Luxury hotel and primitive transports of delight

Rocking a tuktuk!

In the bus, as Atulah drives us to our destinations, it’s like watching a film spooling by outside the window: it’s magical - frequently bedazzled by a riot of coloured signage - but once you step outside you are back into the reality of life in a fairly poor country. As Gabrielle mentioned in her last post, our new hotel is very comfortable, but with one downside: it sprawls over 27 acres, with blocks of rooms set beside gravel paths, winding beside lakes and gardens in a dizzying maze. It was no surprise then that last night, it took us two goes to find our way to the bar. This will be shocking news to those who know us. Once there though, Gabrielle grabbed a passing staff member to order two beers but he wasn’t a bar staffer. One of the real deal swooped and hissed that he would take it, just as Gabrielle was ordering. Cue a repeat requirement to order.

The snacks consisted of crisps and what can only be described as ‘Hard dhal’ - spiced lentils, but seemingly uncooked. Add to that the excruciating music and you can see why, after a small glass of beer, we headed as far away as possible. We’d had a similar experience many years ago in Vietnam where a Robbie Williams impersonator, who evidently spoke no English, sang the singer’s songs with no idea what he was singing. The garbled results were hilarious.

We are becoming dhal connoisseurs and Gabrielle has made it her mission to test every one we encounter. The winner so far is the restaurant after the Dambulla caves. However, there is lots of competition and particularly in today’s adventure!

In the restaurant for evening meal there is an unbelievable amount of food on the buffet. Hundreds of dishes, some of which must inevitably have never been touched. And they will have another round of different dishes the next night to delight our palates. It’s a good job we aren’t staying more than two nights. It would need a baryatric ambulance to get us out.

This morning we enjoyed a good breakfast, but inevitably there is a tale to tell: a woman was observed grabbing display items from the omelette stand, where Gabrielle was waiting for her breakfast treat. The woman complained that there was no spoon and that she’d had to use her fingers. The chef behind the counter looked at Gabrielle and shook his head. They agreed that the world had gone to hell in a handcart and he solemnly handed her her omelette.

I’ve mentioned a couple of times that we have paid out tips. I believe most of our cash is going to go that way. We have been given guidance on the tipping culture and Atulah advises us at each stop what the protocol is. Frankly, I think he’s in league with the tour providers!

A leisurely start at 10:30am. A lie in! We got lost again on the way to the bus. This is what happens when I leave the navigation to Gabrielle. Atulah remarked that the Brits were good timekeepers - we had made it with seconds to spare - but the Russians and Indians would keep him waiting, sometimes for hours. Shocking. Glad we’re good at something.  We headed off down the Elephant Road again and then turned off onto a very minor road to arrive next to a stall selling water among other things. Gabrielle bought some water while I stood by, sneezing. Yes, another cold.

There are dogs everywhere, lying in the road. On this particular route, people don’t drive on roads at night because of elephants, cobras and reptiles. At that time, they are not disturbed by humans. Likewise, crocodiles in the lakes don’t appear where people are.

The ox cart

There then hove into sight a covered cart pulled by an ox. Was this for us? It sure was. We climbed aboard, with some difficulty it must be said and the cart then lurched into motion with a rattle and a bump. There was no suspension. I mean, none. We sat on barely padded seats and universally elevated ourselves onto our hands, taking off the spine juddering and hoping it was not going to be too far! At this point, Ronnie said that she hoped that the ox would not be performing a natural function as its bum was pointing directly at us. As if on cue, it moved its tail aside and performed! No one was videoing or photographing so we can spare you the trauma.

The track became even more potholed and irregular and we all clung on for dear life and then we emerged beside a beautiful lake that stretched serenely into the distance. On the lake were primitive catamarans, paddled by able young men, who sat on one end of the vessel and provided the motive power and steering to take us through the glades. Once aboard - another complex operation - we set off calmly across the lake, the only sound the clunk splash of the paddle. We were told that there were crocodiles in the water but we didn’t see them. There was complete silence from the four of us as we respected the environment. Our oarsman took us into a bed of beautiful lilies and then, yes, insisted on picking flowers for us. Such a shame, but there were plenty more growing.

At the other side of the lake, we disembarked into a primitive village of open ended houses, where people were giving cookery demonstrations. The lady in house three was round shouldered and smiling and she cooked confidently while Atulah narrated her method. She began by getting us to slice okra ready for a curry while on the hob there bubbled fish curry and dhal. She cracked open a coconut, husking it first on a stake behind the house, and then opening it and pouring the water for us to taste. She then set about grating the coconut meat with which to make milk by adding water and then squeezing the mass with her hands to take out the solids.

Using a heavy stone roller, she crushed chillies, salt, tomato and spice and then added that to the coconut. Apparently she had made this mild for us but we were grabbing for water just after tasting it! Her stove was wood burning and when she wanted to turn it up she blew into it using a pipe. We then made festive deep fried treats by dipping the hot iron into the batter and then back into the smoking oil. The koki as they were called detached and floated, needing only a turn or two for them to be done.

She then laid out the whole feast and we tucked in heartily, remarking that if it had been served in a restaurant back home, there would have been rave reviews. Her penultimate party trick was to weave a palm frond into a piece of matting that would serve on the floor or as part of the roofing. The speed with which she did this was hindered only by the helpful attentions of her granddaughter! And finally she demonstrated how she ground millet into flour with a primitive stone.

We said our goodbyes, leaving the inevitable tip and making our way through the little paddy fields to our waiting tuktuk. If you’ve not ridden one of these vehicles before, you need to try it. A glorified motorcycle, but with three wheels, it makes more noise than its power warrants. We climbed aboard and surged across a ford to the clay path that lay beyond. With much smoke, din and to do, we headed off back to our original starting point, driven by a terrified looking young man with his music blasting. He decided to tone it down a bit for the oldies and put something gentler on as we lurched along the unmade roads.

And then it was time to return to the hotel, full of curry, smelling of smoke, shaken to pieces by our modes of transport and beaming happily after an exciting and engaging adventure. On our return, our room had not yet been made up so we ventured out to the butterfly garden in the hotel grounds, there to be hijacked by one of the staff who made it his duty to give us a tour and tell us about all the plants. Very interesting and, you guessed it … tip. After trying again and failing to get our photos to load to the website, we decided to relax on our balcony and write up our exploits. Not for long. A family of monkeys chased us indoors where we are even now hunkering.

Tomorrow we head for Kandy and Gabrielle will pickup our exploits from this evening.