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.

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.

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!

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.

Happy New Year from Unawatuna (30 Dec 2008 to 2 Jan 2009)

Having exhausted the beach delights of Hikkaduwa we decided to move even further south to Unawatuna for New Year. It’s a beautiful crescent beach backed by coconut palms and low rise developments, 6kms east of Galle. We idled away three days reading, eating and relaxing, looking out over the turquoise lagoon. Nothing much to report – a low key New Year with bonfires and fireworks on the beach after a delicious seafood dinner (see pic) and yet another very expensive bottle of wine. The most energetic we got was when we walked the 200 metres to the stupa at the end of the beach and when Ant took a New Year’s Day morning swim (see video). Ant has managed to get a coral ear infection which has been quite painful, but we are hopeful that after his visit to the local pharmacy, it will be better soon. We sense this is the last relaxation like this for a while as we set off tomorrow in a van for the long journey inland to Adam’s Peak.

A Whale of a Time (30 December 2008)

Travel is about grabbing opportunities as they arise. It was much to our surprise that the Air Lanka in flight magazine featured an article about the nascent discovery of the Blue Whale migration route from the Maldives to the Bay of Bengal, passing the southern coast of Sri Lanka right now. An opportunity to see these rarest of whales and the largest mammal ever to have lived on this planet was too much to resist – for Ant at least! So whilst Gill sunned herself and read a novel, Ant took a six hour sea trip 20 miles off shore, beyond the fishing boats, through the oil tanker and cargo shipping lanes to the edge of the continental shelf. Lo and behold I must have seen twenty of them. They were enormous and I got many tail shots. However, you will have to imagine the spectacle as I can’t get my sneaky cam pictures (and there are many) on to this blog. Blue Whale, tick, done – next?

Tsunami Stories (26 December 2008)

This quote was engraved on the Tsunami memorial in the town of Hikkaduwa where we are staying.
“On the 26th December 2004 the fury of nature erupted from the deepest recesses of the earth, unleashed a violent force in the form of a Tsunami that struck a wide part of South and South East Asia bringing destruction and death in its wake. Its fury knew no frontiers, no creed, no tribe and no nation”
We witnessed the remains of the Tsunami at first hand as we drove in – with boats still stranded in fields, foundations of houses in the grass but with their brick walls gone and the most poignant of all, remains of tiled kitchen sinks which had been left standing as the homes and people around them were washed away. Sri Lanka lost 50,000 people, many of whom were in this area, so it is another poignant moment as we sit in the evening on the very beach that was so badly hit. We were here for the 4th anniversary on Boxing Day and witnessed a Buddhist ceremony of commemoration just off the main road, including what we think were orphans of the tragedy praying along with Buddhist monks. Bizzarely, we were the only tourists present. Many of the people we have spoken to have shared their Tsunami stories about how they escaped by hanging onto trees or just running for their lives. The guest house where we are staying which is run by a British couple shut down for 11 months to help with the reconstruction effort, helping to build new homes, accommodating victims and generally helping the local community. They tell us that a lot of the aid money has been squandered and whilst some people got greedy and rich others never received a penny. It is evident that the thousands of homes that were destroyed have not all been replaced despite signs to KPMG village and the Coca Cola School, clearly set up with money raised at the time – but there is no evidence of this delivering real reconstruction. Such was the death toll in this area that there was no time for proper Buddhist rituals, the bodies had to be bulldozed into mass graves. But the beaches are beautiful and the natural environment has recovered well. Our guest house overlooks an inland saltwater lagoon and on the morning of the Tsunami their first sign of the tragedy was when the lagoon started to fill with debris such as fridges, cars, and rooftops. A large statue of Buddah has been raised in commemoration. This taller than the tall coconut palms that surround it and is reportedly the maximum height of the wave – if so then this is incredible, but it clearly explains the devastation. It is here at Hikkaduwa that the hundred’s of people died on the train. The train has only recently been removed. Our tuk tuk driver kept referring to the Tsunami damage as "everything very broken Sir" - this summed it up perfectly.
We also stayed in Unawatuna on the South Coast which was also devastated – looks like they haven’t learned too much – all the hotels that have been re built are right on the water line. But whilst some of the hotels have been sorted, even four years on, the homes are still not fully rebuilt.

All in all, this was a very poignant reminder of how very lucky we are.