Friday 24th January - Beside the Seaside
Whoever made the anonymous comment on yesterday's post must have seventh sight. The plan for this morning is to take a local train south to Mount Lavinia and allow R to induge her passion for plodging. We set out at 08.00 under clear blue skies, with less humidity than yesterday and a better idea of local geography, which means we find the short cut to Fort Station. Our understanding of how pedestrian crossings work is also improving. The penalties for running down pink people must be enormous. Either that or the locals are just naturally hospitable.
It is not clear which window will provide the necessary 3rd class tickets so D pops into the Tourist Information Office. "Window 10" we are told. At Window 10 we are redirected to 13 where we are relieved of 40 Sri Lankan Rupees for two small pieces of purple card just like proper train tickets. D checks the destination and notes that each is clearly marked 15.00. Most people seem to be leaving the station, presumably having arrived on one of the constant procession of trains we can hear. Inside the trainshed there are lots of platforms and trains standing at several of them but no indication of which train is going where. We climb onto an overbridge which gives no clues either we decide to try platform 7.
The guard on the train standing at that platform tells us our train is at platform 5 so we have to climb the stairs again. As we do so the train on 5 departs but another one arrives on 6 so we try again. The guard confirms that this will stop at Mount Lavinia so we hop up into the first coach of the quite modern multiple unit where there are a couple of seats available. The seat layout is designed for cramming in standing passengers, with benches down each side of the coach, so we sit with our backs to the open windows. Doors are fixed open.
We are soon under way, at a trundle rather than a gallop, but it generates a very pleasant breeze through the windows and doors. At the next few stops more people get off than get on, not all of them on the platform side of the train. D gets the chance to ride at the door while the train heads south along the shoreline. Even R admits that it is a picturesque ride. It lasts for 12km and about 20 minutes and delivers us to a station undergoing a rebuild. We are surprised to see a large crowd congregating on the footbridge that connects the four platforms but this is explained when a northbound train arrives on platform 2 and everybody rushes down the steps to get on it. Clearly non communication with passengers is not unique to Colombo Fort and platform roulette is the order of the day in the suburbs. On the way out of the station we purchase our return tickets.
Our objectives are to have a look around, get breakfast and go to the beach. It is bright and sunny with a pleasant breeze to keep temperatures down a bit. Just north of the station is the rather splendid Mount Lavinia Hotel. We have a look round but decide that a mega buffet isn't what we need and move on with wallet intact. R spots a place with a balcony under a mango tree that advertises breakfast and we go for it. Omelettes, toast, butter, marmalade and tea go down a treat but we are less enthused by the mixed fruit juice which seems to contain something rather bitter. Suitably fortified we move on to the beach which is accessed by walking to the extreme south end of the railway station, climbing down from the platform, crossing the four tracks and then juking through a gap in the fence. This takes us to a long , steeply inclined sandy beach with a few beach shacks and some fishing boats. There is not too much litter so we remove our sandals and walk. The second wave soaks R to above the knees, D having opted for shorts when the beach got mentioned. The ocean is pleasantly tepid and a drying breeze repairs the damage.
Somehow we manage to collect a local who tells us all about the place and who asks if we want to see turtles. We do not demur and a few hundred yards down the beach he leads us into a shack that says 'Turtle Sanctuary'. He rummages in a sandy enclosure and shows us a couple of objects that look like damaged ping pong balls and tells us that they are turtle eggs. He then summons a buddy who tries to sell us 1000 rupee tickets to see the turtle hatchery. We plead an urgent appointment and head back whence we came. No 1 local keeps up with us and D thanks him for his company and offers a 100 pourboire which is turned down. We cannot shake him off as he starts to tell us how expensive dried milk is. Nestle seem to have fingers in every pie on this island. We explain that we are meeting a friend at the Bu Bar beach shack and head for a shady table. He stands outside looking forlorn for a while then disappears.
The Bu Bar is LP's star attraction in Mount Lavinia which probably accounts for the extremely leisurely service. At least we have plenty of time to watch the man shinning up the coconut palms to cut the fruit loose, which then fall to the sand with a loud thump.
