Day 7 - Lazy day the beach

02:00
Well that was fun. The England/Ireland game finishes in a frenzy. The second half is a tight affair on the scoreboard, but anything but on the pitch. Several times, I think England have blown their chance to secure a statement win, but each time they surprise me with their resilience. England teams of the past 5 years have tended to crumble in the most high pressure moments, but this lot seem to be gelling into something of a team. By no means the finished article yet, but I feel positive about the team’s direction for the first time in ages. Ireland are up by two points with only a few minutes to play. England take a shot at goal from the halfway line, which misses. I have the sinking feeling that that’s our chance gone. With seconds to go, England come steaming back from the halfway line, putting pressure on the Irish defence by their try line. The ref signals a penalty advantage to England. The clock is in the red zone - next stoppage is the end of the game. With the penalty advantage in his pocket, Marcus Smith takes a drop at goal, and….. SCORES! England win by a point, and the bar erupts (quietly) into celebration. Crikey - what a game, and what a finish.

It’s gone midnight, but I’m in a celebratory mood, so head down to the beach party. The music I could hear earlier sounded great. The music I can hear now, anything but. It’s a horrible style of EDM shite, all electro pop remixes. I immediately associate it with shitty Vegas club nights, and I suspect that’s the sound the DJ is going for. I bump into Maria. She was quiet and circumspect this morning on our boat trip. She’s now a hot, sweaty mess, and very clearly 3 sheets. We chat for a while, and I stay for a beer, but can’t stomach the music any longer. Back at my room, I’m quickly cooling down. There’s an audible change in the music style, and back to the much better house sounds I was hearing earlier. I’m very briefly tempted to get dressed again and head back to the party, but it’s getting on for 02:00, and I’m very comfy and cool in here, and I don’t really want to put my sweaty t-shirt back on, and….

11:40
I wake at 08:00, earlier than I’d have liked. Despite best efforts, I can’t get back to sleep, and head outside to my balcony to read in my hammock for a while. The weather seems to have turned a little. The sky is a clear and cloudless blue, there’s a slightly fresh southerly breeze, and the humidity feels like it’s dropped off. There’s still a lovely tropical warmth, but in a much more manageable package. Around 10:00, I start to feel a little dozy, so head back to bed and manage an hour’s top up kip. I don’t have much/any of a plan today. I’m looking forward to a day on and around the beach, and will just see where the day takes me.

15:00
Walking down the beach, it’s evident how much the weather pattern has shifted. There’s a fairly strong wind coming in off the sea, and the surf is noticeably bigger - maybe as big as 5-6 foot, and looks clean. The tide is also much higher. Mirissa’s not the widest beach, and many of the bars up and down the beach encroach a little too close to the water’s edge. I enjoy the wet feet sensation of walking through the lukewarm beach surf. I’m headed nowhere in particular - will stop for a beer and some food wherever the mood takes me.

I wish to correct, or rather to clarify my earlier statements about language. Firstly, whilst English is by a distance the most commonly spoken language here, it’s not by Brits. As is so often the case (and particularly in Commonwealth nations), English is a lingua franca - spoken to some degree by most tourists, and by locals. Amazingly, I’ve actually only come across a handful of folks from the UK, generally while I’ve been in Sri Lanka, and specifically here in Mirissa. I’m none too disappointed by this.

I’ve also clocked myself using a slightly different accent to my usual one when speaking with people out here. I don’t *think* it’s an attempt to confuse my nationality, as I’m very happy to say exactly where I’m from. I think I do it wherever I am to be honest - there’s plenty of my ‘natural’ accent in there, but I seem to somehow internationalise my intonation with hints of Australasia, a touch of North America and just a little bit of southern Africa. It’s particular words - I’ve caught myself saying ‘no’ with a Aussie drawl, ‘yeah’ (or more accurately ‘yar’ with more than a suggestion of the Western Cape, and I’ve been lifting the inflection at the end of sentences so they sound like a question, as only a native of Melbourne should?

I’ve stopped for a beer and some lunch at Lava, one of the beach bars that’s been recommended to me. Honestly though, these places are much of a muchness, with very similar menus, prices and quality. I decide it’s time to branch out, so I try a fish Ambul Thiyal, a Tamil dish that’s a kind of dry curry. It’s very tasty, but could have done with a little more heat for me. It’s served with a brilliant beetroot raita - grated fresh beetroot with yoghurt, green chilli and minced red onion. Deffo one to try at home (when Vicks is out, as she and the beetroot do not see eye to eye).

