ant – breakfasts (all of them!), Gill – 1st lunch of prawn Caesar salad, Tea Trails
Most disappointing place:
Ant – the Asian Jewel, Gill - Kandy
Most special memory of a place:
Ant – Day 2 lunch by the fishing nets on the backwaters, Gill – early misty mornings at the Tea Trails
Most bizarre moment (and there were many….):
Ant – the music player at Glyngarth Villa, Gill – the Ashram – all of it!
Most unexpected:
Ant – Gill lovin’ an elephant at Pondy temple, Gill – Pondy the town itself
Best experience:
Ant – Adam’s Peak, Gill – being blessed by an elephant
Best journey:
Both – Cochin to Kollam on the Backwaters
Proudest achievement:
Ant – being hugged by Amma, Gill – managing to stay two nights in the Ashram!
Till the next time, love Shanti and Shilly xxxx
I think we must have a bit of temple overload and regardless of the Mamallapuram World Heritage status, we see a few temples from the road, but decide to give these a miss and take in the beach resort instead. At the beach resort we expected to find coffee at Café Coffee Day, perhaps a pastry…. Not quite what we got! The resort is one of the most littered public beaches we have ever seen – it may be worse today as it would have been thronged by thousands last night due to Pongal and there hasn’t been time to clear it up, but still for a World Heritage Site it was a bit of a disgrace. The track leading down to it was a bazaar selling the usual assortment of plastic toys, but also was full of stalls selling carved statues of all sizes. Although Ant was tempted by a life size reclining Buddha for the garden, we decided to concentrate on looking for a nice small Ganesh each – but no luck. We decide to cut our losses and make for the real temples we craved – the malls of Madras.
Chennai, (aka Madras) is India’s fourth largest city and a sprawling metropolis of 75 sq kms with no real centre. But having checked into the Raintree Hotel (swish but soulless) we lose no time in hopping into our transport of choice the tuk tuk – “take us to the mall, and don’t spare the horses” we cry. At least Bluewater has no competition here – we were dropped at the “showpiece” Spencer Mall – no sure if any relation to M&S – but if there is, it sure wasn’t apparent! Full of small shops and that all pervading Indian smell of incense, damp and something I would prefer not to put a name to, we searched high and low but couldn’t find anything to buy. Nonetheless we carried on to the CIE in search of pashminas and local craft – still no joy. We give up and wander into Mocha coffee – an odd place where the waiters, in a bid to look middle eastern, look more like an army of erstwhile Tommy Cooper’s with little red fez’s on their heads. But as we leave there, Ganesh was obviously smiling and we find ourselves in the “Bond Street” of Chennai – still not huge amounts to buy but more hopeful. We spot Good Earth (which I thought was a Chinese Restaurant) which is a shop selling beautiful homewares – Ant leaves with a variety of things, including an incense diffuser for his evening puja when he returns home….
One of Ant’s goals for Madras was to have a real Madras curry so we repair to a place recommended by loads of people and the Lonely Planet, the Saravana something (see pics). Very local – tiled walls and very busy where we eat as the locals – great food, but the locals don’t drink with their meals……
I reckon it was this lack of alcohol to kill any excess germs that did it for me. Ant obviously has a stronger constitution – or it may not have been the food at all, but whatever, Day Two in Chennai saw me in bed in a daze for the day. Such a pity – the last day of our amazing trip together and all I could do was whinge in bed! Poor Ant had to spend the day on his own, and hiring his own tuk tuk for the morning he caught up on temples, the fort, the beach, St Thomas’ Tomb, and of course some last minute shopping. For his solo afternoon entertainment he was reduced to the pool for a couple of hours and a massage, before his horrendously timed flight back home, leaving Chennai at 4am. But perhaps it wasn’t food at all that made me ill – it was probably the thought of Ant going home that sent me into a decline. We have had such an amazing time, seen and done some amazing things, laughed loads, travelled in some odd ways and stayed in places as terrific as the Tea Trails and as awful as the Ashram. We played a game in the car driving to Chennai voting for our favourite bits. It was really hard and extremely challenging, we have had so many – we didn’t always agree, but here are some of the results:
Most memorable experience:
Ant – Prassad giving to Amma at the Ashram, Gill - the Ashram
Favourite place:
Both – the Norwood Bungalow, Tea Trails (also won “best accommodation”, “cleanest place” and “best bed”)
Worst bed:
Ant – the Achinka Holiday Inn (the hovel), Gill – the Mothertree Inn, Cochin
Least favourite place:
Both - Kandy
Worst accommodation
Ant – Achinka Holiday Inn, Dalhousie (that hovel again), Gill – Queen’s Hotel, Kandy (the cockroaches)
Favourite hotel person:
Both – Rajesh at Glyngarth Villa (he of the bow tie and beanie hat)
Dirtiest place:
Ant – the coal in the bottom of the canoe on the backwater lake, Gill – the “ladies’” at Hatton train station
Best meal:
Ant – breakfasts (all of them!), Gill – 1st lunch of prawn Caesar salad, Tea Trails
Most disappointing place:
Ant – the Asian Jewel, Gill - Kandy
Most special memory of a place:
Ant – Day 2 lunch by the fishing nets on the backwaters, Gill – early misty mornings at the Tea Trails
Most bizarre moment (and there were many….):
Ant – the music player at Glyngarth Villa, Gill – the Ashram – all of it!
Most unexpected:
Ant – Gill lovin’ an elephant at Pondy temple, Gill – Pondy the town itself
Best experience:
Ant – Adam’s Peak, Gill – being blessed by an elephant
Best journey:
Both – Cochin to Kollam on the Backwaters
Proudest achievement:
Ant – being hugged by Amma, Gill – managing to stay two nights in the Ashram!
Till the next time, love Shanti and Shilly xxxx
Saturday 17 January 2009
And we said no publicity (17 January 2009)
As you, our readers, will know, we have been greeted everywhere we have been with handshakes and requests for pictures on cameras and camera phones – but we don’t mind these from our adoring public. But the reason we have been travelling in such out of the way places is that we are sick of the paparazzi following our every move and selling the pictures to the tabloids. We have had one narrow escape when Helga at Helga’s Folly in Kandy asked where she knew us from, but so far we have effectively been successful - until today. This morning, we open The Hindu, the countrywide Indian National English language newspaper with a circulation of 1.7 million only to see a large picture of ourselves on page three… How on earth has this happened – we must speak to our agent.
We attach a picture of the newspaper for your perusal. (The Hindu, Page 3, Saturday January 17, 2009)
We attach a picture of the newspaper for your perusal. (The Hindu, Page 3, Saturday January 17, 2009)
A giant gold golf ball and mad bullocks (16 January 2009)
“Auroville is the brainchild of the mother, an experiment in international living where people can live in peace and progressive harmony. A place where all human beings of goodwill. sincere in their aspiration, can live freely as citizens of the world.”
The French Mother was instrumental in the setting up of Auroville, an international community to explore new ways of living (a hippie commune….). Auroville lies just north of Pondy, so we took a tuktuk to take a look. At its heart is a giant golden golf ball that encloses an enormous quartz crystal which as non residents we were not allowed to see. 1900 people live here in small like-minded communities – pottery, art, recycling, women’s groups, solar farming – you get the gist and now know exactly what we are talking about. Dirty clothes, Rasta extensions, feral kids, motorbikes, no deodorant etc. About 90% of the inhabitants are Westerners who will no doubt run home for medical treatment and state pensions when the time is right! The only Indian community we drove through was a slum and a disgrace. The community has been here for over 40 years – if this is the new way of community living then god help us.
We took some none too serious photos of us holding said golden ball – see photo.
In complete contrast and much more fun, on our way back we ran into a village Pongal festival – cows painted and decorated and being chased through the town – at one point we had to dive out of the way of a charging bullock cart, bedecked with flowers and driven by youths splashing the crowd with pongal water. There was a real feeling of joy and fun, in which we were happy to partake.