Our beverages appear and we peruse the menu for future reference. We might come back one evening when we are not in a hurry. The back entrance lets us out onto the railway line, only 50 metres from the end of the platform. The northbound train arrives only small late and we climb in. This is a rather older multiple unit, pretty grubby inside and close to decrepit outside. The coach is standing room only although it does thin out as we head north and with three stops to go seats become free. This train has one seat reserved for 'Clergy', occupied in this instance by a Buddhist monk.
We descend at Secretariat Halt, closer to our digs than Fort station but so insignificant that it does not appear on all maps. It has got hotter and stickier since we left the seaside so a lie down in our room gets the vote. Once it has cooled down a little we set out to stroll around the neighbourhood. We are so distracted having to repell a tout who wishes us to visit a temple complex that we are suckered on the rebound by another guy who persuades us to visit a gem museum, using the auto that magically appears.
At least we get a decent ride for the auto fare and the salesman in the 'museum' quickly spots that we are not going to buy. We take a walk south in an area we have not visited and find a few interesting places including a rather smart supermarket. We browse in the a/c aisles until the staff start to look at us rather suspiciously. The guide book suggests that a shop in this area called Barefoot is worth a visit and for once it is right. Full of essentials such as cushion covers and carved soap dishes. R browses in full knowledge that we will not be carting any of it round with us for the next five and a half weeks. Best of all this place has a courtyard cafe where we enjoy lime sodas.
A short walk takes us to a station with an unpronounceable name, three stops south of Secretariat. We don't wait long for a train, this time a loco hauled rake that really does look as it has been recovered from a scrapyard. It is standing room only but we find a pitch under a ceiling fan which helps a bit. More people pile on at the next two stops and we have to push and shove in order to get off at our stop. Even more people try to fight their way on and the train leaves with bodies hanging out of every doorway.
Back at the hotel we shower and change for our big night out. Cocktails at a bar along the street then dinner at the Ministry of Crab. At the front of the house is a notice saying fully booked tonight and we feel quite smug about getting a reservation. We are under very strict instruction not to diss this place so we won't. Suffice to say that as a pair of retired hospitality industry hacks we were impressed. The food was excellent (prawns first then crab), the service was extremely professional and the prices astronomical. The Holy Trinity of the restaurant business.
For those interested in the oddities of the Fairway's lifts we discovered today that there is no floor 4. Spooky!.
It is not clear which window will provide the necessary 3rd class tickets so D pops into the Tourist Information Office. "Window 10" we are told. At Window 10 we are redirected to 13 where we are relieved of 40 Sri Lankan Rupees for two small pieces of purple card just like proper train tickets. D checks the destination and notes that each is clearly marked 15.00. Most people seem to be leaving the station, presumably having arrived on one of the constant procession of trains we can hear. Inside the trainshed there are lots of platforms and trains standing at several of them but no indication of which train is going where. We climb onto an overbridge which gives no clues either we decide to try platform 7.
The guard on the train standing at that platform tells us our train is at platform 5 so we have to climb the stairs again. As we do so the train on 5 departs but another one arrives on 6 so we try again. The guard confirms that this will stop at Mount Lavinia so we hop up into the first coach of the quite modern multiple unit where there are a couple of seats available. The seat layout is designed for cramming in standing passengers, with benches down each side of the coach, so we sit with our backs to the open windows. Doors are fixed open.
We are soon under way, at a trundle rather than a gallop, but it generates a very pleasant breeze through the windows and doors. At the next few stops more people get off than get on, not all of them on the platform side of the train. D gets the chance to ride at the door while the train heads south along the shoreline. Even R admits that it is a picturesque ride. It lasts for 12km and about 20 minutes and delivers us to a station undergoing a rebuild. We are surprised to see a large crowd congregating on the footbridge that connects the four platforms but this is explained when a northbound train arrives on platform 2 and everybody rushes down the steps to get on it. Clearly non communication with passengers is not unique to Colombo Fort and platform roulette is the order of the day in the suburbs. On the way out of the station we purchase our return tickets.
