Sunday Express

Sunday 1 May 2016 - Mirissa, the beach

Breakfast tea was delivered at the requested 07.30am and we enjoyed a cuppa from our settee whilst discussing all the different noises we’d heard during the night and guessing what had been scurrying around and over the tent. Yvonne remarked how the closed bedroom door and the mosquito net gave a certain amount of security which allowed her to turn over and go back to sleep on hearing all these noises. 

Then, our butler arrived carrying a bucket, mop, dustpan and brush and cleaning spray. Surely it was far too early to start making up the room. Then he apologised profusely as he entered our lounge and made his way over to an, up to now, unseen pile of animal poo and pee that something had deposited during the night. All this bushland around us and it comes in here! Didn’t it know we were VIPs?

At breakfast the camp manager greeted us and announced he had set up a specially reserved ‘honeymoon’ area for us to have breakfast. This consisted of a walk through a bit of bush to a shaded area where the table was set up including a pair of ornamental love birds. Do people really want this? The waiter asked how we’d like our breakfast and eggs and we stunned him for a while when we asked if we could just have a traditional Sri Lankan breakfast: something they call porridge, consisting of millet, coconut milk and cardamoms; the pancake style roti; the fresh fruits we love; and the toast with wood apple jam. He beamed at us and soon arrived with lashing of breakfast and with the camp manager in hot pursuit, we wondered if he needed to check this was right. After having to pose for photos for the camp manager, the waiter, then suddenly chef arrived and he took one of us too. Clearly our request for this breakfast had caused a stir.

They bade farewell in a similar way as we had arrived, VIP this, that and the other, a deluxe feedback form completed and Keith hopped in the jeep to take us back to Kataragama. From there we had a choices to make, try to find a reliable/honest driver or take the public bus, for the 4 - 5 hour journey to Mirissa. Keith phoned a few companies and we winced at the price, just total abuse of tourists. A bystander joined the conversation and suggested we paid for a couple of extra seats on the public bus to put our backpacks on and this would make the journey easier. What a great idea! Keith dropped us where an express bus was waiting by the local market stalls and he organised us and importantly told the driver to let us know when to get off. Yvonne reiterated with Keith and the driver (who spoke no English) how very important this was. Yes, yes no problem, Mirissa.

Buses basically tout for business and only leave when they are full, so we had a long, hot, sweaty wait with Indian/Western fusion music blaring out from speakers inside, whilst local people from a nearby pilgrimage, the market shoppers and a handful of business travellers drifted aboard. Only after the driver revved the engine a few times to signal he was about to depart did the majority of passengers leave the shade in which they’d been waiting to join us. We set off with every window and front and rear doors open to get the breeze. We soon spotted a man collecting fares and whenever the bus slowed or came to a halt he would lean out of the open doors yelling a rhythmic chant, which we guessed was a combo of destination and express. Once again, we were the only foreigners and there were plenty of sideways glances as they gave us the once over. 

The dashboard was highly decorated with a diorama of Hindu gods and buddha figures all illuminated with a backdrop of garish flashing LED lights. The private bus service here is competitive - literally. The buses race each other to get to the passengers at the stops first and we needed all the gods we could muster as the driver drove us screeching around bends, blaring the klaxon for oncoming traffic to get out the way or as he overtook on blind bends, through busy towns, over double white lines all at breakneck speed, braking sharply and getting people to jump off whilst still in motion. This was express all right! Glenn suggested Yvonne just looked out of the side window. The scenery blurred past as we rocked from one side to another whilst clinging on to the headrest of the seat in front with the dingy window curtains flapping furiously in our faces. Arriving at a couple of major towns on the way, travellers pushed and shoved to get on and off laden down with the wares or children and with standing room only. It was orderly in a chaotic way.

Four hot, sweaty and sticky hours later we spotted a town sign for Mirissa and the conductor strode past us mumbling a sentence ending in Mirissa. We nodded furiously and duly waited to be told when to alight. Marissa looked pleasant enough as we raced passed a signboard claiming ‘tourist area’, through the main town and before we knew it on a main highway to the next city. Glenn squeezed his way through the throng to get to the driver questioning, Mirissa? The bus suddenly came to an abrupt halt and with several frantic waving arms and yells at us, Glenn tried to get luggage off the bus as the driver was yelling, quick, quick and we were duly dumped on the side of the road. Those gods now looked upon us as one solitary tuk tuk was just passing and Yvonne frantically waved him down. Already we knew this was going to cost us! ‘Mirissa? Oh long way, long way. You need hotel?’ Look mate, just overcharge us and get us to this address quickly please.

Luckily we had chosen a good hotel for these last couple of days in Sri Lanka and after a long cool drink we retired to our aircon room for a shower. Suitably cooled and clean we took the short walk to the beach and strolled along the tide line looking at the many scarlet tourists who’d evidently overdone the sun bathing on their first day.On our return we had a tasty dinner and watched Man U v Leicester draw 1-1 on the hotel big screen.

The crowded bus 

A bus station

Evening at Mirassa beach