Tangalle

09:40
Ok, interesting. I slept until nearly 08:00 this morning. I think my sleeping frailties at Mirissa were probably the result of noise - not just the beach parties, but also the morning chorus of cockerels, peacocks and dogs. Here in Tangalle, there’s no noise. It’s so utterly quiet, and I’m pretty sure this is what lets me sleep through, and sleep until such a relatively late time.

It looks like a stunning day, so plonk myself in Luaya’s lush garden. I can feel the sun warming up already, the heat starting to prickle on my skin. Around 08:30, the guys running Luaya bring me a Sri Lankan breakfast. I’m not kidding when I say that it arrives in about 7 stages. Massive pot of freshly brewed coffee, the best I’ve had since I arrived in Sri Lanka; a plate of hoppers - waffer theen pancakes filled with a fried egg; a bowl each of dhal, potato curry, and coconut sambol; a plate of string hoppers - noodles made of a pancake dough; a plate of fresh fruit; a coconut pancake with a set yoghurt; a glass of pineapple juice. It’s comfortably enough to feed 2. I’m stuck in that typically British mentality, where if you took / are served the food, then you’re supposed to finish it. That was the rule in my house growing up, at any rate. I reason that the banana can at least be served to someone else, and the yoghurt is in a pot with a lid, so can be reused. I’m so overwhelmed by the amount of food that I barely notice how amazing it tastes. I have GOT to get a recipe for Sri Lankan dhal while I’m here.

Plan today is to rent a bike, and head out for a bit of an explore of the areas surrounding Tangalle. Might need a quick nap first after that hefty breakfast…

16:30
Awesome fun.

Pitching up at the bike rental shop, the owner takes one look at me, and decides I need a big chopper type affair. I point at one of the scooters - it’s been nearly 20 years since I rode a proper motorbike, and I don’t feel like the roads of Sri Lanka are the place for me to get reacquainted. He insists. I insist. Some insisting happens. He finally gives in, and allows me to rent what I came here wanting to rent.

I need to run a few errands in town. I feel like today is the day I might finally be able to buy a bottle of gin to carry on the rest of my journey. I’m also close to running out of deodorant, as a consequence of taking so many cold showers to remain cool. Time to re-up on some cash as well. I manage to find the bottle shop easily enough. You don’t actually go into a shop. There’s a cashier behind armoured glass who gets what you ask for - a little like a petrol station in the UK after-hours. Success though! There’s a local gin called Rockland that I’ve been drinking out, and it’s pretty good. I grab a few beers as well - just because. At the supermarket, the only deodorant options are Axe style body sprays. Hmmm, I’ll leave it thanks. I try a pharmacy, and then another supermarket. Turns out the only option on the entire island by way of anti-perspirant is a roll on. Don’t think I’ve used one of those for 30 years? Still - it’ll do a job…

I drop my groceries back to my room, and head out for an explore - firstly to the East, where I find a bar called The Lounge that is only accessible by boat. They claim to have an uninterrupted view of the sunset, so I decide to come back later for beers and dinner. Back through town, and towards the west, I stop at Coco, where Rach and Whiskas stayed, and enjoy a pretty decent glass of wine. I push further on, around 10km outside of Tangalle, and come across a tiny little restaurant just off the beach - which one, I really couldn’t say. They make me a great cheese and egg rotti, and provide me with the very coldest of beers.

Getting back on my bike, the seat is on fire. The scooter’s been parked in the sun, and the vinyl seat is properly hot. I head back through Tangalle, and out towards my guesthouse. I ride past a little beach bar called Watergate Bay, one of my favourite places in Cornwall, and I reason that it would rude / foolish not to stop for a beer. A couple a few tables away from me are getting a bit flustered because the bar is cash only, and they don’t have enough to cover their bill. I ask how much they need, and it’s only a couple of thousand rupees, so I pay it forward.

Around 16:00, I drop the bike back, and walk back to my guesthouse. It’s stinking hot, and all I can think of is a cold shower, and then a cooldown/read under the air-conditioning, perhaps accompanied by a G+T…

19:00
Well that was a bit of a damp squib. I’ve read about a beach bar a couple of kilometres from me, right down at the far end of Tangalle Beach. It can only be reached by boat, and is supposed to have the best views of sunset in all of Tangalle. Sounds right up my strasse. I jump in a tuk-tuk, arrive at the side of an estuary, and see a sign directing me to ring the bell to summon ‘The Pirate’ (I’m not kidding). This all sounds very jolly fun, so I ring the bell, and - nothing. I ring the bell again. And again. And again. After a couple of minutes of looking like a prize potato, someone emerges from the bar and waves at me. I wave back. I’m polite, of course. He waves again. I think this could go on for some time, but wave back anyway. He waves in such a way as to make me thing he’s not waving. I shout across the river, asking if they’re closed. He nods. Fucksticks.

Somewhat deflated, I start walking back to the centre of Tangalle Beach. There are, at least, a few beach bars along the way. I decide to have a sort of mini bar-crawl (NB - not a mini-bar crawl) on the way back - as some form of ill-informed and possibly ill-advised protest. Three bars in, and I find myself at a bar whose name I do not know, drinking impossibly cold bottles of Lion - one of which actually freezes in my glass to form the coolest possible kind of slushie. I stay for 3 - spending most of my time gazing absentmindedly out across the water.

I’ve been dreaming about dead people recently. Not in a Sixth Sense kind of way - but just conscious my subconscious is thinking about people I’ve lost along the way. Both my Mum and Dad have featured heavily recently, which is perhaps no surprise. My good friend Ailsa, who died from breast cancer in 2023 is also in there. Even my old and dear friend, Phillip, who died nearly 30 years ago. These aren’t unpleasant dreams - I’m not waking up in an anxious cold sweat. I’m just aware that my brain is wanting to think about them all in some way, shape or form. As a result, I spend a happy hour with beer, reminiscing, reflecting and remembering.

The water is even rougher today than yesterday. Some of the waves are so powerful that I feel a little worried for a couple of folks who are swimming amongst it. I get chatting to one of the bar guys. Pretty unsurprisingly, he ends up offering me some smoke. Is it my face? Suddenly conscious that the beer is making me hungry.

21:45
Walking back towards my guesthouse, none of the restaurants were grabbing me. I made it as far as Let’s Sea, and decided to pop in again. I’m welcomed like some kind of prodigal son, but without the biblical implications. This evening’s prime catch is seer fish - a close relative of king fish, which Vicks and I have eaten so happily in Goa, and kissing cousin to our own mackerel. It’s got a more robust flavour than the white snapper I ate last night, so is prepared with a sauce of deeper flavour - lots of cumin, curry leaves and some fennel seed. It’s breathtakingly good - the fish has such a firm, meaty texture. The guys at Let’s Sea throw in some big grilled prawns for me as well. My bill doesn’t come close to a tenner.

The temperature’s still up close to 30C. The gin in my minibar fridge is calling to me, and I might just throw on a movie tonight to wile away the time…Weiterlesen