We will not be becoming residents of Auroville and so to make sure that we hadn’t been tempted we had a great meal at the hippest place in Pondy on the roof top of a gorgeous minimalist hotel overlooking the prom. Gill ate salad!!! It must be clean…..
The French Mother was instrumental in the setting up of Auroville, an international community to explore new ways of living (a hippie commune….). Auroville lies just north of Pondy, so we took a tuktuk to take a look. At its heart is a giant golden golf ball that encloses an enormous quartz crystal which as non residents we were not allowed to see. 1900 people live here in small like-minded communities – pottery, art, recycling, women’s groups, solar farming – you get the gist and now know exactly what we are talking about. Dirty clothes, Rasta extensions, feral kids, motorbikes, no deodorant etc. About 90% of the inhabitants are Westerners who will no doubt run home for medical treatment and state pensions when the time is right! The only Indian community we drove through was a slum and a disgrace. The community has been here for over 40 years – if this is the new way of community living then god help us.
We took some none too serious photos of us holding said golden ball – see photo.
In complete contrast and much more fun, on our way back we ran into a village Pongal festival – cows painted and decorated and being chased through the town – at one point we had to dive out of the way of a charging bullock cart, bedecked with flowers and driven by youths splashing the crowd with pongal water. There was a real feeling of joy and fun, in which we were happy to partake.
We will not be becoming residents of Auroville and so to make sure that we hadn’t been tempted we had a great meal at the hippest place in Pondy on the roof top of a gorgeous minimalist hotel overlooking the prom. Gill ate salad!!! It must be clean…..
Pongal in Pondy (15 - 16 January 2009)
The only reason we are here is that many years back, Ant read “The Life of Pi” which talks of the Pondicherry Promenade in chapter one. It seems a long way to come based on some fiction, let’s hope it’s worth it. Pondicherry was a French colony until 50 years ago – a lot of the French influence remains. The streets are “Rue’s”, the police are red capped gendarmerie, and the buildings could be in a French provincial town. But this is India after all so that still means auto rickshaws, cows, open sewers and Ashrams, for which Pondicherry is famous. We are here for Thai Pongal which is the Tamil celebration of harvest festival which involves firecrackers, decorated cows, chalk decorations in front of each house in the road, closed shops, but most disastrous of all, the completely unexpected “dry day”. And this in a town that is renowned in the area for cheap booze as the taxes are low. We continue to struggle with alcohol on this trip – however our ingenuity in this department knows no bounds. We ended up lying on the roof of the hotel at 11pm seeing Ganesh shapes in the clouds whilst drinking Gill’s gin and Bacardi Breezer from the mini bar as a mixer – an unusual combination but it worked –those clouds really did have some interesting shapes!
The Thai Pongal festival meant that there were loads of people out promenading on the 1.5 km sea front. We spent lots of time doing as the locals do sitting watching the huge rollers off the Bay of Bengal. We did not however resort to playing “chicken” with the waves which appeared to be the mating game of the local teenage population. Talking of mating, Gill pulled – as usual we appeared to be an object of great interest – we had to shake hands all the way along and whilst posing for yet another photo with yet another group of youths, Gill was treated to a surreptitious fondle of the bum – but her best “Memsahib” look soon put a stop to that nonsense. Ant shouting “get a room” wasn’t helpful…..
The town, laid out on a grid system is really charming and quiet with a French quarter (beautiful grey painted villas) separated from the Tamil area (nasty, shacky, tacky shops) by the canal. Our vision of said canal before we arrived was a sort of Venice with Cornetto salesmen on their gondolas – the reality was the only thing that this canal carried was the effluent from the sewers of the 200,00 people who live here… But we fell in love with the place – the local marketing line “give time a break” seems so true. There are no set pieces to see apart from the museum which was thankfully closed for the holiday so we didn’t even need to feel guilty about not going. We did however, had a full one day “wend” – shopping at the Ashram shop (the nearest we were going to an ashram again), having coffee at coffee.com, lime sodas at Hotel de Pondicherry and Le Café on the beach. We also attended worship at the heaving Ganesh temple where Gill fell in love! Laxshmi was the temple elephant who blessed people who gave money. She was huge but really gentle, collected the offerings in her trunk before passing them back to her mahout – but then blessing the giver with a skilful pat on the head. (See vid). This temple was in complete contrast to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception built in 1790 which was cold, empty and soulless by comparison. The third religion of this town is big and it’s the ashram of Sri Aurobindo and Mother – a French woman who came here in 1920s and shacked up with a guru – became a guru herself and they are now jointly venerated. We queued with our shoes off to see their samadhi, their tombs, venerated as a shrine in the ashram courtyard – it did nothing for us (maybe this was because we didn’t see the “please be silent” notices until we were leaving!). It does obviously mean a lot to a lot of people because there are plenty of those doe eyed westerners around town from the ashram. We haven’t connected. We have however connected with the town – thank you Pi, it was worth it!
The Thai Pongal festival meant that there were loads of people out promenading on the 1.5 km sea front. We spent lots of time doing as the locals do sitting watching the huge rollers off the Bay of Bengal. We did not however resort to playing “chicken” with the waves which appeared to be the mating game of the local teenage population. Talking of mating, Gill pulled – as usual we appeared to be an object of great interest – we had to shake hands all the way along and whilst posing for yet another photo with yet another group of youths, Gill was treated to a surreptitious fondle of the bum – but her best “Memsahib” look soon put a stop to that nonsense. Ant shouting “get a room” wasn’t helpful…..
The town, laid out on a grid system is really charming and quiet with a French quarter (beautiful grey painted villas) separated from the Tamil area (nasty, shacky, tacky shops) by the canal. Our vision of said canal before we arrived was a sort of Venice with Cornetto salesmen on their gondolas – the reality was the only thing that this canal carried was the effluent from the sewers of the 200,00 people who live here… But we fell in love with the place – the local marketing line “give time a break” seems so true. There are no set pieces to see apart from the museum which was thankfully closed for the holiday so we didn’t even need to feel guilty about not going. We did however, had a full one day “wend” – shopping at the Ashram shop (the nearest we were going to an ashram again), having coffee at coffee.com, lime sodas at Hotel de Pondicherry and Le Café on the beach. We also attended worship at the heaving Ganesh temple where Gill fell in love! Laxshmi was the temple elephant who blessed people who gave money. She was huge but really gentle, collected the offerings in her trunk before passing them back to her mahout – but then blessing the giver with a skilful pat on the head. (See vid). This temple was in complete contrast to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception built in 1790 which was cold, empty and soulless by comparison. The third religion of this town is big and it’s the ashram of Sri Aurobindo and Mother – a French woman who came here in 1920s and shacked up with a guru – became a guru herself and they are now jointly venerated. We queued with our shoes off to see their samadhi, their tombs, venerated as a shrine in the ashram courtyard – it did nothing for us (maybe this was because we didn’t see the “please be silent” notices until we were leaving!). It does obviously mean a lot to a lot of people because there are plenty of those doe eyed westerners around town from the ashram. We haven’t connected. We have however connected with the town – thank you Pi, it was worth it!
The Ambassador to Pondicherry (14 January 2009)
No, we haven’t taken jobs at the consular office, we just went cheap at Chennai airport! We arrived after a great little flight on Jet Airways (Ant even ate the hot curry lunch that was served during the one hour flight - BA could learn a thing or two…). In only three weeks we realised we had grown soft as India appeared so filthy. Gill commented that Sri Lanka was like Switzerland in comparison! We negotiated ourselves a bargain taxi for the 170km journey south to Pondicherry and then too late realised we were in a bloody Ambassador car – pretty cute, atmospheric, but please no – not for 170 km and three hours. Sadly the answer was yes! At least it meant that we wouldn’t fall asleep which is more than can be said for the driver, who we noticed slowing down, drifting to the left and nodding off a number of times. We had to talk to him in pidgin just to keep him awake. We encouraged him to stop for chai which he did. Seeing the squalid huts by the roadside with people cooking over logs as the sun set made us realise yet again how comfortable our lives are.We didn’t realise that Pondicherry was a tiny mini state surrounded by Tamil Nadu, until we stopped at the border to pay yet another 100 rupees tax to enter. We finally made it to the Calve Heritage, a 130 year old house which was converted three years ago to faithfully reproduce (even down to the special plaster) a hotel as the house it once was. Arriving in the dark is never easy, so we are looking forward to exploring tomorrow.
