Day 7 - A much needed deceleration
August 11 in Croatia ⋅ ☀️ 32 °C
12:00
The vaunted many sleeps do not arrive. My fitness tracker ring has given me a score of 22. Out of 100. Reckons I was awake much of the night, and slept perhaps 2 hours in total. I think that’s a little low, but not by much. We’ve fortunately not got anything much planned today, so can have the laziest of days.
17:00
Around 14:00, we’re sufficiently energised to head out for some lunch. We target an Italian place on the island side of Tisno. It is HOT today. The mercury says 35C, but the heat index says 41. Our lunch spot has an upstairs terrace area - covered, but open to the breeze, and it’s very welcome. We’re seated above the harbour area in Tisno, and watch lazily as countless small boats and jet-skis pass us.
We share a tuna carpaccio which is delicious. Super simple, super elegant, super tasty. I have a very traditional Dalmatian octopus salad for a main, and Vicki has a more than passable pizza. Glass of Grasevina to wash it down, and all is well in the world of Irvines.
The walk back up to our apartment in this heat nearly finishes us off. We’ve already agreed to come back to Balance next year, and have started discussing accommodation options while we’re here. We both feels like the apartment we’ve had this time is a little overpriced. Vicki has designs on heading back to an apartment she’s stayed in before, which is much closer to the town. It is also, critically, not at the top of a mountain.
We make plans to meet our gang for dinner later, and spend a lazy afternoon relaxing.
22:30
Dinner was a TREAT. Prova is comfortably the best (and most expensive) of the Konobas in Tisno. They are renowned for their fresh fish, and we immerse ourselves in a treat of piscine proportions. Vicki and I share a fish paté to start, followed by a monster seafood platter - tiger prawns, squid, seabass, tuna and possibly the best octopus I’ve ever had. When it’s cooked correctly, Octopus is just about my favourite seafood. The texture and flavour is, for me, better than lobster.
All of the food that arrives at our table looks tremendous. A bit of a blow-out, but a much deserved and worthwhile one. There are brief discussions of a post-prandial sharpener, but the astonishing amount of protein I’ve just consumed requires me to be in a horizontal position ASAP. I’m also conscious that my terrible sleep last night means my batteries are going to need recharging in the immediate future. We attack the hill one last time, and cocoon in the safety of our air-conditioned apartment.Read more
Day 6 - Actions have consequences.
August 11 in Croatia ⋅ ☀️ 34 °C
14:00
I couldn’t 100% tell you what time we got home last night / this morning. We saw two of my DJ heroes - Anthony Pappa and Dave Seaman at the Yard stage until around 03:00. Utterly spell-binding. I spent a fair chunk of my time there chatting to a woman called Sam, who had inadvertently broken her arm in 4 places earlier during her trip. I did, of course, unravel the joke about which 4 places etc etc. She’s from Colorado, and a public school teacher. I asked if her students knew she was also a raver, and she said yes - they do. She’s managed to indoctrinate a few of them over the years… That probably has her listed as a communist in the US.
When Pappa and Dave finish up at 03:00, we head down to the Beach stage for a bit. Honestly, we’re probably just about out of energy. 7-8 hours of partying is a pretty long stint. We jump in a cab and head back to Tisno. Bizarrely, and despite having the correct address, our cab driver drops us a few minutes walk from our apartment. It’s a little confusing at first, but we soldier on, and make it home in one piece.
I wake up around 12:30, wearing all of my clothes, and also my glasses - which is new. Vicki is asleep on the sofa in the living room. Today is going to be a marathon, not a sprint.
22:30
We initially make some plans to head out and meet Team Tisno for a slap-up fish supper. Somewhere around mid-afternoon, Vicks and I both separately but simultaneously feel a little less than super-shiny. As a result, we elect to forego anything as complicated or taxing as showering, or actually going out anywhere. We have bread rolls, cheese and salami - and decide that this will suffice for the day.
Around 22:00, we head for bed, and the promise of many, MANY sleeps. No photos to speak of today, so here's a pic of our beloved cats.Read more
Day 5 - Tonight, we ride.
August 9 in Croatia ⋅ 🌙 29 °C
17:00
The pain in my foot has continued to subside overnight. At one point during the night, I pad out of the bedroom to go for a pee, and find Vicki on the sofa, munching on a slice of cheese. I’m confused, to say the least.
I sleep till nearly 10:00, and fell well rested. I wouldn’t say I’m ready for a hop-scotch competition, but my foot is definitely up to some more activity later.
Vicki wakes around midday. She was out till nearly 04:00 last night, so deserved the lie-in. Sounds like it was a very fun night on-site, and my FOMO nearly explodes. I explain my current situation to her, and she encourages, nay - demands that I get bang on it. I never wish to disappoint my beloved wife, so quickly acquiesce. I didn’t even open the wine in the fridge last night, so it’s readily available to me for a pre-prandial snifter.
We head back to Broscica for some lunch, and meet Emma+Howard and Matty. Feels a touch less roasty today. There’s a lovely breeze coming in from the West which makes things feel that much more manageable. Out and about, my foot is holding up well. It’s not delighted with the hill, or the walking. I’m still limpy as fuck - but it just doesn’t hurt nearly as much.
Lunch is great. I have a mixed BBQ meat dish, with skewers of chicken and lamb (think Souvlaki, and you’re nearly there), some grilled pork, and a smoked sausage affair that’s very tasty. Couple of glasses of Malvazija to wash it down, and I feel like all’s well with the world.
The others are all on a boat party at 18:00, but I’m keeping my powder dry till a little later. Back at the apartment, I carry on with the bottle of very tasty Croatian Traminec, read my book, and relax into the day…
23:00
I head up to the festival site around 20:30. It’s a little strange walking in on my own. I grab a beer, and settle in at the Yard stage. A guy called Alex O’Rion is playing. I’ve got a bunch of his productions in my music collection, and the stuff he’s playing is very much my bag. My foot is still not 100%, so I’m bouncing around from a seated position for much of the time.
The boat arrives back at 22:00, and I head down to the pier to meet my intrepid travellers. Sounds like they’ve had a great time. We head up to a stage called the Olive Grove for a bit, then down to the Beach. It’s not as viciously hot as previous days, for which I’m grateful. Looking around, listening in to snippets of conversation, this might just be the coolest place on the planet to be right now.Read more
Day 4 - Trending Upwards
August 8 in Croatia ⋅ 🌙 28 °C
Day 4 - Trending Upwards
23:30
Let’s get the headline out of the way early on. It’s another day of enforced rest - but, BUT… Things are definitely improving.
The pain when I wake up around 10:00 is not good, and I quickly determine I need to take it easy today. Vicki got back around 03:30, and sleeps till a little after midday. We mooch at the apartment for a couple of hours, before heading over to Konoba Broscica for a late lunch with the collective.
I have an ultra traditional Croatian dish - black cuttlefish risotto, and it is excellent. The ink of the cuttlefish is used to finish the risotto, and gives an ozone saltiness to the dish. The cuttlefish is cubed before being braised, and is super tender. Washed down with a couple of glasses of Malvazija. Top nosh.
I think everyone’s a little underpowered today. Plans are made to head up to the festival site around 21:00. I ratify my decision to forego, and curl up on the sofa with my book. It’s not the day I’d planned, but it’s easy to remind myself that I’m in a beautiful part of the world hanging out with dear friends and my ultra-awesome wife. Life could definitely be a lot worse…
As the evening stretches on, my left foot starts to feel a little better. When I get up to grab a drink or use the bathroom, I’m hobbling less and less, and the persistent banging pain is subsiding. I end the day trending upwards, the first time I can say that in a few days.Read more
Day 3 - A bit of a write-off
August 7 in Croatia ⋅ ☀️ 32 °C
23:00
A frustrating day. I sleep fairly well, and wake up around 10:00. Vicks is gently purring next to me, so she definitely made it home in one piece.
My foot is still hurting, but not as bad as yesterday = good news. My stomach is modestly unsettled = less than awesome.
Vicki surfaces a shade before 14:00. E+H, M+L are heading out for some lunch, but Vicks and I elect to spend a chilled afternoon at our apartment.
Our plan is to head up to the site around 19:00 to see a DJ called Miss Melera. As the afternoon wears on, it becomes fairly apparent that my unsettled stomach is worsening. This is a relatively new phenomenon that I’ve been experiencing since my gallbladder was removed in April, and has displaced the hangover as the most common after effect of a night of largesse. I make the sad but probably sensible decision to forego the festival today, to remain within close proximity of the bathroom.
Vicki heads up a little after 19:00, and keeps me briefed with updates and photos. Looks a LOT of fun… I watch a few movies. Dinner is a cheese and salami sandwich. As the evening wears on, I can feel the pain in my foot returning. Merde.Read more
Day 2 - A discovery of ouch.
August 6 in Croatia ⋅ ☀️ 31 °C
07:50
Regular readers of this blog will recall that my body is riddled with arthritis. Medical professionals have, in the past, used the phrase, “joints of a 70 year old,” and that was 10 years ago. For the last 4 years, I’ve taken an utterly transformative medication called Humira - which has largely confined the arthritic flare ups to the past. Occasionally though, just occasionally, I still experience them. Bugger me sideways if today isn’t one of them. I woke during the night at around 04:00, and hobbled to the toilet for a pee. Very difficult to put weight on my left foot, which is experiencing severe pain due to something called Cuboid Syndrome. It will pass, for sure - but the question is how quickly. This could well scupper my / our plans for today and tonight. Fucksticks.
17:20
Today has been a success. After a late arrival, we were never planning to do too much, and we’ve achieved that goal in fairly spectacular fashion. We mooch for a couple of hours in the apartment, before heading out to do some urgent grocery shopping. There’s a much bigger supermarket on the way to Betina, which is on Murter island, across the water from us. We’ll maybe head over there at some point, but the small supermarket near the bridge will do us for today’s requirements. We seek only the traditional elements of a festival shopping list - bread, cheese, salami, water, beer, wine, crisps and toilet roll. We’ll head back there in a couple of days to restock, and the shopping list will be at least 95% the same.
Our place has beautiful views across the water. We have such wonderful views because our apartment is up quite a steep hill. Walking down it to the town centre was one thing. Walking back up it laden with festival supplies is quite another.
Back at the apartment, we congratulate ourselves on a job well done with a beer, followed by another. After my less than great sleep, I’m dozy, so put my head down for a spectacular hour’s nap. By the time I wake up, it’s almost time to head out again. We’re into a good rhythm.