Our objectives are to have a look around, get breakfast and go to the beach. It is bright and sunny with a pleasant breeze to keep temperatures down a bit. Just north of the station is the rather splendid Mount Lavinia Hotel. We have a look round but decide that a mega buffet isn't what we need and move on with wallet intact. R spots a place with a balcony under a mango tree that advertises breakfast and we go for it. Omelettes, toast, butter, marmalade and tea go down a treat but we are less enthused by the mixed fruit juice which seems to contain something rather bitter. Suitably fortified we move on to the beach which is accessed by walking to the extreme south end of the railway station, climbing down from the platform, crossing the four tracks and then juking through a gap in the fence. This takes us to a long , steeply inclined sandy beach with a few beach shacks and some fishing boats. There is not too much litter so we remove our sandals and walk. The second wave soaks R to above the knees, D having opted for shorts when the beach got mentioned. The ocean is pleasantly tepid and a drying breeze repairs the damage.
Somehow we manage to collect a local who tells us all about the place and who asks if we want to see turtles. We do not demur and a few hundred yards down the beach he leads us into a shack that says 'Turtle Sanctuary'. He rummages in a sandy enclosure and shows us a couple of objects that look like damaged ping pong balls and tells us that they are turtle eggs. He then summons a buddy who tries to sell us 1000 rupee tickets to see the turtle hatchery. We plead an urgent appointment and head back whence we came. No 1 local keeps up with us and D thanks him for his company and offers a 100 pourboire which is turned down. We cannot shake him off as he starts to tell us how expensive dried milk is. Nestle seem to have fingers in every pie on this island. We explain that we are meeting a friend at the Bu Bar beach shack and head for a shady table. He stands outside looking forlorn for a while then disappears.
The Bu Bar is LP's star attraction in Mount Lavinia which probably accounts for the extremely leisurely service. At least we have plenty of time to watch the man shinning up the coconut palms to cut the fruit loose, which then fall to the sand with a loud thump.
Our beverages appear and we peruse the menu for future reference. We might come back one evening when we are not in a hurry. The back entrance lets us out onto the railway line, only 50 metres from the end of the platform. The northbound train arrives only small late and we climb in. This is a rather older multiple unit, pretty grubby inside and close to decrepit outside. The coach is standing room only although it does thin out as we head north and with three stops to go seats become free. This train has one seat reserved for 'Clergy', occupied in this instance by a Buddhist monk.
We descend at Secretariat Halt, closer to our digs than Fort station but so insignificant that it does not appear on all maps. It has got hotter and stickier since we left the seaside so a lie down in our room gets the vote. Once it has cooled down a little we set out to stroll around the neighbourhood. We are so distracted having to repell a tout who wishes us to visit a temple complex that we are suckered on the rebound by another guy who persuades us to visit a gem museum, using the auto that magically appears.
At least we get a decent ride for the auto fare and the salesman in the 'museum' quickly spots that we are not going to buy. We take a walk south in an area we have not visited and find a few interesting places including a rather smart supermarket. We browse in the a/c aisles until the staff start to look at us rather suspiciously. The guide book suggests that a shop in this area called Barefoot is worth a visit and for once it is right. Full of essentials such as cushion covers and carved soap dishes. R browses in full knowledge that we will not be carting any of it round with us for the next five and a half weeks. Best of all this place has a courtyard cafe where we enjoy lime sodas.
A short walk takes us to a station with an unpronounceable name, three stops south of Secretariat. We don't wait long for a train, this time a loco hauled rake that really does look as it has been recovered from a scrapyard. It is standing room only but we find a pitch under a ceiling fan which helps a bit. More people pile on at the next two stops and we have to push and shove in order to get off at our stop. Even more people try to fight their way on and the train leaves with bodies hanging out of every doorway.
Back at the hotel we shower and change for our big night out. Cocktails at a bar along the street then dinner at the Ministry of Crab. At the front of the house is a notice saying fully booked tonight and we feel quite smug about getting a reservation. We are under very strict instruction not to diss this place so we won't. Suffice to say that as a pair of retired hospitality industry hacks we were impressed. The food was excellent (prawns first then crab), the service was extremely professional and the prices astronomical. The Holy Trinity of the restaurant business.
For those interested in the oddities of the Fairway's lifts we discovered today that there is no floor 4. Spooky!.
Ministry of Crab is a place of pilgrimage - for more reasons than one :D
ReplyDeleteAm guessin next stop is Galle. [that's 2 outta 5!]