Wednesday 14 January 2009
"Ceylon, farewell, auf wiederschein, adieu" (11 - 14 January 2009)
Colombo isn’t high on most peoples to do list (including the Foreign Office!) but it seemed a pity not to visit and see what it’s all about, so we decided to spend our last couple of days in Sri flashpacking at the Galle Face Hotel and exploring the City – or at least those parts that interest us. We are very good at quickly settling into a pattern or routine – in this case we spent each morning in a flurry of tuk tuks, flitting from shop to shop – varying from the high brow upmarket interior design shops such a Raux Brothers Antiques, the Gallery, Paradise Road and Odel to the less than fabulous “House of Fashion”. We had heard a lot about the latter. Sri Lanka manufactures lots of clothes for the west – M&S, Next, Diesel, Armani etc – and we were promised that a lot of ends of lines end up at the House of Fashion. We saw lots of ends of line – none of which we recognised! Our afternoons were spent lounging by the hotel pool overlooking the Indian Ocean. Throw in lunches at Gallery café, treatments at the Spa, dinner at the cricket club, coffee and pastries in chi chi little cafes – all in all a perfect three night “mini-break”.
The city does have some highlights – Galle Face Green is a great promenade spot at sunset – accompanied at every turn by the army. We walked into the Fort Area – which was sadly well fortified by the army. Cargill’s was the most amazing dept store ever – it was obviously the Harrods of its day during the height of the British “occupation” but now is a sad and dusty reminder of how this city has been unable to move on. No tourists visit – there is not enough stock in there to attract the locals who are queuing up outside to get into the heavily fortified Ministry of Foreign Affairs just down the road. The shop fittings were like something from the set of “Are You Being Served” and we expected John Inman to pop out to check “if we were free” at every turn.
For two days the hotel has been wedding central – sometimes as many as 6 couples being photographed around the hotel grounds, in their red and gold outfits (including the men). This culminated one evening in an Anglo-Sri Lankan wedding, the British women fat, drunk, raucous and in saris, the Sri Lankan’s demure and baffled. We enjoyed observing from the Veranda Bar eating prawns and chips and glugging expensive gin.
The city itself is vast – it starts from the fort area and stretches 12kms along the sweeping coastline. The backbone of the city is the Galle Road which was the road we travelled the day we arrived as it eventually finishes at Galle on the South Coast and runs straight through Hikkaduwa.
It’s a city of tuk tuks, huge NGO and UN vehicles – there are still thousands of Westerner’s making money out of the Tsunami it seems. We remember frangipani trees, a grid system of roads with tropical bungalows behind high white walls, open park spaces and a very pleasant city, military presence notwithstanding. But there is one thing missing – there is no building works at all – and unlike every other major city in the world – even London in these straightened times, not one crane is to be seen – spooky by their absence.
As our Sri Lankan trip draws to a close, our overriding memory has been of warm evenings, huge variety of amazing scenery, interminable road journeys, tea, tea and more tea, the army, expensive booze and genuinely gentle and friendly people always with a ready smile. We have enjoyed it immensely.
The city does have some highlights – Galle Face Green is a great promenade spot at sunset – accompanied at every turn by the army. We walked into the Fort Area – which was sadly well fortified by the army. Cargill’s was the most amazing dept store ever – it was obviously the Harrods of its day during the height of the British “occupation” but now is a sad and dusty reminder of how this city has been unable to move on. No tourists visit – there is not enough stock in there to attract the locals who are queuing up outside to get into the heavily fortified Ministry of Foreign Affairs just down the road. The shop fittings were like something from the set of “Are You Being Served” and we expected John Inman to pop out to check “if we were free” at every turn.
For two days the hotel has been wedding central – sometimes as many as 6 couples being photographed around the hotel grounds, in their red and gold outfits (including the men). This culminated one evening in an Anglo-Sri Lankan wedding, the British women fat, drunk, raucous and in saris, the Sri Lankan’s demure and baffled. We enjoyed observing from the Veranda Bar eating prawns and chips and glugging expensive gin.
The city itself is vast – it starts from the fort area and stretches 12kms along the sweeping coastline. The backbone of the city is the Galle Road which was the road we travelled the day we arrived as it eventually finishes at Galle on the South Coast and runs straight through Hikkaduwa.
It’s a city of tuk tuks, huge NGO and UN vehicles – there are still thousands of Westerner’s making money out of the Tsunami it seems. We remember frangipani trees, a grid system of roads with tropical bungalows behind high white walls, open park spaces and a very pleasant city, military presence notwithstanding. But there is one thing missing – there is no building works at all – and unlike every other major city in the world – even London in these straightened times, not one crane is to be seen – spooky by their absence.
As our Sri Lankan trip draws to a close, our overriding memory has been of warm evenings, huge variety of amazing scenery, interminable road journeys, tea, tea and more tea, the army, expensive booze and genuinely gentle and friendly people always with a ready smile. We have enjoyed it immensely.
This really is a country at war (11 - 14 January 2009)
You read about it, bombings in Colombo – a regular occurrence since 1984. 75000 people across the country have died in that time. We knew there was an issue, but it was an eye opener as we learned more. The papers have been full of the recent activity and of the liberating of previously Tamil Tiger held areas of the country – it is not a local skirmish but genuine battles over large swathes of the North and East. In the time that we have been here the Government has had major breakthroughs, the taking of Elephant Pass for example. We have also seen some of the results with several large scale military funerals as we’ve driven around, pictures of the dead soldiers, white flags everywhere. It has brought it home that large parts of the country were out of bounds to ordinary Sri Lankans. This is not like Northern Ireland but a real civil war with separate territories on the map.
As a result we had been stopped by the army loads of time and were quite bored and pissed off with it, but here in Colombo it’s very serious. Even the hotel pool is overlooked by a tall watchtower (see pics) with soldiers and guns, the same view as from our rooms. Wherever we’ve walked in the city we have been stopped and given cursory frisks, and cars and tuk tuks have mirrors passed beneath them looking for bombs. The city centre has been killed by the security as getting in is so difficult that offices and shops have all moved out leaving a ghost town. Ant gets irritated by the security and demands to know why he can't pass, and then manages to treat the army as tourist information centres asking for maps and directions - Gill was not amused, the army were most bemused…..
It’s an odd combination with armed officers on the streets everywhere- with ordinary life going on alongside - weddings, pool bars, shopping and families walking along the promenade.
As a result we had been stopped by the army loads of time and were quite bored and pissed off with it, but here in Colombo it’s very serious. Even the hotel pool is overlooked by a tall watchtower (see pics) with soldiers and guns, the same view as from our rooms. Wherever we’ve walked in the city we have been stopped and given cursory frisks, and cars and tuk tuks have mirrors passed beneath them looking for bombs. The city centre has been killed by the security as getting in is so difficult that offices and shops have all moved out leaving a ghost town. Ant gets irritated by the security and demands to know why he can't pass, and then manages to treat the army as tourist information centres asking for maps and directions - Gill was not amused, the army were most bemused…..
It’s an odd combination with armed officers on the streets everywhere- with ordinary life going on alongside - weddings, pool bars, shopping and families walking along the promenade.
