Sri Lankan diary. Part 4

  In a particularly cold December, the beaches of Sri Lanka have to be the main attraction. Shortly

after we left, both Europe and America fell into a deep freeze making us feel even more grateful to Jaquetta for masterminding this vacation. Eveline and Charles's beach hotel was the final destination but our reservation began after Christmas. Long before leaving Europe Caroline booked the Daffodil Holiday Guest House on Unawatuna beach as the place to meet Scarlett and Isabella for our Christmas weekend.

  If the beaches are a main attraction, I'd say the lodgings, generally, are not. I shouldn't complain. We stuck to rock bottom prices, and they were cheap. In fact too cheap for the last place and too cheap for this latest place as well. Upon arriving, after a long and sweaty bus ride to a vague destination chosen from Google maps and a laden hike

into a crowded, tacky beach community, our Rastafarian host sheepishly asked for more money saying he mistakenly quoted, thinking we would automatically be taking the breakfast. Poor guy.  I didn't feel sorry for him. Scarlett and Isabella had their own room. Thomasina and Isolde had their own room. The eight of us took every room, and in this competitive little Beach town, a full house at asking prices can't be that bad. It didn't take much convincing. Our house in Italy is offered as an Airbnb accommodation and I found myself, at first, sympathizing with these small business having to cope with rude tourists. But now, writing this, I think they could have done better. All of them. And the whole process of relying on guide books is ridiculous. These places are creepy! Unfamiliar beds, weird plumbing, tasteless decoration, thoughtess furnishings. Anyway, enough ranting. Maybe I'll write a post about Airbnb hosting.

looking for the beach?

  While we were spreading out in our beach resort, Scarlett and Isabella stepped in off the street, dazzling everyone. We now presented six striking women, one fit dude, and an odd looking old man who needed a haircut. Walking down a narrow, winding concrete Lane, running the gamut of shanty tourist businesses, one had to peak between buildings to get a bearing on where the water was. Once gained, the beach was great. A rocky point with a Buddhist shrine on it protected a sweeping bay with a rocky island. The rubbish shanty bars and restaurants on the Lane generously spread nice shade constructions and comfy furniture out on the sand without ever asking us to drink or leave. The place was full of polite people having fun on holiday. After many days in the interior of a hot, humid country,

this, believe it or not, was the top nosh.
all you can eat and a roof top
dining terrace

enjoying their hot crowded buses, we were ready for a plunge. Thomasina, Isolde and Dominic must have felt especially ready because they got in trouble trying to swim to the rocky island. A local on a surf board had to be sent out to steer them back in. And, yet again, that evening Alex somehow sniffed out the best all-you-can eat rice and dal curry joint on the “strip” were we could take plates onto the wobbly flat roof under palm fronds.

  Before we left Europe, Dominic proposed we throw our names into a “secret Santa” lottery which was such a good idea that we appointed him the administrator. I drew Ev & Charles's young son Alex and decided the only thing suitable would be a Ferrari t-shirt. Sounds easy but it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't until we got to Kandy that I found one. This was on a quick stop in the market stalls which also netted me (and Isolde) a pair of leather peasant sandals along with the discovery that we had been seriously duped by the prices of ayuverdic essential oils at the botanical gardens the day before. I padded around proudly in my locally made sandals thinking I was blending in nicely, until I hit the salty sand and realized that one needs native feet to wear native sandals. I quickly rubbed up bleeding blisters that are going home with me.

   We spent two nights at the Daffodil which was a nice change. Too much of our valuable time was being spent on government buses ticking off well trodden tourist traps. The girls got a proper visit to the island in a glass bottomed boat along with a dive to see the little coral reef. This was Christmas day so we treated ourselves to a baked fish cooked on an open brazier on the beach with all the other tourists.

  On boxing day we backpacked out to the highway and caught the coast road bus to Balapitiya where we walked down a jungle lane and out of SriLanka and into the Calamansi Cove hotel, a white-walled compound of four private villas, two four bedroom owner's houses with private kitchens and big, fanned verandahs, a fresh water swimming pool, restaurant, bar, library, life-guarded natural beach front, and a white- jacketed staff to keep things cut, pruned, sprayed, and immaculately tidy. We arrived before EV, Charles and the boys, and met by a group of polite staff who immediately presented us with cool, damp white washcloths, lifted the bags from our shoulders, and led us to our private rooms. Wow. We weren't leaving for eight nights (Thomasina, Dominic and Caroline left early after six nights).

  And it was a lovely week of big family meals, lots of little outings on bicycles and tuk tuk, hours by the pool, and swimming in the surf.

  Happy New Year all.