We’ve eaten only snacks since we left the house yesterday, and are ready for a feed. As we walk out of our apartment, we’re met by a wall of dry heat. The temperature's up in the mid to late 30s all week, so we need to get used to it. We head back down the still startlingly steep hill to Gina’s, a konoba (traditional tavern) on the waterfront that Vicki has visited on several occasions. A glass of Malvacija for me, and we both have a bowl of spaghetti alla vongole. At its closest, Croatia is all of 5 miles from the Italian border, and it’s self-evident from some of the shared styles of cuisine. The pasta is just what we need - tasty ballast. The wine is lovely. I remember trying a few local wines when we visited 11 years ago, but I was much more of a beer drinker back then. I’ll try more of the indigenous wines while I’m here this time.
Wandering towards the supermarket, we bump into Emma and Howard. A sprawling metropolis, Tisno is not. It transpires their apartment is two doors down from us on the high road. We’re all planning to head up to the site in a couple of hours, so we head back towards the instant coolness of our apartments. I decide a pool dip is in order. Few of the apartment complexes here have a pool attached, but Vicki and I fancied having the option. The pool’s lovely. Cool, but not cold. Refreshing, but not distressing. I air-dry in the shade, and my temperature falls quickly…
23:50
Our first foray up to the festival site. Vicki and I take the train - it’s a little diesel engined half car/half train affair. It’s been a fixture of festivals at the Garden Resort in Tisno for decades. The driver tells us that it’s almost died a death recently. He alleges that younger festival goers don’t care about fun, they only care about how they look. As a result, they prefer Uber to an open sided train type experience. More fool them IMO.
Walking into the site brings back floods of memories - some of them razor sharp, some of them less than crystal clear. We head down to the Beach Stage, and it is HEAVING. Way too busy for our tastes. Happily, the sound system is amazing, and we settle down 30m up the beach. It is HOT. Around 36-37C today, and even at 20:00 it feels every degree of it. We’re quickly covered in a glossy sheen of sweat. The music is amazing though, so we block out thoughts of dehydration.
Around 21:00, some friends start to appear. It’s such a cool place to hang out - there’s honestly nowhere like it I can imagine. There are shades of late ‘90s Ibiza, but even that isn’t quite right.
My foot is still giving me moderate to rough vibes, so I unilaterally but sensibly decide to give the all-nighter at Barbarella’s a miss. Around 23:45, the rest of the gang join a queue for a shuttle bus up to the club, while I do my damnedest to wait for the same train service back to Tisno. After 10 minutes, it’s clear it’s not gonna help me out, so I jump in an Uber. I feel slightly ashamed, but pat myself on the back. Confused? Yeah - me too.Read more
Day 1 - I've been here before.
August 5 in Croatia ⋅ 🌙 27 °C
15:40
‘Here’ is Gatwick North. But ‘here’ is not the lounge we usually use at Gatwick North. We pitch up just past 15:00, and there’s a monstrous looking queue to get in there. A quick check, and it transpires our Priority Pass/Dragon Pass cards will get us in upstairs at a lounge we’ve not tried before. Never let it be said that the Irvines are not adventurous.
We’re off to Tisno, in northern Croatia - somewhere I’ve visited once before, and Vicki many more times than that. From late June to late August, Tisno hosts weekly music festivals, located a kilometre-ish outside of the town centre. On my first visit, I was initially suspicious that the townsfolk would resent the music revellers that litter (but not litter) their town for two months of the year. I couldn’t have been more wrong. They’re incredibly warm and welcoming, I suspect helped by these two months providing a big chunk of the tourism industry’s annual revenues. I think it also helps that the festival goers tend to be a respectful bunch, and that the music doesn’t massively travel away from the site.
The events hosted in Tisno are massively multicultural. We’re aware of party goers traveling from 6 continents to be there this week, and for all we know there might be a rando coming from Antarctica as well. The average age is ‘middle’ - we certainly won’t feel old compared to a good proportion of the crowd.
I’m super excited because the music policy for the weekend is RIGHT up my street. I listen to and DJ a style of house music called ‘progressive house.’ You couldn’t move for progressive nights in London around the turn of the century, but they’re a much rarer occurrence these days. This festival, called ‘Balance’ is a who’s who of great progressive house DJs. Many of them I’ve been to see in clubs in the UK since the late 90s. Many of them I’ve heard their work, and love it - and can’t wait to see them DJ live. Many of them, I’ve never heard of, but I suspect will still be awesome fun. 3 days of wall to wall raving in a beautiful setting with awesome people - it’s just possible it could finish me off…
We’re meeting some friends out in Tisno - Emma and Howard, & Matty and Lou. Collectively, I think we’ve known them 60 years or thereabouts. We’re all into the same kinda music, and hanging out in the same kinda way. Our week will be a very easy going one. We’re staying in different apartments around Tisno, but I’m sure we’ll meet for beers/dinners, and will deffo go to see many of the same DJs on the festival site.
Our 18:00 flight means a fairly late arrival into Split, and subsequently into Tisno tonight. Keep reminding myself not to go *too* hard on the vino…
23:00
Welcome to Croatia! Our flight was frustratingly delayed. The lateness I can live with - but it’s becoming increasingly common to board passengers even when there’s a known delay, and just leave the plane on the tarmac. The airline wins, because they can say they left on time. The airport wins, because it frees up a stand for another flight to use. The loser is the customer. We’re stuck on rapidly warming plane for around 50 minutes before we can start queueing for our takeoff slot. The pilot claims weather over Germany, and some air traffic control congestion. I doubt the former, but can believe the latter.
The flight itself is a cakewalk. There are plenty of passengers on our flight that I suspect are going to the same festival as us. There are some folks who perhaps had a bit too much Prosecco in the terminal’s Wetherspoons. There are, I regret to report dear reader, some people who start applauding when we land. We suspect not ironically. Transiting Split airport is fairly straightforward. There’s a tiny hiccup when the border control agent tells me that my EES record is suggesting that I’m still in Italy from my visit in March. I have a sneaking suspish that there are some gremlins in the EES system. Which is reassuring…
We find our taxi driver quickly enough, but not until after we’ve seen another taxi holding a sign for Rebecca, a friend of ours that we knew was heading to Tisno for this weekend, but who we hadn’t realised was on the same flight as us. We’ll catch up with her soon…
Onwards, to Tisno!Read more
Day 7 - The last hurrah.
March 13 in France ⋅ ☁️ 4 °C
16:00
Guess what! Awake at 04:00. AGAIN. I think it’s the cold bug more than anything else. Will be glad to see the back of the little fucker. I’m not going to be put off by mere physical limitations though. I’m on the chairlift up the mountain by 09:15, and am determined to make the most of what is a stunningly sunny day.
It’s been COLD overnight. Weather app reckons down to around -8C. As a result, the groomed pistes are hard frozen at the start of the day. When pistes are icy, you have to work that bit harder as the edge of your skis doesn’t cut into the surface as easily when you turn. The first couple of runs are a little sketchy. I head over to the other side of the valley, which has been basking in sunshine for the a couple of hours, and find absolutely perfect conditions. The surface ice has broken, and there’s a light, powdery texture to the snow. I spend an amazing hour criss-crossing the valley on a range of different runs.
Around 11:00, I head back to the southern (i.e. North facing) side of the valley, and find that the ice has softened, and conditions are nigh on perfect. I’m actually a little disappointed to stop for lunch, as I could go on (and on, and on…)
Lunch is a Tartiflette - that sensational combination of bacon, cream, cheese and potato that I had on my first day on the slopes. I’ve not really been breakfasting while we’ve been here, so a massive lump of carby stodge around lunchtime is not just fun, it’s a necessity.
I’m back on the slopes as quickly as possible. It’s a warm day - as high as 15C on the mountain, and the snow surface is starting to cut up quite a bit. Staying high is my best bet, so I head to the very top of the mountain, and spend a sublime hour running down some fairly fast and steep runs. My knee has held up brilliantly all week, so I’m taking this one last opportunity to try and knacker it before I head home tomorrow. It stands firm.
By 14:00, even the higher runs are starting to turn a little slushy, and very bumpy. Rather than force myself to ski more for the sake of it, I decide to call it a day, having had a fabulous day’s skiing. I reward myself with a pichet (literally translated as a pitcher, but they’re a lot smaller than a beer pitcher) of rosé at Bistrot Montagnard, opposite the slopes, and which I think has qualified as my favourite bar in Montgenevre.
All week, we’ve seen a group of young skiers, all wearing the same blue jackets. We’ve hypothesised that they might be a student skiing society, members of the armed forces etc etc. They’re not great skiers - we’ve had to work our way past them on numerous occasions as they snowplough down the pistes. As I tuck into my rosé, a pair of them sit down at the table next to me. Now, I’m not eavesdropping on them, per se - but:
1) They're Bristol University ski club
2) This is the beginners trip for the club. An intermediate / advanced group is somewhere else in the Alps
3) The group here has had some DRAMA. Some dude called Lee has shagged three of the women on the trip - including a WOMAN WHO IS HERE WITH HER BOYFRIEND
The melodramatic tone of the conversation makes me chortle on more than one occasion, which I discretely (I hope?!) turn into a cough.
It’s time to return my skis to the hire shop, and I should then give some thought to doing some packing. Back at my apartment, I consider which is more important - packing, or nap?
22:00
NAP WINS, NAP WINS!
Delightful 90 minutes of sleep, and I awake feeling much refreshed. Packing is a dull but necessary task, as my transfer to the airport departs at 06:30 tomorrow morning. I briefly consider cracking on with it, then reason that a shower will be more fun. Ooh, and then I should really finish the beer I have in the fridge.
The shower’s a legit idea, as my towel needs to try before I can pack it. The beer is a legit idea because I hate waste. Packing does eventually happen. I’m conscious my alarm is going to go off painfully early tomorrow, so it’s an early night for me. Given my sleep over the past few days, I’ll likely be awake ahead of the 05:30 alarm call anyway…Read more
Day 6 - I appear to have angered it.
March 12 in France ⋅ ☀️ 5 °C
22:00
Bleurgh. The very briefest of updates today. My sleep overnight is terrible. My health tracker provides a score on a scale of 1-100. I average somewhere around 75. Last night's score was 28, and I slept for a total of about 3 hours. Not good. I was very wakeful, coughing and spluttering my way through the night. I'm rapidly running out of tissues, so frequently have I had to blow my nose.
