Sri Lanka Diaries: Part Three
Kurunegala
As soon as I got off the bus from Giriulla at Kurunegala, I knew I wanted a tea break, which is quite rare for me as I can survive without food or water for long periods when necessary. Changing buses frequently was starting to get to me. Looking around outside the bus terminus, where we were dropped, I couldn’t tell where I’d get a cup of tea and some biscuits to go with it. So, I decided to go for a short walk on the busiest road I could lay my eyes on, nearby. Amongst the varied assortment of stores that lined this street, were a few bakeries that also served as eateries offering light snacks and beverages. I stopped at the one that looked most appealing, and seeing some empty tables inside, ventured forth to get myself some refreshments.
I first asked the waiter who approached me, whether they had milkshakes. He didn’t understand a word of my English. “No problem,” I said to myself, “I’ll just show him what I mean.” So I pointed at the fridge, which had frosted glasses of what looked like a milk-based semi-liquid concoction. He responded, by saying something that sounded like “fruit salad”. After the wrong bus incident, I couldn’t trust non-English-speaking Sri Lankans with what sounded like English, so I shook my head and wondered if I should ask for something else that he might understand. Meanwhile, the waiter had gotten hold of someone who spoke a little English and brought him to my table so that I may be able to give him a better chance to serve me. This man didn’t understand milkshake either. Eventually, I managed to get a cup of tea, which I gulped down with a lot of gratitude and after making sure I had paid my dues, quickly gathered my belongings and walked back to the bus stand.
The Bus Stand
The bus stand at Kurunegala is like a mini-stadium. The inner perimeter of the circular structure is where the mini-buses park themselves below destination boards, with the conductors almost rapping away their respective bus routes. Eminem would find a lot of inspiration in Sri Lanka, what with the speed at which both Singhalese and Tamil are spoken!
After a short enquiry at what looked like an information booth, I quietly made my way to where I would find my bus. The first bus I found going to Kandy charged SLR (Sri Lankan Rupees) 100. Though not a princely amount when converted to Indian Rupees, I was sure that they were overcharging me on account of my very obvious ‘tourist’ status. Only after I had gotten on another bus that charged less, did I realise that the previous one was air-conditioned. I had jumped to an immature conclusion once again.
Kandy
It took a little over an hour to get to Kandy and I was thoroughly entertained by Singhalese radio with a smattering of English thrown in for good measure. The hill country as the Sri Lankan highlands are known, is a charming blend of modern concrete ugliness and lush green environs. After sundown though, both get quite eerie as most human activity outside the humans’ homes ceases. In that regard, Sri Lanka is nothing like India where human activity seems to be bursting and overflowing from their homes, businesses and whatnot till late into the night.
The first thing I did after arriving at Goods Shed bus stand in Kandy, was to call up Lake Bungalow, one of the guest houses recommended by Lonely Planet, and find out if they had rooms available and how much they would cost. I hadn’t bumped into too many tourists yet, so I wasn’t surprised when the lady at Lake Bungalow answered in the affirmative to the former and SLR 880 to the latter. I now had to find an auto rickshaw (tuk-tuk or taxi in Sri Lankan parlance) to take me there.
I did find one and he took me for a ride. First, by pretending to not know where Lake Bungalow was and then when we did ‘find’ it, by charging me SLR 250 instead of the usual 150. I felt like I had the word ‘SUCKER’ stamped on my forehead. Maybe it was glow-in-the-dark, or visible only under ultraviolet light.
Lake Bungalow
The duper was soon forgotten though, when I was shown my room on the first floor of their cosy guest-house. It was just the kind I’d love to come to after a day of extreme excursions. It had soft yellow lighting and wooden flooring with three decent beds in a space much larger than I needed.
I washed up and put on a t-shirt over my shirt to compensate for the slight nip in the air outside and went downstairs to go Kandy-exploring. There I bumped into Mrs. Damayanthi Dunuwile, who owned and ran the guest-house. After a brief but pleasant chat with her, I sauntered off into the darkness in search of a decent restaurant for a decent meal to bid adieu to a decent birthday.
Since the guest-house wasn’t far from the lake, a short walk downhill and crossing the road brought me to the edge of this beautifully large water-body around which Kandy town arose. I started walking leftwards around the lake, trying to remember where a restaurant called Devon had been on the map in my trusted Lonely Planet guide. I didn’t have to make the effort as I had taken the book with me, but I needed something to keep my mind busy. You know, “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop”. That should be updated to “a non-multitasking mind is the devil’s workshop”. As I tried to figure out how to get to the restaurant without walking too much, I also observed quite a few hotels on that road and very few walkers/joggers around at that time. It was barely even 8.30 p.m.
Devon Rest.
I must have walked for 10 minutes, when I came across a lodge-like building with a tacky sign outside that read ‘Devon Rest.’. “Could this be the restaurant mentioned in the guide?” I asked myself. I opened the book and flipped to the page with the map on it and with the help of a street light, spent a few minutes musing over whether this could be it. On the map though, there was nothing that corresponded with where I was standing then. “Ah, fuck it!” I thought. My tummy wasn’t in the mood to explore further and waste time. I was going to risk eating at the tacky-signed restaurant.
Walking up to the restaurant on the first floor, I didn’t see a single soul around. Boy, it was beginning to get spooky! Didn’t Kandians have a life after sunset? I waited for a bit before the waiter showed up with a menu that had very little choice for a very vegetarian me. After much thought and discussion, I settled for soup, followed by a serving of chips (the British word for French fries) and fruit salad with ice cream for dessert. All of it washed down by a glass of lime juice. I had found my decent restaurant and eaten my decent meal and it was now time to bid adieu to my decent birthday.
I walked back to the guest-house at a brisk pace, looking forward to the cosy room I had been enamoured by earlier, and lots of well-deserved rest. It hadn’t been even 24 hours since I had arrived in Sri Lanka and I had had enough action to last me a week!
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