Sunday 11 January 2009
"The 0840 stopping train from Anuradhapura to Colombo is cancelled" (11 January 2009)
The final leg of our Sri Lankan odyssey involved a five hour train journey, a relief from the horrid taxi vans - or so we thought! We turned up for our train at a beautiful little white railway station, set in woodland, and as usual the ticket counter was closed, so we sat on the floor and waited and waited. Well past the scheduled departure time, Gill went and asked what was happening – and yes joy of joys the train had been cancelled! Buggers – now to search for a taxi van and face the journey by road. In such situations, the best ploy as a Westerner with money is to stand looking helpless and eventually someone will turn up – and in this case it was a rather sleazy tuk tuk driver. He took Ant to meet his friend with a van, leaving Gill and the luggage rather bemused at the roadside. Half an hour later, Ant and van man turn up, load Gill and the bags and off we go. The journey was bumpy and tedious and interrupted by many military checkpoints – but we got here safely and have treated ourselves (again) to three nights at the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo, it’s the Regency wing for those of you with Google. This 150 year old colonial grand dame hotel is this time more grand than damned! It faces the sea and serves alcohol and there is the promise of shopping – at last!
Stupa Trooper (10 January 2009)
Thank you Bjorn, sorry but we just couldn’t resist that title as we have actually spent the day on bikes trooping from stupa to stupa! Anuradhapura is the place where Buddhism was introduced to Sri Lanka in 400 BC and was the capital for 1500 years, so it’s all quite old and not really our thing but hey…. A similar story to Angkor Wat in Cambodia, many of the temples have lain hidden for hundreds of years before being rediscovered more recently. But the reason we chose to go today is it is a Poya Day – the day of the full moon which is a public holiday, quite a devotional day and no alcohol is served anywhere in the country (as you would expect we were prepared for this also – more later). So donning some of our white clothes so we would fit in as devotees (we had practiced at the Ashram….) we cycle towards our first site – the Buddha’s Bodi Tree. This is over 2000 years old and was a cutting brought over from India from the original enlightenment tree. Due to the Tamil Tigers there is security everywhere – young kids in army gear standing at every junction, we have taken to getting them to guard our bikes as they had little else to do. We did however have one run in where some idiot tried to charge us 20p to park our bikes. Ant got irrationally huffy and hot headed, shouting “thief” at the person and the same to the military! Gill cowered as she is not so comfortable upsetting “illiterate child soldiers ” waving AK47’s. We then had to scuttle off and hide our bikes somewhere else at a roadside stall where the guy refused to take a penny. As trees go, it was very nice, but like everywhere else we have been today, it was surrounded with saffron clad monks, families dressed in white chanting, praying and making various offerings to trees, statues of Buddha – both sitting and prostrate, and generally behaving in a very holy way. We were the only two Westerners to be seen yet again…. We visited various stupa’s, always remembering to go around clockwise, saw a 2000 year old Buddha statue reputed to have the best Buddha face ever (he was quite cute). What was more interesting as this is the site of an ancient abandoned city, is that the stupa’s were surrounded by acres of green, woods and lakes – with no modern civilisation or urbanisation to speak of. Our ancient bikes did quite well until Gill managed to get stuck in the mud – (please see vid) – not one of her better moments!
Wherever we have been in Sri Lanka people have been really friendly. We have met all sorts of characters from brash Westernised playboys, teenagers who want to practice their English, or people who just want to have their picture taken. Just tonight a fellow guest at the hotel came and gave us a CD of her daughter singing, she said that she and her family had seen us out on our bikes. At the temples today, people were smiling and saying hello (most probably as a result of these two, white clad, international fashionista’s in their midst) - happy to share their Poya devotions and not prissy at all about our taking photos.
Tonight at the Tissa Wewa guest house this is no different. Before dinner, we were chatting to (or rather he was chatting at us) to a guy who had come here to catch up with a soldier who has been up at the Tamil Tiger fighting front. Said soldier had just been involved in this week’s battles and was a little traumatised. As we sit here writing this after dinner, his soldier friend has been ‘choppered in – it feels like something out of MASH. He is fresh from the taking and liberation of Elephant Pass from the Tamil Tigers a couple of days ago – just how close is this bloody war…. No wonder we are seeing no other Westerner’s… Gill has just realised that they are sleeping in a room next to her – not sure if she feels safe or ready for war….
Wherever we have been in Sri Lanka people have been really friendly. We have met all sorts of characters from brash Westernised playboys, teenagers who want to practice their English, or people who just want to have their picture taken. Just tonight a fellow guest at the hotel came and gave us a CD of her daughter singing, she said that she and her family had seen us out on our bikes. At the temples today, people were smiling and saying hello (most probably as a result of these two, white clad, international fashionista’s in their midst) - happy to share their Poya devotions and not prissy at all about our taking photos.
Tonight at the Tissa Wewa guest house this is no different. Before dinner, we were chatting to (or rather he was chatting at us) to a guy who had come here to catch up with a soldier who has been up at the Tamil Tiger fighting front. Said soldier had just been involved in this week’s battles and was a little traumatised. As we sit here writing this after dinner, his soldier friend has been ‘choppered in – it feels like something out of MASH. He is fresh from the taking and liberation of Elephant Pass from the Tamil Tigers a couple of days ago – just how close is this bloody war…. No wonder we are seeing no other Westerner’s… Gill has just realised that they are sleeping in a room next to her – not sure if she feels safe or ready for war….
Monsoon miles (9 January 2009)
We must be suckers for punishment as we know how long it takes to get anywhere here in Sri Lanka. Today, with one of Ant’s more inspirational ideas, we decided to take a car and driver to Anuradhapura. However why use a straight road when you can take all sorts of side trips turning our three hour journey into a nine hour marathon. Our first stop was the Pinnewala Elephant Orphanage famous throughout the world for rescuing elephants. Kev and Gill had already been there before but it was a first for Ant. It was touristy but cute to see the elephants (Male working elephants, mothers and loads of babies) as they fed and wandered down to the river to bathe.
We then turned north towards the cultural triangle, the ancient cities of Sigiriya, Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura. These are the cradles of Sri Lankan Buddhism and civilisation having been occupied in some cases for over 2,500 years. We started to feel sorry for our driver as the rain got heavier and heavier – reaching monsoon proportions with roadside lakes spilling onto the road, potholes appearing from nowhere and visibility down to a few yards – god knows what it must be like in the wet season!
Our lunch stop was at Sigiriya – a famous abandoned city sitting on a volcanic plug 200 metres high that is billed as “rising out of the dusty plains of central Sri Lanka”. The books have got it very wrong – we could hardly make it out in the mist and rain that surrounded it (see the two now you see it, now you don’t pics). Neither of us were sorry not to be able to climb it because of the weather! As the rain got even worse we had to move on to our ultimate destination, Anuradhapura. This was all of 60 kms away and we were told it would take 3.5 hours. Groaning in the back we accepted our lot and finally made it here with the rain still beating down to an alcohol free hotel. But we had come prepared…..
The hotel used to be the home of the British Governor of the District – so is another Raj era relic, set in acres of woodlands filled with monkeys. The dining room, white with peeling paint, stained yellow tablecloths, original huge wooden furniture and tiles worn smooth by the feet of hundreds of years. As we sit here on the old verandah we can hear the monks chanting, interrupted by staccato gunfire (well we hope they are really firecrackers as it’s full moon…..) in the distance from the neighbouring temples – very atmospheric.
Re the booze – we have smuggled two bottles of wine into this sacred city so we are fine – we have alcohol in an alcohol free hotel, in an alcohol free zone on an alcohol free day – result!
We then turned north towards the cultural triangle, the ancient cities of Sigiriya, Polonnaruwa and Anuradhapura. These are the cradles of Sri Lankan Buddhism and civilisation having been occupied in some cases for over 2,500 years. We started to feel sorry for our driver as the rain got heavier and heavier – reaching monsoon proportions with roadside lakes spilling onto the road, potholes appearing from nowhere and visibility down to a few yards – god knows what it must be like in the wet season!
Our lunch stop was at Sigiriya – a famous abandoned city sitting on a volcanic plug 200 metres high that is billed as “rising out of the dusty plains of central Sri Lanka”. The books have got it very wrong – we could hardly make it out in the mist and rain that surrounded it (see the two now you see it, now you don’t pics). Neither of us were sorry not to be able to climb it because of the weather! As the rain got even worse we had to move on to our ultimate destination, Anuradhapura. This was all of 60 kms away and we were told it would take 3.5 hours. Groaning in the back we accepted our lot and finally made it here with the rain still beating down to an alcohol free hotel. But we had come prepared…..