Conscious I only have 2 days left, I attempt to get my ski gear on around 09:00, but this merest of activities knocks me sideways. Duvet day for me. I watch some TV, and a movie, read by book for a while. I doze intermittently. My only activity is a quick trip down to Sherpa to grab some supplies. The walk back up the hill to my apartment nearly finishes me off. I'm disappointed more than anything else. There was some fresh snow overnight, but it's a beautifully bright and sunny day. Conditions on the mountain would have been sensational today.
Sounds like SSJW had a straightforward journey home. Quick transfer down the mountain, a MUCH easier departure from Torino airport than our arrival into it, and the quickest of journeys home from Gatwick, given they live all of, ooh - 2 miles away from the airport.
My dinner is a simple pasta dish, the cooking of which is a draining task. I have a super hot shower, and head to bed in decent time, hopeful of a better sleep, and a much better day tomorrow.Read more
Day 5 - Wednesday > Tuesday
March 11 in France ⋅ ☁️ 1 °C
17:30
I sleep badly, again. My health tracker reckons I’ve had around 4 hours. I think that’s slightly undercooked, but it’s not a good and long sleep, by any stretch. I woke up a few times bunged up and mouth breathing. I give up around 05:00, and get up for some cold and flu tablets, and in the hope that sitting upright might help me breathe better. Things aren’t looking great.
I ping my team-mates to check on plans, and decide to give the mountain a go, even if it’s short lived. I’ve a few days left of my trip, but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t make the most of it.
It’s cloudy out, and colder than the past few days. On the first chairlift, I wonder if I’ve made a stupid mistake. My eyes are streaming a little, as is my nose. I feel I’ve pushed through the fever, but am still living in Cold Town.
Heading down the first run of the day, something changes. I’ve known a day on the slopes to do wondrous things to a hangover, but it transpires it can have the same crippling effect on a cold. For the next couple of hours, I barely think about how I’m feeling. It’s not that I’m distracted by skiing - but more that the freshness of the air, the speed down the mountain just make the cold irrelevant. I don’t really feel any symptoms until we stop for lunch. It’s been a good morning.
Post lunch, we hit a few more runs. I’m feeling it by 14:00. SSJW are heading home tomorrow, so have an appetite for more. I have a couple of days left, so feel less urgency to wring every possible moment out of the day. I head down a super steep and bumpy red run back into resort. I pause a couple of times - ostensibly to take photos, but really to take a breath. I mean - the photos are pretty, but who am I kidding?
Back at my apartment, I kind of expect to collapse in a heap, but don’t. I’m surprised that I quite fancy a glass of wine.
Around 15:00, Team Helmet are also done, and we meet at one of our favourite village bars - Bistrot Montagnard. Several pichets of wine later, we head in our different directions. I’m off for the hottest shower known to man, whilst the others are heading for a vin chaud. We’re meeting for dinner at 19:00. I feel approximately a million percent better than I did at this time yesterday. Boyackashack.
22:00
Dinner is at Transalpin, an Italian place that SSJW have been to a few times. I’m ready a little ahead of our 19:00 booking, so head out for a walk. I’m kinda looking for a bar to saunter into, and from which to stagger out. I’m quite disappointed in this regard. The lower end of town has a ton of cool little bars, but I’ve headed up town, where there are none. I hear some music playing nearby, and realise I’m close to the wine shack we visited a couple of days ago. After a short but strenuous cross country walk (my fault - I ignored the very straightforward way to get there), I arrive, and order a vin chaud. The lovely person working behind the bar explains to me that there are options - involving Jagermeister, Genepi, and some other local firewater, the name of which I don’t quite get. I opt for the plain old vin chaud, and it tastes like it’s got Jager in it. It’s very nice though. The DJ is spinning some questionable house music, there are a couple of fires roaring away, the scenery in the background is beyond breathtaking - it’s a pretty cool place to be. I manage a second vin chaud, and feel well.
I bump into SSJW heading down to the restaurant. Transalpin has a stellar reputation for their food, and I’m very excited to try it. We order carafes of wine that are 1 litre - one of rosé, one of red. We order food. Lots of it. My starter is a brilliant octopus and potato salad. I love octopus. When it’s done properly, I think it’s the equal of any seafood out there. I’d take it over lobster any day of the week. It’s a brilliant dish, garnished with some interesting ‘blobs’ of sauce - one of which Jamie declares to be octopus sperm. Irrespective, it’s delicious. I think it’s a high-end tarama myself, but what do I know?
My main is a wild boar ragout with some sensational house-made tagliatelle. All kinds of amazing. The boar is perfectly braised into a rich tomato and wine laden sauce. Buckets of yum. Everyone else seems to enjoy their food. And their wine. Jamie in particular - who is verging on narcoleptic by the end of our meal. Bless - he’s had a big day…
Simon is full, and acquiesces on his share of the red wine. I’m slightly intimidated by the task that is in front of me - but happily, my colleagues step in to help. The bill is reasonable, and the dining experience has been excellent. Not an everyday meal while skiing, but an awesome once per trip treat while we’re here.
While we’re eating, we discuss ski plans for next year. This is my first trip to Montgenevre, but about number 4 or 5 for SSJW. They’ll come back, and I’ll happily join them. We all agree that we need to sell it to Vicki. We think she’d love it here, even though it’s a quieter resort than the likes of Courchevel or Val D’Isere. There’s plenty of fun to be had. Oh, for sure…
I’m conscious that my cold is still lurking. I’m not super tired, but don’t fancy the idea of another glass of wine. I head back to my apartment to chill, and contemplate what might hopefully be a better sleep.Read more
Day 4 - Lurgy
March 10 in France ⋅ ❄️ 1 °C
07:00
I sleep fitfully. I wake a couple of times sweating from every pore of my body. I wake at others shivering under my duvet. My throat is inflamed, and my nose is blocked. I’m now willing to declare a state of lurgy. I’ll head out later to try and procure some cold and flu type drugs, but for right now, I’m sitting on my sofa, under my duvet. I ping Team Helmet to let them know of my current malaise. Hopefully, I’ll be up to a bit of an excursion later, but my priority is getting sufficiently well to be back on the mountain tomorrow.
WISH ME LUCK.
16:00
An awful lot of not very much has happened today. I have a stellar nap around 08:00 for a good couple of hours. It does not improve how I feel, but tops up the very little sleep I got last night, and also passes the otherwise pretty dull time = WIN.
I binge some TV. Since you ask, Berlin Station - an espionage thriller from around 10 years ago. Very good. If you like Homeland, The Night Manager and their ilk, this will be right up your strasse.
Around 14:00 I venture out for supplies and drugs. There’s a small pharmacy at the other end of town who kit me out with some decent sounding cold/flu remedies. My visit to Sherpa yields some groceries to make dinner tonight. We’d been due to have a Raclette at SSJW’s apartment - I neither feel up to it, nor wish to pass on whatever germs are inside of me to my travelling companions. The Sherpa has a marginally better selection than other mountain supermarkets I’ve used in the past, including other outposts of the Sherpa chain. There’s a pretty decent butcher’s counter, a deli section with local cheeses and charcuterie, and a pretty decent fruit + veg selection. A simple pasta for me this evening.
The walking and shopping activities all but wipe me out. I have another little nap to make up for it.
22:00
I wouldn’t describe today as having been much ‘fun’ but I’m feeling better at the end of it than I did at the beginning. I suspect I’d have felt ruined had I tried to ski today, and it sounds like the conditions on the mountain haven’t been great. Maybe 7-10cm of fresh snow have fallen, which is great, but it’s meant visibility has been variable, which is always tricky.
Here’s hoping Wednesday is an improvement on all fronts.Read more
Day 3 - Quite a lot of ouch.
March 9 in France ⋅ ☁️ 3 °C
14:30
Today’s been quite tough going. I’m awake by 06:30 having slept pretty well, but have a touch of grogginess about the noggin. My health tracker ring asks me whether I’m feeling feverish, as my temperature has been a little high all night. I decide that that’s probably what’s caused the foggy head, rather than the combo of rosé and red wine last night.
I meet up with Team Helmet at 09:00, having learnt our lesson yesterday that the ski lifts don’t open until 09:15. We have something approaching a plan, to head over to the other side of the Montgenevre valley this morning. There’s some consternation up the mountain when we can’t find the ski run we need to take us down to the lift that will take us over to the other side. We manage to find it, and head on down.
The chairlift over to the other side of the valley features some staggering views. This whole ski system is one of the prettiest I’ve visited. I’ve always thought Le Fornet in Val D’Isere was the most beautiful ski valley I’d visited, but this is right up there.
We meander down a few runs, but Jamie and I can both feel our thighs starting to burn. This is pretty typical day 2 behaviour, so we stop at a slopeside café with more mesmerising views. Soft drinks only - as it’s still before 11.
Back on the slopes, we head down towards the centre of Montgenevre. The snow here is super slushy. It’s South facing, and it’s actually pretty warm today - 13C according to the thermometers at the ski lifts. As a result, sticky, bumpy, slushy snow. Not a ton of fun. We decide to head back over the valley, and find the most beautiful run from the top of the mountain. Just perfect. Steep, but wide, and super powdery. My very favourite kind of ski run. At the bottom of it is the restaurant we lunched at yesterday, so park up.
My pichet of rosé hits the spot, as does the smoked mountain sausage upon which I feast. We bravely head back up the mountain for one more run down into the resort. Even on this side of the valley, the snow is breaking up into slush. It feels the right time to call it a day. S+S, J+W are planning to head up to the terrace bar on foot (well, in a bubble car) for some champers, but I can feel a nap in my near future, followed by a super hot shower. I’d love a bath, but sadly my little studio doesn’t have one. C’est la vie…
22:00
My nap was super deluxe. An hour or so, and quite a deep sleep. My head is a bit stuffy, and I just hope it’s not the onset of a cold. Instead, I blame the ups and downs of temperature over the past couple of days.
My shower is also super deluxe. I discover an uber power button, which turns the steaming hot stream of water into something approaching a deep tissue massage. I’m still a little achey in my joints, but it’s unclear to me whether this is my creaky, ageing body complaining about skiing, or that aforementioned potential cold.
