No Fixed Abode: Cool Little England

Tue 26 Apr 2016 - Nuwara Eliya

We had already bought our train tickets to Nuwara Eliya but as the journey would have been in the heat of the day and third class and we would have needed taxis at either end and we would have got there late afternoon we opted to leave early and take a taxi the whole way.

The journey down the mountain road in a car was considerably more comfortable than it had been in the tuk tuk up and our driver was a pleasant elderly gentleman who drove nice and slowly, unlike some of the younger ones who think they are in a grand prix. Winding through the tea plantations we saw dozens of ladies, and the odd man, on the slopes plucking the precious leaves.

The main road was much smoother and we settled back in our comfortable, air conditioned seats pleased that we’d chosen this easy way to travel. The views from the window were spectacular: rolling foothills covered in tea bushes, steep forested slopes and the tall mountain peaks in the distance. All verdant and bathed in the morning sunshine. At one bend our driver pulled over, turned to face us and said “waterfall”. Fearing this was a regular tourist halt to enable the driver to take a break we climbed suspiciously from the car and walked to the edge of the layby. Wow, Devon Falls, what a stunning waterfall. Although some distance away across the valley we could see it clearly in the clean mountain air as it charged over a large granite cliff before tumbling down a series of cascades to the a river in the valley floor. The layby also offered a superb view down the valley, which we stood and admired for some time. It really is very beautiful here in the hill country.

A little further along the road the driver pulled over again. This time we got out with more enthusiasm to see another spectacular waterfall, Clair Falls. This place must be stunning in the wet season.

Before long we were winding up the mountainside to the city of Nuwara Eliya, some 2000m above sea level and a favourite haunt of the British in colonial times. After dropping our bags at the jaded Green Star hotel we went for a walk to see if “little England” lived up to its name. It did. Lush green as far as the eye could see, houses surrounded by flower gardens, allotments with neat rows of vegetables, a golf course, a race course and, of course, a Victoria Park. We mooched about snapping photos of the English style buildings until we came to a large red building on a prominent corner. The post office. Stepping inside was like stepping back in time as we joined the queue at the counter to buy some postcards and stamps. Now all we needed was a pen and somewhere to write them.

With the dark afternoon clouds gathering we noticed a Pub sign and with Glenn keen to try a decent beer he walked straight in with Yvonne following tentatively behind him. The local men were beckoning Yvonne in and it all felt very uncomfortable, and after asking how many women were in the bar and Glenn’s reply of one, Yvonne made the decision we weren’t stopping for a beer here. The regular rain shower was starting and we stumbled upon the imposing Windsor Hotel and stepped inside to find the tea room, which they had to have. At the smart reception area we were directed into the restaurant which was all neatly laid out ready for dinner and smelling of polish. We found a table by the window and immediately a smartly dressed waiter appeared to take or order: one pot of tea and one Tiger stout - a beer we’d not seen before. As the rain began to fall Glenn returned to reception to borrow one of the newspapers to read and noticed a spacious lounge area with easy chairs and sofa’s - much more fitting for afternoon tea.

Relaxing by the window watching the rain pour down, writing post cards, reading the paper, sipping tea and beer we were suddenly approached by an smart looking man wearing a shirt and tie who strode over to engage us. He announced himself as the operations manager and spent over an hour conversing with us in perfect English giving us a potted history of his life and discussing the social and political situation of Sri Lanka and the rest of the world. He was keen to explain in a few weeks time he was off to Marseille to take an international shooting officials exam which would enable him to officiate matches around the world.

With the light fading we bade him farewell and stepped out into the now distinctly chilly air. As we were starting to feel the cold, a new sensation for us in Sri Lanka, we hurried back to the hotel, stopping at a shiny red post box to send the cards, where we ordered our usual curry and rice. As this dish always takes time to prepare we retired to our room and eagerly awaited the call to tell us it was ready. On our return to the restaurant we found three tables of foreign tourists all finishing their meals of western food. The manager showed us to our our table then hovered over us while we ate, seemingly very pleased that we’d ordered Sri Lankan food. It seems most foreign tourists don’t.