The hotel used to be the home of the British Governor of the District – so is another Raj era relic, set in acres of woodlands filled with monkeys. The dining room, white with peeling paint, stained yellow tablecloths, original huge wooden furniture and tiles worn smooth by the feet of hundreds of years. As we sit here on the old verandah we can hear the monks chanting, interrupted by staccato gunfire (well we hope they are really firecrackers as it’s full moon…..) in the distance from the neighbouring temples – very atmospheric.
Re the booze – we have smuggled two bottles of wine into this sacred city so we are fine – we have alcohol in an alcohol free hotel, in an alcohol free zone on an alcohol free day – result!
Kandy (7 - 8 January 2009)
Kandy is a funny old place – we have struggled to come up with a catchy title to this blog but have failed which just about sums it up for us. The ancient capital of Sri Lanka, situated in beautiful hills with a lake. Thousands of year of Buddha’s history and where the Brits took over Sri Lanka, and famous for housing a temple dedicated to bit of Buddah’s tooth snatched from his funeral pyre….. Despite all this promise, this is the first place on this trip that had under delivered.
The town is ugly, shuts down completely at 8 pm (like we mean completely – not even a tat shop), no restaurant scene. Horrors of horrors, we have been forced into KFC and Pizza Hut. Please bear in mind that our chef at Tea Trails had spent 14 years refining his art in Paris so Kandy really was a soufflé that failed to rise!
Our Grand Dame Hotel, built in the 1830’s, fantastic location overlooking the lake, was all white and frou frou. £25 per night got us onto the Royal Floor – big wide corridors, wooden floors but they neglected to inform us that the rooms were already occupied by other guests - king size cockroaches. So we have a shitty hotel, nowhere to eat and a scruffy town – people keep coming here – there must be something we have missed. So waking up in a positive frame of mind, we went to search for enlightenment at the Temple of the Tooth – which to be fair, we liked – both the ambience and the veneration of this old relic. We made sure we got there for puja which involved a lot of drumming, monks to-ing and fro-ing and the opening of the shrine door for ten minutes. We were able to shuffle past and see the small silver miniature stupa containing the famous tooth fragment. We were surrounded by parents with tiny babies bringing them to the temple – we decided this was when they cut their first tooth! The temple grounds were pretty and held a number of smaller temples and the odd elephant used for the various temple processions – the biggest of which is in August each year.
With the temple done and ticked our decision was do we stay or do we go? Apathy resulted in us staying so we had an afternoon of leisure. But this was after exploring the local markets – same same and no different really. Ant walked around the lake and had a massage, Gill relaxed with the cockroaches in her room (having of course insisted on several fumigations that morning!)
There was however, one highlight that we had yet to attend to – Kandy’s most eclectic hotel. Helga’s Folly, hidden in the hills, is like Marmite apparently - you either love it or hate it. We had heard lot from fellow travellers so we hop in a tuk tuk to take a look and sample the most expensive bloody Mary’s in Kandy. It is packed to the gills with photos and memorabilia of the rich and famous who have hobnobbed with Helga and her parents. She is a child of the 60’s who hasn’t grown up – the Stereophonics have written a song about her after staying there called Madame Helga’s. The hotel is a mix of Miss Havisham meets Mary Quant, meets junk shop meets Art Gallery! She advises the influence in Bauhaus…. She is high Brit camp and appeared before us in a kimono, Deidre Barlow specs and a cut glass accent. She greeted us with “I am sure I have seen you before”. Ant’s very fast response of “it depends on which magazines you read” knocked her off course for a while, and as we left you could see her trying to work out if it was Tatler, Hello! or Horse and Hound.
No blog would be complete without its alcohol story. Kandy is no different. Due to its religious significance alcohol is severely restricted and we have found ourselves gravitating to the town’s only watering hole – “The Pub” where we sit and write this blog listening to Bruce Springsteen on the terrace overlooking Kandy High Street. Quite a good place to watch the world go by, but on balance, for us, Kandy just didn’t really work.
The town is ugly, shuts down completely at 8 pm (like we mean completely – not even a tat shop), no restaurant scene. Horrors of horrors, we have been forced into KFC and Pizza Hut. Please bear in mind that our chef at Tea Trails had spent 14 years refining his art in Paris so Kandy really was a soufflé that failed to rise!
Our Grand Dame Hotel, built in the 1830’s, fantastic location overlooking the lake, was all white and frou frou. £25 per night got us onto the Royal Floor – big wide corridors, wooden floors but they neglected to inform us that the rooms were already occupied by other guests - king size cockroaches. So we have a shitty hotel, nowhere to eat and a scruffy town – people keep coming here – there must be something we have missed. So waking up in a positive frame of mind, we went to search for enlightenment at the Temple of the Tooth – which to be fair, we liked – both the ambience and the veneration of this old relic. We made sure we got there for puja which involved a lot of drumming, monks to-ing and fro-ing and the opening of the shrine door for ten minutes. We were able to shuffle past and see the small silver miniature stupa containing the famous tooth fragment. We were surrounded by parents with tiny babies bringing them to the temple – we decided this was when they cut their first tooth! The temple grounds were pretty and held a number of smaller temples and the odd elephant used for the various temple processions – the biggest of which is in August each year.
With the temple done and ticked our decision was do we stay or do we go? Apathy resulted in us staying so we had an afternoon of leisure. But this was after exploring the local markets – same same and no different really. Ant walked around the lake and had a massage, Gill relaxed with the cockroaches in her room (having of course insisted on several fumigations that morning!)
There was however, one highlight that we had yet to attend to – Kandy’s most eclectic hotel. Helga’s Folly, hidden in the hills, is like Marmite apparently - you either love it or hate it. We had heard lot from fellow travellers so we hop in a tuk tuk to take a look and sample the most expensive bloody Mary’s in Kandy. It is packed to the gills with photos and memorabilia of the rich and famous who have hobnobbed with Helga and her parents. She is a child of the 60’s who hasn’t grown up – the Stereophonics have written a song about her after staying there called Madame Helga’s. The hotel is a mix of Miss Havisham meets Mary Quant, meets junk shop meets Art Gallery! She advises the influence in Bauhaus…. She is high Brit camp and appeared before us in a kimono, Deidre Barlow specs and a cut glass accent. She greeted us with “I am sure I have seen you before”. Ant’s very fast response of “it depends on which magazines you read” knocked her off course for a while, and as we left you could see her trying to work out if it was Tatler, Hello! or Horse and Hound.
No blog would be complete without its alcohol story. Kandy is no different. Due to its religious significance alcohol is severely restricted and we have found ourselves gravitating to the town’s only watering hole – “The Pub” where we sit and write this blog listening to Bruce Springsteen on the terrace overlooking Kandy High Street. Quite a good place to watch the world go by, but on balance, for us, Kandy just didn’t really work.
Toilets and trains (7 January 2009)
After the luxuries of the Tea Trails and a huge breakfast on the verandah, it was time to get back to reality – we were on our way to Kandy, so decided to take the 1.55pm local train. Our last piece of luxe saw us dropped off at the small station in Hatton by the Tea Trails car. We came to a station straight out of 1950’s Britain with people milling around waiting for the ticket booth to open. This should open ten minutes before the train departs, and as we waited patiently we realised that like trains all over the world, this one would be delayed. And like stations all over the world, the loo facilities aren’t up to much – but one cup of tea too many before leaving the Tea Trails saw Gill heading to the Ladies’ waiting room. Some of you may be eating whilst reading this so we will spare you the details, suffice to say it was not an experience she will forget! Finally, the ticket booth opens and Ant waits in the queue whilst Gill looks after the bags. We found ourselves back to being a “novelty” again – and were the objects of some interest all the time we were waiting. Whilst Ant was in the queue, Gill was approached by who we think was the Station Master – very official looking with gold chains, tie and pocket watch who asked had we been to Adam’s Peak. When I confirmed that we had, he said he would give us a free ticket (pilgrim price I suppose….) but Ant had just got to the front of the queue and purchased our upgraded tickets, so we missed out on that opportunity. We bought two tickets, 2nd class to Kandy (a three hour journey) for about 60p each.