Dinner tonight is a picnic at SSJW’s apartment. Bread, cheese, rillettes, ham, salami. Delish. I grabbed a bottle of Gewürztraminer to take with me, but barely finish the glass of rosé that Wendy pours me when I arrive. Uh-oh. These are bad signs.
I head back to my around 19:30, and spend a couple of hours being unsure whether I’m hot or cold. Merde.Read more
Day 2 - No new knees required
March 8 in France ⋅ ☀️ 3 °C
17:30
I sleep for almost 10 hours, and that’s always a good thing. I’m awake by 06:30, and have a coffee and a mooch while I wait to hear about our plans for the day. We agree to meet at 08:30, as all of my travelling compadres have a ski lesson this morning. I always forget how long it takes to get ready on day 1 of a ski trip. Easily an hour. There’s a lot of equipment (i.e. crap) that needs packing. Multiple pairs of glasses and/or goggles; in my case and on this trip, multiple knee braces should things go to shit (more of which later…); A hat, a bandanna, at least one pair of gloves. It may not sound like much, but trust me - it takes a while.
So - the knee. I’ve had arthritis my entire adult life. In its most recent incarnation, this pernicious little fuckwit has taken over my right knee. It’s by no means the worst arthritic pain I’ve experienced, but it’s there, always there. I’ve been getting some physio treatment recently, and while it’s improving, it’s not all the way there yet. I’d wondered about just coming to the mountains for a week away in the crisp Alpine air, but decided instead to risk it, because no one ever got fired for buying IBM.
There’s a further wrinkle to my morning, which is that I’ve got a brand new pair of ski boots to break in. It usually takes a few days, and I’m ready for it, but by the power of Grayskull, new boots feel like your feet are in a vice for a while. I leave my colleagues at the ski school, and head off to the nearest chairlift. It’s 08:50, and I’m disheartened to find that the lift doesn’t open until 09:15. This is later than the very vast majority of Alpine resorts in which I’ve skied. The ensuing 25 minutes are not fun. My vice enwrapped feet are screaming by the time we actually get onto the chairlift.
Now, this is going to sound counterintuitive, but when you’re in new ski boots, you want to be moving, and ideally skiing. For some physiological reason that I won’t try and explain, the movement alleviates the vice’s pressure.
Finally, FINALLY at the top of the mountain, I head off at a decent lick. Remarkably, the amount of attention I’m focusing on my feet means that I have no mental capacity to care about neither the quality of my skiing, nor the state of my knee. As a result, both are going remarkably well. It usually takes me a couple of hours to get back into the skiing groove, but after 20 minutes today, I felt locked in. My knee? What knee…
After a couple of long runs up and down the mountain, I take a break, and grab a coffee and some water at a café that overlooks the slopes. My enviced feet thank me for the opportunity to breathe.
I meet the others at the end of their ski lesson, and we head up the mountain together. The conditions underfoot are good. There’s not been any fresh snow for a few days, but the pistes have been well groomed overnight. They’ll doubtless be a little slushy later, but right now, they’re in great condition. A couple of runs later, we’re ready for a break and some food, and stop at a piste-side restaurant. I’m very pleasantly surprised by the prices, which are a lot more reasonable than an equivalent venue in Courchevel or Val D’Isere. I treat myself to a plate of Tartiflette (potatoes, cheese, bacon - look it up, it’s great) and Simon and I share a carafe of red wine. I remark to the team that the slopes, restaurants, ski lifts all seem very busy today. It transpires that last week was the French schools’ half term, and this weekend has been a public holiday. It should be a LOT better tomorrow.
Sated, we head back up the mountain, and have a couple of great runs down the Montgenevre valley. It’s a staggeringly pretty place - lots of tree lined ski runs, deep, rocky valleys and blazing sunshine. by 14:30, a few of us are flagging. The pistes are starting to become slushy, and that’s never any fun. I am STUNNED that my knee has held up as well as it has, without any additional support. I’m not counting chickens yet, but it’s a really good sign…
We park up at a cute little bar over the road from the main chairlifts, and spend a fab hour or two chatting shit. We could put roots down, but instead do the grown up thing, and head back to our apartments to get changed. Oh, but via a little cabin in the snow that bangs out decent vin chaud, and surprisingly also decent house music.
22:20
I pop up to SS and JW’s apartment for a quick vino ahead of dinner. Their place is great, and has stunning views across the valley. As the sky darkens, we can see and hear the snow ploughs heading up the mountain. It’s quietly ethereal.
Dinner is at an Italian restaurant called Isabel. It’s a couple of shades smarter than we were perhaps aiming for, but we bravely plough ahead. I have a fantastic veal dish with a Gorgonzola sauce. Jamie has an awesome steak tartare, made tableside to add some delightful theatre to proceedings. There’s some pasta, some pizza, some pork. All very lovely. To top it off, the bill is not life threatening. Montgenevre is not quite as eye wateringly expensive as many of the other French ski resorts I’ve visited over the years. Courchevel and Val D’Isere are perhaps that worst offenders, where one is strongly encouraged to remortgage the house to buy a beer.
We’re all pretty jaded (and approaching refreshed) after a busy day. There’s a very brief mention of another drink somewhere, but we collectively decide that bed is calling.Read more
Day 1 - I've been here before...
March 7 in England ⋅ ☁️ 9 °C
16:00
My cab is at a fairly startling 05:00. Thankfully (depending on your perspective), my brain woke me up at 02:30, and wouldn’t allow any more sleep - so I’m up and ready with literal hours to spare.
The airport’s pretty empty, and I’m settled in and ordering a pint a little before 06:00.
I’ve actually not been here THAT often before. Here is the departure lounge at Gatwick South terminal, and here is the venerable Flying Horse Wetherspoons. I think my last visit was on the way to Croatia in 2015, with a motley crew of maybe 10 of us.
This trip is likely to be a little more circumspect than that journey into the abyss.
An obligatory pint of Guinness and a breakfast sandwich grease (literally in the case of the sandwich) the skids. I meet with my travelling companions - Simon and Shenda (who regular readers of this travelog will recognise from our recent trip to Sri Lanka), plus Jamie and Wendy - wonderful friends of many, many years.
Our flight is a touch late departing due to a technical fault, but we’re on our way in decent enough time, and the Captain reckons we should only be about 10 minutes landing into Torino.
I’ve not skied in Montgenevre before, but am looking forward to exploring a new ski area. Montgenevre is part of the Milky Way ski system, and has the fabulous feature of being able to ski internationally. Montgenevre is about 1km inside France, and the other side of the mountain is in Italy. The resort promises plenty of decent places to eat and grab a much deserved post-slope beer, and has the advantage of a quick and easy transfer from Turin airport to our base for the next week.
Now, the EU has introduced a new entry/exit system recently - October 2025 I think. This is for any visitors from outside of the European Union, including (obviously) the UK. The border check on arrival into Turin is carnage and chaos. Carnos - if you will. There are somewhere between 4 and 5 separate lines, with subtle differences in requirements between each. One is clearly for EU citizens. It moves quickly and happily. One signals that it is for holders of biometric passports from a variety of countries, including the UK. I join this queue. It moves reasonably well, and after perhaps 10 minutes I’m at the automated arrival gate. I pop my passport in, it’s scanned, and NO GO. I’m directed to the ‘manual check’ queue, which is both high in volume and low in progress. I point at the poster that says UK biometric passports can use this queue, and receive an incredibly Italian shrug, accompanied by advice that the poster is out of date.
Wendy, by this stage, has zoomed through the border with her Irish passport, and I seethe with jealousy.
The remainder of the party are directed to a different queue altogether, for some kind of registration for the new system. Passport check, facial recog, and fingerprints - that sort of thing. Honestly, these border requirements are making it increasingly difficult to get away with the petty crime that is a feature of so many of our travels…
Having successfully navigated this registration process, we’re given a blue sticker for our passport, and I’m directed back to the biometric queue. I’m suspicious. For reasons I don’t entirely understand, Si, Shenda and Jamie are in the manual check queue. I cross my fingers and hold my breath as I approach the automatic gate, and… SUCCESS! I skip through the border control gate and join Wendy, who has used her time efficiently to track down everyone’s bags. It’s approaching midday, and our transfer allegedly leaves at 12:15. Wendy and I separate. She stays with the bags while I go and find our transfer company to let them know of the delay. They’re terribly sanguine, they’ve been dealing with these delays all season as the new system gets up to speed.
The others FINALLY emerge a little before 13:00. The next time any of us crosses the EU border will be better, as we’re now recorded into the system. I suspect arriving into any other Alpine airport would have had similar challenges, but the set-up at Turin is particularly woeful.
The transfer is a breeze. The bus is pretty full, so we’re spread out around it. Wendy and I sit next to each other and natter contentedly for the 90 minute journey. Given many transfers into the mountains rise above 3 hours, the brevity of this one is a blessing.
20:30
On arrival, we separate. I’m staying in a small studio in a building adjacent to the apartment block the others are in. My AirBnB host, Federico, runs a small pasta shop in the town centre, and I need to pick up a key from him. The apartment is up the hill from there, and dragging my large and weighty duffel bag behind me is quite the workout.
My studio is great. Everything I need, nothing I don’t. It allegedly sleeps up to 4 - 2 on a double sofa bed, and two on Murphy style bunk beds. For 1, it’s perfect. It would be shareable for 2. I would not fancy squeezing more in.
We quickly meet up to do some admin. Ski passes, hired skis, ski lockers and the like. This is largely completed without incident, except Shenda has somehow ended up with skis the same length as me. Now, Shenda’s fairly tall, but she’s a good 15cm shorter than me, so this doesn’t really make sense. She and Si head off to get them swapped, while the remaining contingent head off to get ourselves wine.
We park up at Le Graal, a big cafe/restaurant/bar type place in the heart of the town. They have reasonably priced drinks, a big outdoor terrace, and crucially a big TV screen showing the Scotland vs France Six Nations game. Despite living in Surrey for the past 25 years, Jamie is a dedicated Scot, and particularly enjoys the sweet irony of Scotland beating France while he’s in France, by a frankly ridiculous score of 50-40.
Around 18:00, we separate again. I’m off to the supermarket to grab some groceries - wine, water, bread, cheese, saucisson. These are the 5 apartment essentials.
I’m hungry, so make myself a sandwich, have a glass of wine, and watch an England performance almost as dismal as the display I experienced at Twickenham against Ireland a few weeks ago. England deservedly lose, giving Italy their first ever victory against them.