I’ve been asked a few times how hot I’d like my food. Erring on the side of caution, I’ve tended to say ‘medium’ in the hope it won’t blow my tits off. On the whole though, I’ve not had anything that’s been too hot for me. I suspect the places I’m eating cater primarily to Western palates, and therefore moderate the amount of chilli they’re using. I’m loathe ask them to spike the temperature up though, as I suspect that will come back to bite me in the ass - literally and figuratively. I think and hope that later in my trip I’ll have more opportunity to eat at local restaurants catering to locals, so should be able to measure myself up against what Sri Lankans would actually tolerate. I may live to regret this.

After lunch, I wander back down the beach to catch up with Leon, who tells me there’s another but smaller beach party tonight, if I want to come down. I mention the shocking DJ around 01:00 last night, and he rolls his eyes. Apparently it’s someone new they’d been using, and won’t be hiring again. He claims the music is usually like the DJs preceding and following. I’m a little torn. I’d promised myself a chilled evening and an early (ish) night, but this might change things…

I have my first swim in the Indian Ocean. As I mentioned back on day 1, travelling solo does have its challenges. Until now I’ve not felt happy leaving my bag and belongings at any of the beach bars for any length of time while I swim, but I feel confident (enough) that Leon will do as he says, and keep an eye on my bag for me. The surf is very powerful. There’s actually a bit of a rip tide pushing swimmers towards some rocks about 20m out from the beach. In surf this strong, that can be a recipe for disaster. A couple of times I see swimmers jump up into a breaking wave, rather than dive underneath it, and they get tossed around like flotsam. Accomplished sea-swimmers, they are not.

Back on the beach, I curl up on a sun-bed to dry. Leon sits for a chat, and we share a bifta. Thankfully it’s not insanely strong, and just gives me a very chilled buzz. It also makes me a little sleepy. I head back to my room for a nap, but not before bumping into Robin, who tells me that he’d appreciate some rugby solidarity when France take on Wales at 20:30 this evening. I laugh, and tell him that will be no problem, but he’s buying the beers…

18:00
Wow. I can actually sit out on my terrace in the relative heat of the day without bucketing out sweat. This is a more than pleasant change. Really wish I’d managed to pick up some gin and tonics, as one would slip down a treat right now. The humidity is down to mid 50s, which I think makes all the difference. I should really shower and head out, but I’m not entirely convinced I can be arsed. I appear to have located the off switch.

23:00
JUST about manage to get myself up and out, and glad I did. I have dinner at a place in downtown Mirissa called Mila. Rave reviews etc etc, and a slightly more interesting menu than a lot of the beach bars. I opt for a crab curry. I’m not sure why, but I wasn’t quite expecting another crab dissection job. I think in my head, they’d done the hard graft for me, by picking the crab from its shell. Oh no - that’s may job. The crab has been cooked in a beautiful curry sauce with the fragrance of cardamom and the bite of tamarind. It’s delicious. I stupidly put on a clean t-shirt before heading out, and spend most of an hour trying to extract the juicy crab meat from its shell, while avoiding pouring turmeric laden curry down my front. I manage (just) to avoid the yellow peril.

It’s past 20:00, and I’m mindful of my promise to Robin. Back at Oh La La, the game is just kicking off. Robin is impressed and appreciative that I’m bedecked in blue. It’s a partisan crowd. wholly supporting France, with the exception of one guy sat in front of me, bravely cheering on Wales. He looks a little disconcerted as the noise levels rise. It’s a good game for 50 minutes - very finely balanced. In the last 30, France show their quality, and pull away to finish 20+ points ahead.

Vicks and I have a arranged to chat this evening, so I head back to my room. Despite the air feeling cooler and less humid, it’s still a joy to sink into the frigid air at the guesthouse. It’s amazing to hear Vicks’ voice. She’s had a pretty full-on weekend, bless her - hosting a birthday party at ours last night, and a family catch-up for Mother’s Day today. Our boys have gone down a treat with all visitors, shameless little flirts that they are.

I can hear tonight’s beach party in full swing. There’s no such temptation to head out to it this evening. It’s a kind of blend of garage and breaks, and not a good one. As I try to sleep, I can hear/feel the bass pretty clearly…Read more