Walking through the jungle

Sunday 8th June. Ceysands Hotel, Bentota
Kate has just told me that Rob’s granny died last night. They went to check their e-mail and found a message from his dad. Poor Rob, so far from home. It’s good that Kate is with him. We’ve not seen him to speak to yet as he’s rather upset and wants to be alone for a while.

After breakfast Ian and I went with Marc and all his luggage to the railway station. Even I thought we were mad not taking a tuc-tuc but then, how could we fit into a three wheeler with an 8ft surfboard, a wedding suit and two heavy rucksacks? We’d cut it a bit fine and the only train for hours arrived at the station while we were still lugging everything up the road. The station was in chaos with seemingly hundreds of people clambering on and off the train and milling about on the platform. Word went round that white travellers were coming and we arrived at the station in the midst of a crowd who held up the train whilst Marc bought his ticket and hugged us goodbye. He
was bundled unceremoniously into the nearest carriage, third class and packed like sardines. His luggage and surf-board were squashed in after him, the goats were chased from the track, and the last we saw of Marc was hanging out of the window as the ancient, battered old train trundled out of the station and went slowly on its way towards Galle. The next time we meet will probably be in Caen.


The station at Aluthgama
We walked back into Aluthgama and along the Galle Road searching for a cash machine. Suddenly Neil jumped out of a passing vehicle to give us a hug! We are getting used to him turning up in unlikely situations! He and Jeev were on their way back to Colombo after their brief honeymoon at the Taj Erotica. Abey, Nita and Kalinga were with them, having driven down to collect them. After quick hugs all round they drove on. Customs seem very different here. Neil and Jeev really need some time to themselves now but already they are back in the heart of Jeev’s extended family with tours of the relatives to be made before they return to England.

Having found a cash machine we went for a walk outside of the town, by the river, shaded by mangroves and coconut plantations. It turned out to be very pleasant indeed with quite nice little houses in their own gardens. Narrow roads criss-crossed each other creating a maze of little lanes to explore through the thick tropical woodland. The atmosphere was very hot and humid and it was obvious that rain would arrive soon.

We passed groups of children dressed in white who laughed at us shouting “hello bonbon”. They were returning from Sunday school where they had been receiving religious education from the monks at the Buddhist temple. I don’t think we passed a single man, woman or child who did not say hello to us. Even unseen voices called out to us from the dark interiors of the houses. Mothers came out to smile and wave, big sisters brought younger siblings to say hello and toddlers looked at our pale skin and cried. I genuinely think some of the children had never seen Europeans before as those holiday-makers who arrive in Bentota generally confine themselves to the beaches and the hotel grounds. “Bonbon” we worked out, was a request for sweeties, frequently accompanied by a request for a school pen as well. We had neither so kept saying “no bonbons, no school pens” which caused great mirth amongst the children who would then giggle, wave and run away. It was really very sweet. Rather irritating after the hundredth time but it made us feel as if they’d mistaken us for royalty walking around in their village!

A bullock cart passed us, heading for the coir factory, loaded with old coconut shells. We found the factory, which seems to be little more than a large wooden shack with a drive belt linked to some old machinery that separates the fibrous matting on the inside of the husk and teases it up into big coarse mounds of coir to be plaited or twisted into string, rope or twine. Amongst the coconuts waiting to be processed, the owner had hung his laundry, suspended between a couple of palm trees.


Bullock cart carrying coconut husks Coconut fibre at the village coir factory


The factory manager's sarongs drying in amongst the coconut husks.

Lying in the road nearby we saw a large black scorpion – dead, fortunately for us! We walked with great caution from then on, keeping well away from the hidden perils in the thick vegetation along the verges of the road!

We reached the Buddhist temple set deep in the coconut forest. There seemed to be nobody around and it all seemed very peaceful. Trusting that there were no more scorpions we left our shoes at the gate and climbed the steps, marvelling at the strange paintings and statues depicting tales from the scriptures. The style of Buddhist art around many of the temples seems to be quite primitive using a very limited range of colours. Everything is restricted to red, blue, black, yellow, white and orange. Each colour appears to have a special significance that dictates its use. The tableaux here were so basic that, although we had to accept that they were placed there in good faith, we found it impossible not to smile. One gruesome scene illustrated a decapitated figure holding up his own head, dripping with blood whilst to one side of him a person, suspended upside down, was being sawn in half from the top of the legs to the head, adding considerably to the use of red in the picture! Meanwhile, the painted statue of a very buxom Asian lady wearing a real pair of yellow rubber gloves stood nearby smiling seductively down at us beside another statue of a grey suited businessman holding a book. We have absolutely no understanding of the significance of it all.

A young monk approached us and led us into a room with a sleeping Buddha and more paintings from his life. Lizards scuttled between Buddha’s fingers, squawking loudly. A moonstone was at the entrance and elephants were painted on the floor tiles.