I’m suddenly narcoleptically tired. I was planning to head over to catch up with the gang, but decide to just have a little rest of the eyes before I jump into action.
Uh-oh.Read more
Day 14 - What the buggering tits?
January 30 in Sri Lanka ⋅ 🌧 29 °C
16:00
I sleep terribly. Feel like I am awake much of the night, and at 05:00, I give up on the idea of more sleep, and get up, in the hope that I won’t disturb Vicki. There’s neither rhyme nor reason for it. I’m as relaxed as imaginably possible. I’ve thought in the past that I have some kind of genetic marker for insomnia, and that my body just sometimes behaves like a dickhead, and keeps me awake for no earthly reason.
Vicki sleeps till 09:00, because she’s a legend. She, Si and Shend head out for breakfast a little later, and I head back to bed. Despite the two strong cups of coffee I’ve had, I manage to get to sleep for 90 minutes, and wake feeling much better…
Simon’s off out on a moped today. I’d planned to join him, but am taking it easy instead. Shenda tracks him on ‘Find my Friends’ and we’re a little alarmed when it appears he’s hurtling down the highway a few miles from here.
Shenda and Vicki report back on another wonderful breakfast at Chandi Gaya, and that Mrs Chandi was asking after me, concerned by my absence.
Around 13:00, I ease into a couple of glasses of wine and some fried rice, and it’s enough to send me back to bed for a further 90 minutes of delicious sleep.
22:30
My day has been as nothing - and yet, it has been remarkable. We’ve had spots of rain all afternoon, and before heading out for dinner, I sit out on the deck with a glass of wine, being gently rained on. It’s a wonderful sensation.
We’ve been keen to try Mrs Chandi’s non-breakfast food, so pad back down to our regular haunt. I’ve a feeling her rice and curry is going to be a thing of great, great beauty. Simon, Shenda and I all order the rice and curry - mine with the addition of a fish curry for the princely sum of 50p. Vicki is after a wodge of protein, so orders the grilled fish.
The food is sensational. Enough to feed a small army, but sensational. There are 4 veg curries - a dhal, a potato based concoction, a squash curry, and something that we initially think is green beans, but which I *think* might be some kind of gourd or eggplant. They’re all tremendous. I tell Mrs Chandi that I’d dearly love to write down her dhal recipe, and she asks if I will pay for it. I’m not 100% sure whether she’s joking. We somewhat unnecessarily order a kottu as a side dish. It’s delicious. Vicki’s fish is banging. Seer fish I think, as it’s very meaty, but too pale for tuna. Susie (our new cat) benefits from some fish based action. We don’t quite manage to master the mountain of food, but we get pretty damn close. Our bill for this feast? Less than £5 per head. Just incredible value. Mrs Chandi is a hero - she cooks amazing food, fresh to order, and in a tiny kitchen. LEGEND.
Back at Shehani Beach, the bar has been restocked with tonic, so S, S and I have a last G+T to pass the time.Read more
Day 13 - The sea! Let's eat Let's Sea.
January 29 in Sri Lanka ⋅ 🌙 27 °C
15:00
I’m awake by 08:00, with the onset of nervous anticipation. It is only a couple of hours until I can feast upon Mrs Chandi’s amazing hoppers. They are, once again, sensational. An abrupt Israeli couple make a complaint nearby us, which clearly upsets Mrs Chandi. I’m tempted to follow them and set them straight. It seems to stem from slow delivery of their food. Given Mrs Chandi is working in a small kitchen on her own, and cooking everything fresh, this seems a particularly unkind position. I could eat this dhal every day. I could bathe in it. I can’t necessarily prove this, but I suspect it could cure cancer.
Back at Shehani Beach, it takes only the merest hint of wine to send me back to bed for a nap. DELUXE.
18:30
I’ve been wanting and meaning to get in the sea while we’ve been here. I should really have prioritised this at one of our earlier stays, as the water was calmer. Up here in Tangalle, there are dedicated wave breaks along the beach, designed to make swimming a touch easier and safer. Away from these wave breaks, the waves are much bigger and rougher, and there are countless rocks to watch out for.
Vicks and Shend head off to do some ultra important shopping, so Simon and I spend 30 minutes getting swept off our feet by the surf. We’re wave break adjacent. The waves are powerful, and the currents they create enough to knock us over. Top fun.
On the beach, drying off we tuck into some gins and tonic. The sun is starting to set, but retains a a deep warmth. The girls find us, and we spend some time nattering away at Happy Lab. I don’t think it would be possible to feel more chilled out than I do right now.
22:30
We’ve only a couple of dinners left before we head home, and I’ve wanted to go back to Let’s Sea - a seafood place the other end of Tangalle beach that I ate at twice in 2024, so good was it. It’s a decent 20 minute walk in the evening heat, and we more than deserve our dinner by the time we arrive. It’s a properly family-run place. Lahiru runs the front of house with his sister (who’s name I should really have learnt by now). Their mum runs the kitchen, knocking out indecently good fish dishes at more than decent prices.
Their whole fish today is white snapper, which I immediately order. Shenda and Vicki opt for tuna steaks, and Simon orders prawns.
The snapper is so simple, but so good. Flavoured with ginger, curry leaf, black pepper, I think some soy is in there as well? And served with the plainest of steamed rice, and a fruity slaw. Banging. The fish is perfectly cooked. Super juicy, and flaking away from the bone. Vicki’s tuna is very tasty, but a little bonier than she’d anticipated. She’s had better tuna on this trip - but we’re picking from a very crowded top table.
The bill is under £40 for the 4 of us. It helps that they only serve Lion for the drinkers, but even so - Let’s Sea offers outrageous value for the quality of food on offer.Read more
Day 12 - Breakfast of Champions
January 28 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
13:00
I wake feeling far less stressed. It probably sounds ridiculous to speak of stress when I’m in one of the most laid back and relaxing places imaginable, but that’s definitely what I was feeling yesterday. I’m up well before Vicki’s planned 09:00 alarm, so I pad to the bar for some coffee and journalling. The sun’s still rising, and is creeping under the bar’s roof. Even this early, it feels prickly hot. We’re in for a scorcher.
My various colleagues emerge at different stages. Vicki is last, waking at 09:30. We’ve read amazing things about a small beachside restaurant not far from us, so ready ourselves and head out for breakfast. Chandi Gaya is a proper family affair. Husband runs front of house and logistics, wife runs the kitchen. We’re perhaps a touch late for breakfast, as it’s 11:00 by the time we sit down, but we ask for breakfast nonetheless. The head of logistics needs to pop out for some ingredients, but does so willingly.
The food that arrives - holy fuckballs, the food that arrives. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and yet is entirely extraordinary. The hoppers have a wonderful cakey feel, but are also crispy. The eggs have a deep, glossy texture, and feel like they’re almost baked into the hoppers. The sambol, we’re proudly told, is made from fresh coconuts from their own garden. Likewise, the dhal is made using this morning’s first pressing of coconut milk.
The dhal - by the power of Grayskull! I think it’s the best dhal I’ve ever had. Definitely the best Sri Lankan breakfast dhal, but it’s up there in the very highest echelons of lentil dishes. Shenda and I hatch a cunning plan to ingratiate ourselves with the owners, and to ask for the dhal recipe on our last visit to eat with them. Will familiarity breed contempt? I hope not. I can see me eating this regularly all year round. I may even try and master the art of the hopper…
22:00
Sizeable and weighty late breakfast = NAP. I have a delightful hour or so, out of the hottest part of the day. Si and Shenda have been beaching, and Vicki has been doing very important stuff that is of little or no consequence.
Vicks and I head out to Tangalle town in search of supplies. It’s walkable - maybe 45-50 minutes, but that scorcher I mentioned earlier is definitely with us today, and we err on the side of caution, jumping in a tuk-tuk. We grab some supplies, stock up with cash, and head back to the beach. We’ve only been out an hour, but it’s been quite a draining and hot experience. It’s starting to cool now, and the deck seating of Shehani’s bar is now in the shade. I settle in with a glass of wine to watch the world go by. It’s just about the coolest fucking place I can imagine being right now. In front of me is an expanse of ocean, with literally nothing but water between me and Antarctica, some 6,000 miles due South of us. One glass accidentally becomes two - and I feel like I could quite happily settle in here for the duration.
We saw a restaurant earlier advertising BBQ fish and live music, so we head that way. Happy Lab is a cool little joint. Their BBQ food is good, but not outstanding. My butterfish is a touch overcooked, but still very tasty. Vicki and Shenda have Mahi-Mahi steaks which are perfectly cooked, but which could do with a little seasoning.
The live music is, let's be frank, not good. The band spend a good 30 minutes in sound check, constantly tweaking settings without actually changing how anything is sounding. The drummer and bassist are decent enough, but the guitarist/lead singer just doesn’t have a very good voice. Simon offers to step in on lead vocals. Apparently, his repertoire extends to some Neil Diamond and some Robbie Williams.
We’re all pretty tuckered after a hectic day of doing very little. Vicki and I manage a drink at Shehani before collapsing into bed.Read more
Day 11 - Some highs, some not so highs.
January 27 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☁️ 31 °C
16:00
And so, it’s time for the last leg of our trip. After this, we shall, indeed, be legless.
Vicki and I have both slept adequately, and are up in decent time to get packed. Lalanika has subtly been shifting forwards by a few minutes the time she brings our breakfast each day, and is setting up by 09:15. We have some omelettes, fruit, toast and yoghurt.
We have a short wait for our van to Tangalle, but nothing like as frustrating or hot as the one that brought us here to Mirissa. I’m so pleased V, S and S have all loved Mirissa as much as I thought they would. I had a feeling it would probably be their favourite stop along the way, and I suspect even after our stay in Tangalle, that will prove to be the case.
The drive over to Tangalle is fairly uneventful. We’re on a highway for most of it. The landscape passing us by is incredibly verdant - much of it made up of rice paddies and cattle grazing land. It reminds me very much of Kerala, that beautiful and lush state to the South of Goa.
We arrive into Tangalle around 12:30, and our rooms aren’t quite ready yet. There’s a bit of a communications snafu, which we ultimately resolve through the use of an English to Sinhalese translation app. We have a cold drink while the rooms are made up, dump our stuff, and head out pretty quickly in search of sustenance.