The platform was full of families and businessmen, as well as schoolkids in the most amazingly clean white uniforms, toting their homework in their backpacks but with the scuffed shoes that all kids seem to have. One brave lad of about ten approached us and when Ant gave him his pen he scooted of with such joy on his face, it was worth being pen-less for the rest of the journey! Finally the train chugged into view an hour behind schedule, and we found seats in the crowded train with room for our bags. It was odd these seats were free, but what we hadn’t noticed was the grey door nearby with “LAVATORY” stencilled on it…… We settled into the journey as the train slowly made its way towards Kandy, dropping 1000 metres back down toward sea level and the tea plantations were replaced by rice paddies. The carriage was pretty ancient, with the odd strip light and non working fan hanging on wires from the ceiling. Air con was provided by no glass in the windows….. The scenery was great and it was fun to look back as the train curved around the bends to see some passengers sitting at the train doorways with their feet dangling down. We had no idea which stations we had to go through before reaching Kandy, but trusted we would know when we got there. We thought we couldn’t be too far away when we noticed a growing puddle around the bottom of our suitcases – yes, the “LAVATORY” had obviously been visited once too often…. Before we could do anything to try and sort it, the train drew into a station and there was lots of people moving about and changing trains. Luckily Ant heard the word “Kandy” and some locals told us we also had to change trains – so we quickly picked up our cases to race across the platform to join what we hoped was the Kandy bound suburban train. We got into the nearest carriage (3rd class this time), and all Gill can remember looking back was her case leaving a trail of some strange coloured liquid across the platform and then down the train carriage…. All she can say is thank God for Dettol wipes! We arrived in Kandy about 15 minutes later and managed to get off the train – a feat in itself. Obviously seats are at a premium and as we tried to negotiate ourselves and our bags down the five foot drop to the platform, locals were climbing over us to get on and find a seat – we didn’t have time to tell them to avoid the ones by that grey door….
Finally out into the sunshine, we catch a tuk tuk to take us to the Grand Dame of Kandy hotels, the Queens.
The platform was full of families and businessmen, as well as schoolkids in the most amazingly clean white uniforms, toting their homework in their backpacks but with the scuffed shoes that all kids seem to have. One brave lad of about ten approached us and when Ant gave him his pen he scooted of with such joy on his face, it was worth being pen-less for the rest of the journey! Finally the train chugged into view an hour behind schedule, and we found seats in the crowded train with room for our bags. It was odd these seats were free, but what we hadn’t noticed was the grey door nearby with “LAVATORY” stencilled on it…… We settled into the journey as the train slowly made its way towards Kandy, dropping 1000 metres back down toward sea level and the tea plantations were replaced by rice paddies. The carriage was pretty ancient, with the odd strip light and non working fan hanging on wires from the ceiling. Air con was provided by no glass in the windows….. The scenery was great and it was fun to look back as the train curved around the bends to see some passengers sitting at the train doorways with their feet dangling down. We had no idea which stations we had to go through before reaching Kandy, but trusted we would know when we got there. We thought we couldn’t be too far away when we noticed a growing puddle around the bottom of our suitcases – yes, the “LAVATORY” had obviously been visited once too often…. Before we could do anything to try and sort it, the train drew into a station and there was lots of people moving about and changing trains. Luckily Ant heard the word “Kandy” and some locals told us we also had to change trains – so we quickly picked up our cases to race across the platform to join what we hoped was the Kandy bound suburban train. We got into the nearest carriage (3rd class this time), and all Gill can remember looking back was her case leaving a trail of some strange coloured liquid across the platform and then down the train carriage…. All she can say is thank God for Dettol wipes! We arrived in Kandy about 15 minutes later and managed to get off the train – a feat in itself. Obviously seats are at a premium and as we tried to negotiate ourselves and our bags down the five foot drop to the platform, locals were climbing over us to get on and find a seat – we didn’t have time to tell them to avoid the ones by that grey door….
Finally out into the sunshine, we catch a tuk tuk to take us to the Grand Dame of Kandy hotels, the Queens.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
Luxury Living in the Hills (3 - 7 January 2009)
….is how the “Tea Trails” is described and they were right. After the efforts of Adam’s Peak Gill had very cleverly planned four nights flashpacking in utmost luxury in a Tea Planter’s bungalow. It was all white walls, dark wood and muslin with a real sense of history. It was located in the middle of the tea gardens in the hill country of central Sri Lanka, near the towns of Dickoya and Hatton.
OMG this is our idea of a pilgrimage destination, one of Conde Naste’s hot list of the best hotels in the world.
Tea Trails are four tea planters bungalows spread out over the valley that have been restored and updated to a fantastic level. With only five bedrooms, our bungalow, Norwood had seven staff on duty 24hours a day to be at our beck and call and nothing was too much trouble. The corrugated roofed bungalow from the 1890’s was exquisite, the gardens and pool perfect and the surrounding tea gardens and valley breathtaking. The bungalow had beautiful wooden floors, the gardens had a multitude of flowers and plants from the exotic to the British summer garden variety – roses, dahlias and chrysanths. All the rooms were named after British Plantation managers – Gill was in Hazel, Ant was in Jeffery. We were here for four nights – hurrah. Each day started with bed tea. This in itself was complicated due to the bewildering choice of tea. At an hour of our choosing fresh tea was delivered to our rooms together with the newspaper. This gentle introduction to the day was followed by breakfast on the verandah overlooking the valley. Breakfast had no menu which was a little bit daunting as every morning we had to decide what we wanted- we challenged them with requests for porridge, curries, Marmite soldiers, tropical fruits – every time they delivered. Our breakfast tea of choice was single estate BOP (broken Orange Pekoe) and hot milk as is the Sri Lankan way – no teabags here! Breakfast was followed by discussions with the chef where we would agree what we would eat for the rest of the day. Neither of us have eaten meat since we have been away and we have kept this up here, and Ant has also been trying to avoid wheat! He fell into a trap of his own making on Day One. When offered a bowl of fresh vegetable and barley soup to start lunch, he asked for the barley to be removed. But of course had not thought through the implications of this request as the home made, freshly baked bread basket appeared, followed that afternoon by freshly made scones with afternoon tea – he has spent four days eating all the wheat products in secret and the butler is convinced that Gill must be very greedy!
Discussions with the chef at a close, the morning lay before us. Some days we chose to lie by the pool and read, on another we walked 15kms though the tea plantations and Tamil villages waving to the pluckers as we passed until we reached the Castlereigh bungalow. The walk was as random as usual – we had a vague map of where we were headed but went “off piste” and found ourselves passing schools, small settlements, Tamil temples and crossing various unexpected streams whilst crossing a number of different tea plantations. At Tea Trail’s Castlereigh bungalow, we had pre lunch cocktails and a three course lunch with wine overlooking the scenic Castlereigh reservoir. Norwood sent a car to collect. They were very concerned that we had got lost as we had set off alone without a guide. Another day we had a personalised tour of the local tea factory by Andrew Taylor a direct descendent of Sri Lanka’s original tea planter and we spent a couple of hours looking around the tea factory which cannot have changed since it began. We saw the fresh leaves arrive, be withered, be rolled, broken, oxidised, dried, graded and packed ready to go to the tea brokers in Colombo. This entire process from field to cup can take as little as 20 hours. So if you want to know your silver tips to your orange pekoes, your fannings to your dust, your udawattas to your medwattas, we are the experts to ask! We will never drink from a teabag again and will pay much closer attention to our tea. Mornings rolled slowly round to lunch. On the verandah, three courses of top end London restaurant quality food, with all the herbs and vegetables grown in the bungalow garden was served – of course with splendid wine and more tea. After all this food it will come as no surprise that the afternoons were lazy, spent lying in the gardens or playing croquet on the lawn. We did however find ourselves eagerly awaiting 4pm for afternoon tea – cake stands, teapots, finger sandwiches, perfect scones with fresh cream and home-made jam – and yet more choice of tea from the tea menu. Typically, we chose another single estate tea, mid altitude, which seemed appropriate for the afternoon! As the valley slid into dusk and the birds flew home to roost for the night, a cool mist descended and we slid into our claw footed pedestal baths – the luxury of endless hot water, fluffy white towels and clean bathrooms was too much for Gill to miss! Pre dinner drinks at 7.30pm in the sitting room in front of a log fire soon came around, together with caviar canapés – with the best G&T’s and Bloody Mary’s ever – this was the only time we saw the other guests, it was all very discreet. We then rolled into a four course dinner on the terrace under the light of the moon, stars and patio heaters, with surprise, surprise, yet more wine.