Just as we came out the rain suddenly burst in a torrential downpour. We were invited to take shelter in a room in the monastery where one of the monks showed us their little museum of artefacts while the rain fell noisily on the surrounding palm trees. There were brass Buddhas in all shapes and sizes, texts on palm leaves, paintings and old photographs, bouquets of plastic flowers and a variety of odds and ends, the significance of which we unfortunately failed to fully appreciate.

When the rain eased slightly we were invited to visit the classroom where the local children had recently finished Sunday school. Our monk explained that he told the children stories from the life of Buddha. Lessons are taught with the children sitting on white benches under an open sided shelter to keep them as cool as possible.







Open-sided school room

As we had mentioned that we are librarians, we were invited to see the monastery library. Our monk then offered to get out some of the palm leaf books dating back more than four hundred years for us to see. Amongst a collection of books on Buddhist teachings I noticed, strangely, a copy of Dickens “Tale of Two Cities”.



Palm leaf books in the library The library with its custodian
Finally we went to a little cave temple in the rock. We entered through a carved lion’s mouth and felt our way in darkness until we reached the actual cave with its shrine, paintings and statues.

By now the rain had ceased so we continued our walk, splashing through puddles and quickly gathering a retinue of children again. The heat and the humidity were sky high and walking was exhausting.

As we returned from our walk an elderly gentleman with a grey beard, wearing nothing but a sarong, called to us from the shade of the coconut tree beside his house. Instead of the usual “hello” he said in a cultured voice “good afternoon to you.” We fell into conversation and he told us that in his childhood, during the days of colonialism, all teaching in schools was conducted in English. He was obviously an intelligent and thoughtful man who regretted the attitudes of many young, modern-day Sri Lankans who are not well educated and out to make money without working, if they can. He called them the “three-wheeler generation.” (A brand new three-wheeler or tuc-tuc here costs £900.)

We then had a rather surreal experience as he started reciting full and accurate passages from Shakespeare and told us of his love for the works of Byron, Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats, Dickens, Austen and Ruskin! He stood beneath his palm tree, bare footed and bare chested and with great dignity recited for us Wordsworth’s “Daffodils,” filling it with great expression and emphasising phrases with sweeping gestures of his arms! I asked whether he had ever seen daffodils. He said of course not as he’d never been out of Sri Lanka but it didn't matter because the poem had always given him great happiness. Through it he could imagine what England must be like “and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.”

He continued talking, telling us that he had owned many works of English literature but neither of his sons had wished to read them and as he was now seventy he was worried about what would happen to them when he died. He had recently given them to a doctor friend who had promised to care for them. Had he known we would come by, he’d have given them to us because, as we were librarians, we would have taken care of them for him and seen that they were properly used! Such a touching faith in our profession!

He spoke of the Sri Lankan economy. “We are a third world country but everything we have, we owe to the British. You gave us railways, roads, rubber, tea and coffee.” We replied that what had been done in the past had been primarily for Britain’s benefit rather than for that of the people of Ceylon and it was the country that had made it possible for us. He agreed but felt it was a two-way relationship benefiting both sides. Since independence in 1948 however, the country had made very little progress. It was still using the machinery, rolling stock and commercial and banking systems it had been left with when Britain handed it back to the people of Ceylon. The country had the resources to develop and prosper but generally it seemed that the people lacked the initiative and breadth of vision to develop the economic and commercial base.

He was genuinely delighted that our son, with a doctorate from Oxford University, was married to a local girl who had achieved an Oxford doctorate as well. It was a matter of pride to him to know that young Sri Lankan people were capable of such an attainment.

Finally he complimented Ian on his excellent English accent and was happy to tell him that it did not sound in the least cockney! English, he said, was the key to education, knowledge and progress. Since 1956 lessons in English had been abandoned in favour of Sinhalese or Tamil. Consequently English was no longer so well understood by the young.

In all honesty, I do wonder what point there had been in the British teaching third World children to declaim “Friends, Romans, Countrymen…” or “Alas poor Yorik …” It must have borne little relationship to their everyday lives! Still, it had obviously shaped this amazing gentleman’s life for him.

When we left him he begged us to visit him at his home if we ever return again. As we walked away he recited us the farewell speech from Romeo and Juliet and we left him still standing peacefully under his shady coconut palm!

We stopped at a reasonable looking bar on the Galle Road for a cold Lion beer. It wasn’t too nice as we were pestered by lots of buzzing flies but the beer was good and very welcome.

We walked back along the beach to Ceysands, passing several small fishing boats pulled up onto the sand awaiting calmer waters to put to sea. While Ian took a shower I dived into the pool, practically deserted since all the wedding guests had left. Cliff and Kate were still around and joined me for a swim. They are really nice. Cliff has been an excellent friend to Neil over the years and went to great lengths to get here for the wedding as, because of his work, he’d ended up being in Canada when he’d already booked to be here. They arrived at the very last minute, just in time for the wedding. They fly back on Wednesday and tomorrow they are off to Kandy with a driver for their final night.


Typical fishing canoe with outrigger constructed from coconut timbers strapped together. Such craft seem very fragile for the force of the ocean! Outside the monsoon period fish appear to be abundant.