We make it maybe 200m down the beach before finding Simon (who’d wandered off to make a couple of work calls) and dropping into a beach bar called Brother’s (their apostrophe, not mine…) We have a tasty late lunch of kottu, grilled calamari, battered tuna - that sorta thing. It’s super hot and super humid today. There’s the threat/promise of some rain, which I think would largely help us out. I pad back to our room for some chill time, while the others head further along the beach for an explore…
22:30
I’ve felt a little par-boiled today. I don’t think there’s any one thing getting at me, but a combo of things have combined to leave me feeling physically and mentally sub-par.
I feel better for a short rest, and get freshened up to head out around 19:00. We wander down the road that runs parallel to the beach, and we walk past countless beach bars and restaurants. After a late lunch, we’re not particularly hungry. We’ll maybe grab some snacks if the mood takes us. Many of the beach bars offer a happy hour though, so we find one that looks/sounds attractive and pile in. Sampa Beach Bar offers buy one get one free on cocktails until 20:00 = WINNING. Vicki manages to swing a decent virgin colada, whilst Si, Shenda and I lap up our mango daiquiris.
We ordered some simple snacks - some roti and a chicken sandwich. An hour later, we ask where our food is, and are told it will be another five minutes. We ask again after five minutes, and are told they've run out of gas, and the chef has had to go and restock. We wait another five minutes, and ask for the bill - but we’re told the food will arrive any moment. One of the service team stops by our table, and tells us that he is working alone in the kitchen this evening, so the pace of service is slow. We’re unsure if it’s the gas, or the chef working alone - but we all smell bullshit.
Shenda goes to the toilet, and pops her head around the kitchen door while she’s there. When she returns, she says the kitchen does NOT look good. We decide to leave.
We calculate the exact amount owed for our drinks, and leave this in cash as we walk out. One of the workers behind the bar starts to say something aggressively in Sinhalese to Vicki and Shenda, until I turn around and stare him down. He apologises.
We walk perhaps 400m down the road, until we find we are being chased by a tuk-tuk. When it slows down, Shenda initially thinks he’s asking if we want a lift, so waves them away. It turns out to be two different members of staff from the beach bar, demanding more money from us.
They try and tell us that the happy hour deal is buy TWO to get one free, which is not at all what we were told when we ordered. We hold our ground, and the discussion gets increasingly heated. I can feel my hackles exponentially rising. Eventually, we’re being shouted at, and when I respond in kind, I get asked to keep the noise down by the manager/owner dude.
I can deal with slow service - if you TELL me that something’s going to take a while. I cannot deal with lies from the service team, and aggressive behaviour from the manager/owner.
Fuck you Sampa Bar. Fuck you.
Frustratingly, I’d tagged a few bars and restaurants literally no more than 50m from where we’d been sitting as worth a visit during our Tangalle stay. We stupidly got sucked in by a seemingly good happy hour deal. Curses.Read more
Day 10 - The Off Switch
January 26 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
15:00
Excellent sleeps are had. Vick’s strategy of a slightly drowsy decongestant + soothing music through her headphones has worked well. Shenda has had over 10 hours. I get my first sleep score of the trip that’s in the 80s. We will do well today.
We have very little planned today, and I can’t wait. After breakfast, Vicki and I mooch for a little while, before heading to the beach to meet Si and Shenda, and to video call with our darling friend Maz,who’s currently in Koh Lanta (Thailand) as part of a 3 month trip around SE Asia and Australasia. It’s great to see her and catch up on her trip so far.
We’re peckish, so head over to the brilliantly named No 1 Dewmini Roti shop, a favourite of mine from my previous visit. The Stuffed rotis are delicious. Mine has prawn, egg and cheese, and is served with a mild (but very tasty) dhal, and a spiky hot chilli sauce. Banging.
Back on the beach, the breeze has stiffened. There are actual dark clouds in the sky, suggesting there might be some rain this afternoon. I conclude that a nap is in my best interests, and repair to bed.
23:30
My nap is sensational. Deep, relaxing - and concluded by being abruptly woken with a start by my beloved wife. We have very little in the way of plans this evening as well. We amble over to Nautica, a restaurant on the Mirissa harbour where we boarded our whale watching trip. I had a stellar prawn curry here in 2024, and have been wanting to return. The food is good, but doesn’t quite hit the heights that my memory tells me it should be doing. Shenda reckons the prawn curry she had at Mila on Saturday was probably a bit better, and if my crab curry there is anything to go by, then I suspect she’s right. Nautica’s is still super tasty though, and very good value.
We’re not quite ready for bed, so we head to A++ for a cocktail, and to say goodbye to Bobby Bobster. I have an Arrack Attack which is properly punching with fresh ginger. Delish. There’s a guy doing some acoustic things with a guitar. Such a difference to yesterday’s less than successful version at Surfbar. He can actually, you know - play guitar, and sing. We have a few singalong moments, and Bob tries to steal my flip-flop.
Reflecting on Mirissa, I’m mindful that it’s been the perfect way to locate the off switch. The pace of life is glacial, in all the good ways. I suspected it would be our favourite stop of the trip, and I’m sticking with that prediction. I’d happily come back to Mirissa in future for an extended stay. Our accommodation has been super comfy and offered great value. There are some amazing places to eat that we’ve not had time to explore. Our whale watching trip aside, we’ve barely moved from the beach. There’s more stuff we could have done, but honestly - when the relaxing is this good, it’d be a shame to disrupt it with actual activity…Read more
Day 9 - Raja and the Whales
January 25 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☀️ 27 °C
13:00
The 05:00 alarm is brutal, but in a good cause. We drag ourselves out of bed, squinky and squinting. It’s pitch black outside. We’re ultra close to the equator here, meaning sun up and sun down are pretty close to 06:00 and 18:00 each day. A tuk-tuk collects us at 05:45 for the short drive to Raja and the Whales’ office. Short doesn’t really do it justice. We could have walked it in 5 minutes. We’re checked in and boarded onto our boat by 06:15, and see a beautiful sunrise emerge to the East of us. By 06:30, we’re underway. We’ve been given travel sickness tablets in case of sea-sickness. The boat is gently rolling in the waves, but no worse.
Almost immediately, we spot a small pod of dolphins. I took this same trip with the same company two years ago, and we saw hundreds of the things. So beautifully graceful through the water. We didn’t, however, see whales - and I’m hopeful our luck will change today. We head South/South-East for an hour, towards a 2000m deep channel that various species of baleen whale use for feeding. When I’m on these kinds of wildlife adventures, I always like to learn the spotting skills used. For whales - there are 3 primary signs to look out for, broadly in order of from how far away you’re likely to spot them:
1) Seagulls over the water - indicating that fish are being driven to the surface by a feeding whale.
2) Fish jumping out of the water to avoid the whale’s giant mouth.
3) The whale’s blowhole waterspout.
We see plenty of gulls and jumping fish, but no whales initially. The boat crew suddenly explodes with excitement - a blowhole spout is off to the left of us. The boat’s engine increases in power as we hare off towards the spotting. In the distance, we see the dorsal fin of a whale gracefully emerge from the water, and then disappear back beneath the waves. There are perhaps 15 other similarly sized boats around us, and I can’t help but wonder if the whale is doing its best to avoid human contact. On a few occasions, boats come worryingly close to hitting each other. There are strict guidelines for how the boats should approach a whale in the wild, but I think most of that goes out of the window as soon as a whale is spotted.
We spot another Bryde’s whale, again a little ways away from us. After perhaps 90 minutes, most of the boats disappear back towards the shore, and just 2-3 are left with us. I find this relaxes me. In the next 90 minutes, we spot a further 3 whales, including a Sei whale. We catch a great view of a Bryde’s whale from the rear, which really emphasises how giant this creature is. Females can grow to 15m in length, and weigh as much as 20 tons.
Highly satisfied with our whale watching experience, the crew head us back towards Mirissa. Along the way, they receive a radio call from some local fishermen who are surrounded by a big pod of spinner dolphins, and we stop by to take a look. They’re much smaller than their bottlenosed cousins we saw earlier, and we spend a joyful few minutes watching them play around the boat.
Back at port, we decide we’re not that fussed about eating. There’s a great little restaurant by the harbour that serves the best prawn curry I had on my last visit, but we’ll come back when our appetites will do it justice. Back at our room, the 05:00 alarm call catches up with me, and I fall into a deep sleep.
22:30
We’ve had a low powered afternoon. After nearly 2 hours sleeping, I join the others at Surf Bar. A beer is accompanied by some simple fried rice. It’s also accompanied by a less than brilliant pair of live musicians. He’s playing acoustic guitar, but not that well. She’s got a slightly querulous voice, and is doing a disservice to most of the songs she’s attempting.
We decamp to A++, where Bobby Bobster steals first Simon’s sandal, and then my flip-flop. She’s a mischievous little scamp. We manage a drink each and a snack, before turning in for the night. Vicki and I are both hopeful of deep, restorative sleeps. HOLD TIGHT FOR FEEDBACK.Read more
Day 8 - THAT'S what I'm talking about...
January 24 in Sri Lanka ⋅ 🌙 26 °C
16:30
My abiding memories of Mirissa are of it being the most amazing place to switch off, to recharge, and to relax. After a couple of days, I’m not 100% convinced we’ve unlocked this upgrade. Today has changed that conviction.
We do the usual breakfast pantomime, and the food is lovely (and overly generous). Vicki and I watch the finale of The Traitors, because spoilers. We head out to the beach around 13:00, and find Simon and Shenda chilling on a sunbed, just out of the sun’s reach. We’re at Surf Bar, rapidly qualifying (again) as my favourite Mirissa beach bar. There’s some slightly louder than necessary chill-out music playing. Honestly, it’s a bit of a mind-fuck. We settle down for some drinks. Bean bags, chilledness, childlessness - if it comes to that. What an incredibly cool way to spend the day. We talk about important stuff, we talk about incredibly unimportant stuff. There’s some food, some natter-chatter - all the good stuff. We gaze out across the bay to the surfers, who are struggling with some more challenging surf conditions today. At several points, I find I’m asking myself if it would be possible to feel more relaxed. Each time, the answer is no - yet I’m proved wrong. I’m awarding today a 10/10 score.
21:30
We’ve got an EARLY start tomorrow, so head out in good time for dinner. We head to Mila - somewhere I’ve eaten before, and which I think S+S+V will enjoy. I remember their crab curry being sensationally good.