And did we mention unlimited drinks, free laundry and wifi. Four poster beds draped with nets, no tv or phones in the rooms, no music, just the birds and geeko’s. Hushed tones, invisible yet impeccable service, onward travel arrangements by the butler and our favourite – a butlers bell (well used!) next to each bed – what more could we want. These last four days have probably cost us more than all the tea in China – but we’re worth it! It is one of the most magical places we have ever stayed but it is back to reality tomorrow!
OMG this is our idea of a pilgrimage destination, one of Conde Naste’s hot list of the best hotels in the world.
Tea Trails are four tea planters bungalows spread out over the valley that have been restored and updated to a fantastic level. With only five bedrooms, our bungalow, Norwood had seven staff on duty 24hours a day to be at our beck and call and nothing was too much trouble. The corrugated roofed bungalow from the 1890’s was exquisite, the gardens and pool perfect and the surrounding tea gardens and valley breathtaking. The bungalow had beautiful wooden floors, the gardens had a multitude of flowers and plants from the exotic to the British summer garden variety – roses, dahlias and chrysanths. All the rooms were named after British Plantation managers – Gill was in Hazel, Ant was in Jeffery. We were here for four nights – hurrah. Each day started with bed tea. This in itself was complicated due to the bewildering choice of tea. At an hour of our choosing fresh tea was delivered to our rooms together with the newspaper. This gentle introduction to the day was followed by breakfast on the verandah overlooking the valley. Breakfast had no menu which was a little bit daunting as every morning we had to decide what we wanted- we challenged them with requests for porridge, curries, Marmite soldiers, tropical fruits – every time they delivered. Our breakfast tea of choice was single estate BOP (broken Orange Pekoe) and hot milk as is the Sri Lankan way – no teabags here! Breakfast was followed by discussions with the chef where we would agree what we would eat for the rest of the day. Neither of us have eaten meat since we have been away and we have kept this up here, and Ant has also been trying to avoid wheat! He fell into a trap of his own making on Day One. When offered a bowl of fresh vegetable and barley soup to start lunch, he asked for the barley to be removed. But of course had not thought through the implications of this request as the home made, freshly baked bread basket appeared, followed that afternoon by freshly made scones with afternoon tea – he has spent four days eating all the wheat products in secret and the butler is convinced that Gill must be very greedy!
Discussions with the chef at a close, the morning lay before us. Some days we chose to lie by the pool and read, on another we walked 15kms though the tea plantations and Tamil villages waving to the pluckers as we passed until we reached the Castlereigh bungalow. The walk was as random as usual – we had a vague map of where we were headed but went “off piste” and found ourselves passing schools, small settlements, Tamil temples and crossing various unexpected streams whilst crossing a number of different tea plantations. At Tea Trail’s Castlereigh bungalow, we had pre lunch cocktails and a three course lunch with wine overlooking the scenic Castlereigh reservoir. Norwood sent a car to collect. They were very concerned that we had got lost as we had set off alone without a guide. Another day we had a personalised tour of the local tea factory by Andrew Taylor a direct descendent of Sri Lanka’s original tea planter and we spent a couple of hours looking around the tea factory which cannot have changed since it began. We saw the fresh leaves arrive, be withered, be rolled, broken, oxidised, dried, graded and packed ready to go to the tea brokers in Colombo. This entire process from field to cup can take as little as 20 hours. So if you want to know your silver tips to your orange pekoes, your fannings to your dust, your udawattas to your medwattas, we are the experts to ask! We will never drink from a teabag again and will pay much closer attention to our tea. Mornings rolled slowly round to lunch. On the verandah, three courses of top end London restaurant quality food, with all the herbs and vegetables grown in the bungalow garden was served – of course with splendid wine and more tea. After all this food it will come as no surprise that the afternoons were lazy, spent lying in the gardens or playing croquet on the lawn. We did however find ourselves eagerly awaiting 4pm for afternoon tea – cake stands, teapots, finger sandwiches, perfect scones with fresh cream and home-made jam – and yet more choice of tea from the tea menu. Typically, we chose another single estate tea, mid altitude, which seemed appropriate for the afternoon! As the valley slid into dusk and the birds flew home to roost for the night, a cool mist descended and we slid into our claw footed pedestal baths – the luxury of endless hot water, fluffy white towels and clean bathrooms was too much for Gill to miss! Pre dinner drinks at 7.30pm in the sitting room in front of a log fire soon came around, together with caviar canapés – with the best G&T’s and Bloody Mary’s ever – this was the only time we saw the other guests, it was all very discreet. We then rolled into a four course dinner on the terrace under the light of the moon, stars and patio heaters, with surprise, surprise, yet more wine.
And did we mention unlimited drinks, free laundry and wifi. Four poster beds draped with nets, no tv or phones in the rooms, no music, just the birds and geeko’s. Hushed tones, invisible yet impeccable service, onward travel arrangements by the butler and our favourite – a butlers bell (well used!) next to each bed – what more could we want. These last four days have probably cost us more than all the tea in China – but we’re worth it! It is one of the most magical places we have ever stayed but it is back to reality tomorrow!
Stairway to Heaven (2 - 3 January 2009)
And what a long journey it was – seven hours, albeit in a comfy minibus – on less than comfy roads, crawling along. We were so glad to arrive in Dalhousie and to see at last Adam’s Peak which we will climb tonight.
We had booked some rooms at the Slightly Chilled Yellow House – more a way to get a couple of hours pre-climb sleep and a place to store our bags overnight. For a multitude of reasons Ant’s booking wasn’t honoured so we found him a room (or should we say kennel) in a disgusting hovel next door where he was lured by the amazingly intelligent ten year old daughter of the owner – Achinka, after whom the “Achinka Holiday Inn“ was named. She spoke great English, was full of drive and will one day no doubt own the entire valley. In one of our many conversations with her, we discovered that she wishes to become a doctor. She was one of the brightest kids that either of us have ever come across. This didn’t detract from the fact that her room was bloody awful but at £6 per night what can one expect. Achinka introduced us to one of the other local characters, “Mrs Brenda” a local guide, an 80 year old and dressed in the traditional sari, she has done the climb 72 times! She was a charming character and it is meeting people like these that make our travels so interesting.
Dalhousie was a dump, but as night fell with so little light pollution it was an amazing spectacle to see the star filled sky and in the distance, Adam’s Peak draped with the floodlights that illuminate the paths snaking up and around the mountain. It was scary as well as we realised the size of the job ahead. Sitting on Gill’s verandah (remember Ant was in the hovel by this time….) we marvelled at the view as the moon rose and we drank warm white wine out of our ashram tin mugs – remember this is a pilgrimage area – and the teapots came out again when Ant ordered a beer earlier. We have worked this out by now so this wine had been carried opened half way across the country – our wine was completing its own pilgrimage.