Mila is right on the main road, but we sit towards the back of the restaurant, so that we can hear what’s going on, without being interrupted by it. The food is amazing. I have the crab curry (again) and it’s as good as I remember it. I make a prawn curry at home with a very similar tasting sauce, but the crab lifts it several levels above my version. It’s served in a bowl with a bunch of sections of whole crab in it. I revel in the opportunity to use my crab pick to make sure I get every little last piece. Wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s very much mine. It’s not hot - there’s barely any chilli in it, but by the power of Grayskull, the flavour is intense.
Vicki has a chargrilled fish - something that looks like a Dourade, and tastes similar. SO tasty. Shenda has a prawn curry which looks amazing, but which I don’t taste. Simon has a burger which is tantalising to look at. Our meal feels like great value - well under £20 a head. We meet an ultra cute kitten, who is skinny beyond belief, super friendly, and really just hanging out with us to encourage food…
We’re back at our rooms by 20:00. There are 3 rooms at our accommodation, and the third one has become occupied. We are initially suspicious, but they turn out to be a very lovely Italian couple. One is definitely called Jacamo, and his boyfriend we *think* is called Fabio or Flavio? As we arrive back, they ask for some food recommendations, which we happily provide. They’ve recently arrived from Tangalle - our next stop. They describe it as, “A tourist town without tourists,” which really appeals to me. It’s definitely going to be the quietest stop of our trip, which we agree is no bad thing from a sequencing point of view. I remember having very fond memories of how wild the coast was in Tangalle, and am excited to get back there.
The 05:00 alarm call is looming. Time for snoozes.Read more
Day 7 - Hotter than Hades
January 23 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☀️ 28 °C
17:00
I’m gonna stop telling you about my sleep until things improve markedly.
Our accommodation includes a Sri Lankan breakfast. I’ve got form with these - they can be more than sizeable things. I’ve pre-warned the others. I should point out - our accommodation is a lovely little homestay. The family house is on the same plot of land, and there are three very well apportioned rooms in a separate building to the rear of the property. Anyways, just before 10:00, the food starts to arrive. It takes about 10 minutes for it all to be delivered. We have (deep breath) an omelette, some toast, jam, sliced papaya, sliced pineapple, a widdy little banana, a yoghurt, and a coconut pancake. Oh, and some lovely Sri Lankan coffee. I manage most of mine, but forego the yoghurt. The banana is one of the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. Sensational. The coconut pancake is very tasty. It’s got what I think is some palm sugar in it, which gives it a slightly fudgy taste. Lovely.
Post breakfast, Vicki and I catch up on The Traitors, and I have a super deluxe late morning / early afternoon nap.
We head out around 14:00 to catch up with S+S, and stop in at A++ for some top up food. Some snacks later, we womble down the beach, and pitch up at a cool looking bar called Salt. Sitting here, watching the world go by, with an ice cold Lion to keep me company is one of my (and I’m sure many others’) happy places.
Vicki heads further down the beach for some more exercise, but I head back to our room for a little lie down. My right knee is jipsome to say the least, and walking on sand is not my best friend right now.
22:30
We head out with Si and Shenda around 19:00, and head for Ceylon Curry House. I’ve not eaten there before, but they get rave reviews for their traditional Sri Lankan curries. The Black Pork Curry I have is:
1) Delicious, and
2) One of the hottest things I’ve ever eaten. Definitely up there on the famous Irvine 3 meatball scale.
It starts out friendly enough, but the chillies and chilli powder seem to have sunk to the bottom of the coconut shell in which it’s served. As I scrape around at the bottom with some leftover bread, my mouth explodes. I have the chilli hiccups instantly. I perspire. I want dairy products instantly. And I am more than embarrassed as my tray is taken away, when our server tells me that my bowl was only ‘medium’ spicy.
None of this is to detract from the flavour, which is incredible. Hot with chilli powder and black pepper; fragrant with cardamom, cinnamon and clove; super juicy and tender pork shoulder… I’m definitely grabbing a recipe for this while I’m here.
Post-prandial, we’re not quite ready for chill time and bed, so head to Surf Bar, where Vicki and I discovered some v cool music last night. Tonight is much the same style. I dive into some more Arrack Attacks, and take Simon and Shenda into the fray with me. We find the dude who’s music is playing. It transpires to be a Dubai based DJ called Muse, who just happens to play a lot of the same music that I still DJ today. Sadly, they turn the music off, as there’s a more formal ‘party’ happening next door, and they don’t wanna get in the way. Fair dos, but it’s awesome to know we can drop in to hear some cool sounds whenever we want to while we’re in Mirissa…Read more
Day 6 - Mirissa on my Mind...
January 22 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C
17:30
Moving day. Once again, I’ve struggled to sleep, and it’s starting to irritate. We pop out for a quick coffee, and to say goodbye to our new friends at Sands Beach. Our taxi is due at 11:30, so we get ourselves packed up in half decent time, and luxuriate in the coolness of our super air-conditioned room. At the appointed time, we head down to the main drag in Unawatuna. There’s a road leading up to Winsi Villa, but it’s not big/wide enough for a van, so we felt like this was the decent thing to do. We then proceed to wait for 35 minutes, stood like lemons at the side of the road, in the baking sunshine. I have no problem with delays to arrangements, but what tends to catch in my craw is when communication about the delay breaks down. I ping the guy that sent me the booking confirmation, and ask where the driver is. I’m told 5 minutes. After 15 minutes have passed, I ping him again, and… Nothing. As he doesn’t have an answer that he thinks I’ll like, he chooses to ignore me. When the dude finally turns up nearly 40 minutes late, we ask why he’s running so behind schedule. He shrugs, points at an empty road, and says, “Traffic.”
The journey over to Mirissa is around 45 minutes. The van is comfy, and super cool, I spend the ride gazing contentedly out of the window as the coastline passes us by. We pass through some quiet villages, past an apparently working air force base whose runway features sizeable pot holes, and countless surf breaks with highly mixed standards of surfing. Cruising along, I can feel the frustration of the taxi delay ebbing out of my body. It reminds me of times I’ve visited Palolem in the past, and the energising effect my proximity to that beach had on me at the time.
We arrive around 13:00, and there’s a snafu. We have two rooms booked - one of which is air-conditioned, and one of which is not. This is entirely on me. I could give you a long and dull explanation by way of mitigation, but it’s my fuck up, and that’s the end of it. Lalanika explains to us in our her very stilted English (which is far better than my Sinhalese) that they do have a family room available with A/C, but it’s slightly more expensive. That’ll work for us. What follows is perhaps 20 minutes of Lalanika trying to explain that we need to cancel one of the rooms from our booking.com reservation, and me explaining that I can’t cancel one, I can only cancel both. We dance this dance until I can dance no more. I cancel the whole thing, she gets notification that I’ve done so, and we move on from there. We pop out for a beer and some food while Vicki and my room is made up.
We stop in at A++, which I believe was named before search engine optimisation was a thing. I remember it fondly for two reasons:
1) It has the best view of the Mirissa surf break, and
2) They used to have 3 white wines on their menu, all of which were Sauvignon Blanc.
We quickly settle in. Beers arrive, food is ordered, one surfer nearly decapitates another with her surfboard. Of such things will our days be made. Food is delicious. A Nasi Goreng for me, and a fish burger for Vicki. Both hit the spot.
Sated, we head off for a walk down the beach. I think Mirissa is a prettier beach than Unawatuna. Certainly more photogenic. It’s much wider and flatter as well, which makes walking on it that much easier.
Si and Shenda decide to grab a sunbed for some rays, whilst Vicki and i head to the main Mirissa road for cash and supplies - both of which we find in abundance…
23:30
We head out around 19:00 for some dinner. There are a bunch (technical term) of seafood places along Mirissa Beach, but I’ve got my eyes on one I visited in 2024, W&D. I had probably the best prawn I’ve ever eaten, alongside some amazing bass. It’s a lovely temperature as we walk down the beach. I managed to stub my toe on a massive rock sticking out of the sand, but happily don’t come too much of a cropper.
The fish display at W&D is amazing. There’s quite the kerfuffle while the guys working there seat us. The restaurant is basically full, so the only place to put additional tables is right down by the water’s edge. The tide is pretty much at its zenith. The two do not mix brilliantly well. We eventually get seated a few metres further back, up the beach, and spend most of the next 45 minutes cackling at folks who are finding themselves being pulled away by the tide. The prices in Mirissa generally and at W&D specifically are noticeably higher than just 20 miles up the coast in Unawatuna. We reason that we’ve been incredibly good with spends so far, so a treat dinner is in order. I pick out a bass for Simon and Shenda to share, and a massive red grouper for Vicki and me, which will be cooked whole. There’s clearly been a big catch of it today, as there are arrays of this beautifully coloured fish on display at most of the restaurants we walked past.
When our food arrives, it’s stunning. The grouper is delicious. A slightly softer and creamier texture than I’d perhaps expected, but perfectly cooked and ultra juicy. Vicki and I are pretty good at scavenging for some of the best parts. The cheeks and throats on fish this size are always a treat. The slightly chewy and crispy bits around the shoulder are fought over. At one point, one of the waiters moves to take away the fish head, and I emit something approaching a feral snarl, telling him I’m not done with it yet. It’s served with a super hot chilli sauce on the side which is as hot as advertised, and brilliantly tasty. I everso slightly overdo it at one point, and give myself the chilli hiccups. Sami, the manager, tells me it’s very simple to make - puréed green chilli with fish sauce, minced garlic, a squeeze of lime, and quite a bit of ground green peppercorn. I’d worried the flavour would dominate the fish, but it complements it wonderfully. I’m deffo having a pop at making it back in the UK.
It’s a late dinner by this trip’s standards. Si and Shenda are ready to head back, and they leave us at Surf Bar, one of the (many) beach bars I frequented on my last trip here. There’s some banging house kicking out, which is right up my and Vicki’s street. In the hour or so that we’re there, Vicki Shazams 11 tracks. I have a couple of Arrack attacks - local Arrack spirit with lime and ginger - kind of a Sri Lankan take on a Dark and Stormy. We could probably quite happily settle in here for a few hours, but figure it’s time for some shut-eye.Read more
Day 5 - The Galle of it all...
January 21 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C
17:30
Curses. I once again sleep poorly. Just awake a fair bit. Maybe it’s a touch of jet lag. I think a couple of times during the night I wake up feeling like my gallbladder is pulsing a little - which is WAY less cool than it sounds.
Vicki’s awake in decent time (:shocked face) and she, Shenda and I head out for what is rapidly qualifying as our customary morning coffee.
We head to a small rooftop restaurant next door to our hotel for a brunchy type affair around 11:00. I have my second kottu of the trip, and it’s even better than the first. The others all have a cheese stuffed roti as an appetiser. Shenda follows up with dhal, which is brilliant. So much more fragrant with cinnamon, clove and nutmeg than the Indian dhal to which I’m more used. Simon and Vicki have very tasty dishes of grilled swordfish (I think?).
Fuelled, we ready ourselves for an afternoon jaunt to Galle. It’s one of those cities that has a long track record of colony - initially the Portuguese in the 16th century, then by the Dutch in the 18th century, and finally the British in the early 19th century. There’s an old colonial fort, built initially by the Portuguese invaders, and grown significantly by the Dutch, inside which is a maze of cobbled streets, views of the ocean, and cool places to grab a beer.
We wander around the ramparts in the sunshine. It feels a little hotter today, though that might just be humidity. We’re all a little sweltering, and collapse into a tap house, which is called, well - Tap House. I have my first non Lion Lager of the trip. Still made by Lion, but a Belgian style witbier. Vicki has a virgin colada. Simon and Shenda end up with several litres of a white sangria. It doesn’t taste uber strong, but apparently has a combo of white wine, rum and vodka in it. Ahoy!
Galle is very pretty. We amble (stumble?) down Pedlar Street, which is the boutique capital of the city. We somehow manage to buy nothing, and end up walking to the other side of the fort, and up around the ramparts of the fort.
Back in Unawatuna, Vicki and I head for a sharpener at our local, and are greeted like long lost friends. I shall miss them when we move on tomorrow. Vicki and I briefly talk world politics, and the absolute fucking shitshow state the world is in right now, accompanied by a couple of glasses of white wine (for me). I find myself reflecting on Unawatuna. I wasn’t sure I was going to love it, but I’ve developed an unexpected attachment to the place. The beach is pretty, the bars serve super cold beer and are staffed by uber-friendly folks, the food has been amazing. What’s not to love? It’s maybe not the most chilled out of places we’ll visit, but we’ve a couple more stops along the way that’ll provide that kind of laid-backness. Ultimately, the best barometer is whether I’d return to a place, and I’d come back to Unawatuna in a flash.
We have plans this evening for a rice and curry at a place that gets banging reviews - so can’t dawdle too long. There’s food to be had.
21:30
Dinner was a treat. Mettha’s is basically a Sri Lankan family’s front room. They can feed a max of 8 people at a time, and have a super limited menu. We popped our head around the door a few days ago to ask if they were serving their famous rice and curry, and were told Wednesday was our first chance. So, here we are, Wednesday, and raring to go. The rice is served with 4 vegetable curries - green beans, a dhal, potato and spinach and perhaps my favourite, a pineapple curry. The 3 meat eaters amongst us also get a small dish of curried chicken, which is delicious. There’s no booze offered, as they don’t have a licence. It’s the simplest possible way to eat great food, and encounter great people. I give Mettha a hug as we leave, as I’ve been quite overtaken by the whole experience. I live for travelling moments such as this.
We stop in at Sands Beach for a post dinner prandial. As we’re readying to leave, a guy asks if we’re English, and when we say that we are, asks to join us. If we weren’t just paying our bill etc etc. He’s been here a week, and is feeling quite isolated, surrounded as he is by what feels like many thousands of Russians. Unawatuna has been largely taken over by Russian tourists in recent years, but not in such a way that we’ve necessarily felt it. There’s no animos, no tension. Very dissimilar to my time in northern Goa a year ago. Be interested to see if the balance of tourist population stays the same for our next couple of stops.Read more
Day 4 - Whoa there, slow down!
January 20 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
20:40
I don’t have the very best sleep. Long enough, but restless. Yesterday was a pretty boozy day, so will take things a touch easier today.
Shenda and I head over to our local, Sands Beach, for a coffee while Vicki and Si slumber on. We spend a wonderful hour putting the world to rights, and drinking perhaps one more cup of coffee than is absolutely necessary. Our coffee was served in a massive pot, and uses local coffee grounds. It’s really tasty. Some light floral and fruit notes.
Vicki and Simon are alive by 10:30, and we head out for a late breakfast. I have my first kottu roti of the trip, and it’s a banger. This dish is a smasher - chopped roti bread, mixed with vegetables, sometimes with the addition of meat or cheese, and fried hard on a flat-top plancha. The flavour profile is along the lines of a Chinese style fried rice. V v tasty. It’s also sizeable. That, combined with a big bottle of Lion sends me back to bed for some extra zizz. Vicki claims she’s not tired, and is going to read on the balcony, so I’m a little surprised when I wake from my nap to find her snoozing next to me.
We get ourselves up, and head out for a walk, all the way down to the West end of the beach. It’s a little busier down here on the beach, and quite a lot of the shore has eroded away. We grab a drink at a beautiful little courtyard bar called The Social. I have a cucumber, pineapple and mint cooler, which is super-refreshing.
We organise ourselves with S+S to head out for dinner, and decide to hit up a very well reviewed Mexican place. It’s super busy when we arrive, but the team kindly sort us out a table. It’s Taco Tuesday, and their tacos are on a cheap deal. It also explains why it’s quite so busy. The tacos are excellent. Vicki and I both have 1 x birria beef, 1 x pork pibil, and 1 x Baja fish. The beef is probably the standout, but all are excellent. Shenda’s particularly excited that they have a good selection of veggie options.
After dinner, we have a little wander around the streets of Unawatuna. This is largely in aid of Vicki’s step count, but it allows us to mooch around a few new bars and restaurants along the way. We eventually loop our way back towards our accommodation. There’s a ‘techno’ party at Sands Beach this evening, which we thought we’d go and check out. Unhappily, I start to experience some gallbladder discomfort. I don’t *think* it’s gonna turn into a full on episode, but I can’t be sure. I err on the side of caution, and head back to our room to rest up. Honestly, I’ll be glad when the little fucker’s removed in March…
23:00
This just in from our intrepid field reporter, Vicki:
1) The ‘techno’ party was not a techno party. Music largely consisted of house music covers of pop songs
2) Cheeky buggers had raised the drinks prices quite substantially for the party
3) There were about 5 people in attendance. Not a heaps big rave.Read more
Day 3 - An awful lot of not very much.
January 19 in Sri Lanka ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C
08:45
I feel like I’m an experienced enough traveller to know how jet lag is going to effect my sleep. Flying to the sub-continent means I’ll be awake for a couple of hours during the night, but ultimately, I’ll sleep ok. Last night was no different. I could barely keep my eyes open when we went to bed around 23:00. I tried reading to let Vicki drift off before me, but as my eyes scanned down each page, it became increasingly difficult to lift them to start reading the subsequent page. I fell asleep almost instantly.
Around 02:30, I woke and was awake for a good 90 minutes. Still tired - but just incapable of sleep. I listened to an audiobook for a while, and finally drifted off again sometime after 04:00. I woke again around 08:00, feeling fairly chipper and well rested.
Now, I have a Garmin fitness tracker that gives me a nightly sleep score. It’s programmed with an algorithm (because everything is) that looks at various factors like the amount of light, deep and REM sleep I’ve had, how stressed I was when I went to sleep etc etc. My watch thinks that the couple of hour stretch of being awake is sign of disrupted sleep, and has given me a low score. I know it’s because of jetlag, and that I actually *feel* pretty good. But my low sleep score is stuck in my brain now, and I shall have to have an afternoon nap as I’ll feel tired.
Moral of the story is that technology is great, until it isn’t.
18:30
We have managed to do an awful lot of absolutely nothing today - and I believe we deserve praise for doing so. We head out for some breakfast around 10:00. We make it all of 20m from our apartment. The upstairs deck at Funky Café has a lovely breeze, some tasty sounding food options, and a sense of wellness. I have my first hoppers of the trip - those pancake type things that usually have poached eggs in the bottom. They’re delicious, and accompanied by an amazing onion sambol, and my absolute favourite - a Sri Lankan breakfast dhal. Banging. Vicki and Shenda have more than decent omelettes, and Simon has a full English that is missing most of the components of a full English. Coffee’s good though.
Back at our room, Vicki and decide a nap is in order. She ‘only’ had nine hours last night, and it turns out my watch might’ve been right to call out my broken sleep.
3. Count them. 3 HOURS later, we awake, and feel decidedly better for doing so. Si and Shenda have wandered down the beach, and we make a vague plan to meet with them.
Vicki and I have data plans while we’re here, but Si and Shenda don’t. As a result, we send a last message before heading out, in the hope that we’ll collide along the way. Vicks and I make about 40m from our rooms, and settle down with a beer. Well, for me - obvs. There’s a power cut just now, and the blender that would have delivered Vicki her preferred iced coffee is not working. She settles for a coke and some water. It’s perhaps the first time on this trip that we both properly zone out. It’s incredibly peaceful.
We sort of try and keep in touch with Si and Shenda, but without data, it’s a tricky challenge. Vicki heads up the beach in search of a work out, and some additional steps, and bumps into them = WINNING.
They join us at Sands Beach with our new friend Ashok. We make some vague plans for dinner, and repair for some showering.
23:40
We have some balcony drinks. Spiced rum with mango juice. Very tropical. Reminds me of rum punches in the Caribbean. We head out for dinner to a place Si and Shenda saw earlier called One Love. Rubbish name, amazing food. It’s rice and curry night. Sri Lankan rice and curry has more than a little shared DNA with an Indian thali - multiple curry dishes, served with rice, chutney, sambol. One Love’s is amazing. Hot. Properly hot. And huge! In hindsight, we could probably have managed one between two. I have the prawn curry, Vicki and Shenda the fish curry, and Simon the chicken curry. All are sensational. But hot. I think the spiciest thing on my tray is one of the veggie curries. SO tasty… With some drinks, we’re in and out for about £15 per head. Awesome value.
Si and Shend head back to our accommodation, but Vicki and I decide to have a wander. We end up in a rooftop bar with some cool tunes, and I have a throughly decent gin and tonic.
We stumble (me) back to our room, and cue up the latest episode of The Night Manager. If you haven’t watched this series, do it - it’s awesome.
Our day has been incredibly successful. We deserve much sleep.Read more
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