Adam’s Peak is 7362 ft, 2242 metres and is sacred to three religions. To Buddhists the human foot shaped hollow on the pinnacle boulder marks one of the personal appearances of the Buddha; the Muslims believe that the depression marks Adam’s punishment for his disobedience, by standing there for an age on one foot; to the Hindu’s, by whom the peak has been venerated for millennia, the footprint is that of the God Shiva – for us it was just an enormous mountain to climb, at 2.5 times the height of Snowdon. It is traditionally climbed at night to arrive in time for sunrise at the peak and so we set of at 1.30 am having gone to bed at 8.30 pm. We set off on foot from Dalhousie which is just one dusty street filled with stalls selling cuddly toys, beanie hats and chocolate – obviously all that the tens of thousands of pilgrims who do this each year really need. For us though the shops that had no appeal, we were too focused on the job in hand.
The climb was over a kilometre vertical and involved 5200 steps over a walking distance of 7 kms. The rough path is lit all the way to the top and we set off with some trepidation. The route passes temples, Buddhist stupas, many tea and roti stalls and rest stops. As it is a pilgrimage the atmosphere was light yet respectful, no music, no alcohol (so we left our “Sprite” behind on this occasion) and no smoking allowed. Many of the pilgrims were barefoot and some carried children, others were ancient, others led blind and disabled people. They appeared completely ill-equipped, we were head to toe expedition gear!!!! Gill could have made it to the South Pole. Despite our equipment it was really hard.
Not only were we tired, increasingly cold, had no idea how to pace ourselves (it is a custom that you do not ask other pilgrims how much further to go) and you couldn’t see the top neither of us had ever encountered so many steps. We progressed, until one famous moment when Gill finally spotted the top – she had already commented that the stars looked bigger as we were getting that much closer to them …. But suddenly at what looked to be an impossible distance, the faint yellow glow of the temple at the top appeared – and it was at this point Gill decided “enough is enough”. And despite having gone ¾ of the way Gill turned round for the 2.5 hour trek back down leaving Ant to conquer the summit alone. She knew that this had been the right decision when she got a text from Ant an hour later confirming he had reached the top, but it had all got even harder, for the last half hour he was in a snake of people winding their way up the final near vertical ladder for 30 minutes chanting to Buddha – perhaps that helped! So alone Ant reached the top at 5am. At the top there is a Buddhist monastery and many Tibetan style prayer flags. It was freezing and it was here that he had a one hour wait for sunrise, huddled up with everyone else, wearing his beanie and avoiding the wind. Eventually the sun started to arrive in the East accompanied by the resident monks chanting in greeting to the sun. The sunrise over the entire East of Sri Lanka was bathed in red and orange hues and it produced the famous spectacle of the shadow of the peak. The sun casts a vast, dark, triangular shadow on a layer of misty cloud some thousands of feet below. Its point lies at first on the distant horizon, and then as the sun rises, the shadow foreshortens until it finally disappears into the mountain itself. The pilgrims all queued to pray at the footprint – Ant didn’t feel the need! With the sun finally in residence, it was time to do it all in reverse and negotiate the 5200 steps down – in some ways harder than going up. But the journey down was eased by the spectacular scenery of the mountains and lakes. Two hours and twenty minutes later Ant was relieved to find Gill in one piece (and vice versa) and looking remarkably well after her 2 hour sleep. By this time we had been up for almost 24hours and with an eight hour hike and a seven hour journey, never had we schlepped so much in one day in our lives.
We had booked some rooms at the Slightly Chilled Yellow House – more a way to get a couple of hours pre-climb sleep and a place to store our bags overnight. For a multitude of reasons Ant’s booking wasn’t honoured so we found him a room (or should we say kennel) in a disgusting hovel next door where he was lured by the amazingly intelligent ten year old daughter of the owner – Achinka, after whom the “Achinka Holiday Inn“ was named. She spoke great English, was full of drive and will one day no doubt own the entire valley. In one of our many conversations with her, we discovered that she wishes to become a doctor. She was one of the brightest kids that either of us have ever come across. This didn’t detract from the fact that her room was bloody awful but at £6 per night what can one expect. Achinka introduced us to one of the other local characters, “Mrs Brenda” a local guide, an 80 year old and dressed in the traditional sari, she has done the climb 72 times! She was a charming character and it is meeting people like these that make our travels so interesting.
Dalhousie was a dump, but as night fell with so little light pollution it was an amazing spectacle to see the star filled sky and in the distance, Adam’s Peak draped with the floodlights that illuminate the paths snaking up and around the mountain. It was scary as well as we realised the size of the job ahead. Sitting on Gill’s verandah (remember Ant was in the hovel by this time….) we marvelled at the view as the moon rose and we drank warm white wine out of our ashram tin mugs – remember this is a pilgrimage area – and the teapots came out again when Ant ordered a beer earlier. We have worked this out by now so this wine had been carried opened half way across the country – our wine was completing its own pilgrimage.
Adam’s Peak is 7362 ft, 2242 metres and is sacred to three religions. To Buddhists the human foot shaped hollow on the pinnacle boulder marks one of the personal appearances of the Buddha; the Muslims believe that the depression marks Adam’s punishment for his disobedience, by standing there for an age on one foot; to the Hindu’s, by whom the peak has been venerated for millennia, the footprint is that of the God Shiva – for us it was just an enormous mountain to climb, at 2.5 times the height of Snowdon. It is traditionally climbed at night to arrive in time for sunrise at the peak and so we set of at 1.30 am having gone to bed at 8.30 pm. We set off on foot from Dalhousie which is just one dusty street filled with stalls selling cuddly toys, beanie hats and chocolate – obviously all that the tens of thousands of pilgrims who do this each year really need. For us though the shops that had no appeal, we were too focused on the job in hand.
The climb was over a kilometre vertical and involved 5200 steps over a walking distance of 7 kms. The rough path is lit all the way to the top and we set off with some trepidation. The route passes temples, Buddhist stupas, many tea and roti stalls and rest stops. As it is a pilgrimage the atmosphere was light yet respectful, no music, no alcohol (so we left our “Sprite” behind on this occasion) and no smoking allowed. Many of the pilgrims were barefoot and some carried children, others were ancient, others led blind and disabled people. They appeared completely ill-equipped, we were head to toe expedition gear!!!! Gill could have made it to the South Pole. Despite our equipment it was really hard.
Not only were we tired, increasingly cold, had no idea how to pace ourselves (it is a custom that you do not ask other pilgrims how much further to go) and you couldn’t see the top neither of us had ever encountered so many steps. We progressed, until one famous moment when Gill finally spotted the top – she had already commented that the stars looked bigger as we were getting that much closer to them …. But suddenly at what looked to be an impossible distance, the faint yellow glow of the temple at the top appeared – and it was at this point Gill decided “enough is enough”. And despite having gone ¾ of the way Gill turned round for the 2.5 hour trek back down leaving Ant to conquer the summit alone. She knew that this had been the right decision when she got a text from Ant an hour later confirming he had reached the top, but it had all got even harder, for the last half hour he was in a snake of people winding their way up the final near vertical ladder for 30 minutes chanting to Buddha – perhaps that helped! So alone Ant reached the top at 5am. At the top there is a Buddhist monastery and many Tibetan style prayer flags. It was freezing and it was here that he had a one hour wait for sunrise, huddled up with everyone else, wearing his beanie and avoiding the wind. Eventually the sun started to arrive in the East accompanied by the resident monks chanting in greeting to the sun. The sunrise over the entire East of Sri Lanka was bathed in red and orange hues and it produced the famous spectacle of the shadow of the peak. The sun casts a vast, dark, triangular shadow on a layer of misty cloud some thousands of feet below. Its point lies at first on the distant horizon, and then as the sun rises, the shadow foreshortens until it finally disappears into the mountain itself. The pilgrims all queued to pray at the footprint – Ant didn’t feel the need! With the sun finally in residence, it was time to do it all in reverse and negotiate the 5200 steps down – in some ways harder than going up. But the journey down was eased by the spectacular scenery of the mountains and lakes. Two hours and twenty minutes later Ant was relieved to find Gill in one piece (and vice versa) and looking remarkably well after her 2 hour sleep. By this time we had been up for almost 24hours and with an eight hour hike and a seven hour journey, never had we schlepped so much in one day in our lives.
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